He towers behind me in a black suit—white shirt, black tie, broad shoulders, a jaw freshly shaved, and dark hair pushed back.
My breath stumbles in my chest when he steps closer. Neither of us speaks. We just look at each other in the mirror. Then his eyes drop to the strap on my shoulder that has slipped.
He lifts his hand without a word and slides the strap back into place. His fingers graze my skin, and the touch shivers straight down my spine.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and something dangerous flickers in them.
“You planning on keeping this thing on tonight?” he asks. “Or should I expect a repeat of the pool from last week? Save myself the trouble and warn the photographers now?”
I bite my bottom lip to suppress the smile.
“Excuse me?” I ask, faking surprise.
He taps the freshly fixed strap once, light and dismissive.
He turns to go, still grinning.
“Car will be here in ten,” he says, tone composed again.
I don’t know what possesses me, but my hand shoots out and grabs his arm.
He turns his head slightly, brow furrowing.
“Come here,” I say.
The eyebrow lift is subtle but thoroughly unimpressed.
“For what?”
“A photo,” I say simply. “We don’t have any together.”
“We have plenty,” he counters.
“I meant something we’ve taken.”
I tug him lightly toward the mirror, and he lets me.
We stop in front of it and I raise my phone. He straightens subtly, rolls his shoulders back, and slips into camera-ready posture.
His eyes flick to the reflection, studying the distance between us. Then he slides his left hand into his pocket,and his right hand lands on my waist, heavy and warm. My pulse kicks.
This is nothing.
This is work.
But my body can’t tell the difference.
“Look… less homicidal.”
“This is less homicidal.”
I bite back a laugh and lift my phone higher.
We pose. Except pose isn’t the right word. He stands there like a wall of heat and tension, hand tightening just enough on my waist that it sends an electric current straight between my legs.
I hit the shutter, snapping the photo.
“Hold on,” I murmur, already hitting the shutter again. “Just one more.”
