“Well, I’d toast to your dry crotch, but I don’t know that you have one—do you, Red?”
“That’s lovely,” she said, taking a small sip of her wine. “I’m sure former President Preston is going to be just thrilled when he learns he hired the country’s crudest manwhore to photograph his daughter’s wedding.”
“Is that why you accepted the job?” he asked, enjoying the way the smoky bourbon mingled with the cinnamon aftertaste of his Tic Tac. “Fame?”
“Honestly?” Leah lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. I mean, I had a free weekend, so I likely would have jumped at any job that Alexis threw my way, but only one this high profile—and high paying—could coax me into working alongside you.”
Jason sat back and smirked. “I love that Alexis didn’t give you any warning.”
A little line appeared between Leah’s angular eyebrows, and he knew it pissed her off royally that she’d been blindsided at brunch last weekend, whereas he’d come in with a bit of forewarning.
“She was trying to before someone had to go and show up early,” Leah muttered.
“Maybe she just knows that if given the chance, you’ll avoid hard situations. You’re a runner,” he stated simply, idly spinning his glass on the table.
She touched her fingers to her temple, eyes closing for a moment. “Can we just . . . not? Can we not do this? For the rest of the weekend can we just avoid each other as much as possible and limit our conversation to who’s going to photograph what?”
Jason felt a stab of anger low and hot in his stomach. After a year, he should have written her off—he should have been able to put their fling behind him.
And yet seeing her now, that familiar red ponytail that he’d used to wrap around his fist to pull her to him . . .
He fished out another Tic Tac. Studied her.
“I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the weekend,” he said slowly, hating the way her eyes flashed in relief at the thought of not having to deal with him. “If—”
Just like that, her relief turned to wariness, and he felt an odd thrill, knowing that he could still do this to her. That he could still unnerve her as easily as she unnerved him just by breathing.
“If what?” Leah asked, eyes narrowed.
“If you’ll have dinner with me.”
She was already shaking her head no when he reached across the table, laying his hand alongside hers so his thumb could rub along her little finger. His pulse leapt. That simple, harmless touch, and he was seconds away from being hard.
And he knew from the way her breathing quickened that she felt it, too.
Whatever it was.
“Come on, Red,” he said, moving his finger just briefly so the edge of his nail nudged her knuckle. “Wedding events don’t start until the crack of dawn tomorrow. Give me tonight.”
Leah slowly pulled her hand away from his, dropping both hands to her lap, and Jason swallowed his disappointment. It was time to get over her. Time to stop thinking that she might ever—
“Okay.”
His head snapped up, his eyes locking on her green eyes. “Okay?”
She calmly lifted her wineglass, not breaking eye contact as she took a sip. “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you, but as a working dinner. Not a date. I’m convinced we can figure out how to work together in spite of our thorny past.”
He resisted the urge to pump his fist in triumph, and Leah lifted a warning finger. “Again, dinner. I’m not sleeping with you.”
Jason picked up his bourbon and threw it back in one swallow before standing and grabbing his bag. Before Leah had a chance to react, he’d moved toward her, shamelessly invading her personal space as he bent down and placed his lips near her ear.
“Sweetheart, by the time I’m done with you, sleep will be the last thing on your mind. Guarantee it.”
The first time Leah had seen Jason Rhodes, she’d lost a little part of her soul.
Or at the very least, a little part of her dignity.
Never in her thirty-one years had she encountered a man who’d been able to turn her on just by looking at her.
But then she’d walked into the camera shop on a random Tuesday, and just like that, she’d become one of those women.
The kind that wanted sex all the time, wanted it now, and wanted it with him.
The problem was . . .
Leah was far from the only woman who had that response to Jason Rhodes.
The man was pure fantasy material. Tan skin, perfect white teeth that were displayed to perfection in a cocky, come-hither grin, ever-present stubble that gave him a just-crawled-out-of-bed look. He had black hair that he kept short, likely a holdover from his military days, and his eyes were the color of the richest, most decadent dark chocolate.
Jason Rhodes had been out of her league then and now, and yet . . .
And yet here he was, wining and dining her as though she mattered. As though he hadn’t been doing this very thing last week with some other woman, and wouldn’t be doing it next week with yet another woman.
No, the danger in Jason wasn’t just that he was charming, although he was—hopelessly so.
The problem was he made her feel special—wanted.