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He pulls me against his hard body and settles his lips close to my cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liv.” His words are smooth like melted caramel, and I fight the urge to close my eyes at the easy sound.
A pleasure indeed.
Tyler steps back with a brush of his lips across my cheek. My hand instantly feels cold when he releases it, and I raise it to my hair before realizing that Dean will pitch a fit if I mess up these curls.
I drop my arm lamely, aware of Tyler’s eyes on me as he gets his camera. He looks at me for a long moment.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you taking off the robe? I can’t do a lingerie shoot without lingerie.”
My lips form a small ‘o.’ Of course I have to take off the robe.
Please, someone pinch me. This can’t be reality. I mean, I’m all for coincidences, but this puts the ‘fuck’ in ‘fucking joke.’
I turn away from him and slide the robe down. I hang it on the hook on the back of the door. I flex my fingers to rid the slight tremble there and spin back to face Tyler.
My breath catches at the way he looks me over so obviously. He’s completely unashamed as his gaze touches every part of my body in a way that makes shivers rocket up and down my spine until my skin is buzzing.
I cough and he looks up. He grins, unapologetic, and a dimple appears on his cheek.
“The shoot?” I question, drawing on every bit of strength I have inside me to deal with this.
“Are you ready to start?”
Nope. I’m ready to click my heels and see if I’ll magic the hell out of here.
“Yes. Where do you want me?” Wrong question. Wrong question.
Something flickers in his eyes—lust. “On the bed.”
Wrong answer. Wrong answer.
I walk across the room and climb onto the bed. His eyes follow me the whole time, and I see him slowly raise the camera to his eye out of the corner of mine.
“I want you sitting in the middle of the bed, however is comfortable for you. I want some natural shots so I can see where to go from there.”
I nod once and exhale slowly. I take a moment to close my eyes and get into the place where I forget about the eyes on me. It’s hard in this instance when his gaze—even through a camera—is all I’m truly aware of.
Somehow, I get to a place where I feel like I can concentrate on this shoot. I fall into my usual rhythm, the freeness of my movements throwing it off a little. Usually, I’m told what to do, who to be, how to sit or lie or stand.
“Good, good…” Tyler mumbles. “There’s a glass of wine on the side. Use it.”
The sight of the red wine makes my stomach roll. Damn, I hate red wine.
Still, I wrap my fingers around the stem, lean back, and rest the glass on my thigh. The shutter clicks twice. After a few shots on the bed, including one with my lips firmly clamped as I tilt the glass up, I slide onto the floor.
I lean on the bed, the wine glass my focus, and the shutter clicks again. And again. Tyler comes closer, moves to the side, shoots down.
He instructs me in my movements now, pulling me from the sofa to the bed to the middle of the floor. Playful, sexy, brooding—we cover every emotion and pose possible.
“Move to the window,” he orders, taking the wine glass from me. “I want you sitting on the seat, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Put your back against the wall.”
I follow his instructions.
“Put one hand on your thigh, the other above your head. I want you to look out of the window. Imagine you’re waiting for someone to come home, someone you miss, and the lingerie is for him.”
