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An image of Zoë flitted through his mind. The photos were beautiful, nothing to be ashamed of. They’d been happy. They’d had fun. “There are no photos,” he snapped defensively.
The man chortled. “We’ve heard that one before, and it makes us all the more interested.”
Jason swore under his breath, his fists clenching.
“It’s a good rate of pay for a few photos, you can’t deny it, but we’ve heard they’re worth it ... hot nudey shots.” The meathead licked his lips. “I’d sure like to see them.”
Jason’s blood hit boiling point. His stomach balled. “Fuck off, you leering psycho.”
“Ooh, listen to you.” He grinned at his mate, who watched the unfolding scene with a sinister stance. “You call us leering, and we hear you took these ph
otos when she was barely legal.”
“That’s a lie.” He spoke between clenched teeth.
“That’s what we heard.” He prodded Jason in the chest. “And that means you’re the pervert here, buddy.”
The roaring sound in Jason’s ears drowned out whatever was said next. He could see the mouth moving but heard no words. The bastard’s finger kept prodding him in the chest. Prod. Prod. Prod. Until Jason finally cracked, big time.
Chapter Six
Georgie ran through the market and through the nearby streets into the shopping mall, her breath captured somewhere between gasps, laughs, and cries. Her heart was beating wildly.
When she’d put plenty of space between herself and Richard, she paused to catch her breath. She darted into an alleyway, fished a cigarette lighter out of her bag, and ceremoniously set fire to each and every photo, dropping the flaming remains down a drain. She watched the last flicker disappear and then left. It served him right to have a taste of his own medicine, but she wished she hadn’t had to do it.
She didn’t ring the bell or wait for Cal to invite her in when she got to his studio. She just opened the door and rushed in, dropping what remained of the flowers on the chair by the door as she went.
“Are you home?”
“In here.” His voice emerged from the studio. He was sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in a book. When he saw her hasty entrance, he closed the book. She flung herself down beside him, and he folded her into his arms. Without being aware of their imminence, she found that tears began to fall onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
Without questioning her, he instinctively stroked her back and murmured soothing words in her ear, which was the most perfect thing he could have done at that moment. When she drew back to look up at him, he raised his eyebrows in query, and then she noticed the dots and streaks of mascara and lipstick she had left on his shirt.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I’ll wash it.” She plucked at the buttons of the shirt, but his eyes were twinkling at her.
He ignored her comment and kissed her gently, taking a taste of her tears onto his tongue. “What’s upset you?” He stroked her hair back from her face.
She sat back against the velvet of the sofa, her gaze going up to the painting of herself that stood against the wall on the other side of the room. She still didn’t recognize it completely.
“Richard. He wants me to go back to him. He’s very persistent.” After a moment she added, “Do I really look like that?”
He smiled. “No. Even more beautiful.”
She turned to him again. She could almost feel him sinking into her body, he looked so intently at her.
“There’s something I need to ask you about,” he whispered, still stroking her.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve been approached about a new exhibition of my work, small but prestigious, in about six weeks time. I’d like our new theme to make up the body of the work to be shown.”
Her eyes widened. “The sex theme?”
He gave a dark husky laugh. “The you theme, Georgie. That is, if you’re happy to be the subject?”
“Well I ...” It was difficult to take in.
“It’ll mean we’ll have to spend a lot of time together, so I’m asking for a serious commitment from you.”
