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And yet, was it really a surprise? In snug jeans, a white T-shirt and worn bomber jacket, the man exuded raw male charisma and swoon-worthy sex appeal. She’d been more than a little giddy since he’d sat down beside her at the bar. Now, with his penetrating gaze fixed on her, all sorts of reckless urges were awakening.
“Help how?” she wheezed out, unable to believe her luck.
“Let me take your picture.”
Disappointed, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he echoed, a muscle jumping in his square jaw.
Convinced she’d insulted him, Sammi smiled to soften the rebuff. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say, and I’m flattered that the incredibly talented Oliver Lowell wants to photograph me, but I’m looking to escape my modeling career, not turn up the heat on it.”
Long moments passed while he pondered her response in grim silence. She fiddled with the untouched martini Ty had ordered while her nerves jangled and her thoughts raced. The last time she and Oliver had occupied the same room, she’d been seventeen and he hadn’t known she was alive. In the eight years since, he’d added muscle to his tall frame, changing from a willful pretty boy with an aggressive stare and petulant mouth into a gorgeous hunk with guarded eyes and a commanding presence. One thing that hadn’t changed was his reputation for brilliance and a volatile temper.
“This will be a photo just between us.”
His enigmatic words scrambled her emotions. She didn’t understand his interest in her. For months and months after walking in the same runway show, she’d imagined a different sort of encounter with Oliver, where his penetrating blue eyes wouldn’t look past her or through her, but where she would have his full attention. She’d indulged romantic daydreams where he swept her off her feet and overwhelmed her with soul-stealing kisses.
Of course, nothing like that could ever have happened. Even if Oliver had been interested in her, Sammi’s freedom was limited by her mother. A reckless thrill spurred her racing pulse to greater speed. Although Celeste hadn’t relinquished her influence over her daughter, Sammi was no longer a child.
“Is this your version of come up and see my etchings?” she asked, wincing at the awkwardness of her banter.
He arched his left eyebrow, the one split in half by a scar. Far from taking away from the perfection of his face, the flaw enhanced his appeal.
“No,” he said, even as something hot and unsettling flared in his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “This is a legitimate offer.”
“So this isn’t some elaborate come-on?”
He blinked in surprise. From his startled reaction to her question, she’d read his invitation all wrong. Mortified heat stung her cheeks as she contemplated the bad impression he must have of her. First, he’d seen her badgered and then abandoned by Ty. Now she was misunderstanding his offer to help her.
“Maybe I should explain what I’m talking about.”
“That would be great,” she murmured, determined to stop making a fool of herself.
“What I love about being a photographer is how I get to see the world through the lens of my imagination.” Oliver began his explanation slowly, his gaze directed toward the rows of bottles behind the bar, but his attention was turned inward. “After I quit modeling, I went back to what I’d loved to do when I was still in high school.” His features went as still as stone as he reflected on his past. “Initially I started with what I knew, but being a fashion photographer was nearly as boring as being a model. But I needed to eat, so I took the jobs that came my way. To supplement my income I also helped up-and-coming models build their portfolios. It was in those portrait sessions that I discovered my true passion. And those photos led to my work being noticed. Suddenly I was in demand, with offers from magazines to shoot celebrities and other people of note.”
Oliver paused in his story and shook free of his past. He raked the long fingers of his left hand through his wavy dark blond hair and suddenly seemed younger than his thirty-two years.
“While celebrities are accustomed to being photographed, they wear their public
personas like a mask. I became interested in what made them tick.”
“And did you find out?”
“It often took a long time. I took thousands of photos in a session and often wore them down to the point of exhaustion. It becomes difficult to maintain a facade as the mind grows tired.” From the expression on his face, he’d gone to a moment far away from this hotel bar. “The photos I took in the minutes after we wrapped were sometimes the most fascinating pictures of the day. But they weren’t magazine quality. They were for me and my subjects.”
His deep voice had drawn her into his tale, and she caught herself leaning forward to catch his every word. Shocked to realize she’d dropped her guard, Sammi straightened her spine. Her breath gave a little hitch as her retreat caused his gaze to glance off hers.
Wondering what he’d glimpsed in her eyes, Sammi cleared her throat. “So you showed them the photos?”
“I print one, something that captured their essence and revealed their true nature, and deliver it.” Oliver sounded as indifferent as if he discussed the weather. “It’s up to them to decide what to do with the picture.”
Sammi shivered as a fanciful notion took root. Some cultures believed that taking a person’s photograph was like stealing their soul. For someone who’d spent her life in front of a camera, she’d always kept her emotions hidden and portrayed what the client wanted to see. She’d never observed a single image of herself that came close to exposing all she was.
What would Oliver Lowell lay bare?
“Having your greatest vulnerability captured...” Sammi shuddered. “That sounds terrifying.”
He nodded in understanding. “For some it can be.”
