Julie Benson - Big City Cowboy

The woman used the sponge to dab makeup on his skin. The oily liquid slid across his face, sending ripples of revulsion through him.

“See, that’s not so bad.”

He gritted his teeth at the comment and refused to look in the mirror. He’d wear the blasted stuff, but no way did he want the sight of him in makeup burned into his memory.

“This doesn’t detract from your masculinity at all,” she declared.

He suspected she was a woman who thought a man wouldn’t be interested unless she agreed with everything he said, and complimented him nonstop.

Now little Lizzie—Elizabeth, he’d decided, didn’t fit her—didn’t appear to let anyone tell her what to think. In an effort to tune out Stephanie’s incessant chatter as she fussed with his hair, he’d watched Lizzie out of the corner of his eye.

Dressed in a black skirt and white blouse that showed off her knockout curves, she efficiently circled the room, checking lighting and the setup. What was it with all the women here wearing black? Hadn’t they heard of color in New York?

As if thinking about her pulled her to him, Lizzie walked his way. “Is he ready to go, Stephanie?”

“He’s perfect.”

Rory almost laughed. Perfect? Not in his universe. He looked like a sissy in these tight, fancy stitched jeans. “Anybody gonna ask me if I’m ready?”

Both women turned to him, their mouths hanging open. Guess he’d broken another photo shoot protocol.

Lizzie recovered first. “I’m sorry, Rory. I didn’t mean to appear rude. I need to make sure Stephanie’s finished her job, which is to make sure you look your best under the lights.” She turned to the stylist. “Once again, you’ve done super work. Now, Rory, if you’d come this way. I’d like to introduce you to the photographer before we start shooting.”

Rory stood, thankful to put distance between him and Stephanie before she jumped him in the chair. “Lead on.”

He liked the white shirt Lizzie had picked out for him, but the jeans wouldn’t last a week on the ranch. “Just out of curiosity, how much do these pants cost?”

“The pair you’re wearing retails for two hundred dollars.”

He whistled. “Men actually spend their hard-earned money on these?”

“Devlin’s men’s jeans are among the hottest in the upscale market.”

Guilt swirled inside him at the thought of playing a part in convincing people to waste money on high-priced jeans, when a pair of Wranglers or Levi’s worked fine. The world was so out of whack. Kids got killed over expensive sneakers. People who couldn’t pay their rent found money to get tattoos. Stuff didn’t make a person. Didn’t people get that?

Lizzie led him to a tall, slender woman with shoulder-length black hair, dressed in a long, flowing purple skirt and a red T-shirt with a baggy white sweater thrown over that. Big chunky beads hung around her neck. Finally, a female who wasn’t dressed as if she was heading to a funeral.

She introduced herself and tossed him a look that said she was interested in more than taking his picture. What was the deal with everyone at this agency?

“Are you ready to get started?” Elizabeth asked.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

Chloe smiled. “Just be you. I’ll do all the hard work. Let’s start with some simple shots of you sitting here on the hay. That’ll give us both a chance to warm up. I hope you don’t have allergies like Elizabeth. She’s been sneezing since she arrived.”

“Thanks, Chloe, for pointing out the obvious.” Elizabeth punctuated her statement with an unladylike sneeze, followed by a delicate “excuse me.”

“The hay won’t bother me. I’m around it all day long.”

“Good. Chloe, you get behind the camera and see how everything looks. Rory, come with me. I’ll position you.”

Position him? A very intimate picture of him and Lizzie tangled together in bed popped into his head. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll show you where to sit on the set, which way to look, that kind of thing. That’s what we call positioning. What were you thinking?”

“I had a more intimate picture in mind.” As Rory followed her he couldn’t keep his gaze off the way her little black high-heeled shoes made her hips sway, causing his blood to pump.

She froze and a pretty pink blush spread across her face. “I’m sorry you were confused.”

He leaned toward her to rattle her chain a little more. After all, if he was going to be on display, he had no intention of being the only one uncomfortable. “Lizzie, if we get together, there won’t be any confusion.”

For a second her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Then she swallowed hard. “My name’s Elizabeth.”

“You don’t look like an Elizabeth. It’s too long a name for such a little thing like you.”

She snapped her lips together. He expected to see steam coming out her ears any minute. This job could be fun, after all.

“My parents named me Elizabeth. That’s what they called me, and that’s the name I go by.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her blouse open farther at the neck. She had a pretty neck. He’d love to kiss that spot where the vein throbbed wildly beneath her skin. “Now, if we’re through with the discussion regarding my name, we both have work to do.”

He smiled, way more at ease than when he’d arrived. “All set.”

“Have a seat on the hay bale there.” Lizzie pointed to the one closet to the saddle.

He sank onto the hay, braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Now what?”

That pretty pink color still tingeing her cheeks, Lizzie turned to Chloe. “How’s it look from your angle?”

“Good from here. Now, get out of the shot and let me work.”

The rapid-fire click of the camera shutter filled the studio. During a momentary lull, Stephanie buzzed around him, more annoying and persistent than the horseflies at home. “I think he’s getting a little shiny. Let me add some powder.”

Rory tried not to wince. Just what he needed, more makeup. Pretty soon he’d look like Bozo the Clown.

She swiped a brush across his face, tossed him a big smile and fluttered away. She wasn’t any better at getting the leave-me-alone signals than the horseflies.

More clicking.

This was every bit the torture he’d expected, except for the short diversion with Lizzie.

“Relax, Rory, you look like you’ve got a dentist appointment later today,” Chloe said.

“Relax? How’s a man supposed to do that with everyone staring at him, watching his every move? I feel like the turkey on Thanksgiving, sitting there in the middle of the table.”

“That’s an interesting point of view,” Lizzie said. “It’s not that everyone’s watching what you do so much as ensuring nothing needs their attention.”

“Try to forget everyone’s here, Rory. Concentrate on one thing, and tune out everything else,” Chloe suggested.

He focused on Lizzie. All straitlaced and in charge, but he’d seen a fire flash in her eyes when he’d called her that. There was definitely something there. All she needed to do was let go and channel that energy. Now that would be a job worth taking on.

“Hold that pose.”

More clicking.

Lizzie leaned toward the photographer and the women whispered back and forth for a minute, before Lizzie said, “Rory, let’s try some shots with you standing.”

He stood, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. That wasn’t exactly true. Right now he’d like to have his hands on Lizzie, caressing her dynamite curves and those long legs of hers. Heat shot through him. If he didn’t think about something other than her legs, these fancy jeans would get even tighter. “What do you want me to do with my hands?”