Exposed to You (8 page)

“And I couldn’t believe you had actually sent it to me!”

He smiled before lifting his glass to his lips. He had a
beautiful mouth.

“But you didn’t like it,” he said in a way that implied
he believed the opposite, that mouth of his twitching again. Shivers ran down
my neck and I picked up the camera to distract him and myself.

The most recent picture was the first to display. It was
of me half-sitting, half-leaning against the bed, peeking up at him shyly. My
cheeks were flushed and my hair was flowing over my shoulders wildly. Sexily. I
felt my mouth fall open and quickly closed it. The mixture of sexuality and
innocence surprised me. Was that really how I looked?

“You’re very sexy,” he said softly, noticing my
expression. “It’s good for you to see that.”

I swallowed and scrolled backwards, knowing what the
next picture would be. I could barely look at it; it made me feel a variety of
emotions I wasn’t very comfortable feeling, but one of them was dirty.

“I want to delete the spanking ones,” I said quickly.

Dallon nodded, leaning forward to point to a button
beside the screen. “That one,” he whispered, his breath on my cheek.

I pressed the button with the trashcan icon and hit OK
to confirm. My heart was beating rapidly. Relief instantly flowed through me
when I saw the next picture was of me lying on the bed. It was pretty innocent:
just me in a bra and skirt, one hand on my stomach and the other on the bed
beside me. The type of picture that might be on the front of a magazine.

That’s when it struck me: Dallon was good. He had
talent.

“You’re a good photographer,” I told him, scrolling
through to the earlier pictures.

“And you’re a good model. You’re a natural.”

You’re just saying that
,
I wanted to say, but part of me knew that he wasn’t. It was obvious scrolling
through the photos that I was able to pull off ‘the look’. Even though I’d felt
nervous and embarrassed during the shoot, I didn’t look it; I was surprised at
how well I’d done.

 I was lying on my back expressionlessly, lips slightly
parted, staring through the lens as if into the viewer’s soul.

I continued to scroll through, growing more surprised by
the photos he’d taken. I’d assumed they’d all be like the lewd one he’d sent
me, but most of them were truly artistic: a close up of a long neck, my face
and long hair over bare shoulders. When I looked at them, I really did feel
like I was beautiful.

I handed him back the camera. “You can keep the rest.”

“Thank you,” he said, putting it away in his briefcase
again. Then he leaned over the table toward me, put his hands together on its
surface and looked deep into my eyes. “I mean it, Amy. Thank you for giving me
your permission to keep them and the opportunity to photograph you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said embarrassedly and glanced away
before continuing. It was obvious he was waiting for the answer to his
question. It was the reason he was trying to get to know me and make me trust
him. I had to remember that, despite how I might feel.

“You asked if I will give it a shot, and as much as
seeing your pictures surprised me, I can’t do what you want.”

“You can’t work for me?”

 I shook my head. “I would feel like a prostitute.
Especially moving into your guest bedroom.”

Dallon nodded and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “That
was crass. I didn’t think that through very well.” He sighed, ran a hand
through his hair. “Despite my experiences with women, I feel like I have very
little experience with women.”

I smiled a small smile and took a sip of my wine. He
wasn’t doing so bad, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“I can see how you took it that way. The thing is, I
don’t view you that way—I don’t view any woman that way—but I wanted you to be
there all the time. I was selfish.”

“I’m kind of surprised you wanted that, to be honest. I
mean, I thought you were the type of man that was with a lot of women and
wouldn’t want to make them breakfast, let alone have them move in.”

He narrowed his eyes at me again and I wished I hadn’t
spoken. The wine was making me too bold. I waited for him to speak, feeling
both uncomfortable and needy.

“This was different. I wanted the situation to work
between us and had no idea how to go about it. I didn’t originally plan for
anyone to move in, but at the end of the session, the idea just... popped into
my mind.”

This surprised me. I’d honestly believed that having a
live-in plaything had been his plan all along.

“I wanted to take more photos that night, but I knew
that I had to stop. We hadn’t signed a contract and I was afraid I’d gone too
far. I should say, I
knew
I’d gone too far. I was worried you might
run.”

I looked down, grateful that he’d admitted that. I
hadn’t thought he’d seemed worried about me running at the time—in fact, I’d
thought he’d seemed arrogant—but now I was starting to wonder whether I had
just made assumptions about Dallon King based on his job, looks, and the
confident and commanding way he held himself. He’d appeared to me to be a man
that was used to getting what he wanted and had life work out for him. I’d
assumed women didn’t turn him down.

“And then you did,” he said, finishing both of our last
thoughts.

I bit my lip. It felt like he was waiting for an
apology, or maybe I felt like I should, but I didn’t. I shifted in my chair
before finally responding with another question I had been dying to ask.

“Is that one of the reasons you’ve been so persistent?
Because you’re not used to getting turned down?”

He smirked. “If only I were that easy to figure out.”

I smiled. I had to agree with that.

“So, your place,” he said, changing his demeanor and
effectively ending the tension that had been building between us. “Do you have
a picture of it?”

I would have lied, but I felt like my phone was burning
a hole in my purse, and we had promised to be honest. Reluctantly, I dug
through it and pulled out my phone. I found the picture, but when he reached to
take the phone from me, I pulled back suddenly.

His brows shot up quizzically.

“You have to promise not to get all judgmental about
it.”

He looked offended. “Why would I do that?”

“Because your place is gorgeous, and I am going to be
living in a studio apartment in Brooklyn. Besides, Sam already gave me the lecture.”

“Hmm,” he said, taking the phone from me. “That doesn’t
make me feel too good about your new place. You should work on your openers.”

I watched as he scrolled through the three pictures I
had, his face impassive. Maybe he sensed me staring at him and had turned on
his poker face.

“Okay,” he said and handed me back my phone.

My mouth fell open. I wanted to punch him. “That’s all
you’re going to say? You’re not even going to
pretend
to like it?”

He shrugged. “Why would I?”

I crossed my arms. “Because it’s the courteous and
socially acceptable thing to do.”

He splayed his hands and sat back in his seat. “You know
how I feel. I’d rather you live at my place.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

We stared each other down, me glaring and his gaze like
steel. He’d admitted he knew it was crass, and yet he made no attempt to hide
that he still wanted it. If we lived in a different century, we could be having
a conversation about me becoming his mistress.

I had a feeling he wasn’t going to back down.

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” I said, standing
up and picking up my purse.

“As you wish. Arnold will take us.”

“Us?” I froze.

“Yes, I’ll accompany you home.”

“I’ll be okay, thank you.” I turned quickly, slinging my
purse on my shoulder and starting toward the door.

“Wait,” he said in his commanding tone. I paused and
heard him push back his chair, and then he was in front of me, blocking my
path. “You’re not taking the subway at this time of night. It isn’t safe.”

Oh wow, he was good. I rolled my eyes for his benefit,
but somewhere I was secretly pleased. Whether or not it was for the right
reasons, it felt nice to have someone worry about me. I watched his lips as he
made the call and wondered again what it would be like to kiss him. He was
probably a very good kisser.

Dallon snapped his phone closed. “I don’t have to
accompany you, but I’m going to stick around until the car comes and make sure
you’re safe.”

“Okay.” I rolled my eyes again.

He frowned. “Hasn’t a boyfriend ever made sure you’ve
gotten home safely before? Taken care of you?”

I glanced away, betraying that no, I’d never had a
boyfriend like that.

Dallon grunted. “Makes sense.”

I knew what he was getting at—that I was distrusting and
skeptical—but I wasn’t going to let him get to me. “Thank you for looking out
for me.”

He gave me a small nod. Together, we left the bar and
stood on the street, waiting for the car. Suddenly it felt like we had just met
again, not like we’d spent the last hour or so talking over drinks and getting
to know one another. The realization saddened me.

“When do you move into your new place?” He asked to
break the silence.

“Tomorrow.”

“Has your friend—Sam—moved out?”

“She did a few days ago.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you need any help?” he asked
it in a tone that sounded like he either didn’t want to or wasn’t sure if he
should offer.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Arnold arrived and Dallon opened the door for me so I
could climb in. Instead, I gave him a curt nod and said, “Have a good night,”
before turning and walking away. Behind me, I heard him curse softly. I’d only
taken a few steps when he appeared in front of me, his arm on my elbow.

“Don’t be infuriating. Get in.”

“Let me go, Mr. King,” I said, my eyes shooting daggers
into his. For some reason, I felt like I could burst into tears on the spot.
“I’m taking the subway.”

His cheek twitched, but he released me. “Please get in
the car. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ve been taking it for a while now. I’ll be fine.” I
moved past him, conscious of the way he balled his hands into fists, as if
holding himself back. But he let me pass.

“Goodnight, Miss Clair,” I heard him say over his
shoulder.

When I got home, I called Jeremy.

“Hey, Amy! How’s it going?”

“You told him where I work?”

There was a moment of silence on the line before he
responded, sounding guilty. “Yeah, I kind of did. I take it you’re not
pleased?”

I sighed and sat down on my bed, wrapped the covers
around me. “He showed up.”

“I kind of expected he would.”

I frowned. “Why’d you tell him?”

“It wasn’t like I meant to. We just had a meeting with
their firm and I was making small talk with him. I told him we have a mutual
friend and then he started asking questions about you.” Jeremy paused for a
moment. “He seemed very interested in you.”

So Jeremy had used me to make conversation with Dallon
King. I couldn’t really fault him for that; he didn’t know what had happened
between us.

“What’s going on with you two, Amy? Why is it such a big
deal he went to your work?”

I sighed. “It’s nothing, Jer. I’m sorry for freaking
out. I was just surprised and Dallon King can be… pushy.”

I could practically hear Jeremy’s smile. “That’s because
he wants you. It’s Dallon King’s way.”

I was glad we were having this conversation over the
phone so he couldn’t see me blush. “Yeah, well, nothing is going to happen.”

Jeremy laughed. “Sure, Amy. Look, I’ve got to go—I’m out
with Isobel’s friends. I take it you’re not coming by anymore?”

I had been so caught up in my own drama, I’d forgotten
Jeremy had wanted me to meet his new girlfriend that night. Who was the bad
friend now?

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry, Jer—I totally forgot when he
showed. And then we went for drinks. Another time, okay?”

 Jeremy chuckled. “All right, Amy. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I hit END and ran a hand through my hair, let it fall
around my shoulders messily. My phone pinged and I opened my text messages to
find them empty before checking my email.

Dearest A,

Thank you again for letting me keep the
pictures. I’m lonely without the other ones, however ;).

Thank you also for spending the evening with
me. Please let me know that you made it home all right,

—D.

I blushed as an image of Dallon King with his trademark,
piercing blue eyes appeared in my mind, winking and telling me that he missed
the other pictures. I swallowed hard. With shaky hands, I opened up my email
and looked at the picture he’d sent me, one of the two that I had deleted. It
was now the only copy of the spanking photos that existed—if I could trust that
Dallon had really deleted the trail, that is.