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He grinned and walked toward Georgie. He warbled in song, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, as he looked his open appreciation over her body. The sound was like some ancient mating call, like the music some African tribes made in their throats when they danced. He squared his fingers, framing her up and walking around her, looking at her from different angles. His inquisitive gaze took in every inch of her naked body.
The shades perched in his short, spiky black hair. He put out one hand, expectantly. Georgie smiled and rested her fingers in his. He drew her hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Then he grinned at her again, his teeth a flash of white against his gypsy coloring.
“I’ll introduce myself, shall I? Calvin sometimes forgets his manners when he’s in the middle of his work.” He spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone, smiling at her. “Jason. Jason Sutherland.”
“Hi ... Georgina Montgomery, but call me Georgie; everybody does.”
“Georgie girl, huh?”
She nodded, smiling. That was cute, but then, so was he. They were still staring appreciatively at each other when Cal came over to join them.
Taking Georgie’s hand, Cal drew her up to her feet. “Look at this.” He squatted down and stroked the back of her thighs. The touch coiled up through her body, and Georgie’s head went back in response. Jason began to circle her, that low warble in his throat again. Cal placed his mouth in the hollow at the back of her knee. It wasn’t a kiss. He was feeling the shape with his mouth.
Jason dropped down beside him. “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “It’s like the surface of an unbroken egg shell ... true beauty, and hidden from the eye. It’s a crime, isn’t it?” He chuckled.
Georgie looked down at them over her shoulder. She wondered vaguely if she should get on her feminist high horse and remind them not to talk about her as if she were an object, but she felt too languid to even consider it -- aside from which, she felt as if these two gorgeous men had just put her on a pedestal to adore. She wasn’t about to argue about how good that made her feel. Jason glanced up. He smiled mischievously and then bent to kiss the place they had been admiring. She laughed gently when he let his breath tickle her and then ran the tip of his nose up her thigh.
“Smells good.” He looked up at Cal with a knowing smile. Cal glanced at Georgie and stood up. Their eyes locked, rekindling the rush still so fresh in their physical memories. The scent of pleasure hung heavy in the air. Georgie looked from one to the other of the men. A ripple of something, something instinctive, passed between the three of them. A dart of anticipation leapt up within her body, and Georgie shivered gently.
“You’re cold.” Cal’s expression became concerned. “I’ve kept you here too long. Let’s pack up now; we’ll continue another day.”
He moved to collect her clothes from a chair and passed them to her. Jason had stayed where he was, looking up at her, his mouth moving with that mischievous smile again. When he stood up to let her dress, he ran his hand the length of her legs, then stepped away from her.
He wandered back to where Cal stood, observing the exchange. She looked at the two of them together. Were these two more than friends? They were at ease with each other, uninhibited and relaxed, and more. They were subtly responsive in the slide of their bodies together. Georgie had an observant eye, and this quickly drew her attention. Were they lovers themselves, or did they perhaps share their women?
Her heart rate stepped up a notch, and she felt a hot, responsive tick inside. She was a little startled, yes, but she was very curious, too. She wanted to know more.
“Can you come over again on Saturday?” Cal asked as she pulled on her skinny-fit shirt and hipsters. Georgie nodded, her fingers finding their way through the chunky buttons over her groin.
“Maybe we could try a different approach,” he added with a suggestive smile.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
She was already getting hot at the very thought of it. She walked toward a chair by the door, clipping her hair back as she went. She slipped into her strappy sandals and then collected her bag from the chair.
Before she left, she turned back to wave and saw that the two men watched her disappearing through the door, in mirrored poses. They were stationed either side of the canvas on the easel, like two statues guarding the entrance to a sacred shrine. Her own image stood between them, larger than life and confronting her provocatively.
Chapter Two
Jason tried to find a clear spot on his desk big enough for his Coke can. The surface was strewn with the contact sheets that he’d spent the morning looking over. He should have done the job at home. The noise in the agency office was at an unbearable level today. The heat was making everyone loud and raucous. He rolled the ice-cold can across his forehead before setting it aside and then sat down, pulling the magnifying sheet back into place. He resumed his hunt through the shots he had taken of a minor royal the day before, looking for the perfect image to fit a feature on her latest toils: shaking hands with the local women’s institute contingent in a Lancashire village.
“You jammy bugger. You get all the best assignments.”
Jason glanced up to see that Dave Turner, a fellow news agency photographer, was looking over his shoulder, squinting down at the contact sheets with curiosity.
“You wouldn’t have said that if you knew what I’d had to put up with at the time.”
“Demanding subject?”
“Demanding everything. The light was crap and the surroundings unhelpful in that and every other respect.” He gestured at one of the images as an illustration. The subject was sitting in an austere armchair in a gloomy interior. “And, as you can see, the subject had a knack of looking as if she were suffering from a case of terminal boredom at all the wrong moments.”
Dave chuckled. “Here, this will put a smile on your face.” He shook open one of the day’s tabloids, giving Jason an eyeful of the cover.
Jason frowned. Was he ever going to outlive the minor notoriety he had gained with Dave since his unfortunate episode of laddish bragging? There, right on the front cover, was a grainy photo of press darling Zoë Mac, teetering on platform shoes, a sports bag flung over her shoulder as if she was on her way to the gym. She was turning back to give the photographer a cheeky wave, consciously playing up to the paparazzi. Her breasts were in profile, and the headline was punched right up against them and declared: Zoë Mac Looks Well Stacked.
He groaned aloud. He’d had to put up with Dave’s constant harassment since he’d told him about his relationship with Zoë, over a jug too many of vodka and Red Bull. Dave wasn’t going to let him forget that he knew all about Jason’s teen-dream come true, shagging the lovely lady, long before she ever became the hot pop singer and paparazzi favorite that she was today. He’d since learned his lesson about letting his mouth run off regarding his conquests, but this one looked as if it had enough mileage to run on and on all by itself.
“Come on, man, give me a break.” He gestured at his swamped workspace. Dave lurched off, a grin on his face. He sat down and made a big show of putting his feet up on his desk, opening up the paper to have a good read. Zoë was still staring over her shoulder, waving in his direction. Jason groaned loudly. Dave stuck his head round the side of the paper and waggled his tongue suggestively. Was there was no escape from it?
