Picture Me Sexy (4 page)

Delaney sat up and made a moue of disappointment. “Damn, that would have been a good shot. You missed it, didn't you?”

H
E'D DROPPED HIS
damned camera.

Never in the history of his career had Sam ever dropped his camera. When he went into the zone, the equipment simply became an extension of himself. His camera was his baby and he treated it as such—with extreme care.

No doubt about it, over the course of the past few years he'd been routinely shocked. He'd taken boudoir photos of a hermaphrodite, for pity's sake. Pictures of women that were pierced in areas that went well beyond his scope of comprehension. He inwardly shuddered. In this business, he'd pretty much seen it all and he'd never—
never
—once dropped his camera.

And yet, all this woman had to do was utter a few choice words about possibly changing her sexual preference…and he'd fumbled a thirty-five-hundred-dollar camera like a freshman rookie a yard from the end zone.

He couldn't believe it. He simply couldn't believe it. A litany of inventive curses streamed through his overwrought mind as he bent over and snagged his camera from the floor.

From the very first moment he'd laid eyes on Delaney Walker he'd known she'd be trouble with a capital T. For reasons which escaped him now, he'd thought he'd be safe once he'd gotten her behind the lens—thought he'd be able to treat her just like any other beautiful woman who came into his studio. And there'd been plenty.

In this line of business, any photographer worth his salt, in a sense, had to become desensitized to the female form. Battling a hard-on throughout a session was inconvenient and not conducive to a good shoot. One simply learned how to detach and focus on what lay inside the lens. Sam had mastered the trick years ago, and yet from the very second Delaney stepped out of that dressing room, his loins had been locked in a fiery state of perpetual hell. His blood had been humming with an intense awareness akin to radio static, and his scalp had tingled until he wondered if he might be having some sort of allergic reaction to his shampoo.

He was a wreck.

He didn't just want her—the driving need gnashing around inside him couldn't be reduced to any such simple term—
he had to have her.
Felt like he'd explode, or worse, if he didn't.

One look at her in that virginal peasant gown—hell, she might as well be in a nun's habit for all the skin revealed—and something deep, dark and primal had taken over. The hint of curves beneath all those yards of fabric, combined with that sexy mouth and
long moonbeam hair and… Sam pulled in a tight breath. She was gorgeous, utterly gorgeous, and the fact that she didn't realize it made her all the more appealing.

He'd wanted to tell her many times during the first few frames just how incredible she looked, how phenomenally hot, but given her almost phobic modesty, he didn't think it wise. For his peace of mind, or hers. He'd tried to loosen her up with conversation and the ploy had worked right up until she'd dropped her little I-might-take-a-lesbian-lover bomb.

She had to be one of the most sexually innate creatures he'd ever encountered. She'd let that bright green gaze leisurely roam from one end of this body to the other, had all but measured him for a wet suit, yet she'd suddenly decided to bat for the other team? he thought skeptically. Not likely. He smothered a snort. If she was a lesbian, then he was the damned Easter Bunny.

Delaney's soft chuckle drew him from his chaotic musings. “I've shocked you.”

“Not shocked,” Sam said simply for the sake of argument. “Just surprised. I had no idea that you were a lesbian.” He smiled up at her and tried to project a calmness he didn't feel. “I'd understood that your fiancé was a man.”

He checked his camera over once more, deemed it unharmed, and once again tried to put things back on an even keel. Maybe if he concentrated really hard, he'd be able to think about something besides
the way her gown had slipped down on her arm, baring one delectable shoulder. Besides tunneling underneath acres of white cotton and exploring every inch of her gorgeous body.

With his mouth.

“My fiancé was a man,” Delaney told him, “as was the last one. Men suck. Why not give a woman a shot?” she asked matter-of-factly. “I can be open-minded.”

Sam tsked, lined up another frame. “I don't think being open-minded has anything to do with it.”

Delaney rolled over onto her stomach, let her hair fall over the end of the chaise. “Why not?”

He fired off another few shots, then paused. “Let me ask you something. Are you, or have you ever been attracted to a woman?”

She pulled a thoughtful face and winced. “No,” she said slowly. “But I'm hoping I can work past that.”

A laugh stuttered out of his chest. “That's certainly an interesting goal.”

She pulled an offhanded shrug, baring a little more creamy skin. “Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.”

Sam finished off the roll of film. “Okay, that's got this set completed. Wanna go change and meet me back in here?”

He'd said it casually, hoping not to lose what little ground they seemed to have gained during this stage of the shoot, but the instant his suggestion registered,
her anxiety returned full force. Previously relaxed muscles went tight with tension and a frown wrinkled the smooth line of her brow.

Sam pretended to tweak his camera and eventually she nodded. “Sure. I'll, uh, be right back.”

Theoretically speaking, if he were an outlet and she a plug, then one could reasonably assume that when she walked out of the room—pulled the plug, so to speak—he would return to normal. The clawing need would subside, his mega hard-on would wilt, and his skin would quit prickling.

To Sam's disquiet, it didn't and he grimly suspected that until he had her, it never would.

And having her was absolutely out of the question.

Number one, he didn't sleep with clients. He'd worked hard to build a reputable business, depended heavily on word-of-mouth advertising. Everybody knew hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. One pissed-off chick with a vicious tongue could literally cost him thousands of dollars. Sam had seen it happen before.

Secondly, even if he were to forget the no-fornicating-with-a-client rule, it certainly wouldn't be with a woman as emotionally wrecked as Delaney Walker. Sheesh. She'd just been jilted, was so messed up that she was considering becoming a lesbian. He'd have to be the biggest fool on earth to even consider letting something become of this hellish attraction that had blazed between them.

Finally, were those reasons not enough—which
they certainly were—he desperately wanted a job at the
Chifferobe.
Wanted a shot at it so badly that he could taste it. This was his chance, dammit. He couldn't afford to screw it up by acting on an almost overwhelming attraction. He could handle it. Would have to.

With that bracing thought, Sam turned as Delaney tentatively made her way back into the studio. His mind blanked as every ounce of blood he possessed raced back toward his groin. Every hair on his body stood on end and his breath froze in his lungs.

This gown was a long, sheer black silk wonder that left her shoulders bare beneath spaghetti straps, snugged against the full mounds of her breasts, showcased a mere slip of a waist and the generous curves of her hips. Open eyelet work trimmed with red appliqued roses formed a slinky
S
that curled provocatively around one breast, over her abdomen, down her hip and finally landed at the floor-length hem.

Other than her arms and shoulders, and a few peekaboo places down the front, she was covered from head to toe, but as far as Sam was concerned she might as well be naked. All that silky light-blond hair lay pooled over one shoulder and she'd tortured that full bottom lip until only a trace of her lipstick remained. He had never in his life seen a more beautiful woman.

Never.

In addition to all of the weird physical sensations
he'd been subjected to since the moment he laid eyes on her, another more disconcerting feeling suddenly commenced in his chest, making it hard for him to draw a breath. It grew tight, then swelled with some unnamed emotion.

Delaney smiled self-consciously, making her all the more gorgeous. “Okay,” she sighed. “Now where do you want me?”

His tenuous grasp on control almost snapped.
Where did he want her?
Anywhere. Right there. Who cared? The only thing that lay between him and her were about ten feet of hardwood and a couple of scraps of clothing. With a little creative maneuvering, he could take her right there. In a heartbeat.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, forced the erection-provoking vision to subside. “What about over there?” He pointed to the animal print set. At the moment, he didn't trust himself to say more.

Delaney crossed her arms over her chest, inadvertently plumping her generous breasts even more, and moved to the set he'd indicated. She sat stiffly on the couch. “Okay. Now what?”

“Why don't you tell me about something that relaxes you?” Sam suggested, trying to loosen her up again. The tactic had worked before and perhaps a little conversation would make him quit thinking about tracing that peekaboo lace with his tongue. About bending her over the end of that couch and plunging into her sweet, slick heat from behind.

She forced a smile. Looked nervously around the room. “Chocolate relaxes me.”

He chuckled. So those rumors were true. He'd heard of her legendary chocoholism as well as a couple of interesting tidbits about her office. He'd heard that her inner sanctum was crammed full of antiques, was decorated in shades red, rose and pale pink and had been designed to look like the inside of a jewelry box. He couldn't satisfy his curiosity about the one, but he could the other.

“Any particular kind of chocolate?” he asked as he lined up a spectacular shot.

“No, just plain unadulterated chocolate. No nuts, no caramel, no nougat.” She grinned and arched a brow. “Just chocolate.”

Sam took the shot and instinctively knew this frame would be his favorite. That gently curved, innocently provocative smile combined with the come-hither brow was awesome. With effort, he swallowed. “That was a gorgeous shot.”

“Really?”

“Really. Tell me about something else that relaxes you.”

She gave him another cheeky grin. “Sorry, don't know you well enough.”

Sam fired off a few more frames. Despite the whopping erection swelling out of his briefs, he'd finally hit the zone, wanted to keep the momentum. “Forget that you don't know me. I'm getting some great stuff here.”

She tsked. “I'd hate for you to drop your camera again.”

Irritation rose.
Click, click.
“I won't drop my camera again. Move to the other end of the couch.”

Delaney swung her legs around and did as she was told. Her breasts plumped against the arm of the couch. “Well, if you're sure…”

“I'm sure.”
Click, click, click.

She arched her back and a long stretch of leg peeked from a slit up the side of the gown. Another wicked grin played at the corners of her lips and her gaze once more made a slow head-to-toe inspection of his body. “Well, in that case…nothing relaxes me more than good hard orgasm…but those are really too few and too far between to be dependable. Not like chocolate. It always satisfies me.”

Sam stilled. A bead of sweat abruptly broke out on his upper lip and if he hadn't caught himself, his camera most likely would have tumbled to the floor again. He'd expected her to tell him she liked to cross-stitch, or cuddle up with a good book.

She laughed out loud, a delighted chuckle that bubbled up her throat and hit a chord deep inside him. “Wow. I did it again. I shocked you.” She sounded so damned pleased with herself, it was all Sam could do not to laugh.

He grinned, felt a blush actually creep into his cheeks. He ducked his head and passed a hand slowly over his face. “Yes, you did.”

“I can't believe I said that,” she marveled, sud
denly embarrassed. Her cheeks pinkened adorably. “I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I've done a lot of things lately that have been totally out of character.”

“Well, save them for the next set,” Sam told her. “I've run out of film again. You've got one more outfit, right?”

Still smiling, she seemed lost in her own private thoughts. “Yeah, one more. I'll be right back.”

One more. Thank God. Then she would leave and he wouldn't have to worry about the “quickening”…or possibly ruining his perfectly good reputation for being a professional—or possibly his future—by sleeping with her.

If this torture session didn't end soon, Sam didn't know whether he'd be able to control himself. He'd been battling his exaggerated hormones for the past hour, and frankly he was beginning to suspect that this was simply a war he couldn't win. But it was one he knew he couldn't afford to lose.

 

D
ELANEY CHANGED INTO
the final outfit, a blush satin baby doll teddy, as quickly as possible and didn't allow herself the luxury of looking in the mirror. Her modesty would rear its ugly head again and she'd lose every bit of ground she'd managed to gain during this experience. She was still self-conscious of her body, but nothing like the claustrophobic sensation of dread that she usually suffered from.

Sam had kept her talking so much that she'd barely had time to notice what she was or wasn't
wearing. He'd drawn her out, made her say things that she'd never dreamed would come out of her mouth. Mortification burned her cheeks.
An orgasm relaxed her?
Where on earth had that come from? What had made her say that? Obviously, she'd tapped into some sort of repressed alter ego when she'd decided to embrace her feelings instead of repressing them. When she'd undergone an attitude adjustment.

And really, why not? What difference did what she said to this man make? Her dirty laundry had been aired to all and sundry for the past several years. What could she honestly say that would embarrass her anymore than what had already happened to her? When she looked at it that way, it was really rather liberating, Delaney decided with a small smile.