“For one night.”
His eyes narrow, but he’s biting the smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know how I feel about this rulebook anymore.”
“Well, luckily for you, you have plenty of time to come to terms with it…during the photo shoot,” I say before nodding over at the grill. “Chicken’s burning!”
I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. I know I’m being a tease, but in my defense, so is he. I also know these photos I am going to take aren’t going to be what Deborah wants. For one, they’ll be consensual. Something you’d put in an artsy news story, not on the cover of a gossip magazine.
I’m done being that kind of photographer.
Chapter 19
Ashlyn
“Tug your shirt up a little more,”I say as I zoom in.
“The ladies like a little mystery. A tease, if you will,” he says.
“No they don’t. They want to see your abs,” I say, changing angles.
“Trust me, honey. I’ve been a model for a long time and that’s what they like,” he says as he runs his hands through his hair, and I snap three shots as his triceps flex.
“Trust me, honey. I’ve been a girl for a long time, and girls don’t want mystery. They want skin. Now lose the shirt.”
It makes him laugh a boyish laugh that shows the dimple on his cheek, and I snag another three shots.
I’ve never done a shoot like this before. I’ve never done an actual shoot, period. There aren’t a lot of photography jobs that will hire an ex-daycare worker to take photos that require some level of talent.
“Turn around,” I tell him, making a circular motion with my finger. “Show me that ass.”
“You’re the most demanding photographer I’ve ever worked with,” he says, turning around. His back is mostly facing me, but he turns his head to look over his shoulder. God…his jawline is so sharp it could cut glass.
Watching him move in front of the camera is a total turn-on. His every move is controlled, and not overly done. He turns, reaches, and flexes slowly, consciously. It’s organic and natural, like in real life. The only difference is that it’s slightly more deliberate. Every look is thoughtful. When he glances into the distance, it’s like he has something deep on his mind. When his attention flashes back to me, it’s personal.
His body is so sculpted, it looks like it was carved out of marble. Every muscle is showcased, no matter how he’s posing. His muscles are lean, and his veins line his powerful arms. I follow him as he moves around the staged bedroom. He goes to the window, stretches in a slow flex. Looks down, over, back. For a moment he leans against the wall, then slowly pushes off, walking towards me with intent.
I back up to maintain the distance, a smile on my lips and my finger snapping shots with rapid fire.
“You are so good at this,” I tell him.
“I’ve been doing it for so long I don’t even really think about it anymore,” he says before grabbing his water. I take it as a cue to take a break. It’s fine by me; it means I get a second to look at my camera and the shots I took.
“You really are great at this,” he says as we sit down on the end of the bed. “Those are some nice shots.”
“Helps when the subject is easy on the eyes,” I tell him, and then I feel a small rush of heat in my cheeks. I’m not usually that bold. Heck, I don’t know if I’m ever that bold.
“Why do you work for Sigma?” he asks suddenly, and it catches me off guard.
“They pay well?” I say, but it comes out like a question instead of a statement of certainty.
“A lot of jobs pay well…especially if you’re talented. By looking at those photos, I can say you are definitely talented. Too talented to be working for Sigma, that’s for sure. What kind of name is Sigma, anyways?”
“I think it means badass or low-key cool,” I say.
“Well, that’s low-key lame,” he says, and I let out an unapologetic laugh. Zane smiles. “For real, though. You’re an incredible photographer. You could do so much better.”
“Tell that to all the people that turned me down when I was trying to get a new job,” I say.
“What was your old job?” he asks.
