Kate Hardy - Falling For Mr. December

S. J. Thompson, the photographer, had sent him a couple of very business-like texts to arrange the photo shoot and explain that Nick needed to dress casually and remove anything that might cause a mark on his skin—socks, collars, waistbands and the like—at least two hours before the shoot.

For putting him through something as embarrassing as this—not to mention the teasing he knew he’d get from his colleagues when the calendar actually came out—Fate had better keep Xander safe, Nick thought grimly.

When he got to the court, carrying his court attire in its usual boxes, there was nobody waiting outside. The only person he could see in the lobby was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties or so, wearing black trousers, a black silky short-sleeved top and black shoes. Her blonde hair was cropped so short as to be almost a military cut. She didn’t look remotely like the man Nick was here to meet.

She looked up from her book, then closed it, stood up and walked towards him. ‘Nick Kennedy, I presume?’

He blinked. Was she the photographer’s assistant or something? ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you for being on time. I’m S. J. Thompson—though you can call me Sammy, if you like.’ She held out her hand for him to shake.

‘ You’re S. J. Thompson?’ Even as the words came out, he realised how dim they sounded. And how stupid of him to assume that the use of initials meant that the photographer was male.

She gave him a slight smile. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Clearly he wasn’t the first to have made that mistake. ‘I—er—nice to meet you,’ he said, feeling totally wrong-footed.

And, when he shook her hand, awareness zinged through every pore. Sammy Thompson was the most striking woman he’d met in a long time. And that severe haircut only served to highlight how pretty and feminine her face was. There was nothing masculine at all about her. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud, and he found himself wanting to trace her lower lip with his fingertip. Worse still, he could picture himself doing that before leaning in and kissing her. Lightly at first, a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing, and then deepening the kiss as she responded...

He shook himself mentally. Oh, for pity’s sake. This was business . OK, maybe not the normal kind of business he’d conduct here in the court, but it was still business. And he wasn’t exactly known for having ridiculous flights of fancy.

But he did feel uncomfortable right now.

It was nothing to do with sexism—as far as he was concerned, it was how you did your job that mattered, not what your gender or your sexual orientation or your religion was—but Sammy’s gender made this situation a little more difficult. Because it meant that now he was going to be stripping off in front of a woman he’d never met before.

Either his doubts showed on his face or she was used to this reaction from the people she photographed, because she said softly, ‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think. And, if it helps, remember that I’ll be seeing you simply as a life model rather than as an actual person. I don’t tend to hit on my models.’

‘I—yes. Of course. Sorry.’ How long had it been since he’d felt in a whirl, like this? He was never this pathetic and woolly. And he really hoped he didn’t look as if he was staring at her. He forced himself to look away. ‘I believe we have Court Number Two booked.’

‘My equipment’s already in there, though I haven’t set it up fully yet,’ she said. ‘Once we’ve decided precisely where you’re going to stand, it won’t take me long. Oh, and we really ought to cover the legal details now.’

Legal details? That got his attention.

‘Firstly, I have public liability insurance, which covers any damage to person or property while we’re in the location—not that there will be any—and secondly I’ll need you to sign a model release form,’ she said. ‘It’s pretty standard wording, but I’d still prefer you to read it thoroughly before you sign it.’ There was just the slightest twinkle in her sea-green eyes as she added, ‘Though I guess in your case I don’t really need to tell you to ask me to explain any legal wording you don’t understand.’

‘Quite,’ he agreed, trying to sound cool and professional. Even though Sammy Thompson was making him feel decidedly hot under the collar. What was it about her that made him feel like this?

‘Shall we?’ She gestured for them both to go in to the court room, and put a note on the door saying Filming in progress: do not enter.

‘I take it you’ve worked in here before, or at least somewhere like this?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then you’ll be comfortable with the setting,’ she said approvingly.

True, but he really wasn’t comfortable with what he was about to do. ‘Usually I’m fully dressed when I’m in this room,’ he said.

She indicated his cases and suit carrier. ‘This lot contains what you wear in court, I assume?’

He nodded. ‘I brought all of it because I wasn’t sure what you’d need.’ Though he knew it would be a lot less than he would prefer.

‘OK. Talk me through it,’ she invited.

He took his work clothing out of the cases he’d brought with him, piece by piece, and laid each one in turn on the judge’s bench. ‘Tunic shirt, waistcoat, pinstripe trousers and frock coat.’

‘You don’t wear a normal business suit under your lawyer’s gown?’ she asked, sounding surprised.

‘I did before I took silk,’ he said. ‘That is, before I became a QC—a Queen’s Counsel.’

‘Which is a senior barrister, right?’

‘Yes. So that’s why I wear the frock coat.’ He took out the gown. ‘And this.’

‘And that gown’s silk, I assume?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘May I touch it?’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘So I can move it about and see how the light affects it,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’ll be careful with it. One of my best friends is a wedding dress designer, and I’ve taken most of the shots for her portfolio and website, so I understand how to handle material without marking it.’

‘Ah. Of course.’

His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gown from him, and it felt as if pure electricity were running through his veins. What on earth was the matter with him? He never reacted like this. Especially to a complete stranger.

Maybe he was overreacting because he hadn’t dated in a while, and his body’s natural urges were making themselves felt because Sammy was really attractive. Well, tough. This was business and he really didn’t have time for this. Behave, he told his libido mentally. You know relationships are a disaster zone.

She peered at the material carefully from several angles, then nodded in seeming satisfaction. ‘OK. Do you wear lace at your collar, or am I thinking of something else?’

‘That’d be ceremonial legal dress,’ he said. ‘Normally in Crown court a male barrister wears a wing collar that attaches to the shirt, and court bands.’ He took them out of their cases for her.

‘So the bands are the things that hang down like a two-pronged white tie?’

Despite himself, he smiled. ‘Yes. Actually, they’re symbolic. The Lord Chief Justice said back in the sixteenth century that they were two tongues. One for the rich, for a fee, to reward our long studies; and one without reward to defend the poor and oppressed.’

‘I like that,’ she said. ‘So you defend the poor and oppressed?’

‘I’m usually a prosecutor,’ he said, ‘but English barristers can defend as well as prosecute. I guess in either case I’d be defending my client’s interests, and it’s not for me to call them poor or oppressed.’