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Branded bags littered the floor.
A table spanned nearly the entire length of the room, tucked beneath rows of lighted mirrors. Half-empty drink bottles, sprays, makeup, and to-go coffee cups with faded lipstick stains covered so much of the table’s surface that the gray wood was barely visible.
Flimsy chairs were scattered about, some overturned and others draped with various outfits. Short pieces of hair from last-minute haircuts added a haphazard design to the plain, velvet-blue carpet.
But the room was empty.
And it had a door.
As the door shut behind Lucas, she waited for him to set her on her feet. Yet, her ankles remained locked at the base of his spine, her heels no longer clicking together as he stormed through the hallways and corridors.
“You can put me down now,” she said.
His large hands further cupped her ass. “I know.”
“How’d you find me?”
“Delilah.”
“Delilah came with you? I didn’t see her.” She’d seen nothing but eyes that looked like they were envisioning her over his knee, his palm swatting her behind while he punished her for her bad behavior.
“Miguel called her when we got here. I’m fairly certain she’s still in the car talking to him.”
She stroked the back of his neck, barely able to conceal her excitement over the fact that he was there. That he came. Friday would have been too long, but the sooner they saw each other, the sooner they were over.
“Did you know Delilah was coming to see me?” he asked.
She shrugged. “She mentioned it.”
“So you wanted me to see those pictures?”
Yes.
“She was free to show them to whoever she wanted.”
He tipped his head in the direction of the studio. “Do all your shoots consist of men putting their hands on you while you’re half naked?”
“They’re just photos, Saraci.”
“Erotic photos,” he said. “With mywife. There was no way I wouldn’t have come down here after seeing them, especially after I didn’t hear from you all day.”
“It’s not even seven o’clock yet.”
“All day.”
“My assistant, Estelle? She’s been in charge of my phone. When I say that I haven’t had more than a few minutes of downtime today,” her fingers slipped into his hair, “I’m not kidding. I really couldn’t see you today. If I could have, I would have. I know how much you want this thing to be over.”
She’d yet to slide, feel heavy, or witness any semblance of strain on his face.
That was the paradox about men.
Many of the things that made them terrifying also made them intriguing, and the line separating the paradox could sometimes be darker than coal or nothing more than a hair-thin string of consent.
Lucas set her on her feet and found what had to be the furthest seat from where she stood, a leather barstool, and sat, one foot planted on the floor. The deep, bergamot-vanilla notes of his cologne went with him.
She remained standing.
Neither one of them spoke for a moment, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before someone came looking for her. She’d signed contracts to be here this week, and the brands would bleed her dry to get their money’s worth.
