Jill Shalvis - Bared

“It’s beautiful,” she said, going to the glass. “I can see why you wanted to shoot here.”

“The calendar calls for a pool shot.” He walked up behind her and took in the same view. “I figured, why not here.” Her hair tickled his nose and the scent of her filled his senses. He knew he was tempting fate to do this without a crew, but he had wanted to see what would happen, if, after a couple of weeks of this teasing, he’d still feel attracted.

He did. “Are you ready to do this?”

When she nodded, he retrieved the Nordstrom bag he’d had on a kitchen table.

She swallowed. “The costume?”

“The costume,” he confirmed, and reached into the bag.

When he dangled the black crocheted bikini from his fingers, she swallowed again but took it from him, her fingers entangling with his for one brief moment.

Holding on, he squeezed hers. “When you look at me like that, you drive me crazy.”

“Look at you like…what?”

Vulnerable and unsure, yet sexy as hell . He just shook his head. “You realize you could just walk away. This is Amber’s problem, not yours.”

“Where should I change?”

“Emma-”

“I’m doing this, Rafe. I promised I would, and-”

“And…?”

“And I want to.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. After all, he didn’t want her to back out. He showed her to the bathroom and then went outside with his camera, not wanting to think about what he had to do, which was look at her in a bikini for at least an hour.

He tinkered with his equipment, setting up near the edge of the pool, with the hills in the background. There was a metallic silver float drifting on the water. He wanted her there, face down, hands together beneath her chin, legs slightly apart, drifting away from him. He’d pictured it long before he’d ever met Emma, knowing how perfect, how mouthwatering the shot would be.

What he hadn’t known was how exciting Emma would be, personally. He had the camera on the tripod and was playing with his settings when he heard the sliding glass door open behind him.

His pulse tripled but he kept his concentration on the camera, telling himself this was ridiculous, he’d taken hundreds, thousands of shots of supermodels across the globe, and not one of them had ever moved him personally.

There was a light breeze, which maybe would cool him off. His hair lifted from his damp forehead as the water slapped against the tiles.

Just another regular day of work.

He heard the pad of her bare feet as she came close, and with a little grimace, he lifted his head.

Any cooling effects from the breeze vanished.

The black crocheted bikini fit her as if it’d been made for her, lovingly cupping her full breasts, between her thighs, the yarn stretching, giving him peekaboo hints of creamy skin beneath.

She stopped about five feet away. Too far to touch her or smell her. Too far to see the pulse at the base of her neck, to judge if she was as affected as he.

But the puckered tips of her nipples, almost but not quite poking through the black string of her top, told him the truth.

Even as it nearly killed him.

He knew from that day in Kauai, when she’d worn nothing more than damp white silk, exactly how gorgeous she was; how full and high her breasts were even without support; how the color of her nipples was that of a perfect rosebud. When those nipples were aroused, as they were now, they made his knees weak.

Just standing there looking at her, he felt his body tighten. Painfully so.

He also knew from that day on that lush, wet island, when she’d worn nothing but a tiny strip of a thong, that she’d had to have either shaved or waxed her bikini line. He pictured her doing that this morning in preparation for this shoot, but the thought nearly undid him and his cargo shorts became a torture chamber.

Was she as wet as he was hard? If he tugged those bottoms loose from her body, preferably with his teeth, would he see just how wet?

“How’s this?” she asked, sounding just breathless enough to make him want to groan.

“Good.” His voice came out hoarse so he cleared his throat. “Damn good. So good I’m not sure I’ll remember how to use the camera.”

She put a hand to her belly as if nervous. “You probably say that to all your models.”

He shook his head.

“No?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never. I’ve never had any trouble concentrating on a shoot before,” he told her. “But I’m having trouble now.”

She dragged her bottom lip across her teeth. “It’s probably wrong to admit this, but seeing as we’re being so open…I like that you’re having trouble.” Her breathing wasn’t close to steady. “I should be taking notes, writing down all my jumbling emotions and body’s reactions to you for my research, but honestly, I can’t think clearly enough for that.”

Research. Right. Grateful for the reminder that she was here for that, he pointed to the metallic float. “That’s the prop.”

“What about makeup?”

“You’re going to be facing away from the camera.” He tossed her a bottle of baby oil. “Slick up first so the water will bead off you.”

Eyes on his, she opened the bottle and squirted the oil onto her palm. Slowly she began to spread it onto her skin-her legs, her arms, her belly, her chest, her back.

“Hair?” she whispered, straightening.

“Wet. All of you needs to be wet.” He had to look away from her when her pupils dilated. “Just slick your hair back from your face when you get in the pool.”

Turning away from him, she waded in, sucking in a breath as the cool water lapped at her calves, her thighs…between them. Craning her neck, she kept her eyes on his as she sank in a little deeper, to her breasts, and then ducked entirely under.

He let out a shaky breath.

When she surfaced, she slicked back her hair and reached for the float.

“On your stomach,” he said.

She pulled herself up until she was lying flat on her belly. Water sluiced off her, running in little rivulets down her slim spine, off her long legs. Between them.

His mouth went dry. “Arms bent a little, so that your hands, fingers flexed, float on top of the water.”

Following his directions to the letter, she did as he asked.

“Eyes closed,” he instructed. “Lie on one cheek, chin up slightly, hair to one side.”

She was now sprawled out, water beading on her, looking like a goddess. He let out a slow breath. “Spread your legs a little.”

She went utterly still, then slowly, very slowly, spread her legs an inch or two.

“More.”

This time she didn’t hesitate, digging her toes into opposite corners of the float. The picture of her lying there, body offered up, wet and shiny, arms and legs spread, had him staring, mesmerized.

“Rafe?”

Blinking, he put his eye to the lens and sucked in another breath. “Yeah. Perfect.” He took a few shots, his body tight as an arrow. “Are you thinking about your research?”

“I told you, I…I can’t.”

“Because of the jumbling emotions and your body’s reactions.”

“Yes.”

He kept snapping the shutter. “What are they? The jumbling emotions.”

She turned her head and glanced at him with a question in her eyes.

He managed a smile. “Maybe I can remind you later, when you’re trying to write it all down.”

“Oh.” She lay her head down again. “Mmm, the water feels nice. That’s my first emotion-pleasure. Then there’s the power.”

“Power?”

“Yes.”

Since her head was turned to the side, he could see only half her face. Her mouth curved slightly, and it was so feminine, so wily and sure that he felt it all the way to his toes, but he kept taking pictures.