Page 22 of You Rock My World
“Looks great.” Then he turns his piercing eyes on me. “What do you think?”
“Uh…” Words fail me as my brain scrambles for something insightful, witty—anything to make it seem like I haven’t spent the entire shoot drooling. “Classy but seductive. Right on target.”
The photographer harrumphs in agreement. “I’ll start post-production once I get back to my studio.”
They shake hands and then the photographer and his assistant scurry off to pack their equipment.
Once they’re far enough not to hear us, Dorian leans in, his robe shifting at the collar, deepening the V in the middle, and whispers, “Finally got to test your retouch theory. Still convinced I need much?”
I glance back at the screen, forcing a casual tone. “Oh, I don’t know, isn’t the lighting doing at least 50 percent of the heavy lifting?”
Dorian’s eyes narrow playfully. “The lighting, uh? Give me an answer elevator Josie would’ve given me.”
“What do you want me to say?” I throw my arms up in exasperation. “Your abs are perfection, and I hope they won’t put this ad on a billboard overlooking a street because it’s going to cause accidents?”
Dorian tosses back his head and roars with laughter. I should be embarrassed, but I’m strangely not. When he’s done laughing, his focus slams into me. “That’s the Josie I know. Anything else?”
I pat his chest and add, “Nice tattoos.” The touch is meant to be casual, but the moment my palm makes contact, it’s anything but. My hand brushes against the satin of his robe—soft, deceptively delicate—while under it, his pectoral is solid, unyielding. The warmth radiating through the cool fabric catches me off guard, the contrast sending a jolt straight to my nerve endings.
Under my palm, his heart beats at a maddeningly steady pace, as if this isn’t affecting him at all. But then his gaze lowers to the spot where my hand rests. I freeze in that position, pinned under the weight of his attention. The intensity in his stare makes everything else fade away—the bustling studio, the chatter of assistants… the world narrows to this single point of contact between us, and I realize it’s the first time we’ve touched since the elevator.
When his gaze lifts, the smirk he usually wears is nowhere to be found. His eyes are smoldering, that brilliant blue darkened with something I can’t name but feel deep in my stomach, sharp and twisting. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I drop my hand as if burned, taking a step back.
“On a different note”—I smooth a non-existent wrinkle on my dress—“the divorce announcement goes live this afternoon at four. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at your house for the debrief with the team.”
Without giving him time to respond, I turn away and head for the door with brisk strides.
The feel of his chest under my fingertips still tingles. When I reach the exit, I don’t dare turn back—not because I fear being caught, but because I won’t be able to mask what I’m feeling if he’s watching me.
14
DORIAN
One Year Ago
A static crackle intrudes into my dreams. Even before I open my eyes, I know something’s off. I shouldn’t be this comfortable, this warm, but I can’t pinpoint why it’s wrong to feel good. Then a voice fizzles through the elevator’s speaker. “You still okay in there?”
Reality crashes into me. I’m sleeping on an elevator floor—that’s why I shouldn’t be comfortable. When I open my eyes, my heart stutters. I’m curled against Josie, my head resting on her chest. My arm is flung over her waist as if it belongs on her.
I freeze as horror and reluctant delight course through me. Her left boob has become my personal pillow, and I never want to sleep on anything else.
The speaker crackles again, snapping me fully awake. I sit up carefully, easing out of Josie’s warmth, and press the button. A new technician informs me the fire department should reach us within half an hour. I thank him and close the conversation, not sure how I feel about the impending rescue.
Josie stirs. Her eyes flutter open and widen when they meet mine—not in the awestruck way they did when she first stepped into the elevator,Shit, that’s Rian Phoenix. But with sleepy surprise, the kind that says,Oh, it’s really you, last night wasn’t a dream.
“Morning,” she mumbles, yawning as she sits up. Her hair’s a mess, her cheeks flushed, and she’s stupidly adorable.
Her gaze flicks to my unruly hair and crumpled shirt, and I wonder what she sees. With her usual lack of filters, Josie asks, “So… did I drool on you?”
I huff a laugh. “Not that I noticed, but thanks for asking.”
As she smooths her hair and yawns again, I share the good (?)news. “The cavalry is on the way; they should rescue us any minute now.”
Her expression falters. I swear I catch a flash of disappointment, fleeting but unmistakable. Maybe she was enjoying this forced closeness as much as I was and doesn’t want it to end.
But then she smirks. “Good. I was starting to need to pee.”
It knocks me off balance all over again. Just when I kid myself I have her figured out, she surprises me. She’s upfront about the mundane stuff, but I can never tell what’s going on deep down. Josie is full of wonderful contradictions, and a mystery. And the longer I am with her, the more I wish to keep solving the clues.
