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“You’re so full of yourself. It’s not attractive,” I splutter, my cheeks aflame. He moves in and presses my hips back into the counter,and I feel everything. All of him. My eyes flash wide up into his, and his jaw locks.He’s not attractive. He’s not attractive.
“Close your eyes, Zara.” His soft command works magic on my eyes as they fall shut and every other sense awakens. His cheek rests on mine. “I could have you now, right here. You wouldn't stop me. That little dress would be so easy to tear, then I’d be pushing flush into your body.” He applies pressure, and my god, it’s like being doused in liquid fire. “Taking, owning. I’ll ruin this body for anyone else.”He’s not attractive. He’s not attractive!
“Callan,” I plead. I can’t do this. Not with someone like him. He is everything I have been running from.
“You want me. Say it. Stop fighting it. I need to hear your want. It’s driving me mad,” he confesses in a growl. He grinds into me, and I moan softly, sparks of heat firing through my groin. Wide hands take my dress, then he rakes it upwards, thrusting his hand between my legs, knocking my legs apart so he is cupping me. He nips my ear, and before I know what is happening, I’m rocking my hips.
“Please.” I have no shame in begging. I want him. Callan. Big, scary, unscrupulous, Callan Scott. My knickers are moved aside with care. I twist and look up at him. I need to see him. I plead with my eyes.
“I need to hear it, Zara,”he says gruffly, keeping his fingers just out of reach.
“I want you, please.” I clutch his shoulders and drop forwards when a deft finger drags through my sex. “Oh, God.” He feels incredible, the sensation rolling along and outwards in my body, causing a tidal wave of awareness to brandish me as mush. My mind is blank, and no fear lingers. No anxiety holding me prisoner to a past I have no blame for. I’m lost to his touch. One touch and all sensibility has been ripped away, leaving me bare to feel nothing more than a woman for the first time ever. It’s intoxicating.
Callan moves, stepping back and staring at my knicker-clad body. With a dirty smile, he lifts his glistening finger and pops it in his mouth, drawing it out oh so slowly, like the spoon. His eyes black fire on mine. “Beats porridge any day.” With a quick tug, my dress is back in place. Is that it?!
“I thought if you touched me, you couldn’t stop?” I’m breathless.
“I lied. Have a good day, Zara.” With another one of his smug smiles, he is moving away from me. I’m shocked stiff as I watch helplessly. He’s leaving me like this!
Every curse imaginable rushes up my throat, yet the only words that come out are, “That's the only time you get to touch me. Don’t bother coming back!”
His parting shot is a mocking laugh. I curse loudly and stomp through the house, too hot and bothered, too needy to be able to leave, feeling like I’m ready to explode. I head for my room in need of a cold shower. My bedside drawer is ajar. Frowning, I walk over and stare at the slight crack, a curious pout. He’s been up here. I rip open my drawer, finding a note and ribbon tied to my vibrator with a simple black rose: a rose as black as our hair, as black as his eyes. Dark.
In those raw moments, you’ll think of me. C
What the hell? I cannot believe he planned all this. He is like no person I have ever met. The guy is a sociopath. How can he just… he just walked away. That surely affected him? I’m a wreck. How on earth is he still so in control? I stare at the note, reading it over, my lip curling in fury.
“I will not, you stupid, arrogant, piece of…fuck!” I slam the drawer shut. How fucking dare he? I’m not wearing this now. I strip, quickly removing my clothes and fight the urge to bin them in my rage, but stop short as it hangs limply over the small bin in my en-suite. I’m giving him too much power over my emotions. Over my body. Why on earth did I let that happen? Some small part of me screamsyou wanted it,but I quieten it quickly. Callan is not the kind of man I can let into my life. I want out of this charade. He’s another obstacle if I carry on down this path—he’s too much of a risk. I pick something new and get dressed quickly. It’s barely nine, so I have plenty of time before I leave to meet Miranda.
I am in no way calm or less aroused by the time I arrive at the office to meet my agent. Feeling this way is only keeping my mind on a man I don’t want to think about, keeping me attached to him in some form. I slam my door, still riled up, and head inside. The space is clean and minimal, walls of fashion icons and top models line the reception. I see myself a few times, and it still baffles me that this is the life I’m living. If someone had told me fifteen years ago I would be a model by the time I was twenty-three, I would have laughed and carried on digging mud up at home to make a fairy garden. Now I’m as polished as the magazine covers I grace. As refined as the food I eat at high-end restaurants. All things that don't matter to me but play a part in keeping me secure in this role.
I hear the click of Miranda’s heels before I see her. She turns the corner, looking a vision in a cream halter dress and nude heels.
“Morning, you okay?” she asks, looking up from her phone, “did you run here?” She laughs.
I touch my cheeks, aware they must look flushed.
“No, just rushing about,” I lie. “How’s the renovation going?”
“Not too bad. They are installing the windows this week. I’m hoping the weather holds out.” Her face is still fixed to her screen as she walks back to her office, speaking to me as she goes.
“That’s good. You mentioned you have chosen appliances. When do they go in?”
“Whilst you’re in Greece. Here, I have been sent a more detailed brief for the shoot.” She hands me a printout. “I already told them no nudes, so ignore that when you get to it.”
“It’s a swimwear shoot. I’m supposed to be clothed, not naked,” I mutter, scanning the page until I find the point she mentioned. They’ve asked for topless, which isn't horrendous. I have done it before. I could do it again. I will see how it pans out when I get there. Better to say no and negotiate than agree and go back on my word. We spend the next hour arranging everything for my trip; it’s no surprise that it’s an early start, and as soon as I’m landing, I’m working. I just hope my flight isn’t delayed.
Miranda emails me all the details for the upcoming casting.
“This is for Dolce, all being well with your flight, it’s in the bag.” She winks at me. She has far more faith in me than I do. I play the part, but I don’t love it like the other women. It’s ironic that they hunger for these jobs, and I just step into them unwillingly, uninterested, and land them each time. Each new job leaves me with a sour taste of guilt, but my fear outweighs it every time. It’s hard to hate it when it is the only thing keeping me alive. I have far more to lose than they will ever comprehend.
“We’ll see,” I reply.
“Always so modest.” Her chuckle is bright like her hair, and unlike my sleek bob, her hair flounces as she moves. “I have draft images for the magazine. Come with me.” We move through the building and down to one of the design rooms, where the articles are set out for us to look at. They are good, and I have to admit I look ultra-sophisticated in my suit.
“They need to caption this: women rule the world.” She nudges me, and I scoff.
“Give over. They don't know me. It’s just an image,” I say defensively.
