Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

A half-dozen beautiful women lounged by the Venus pool at Caesars, closed for a few hours for the shoot. One rested elegantly on a lounge chair, small scraps of bathing-suit fabric covering her long, tanned legs. Another leaned provocatively against the Roman column in the center of the secluded pool, water lapping at her feet, her face tilted toward the sun. A leggy blonde was perched on the edge of the pool, absently splashing the crystal blue waters.

Around them fanned a sea of people. Women in black jeans and tanks stood by with makeup cases, ready to powder a shiny nose at a moment’s notice. Attendants carried towels and robes on their fingertips, poised to cover the models the second the camera stopped clicking. A man with a trim beard and skinny plaid pants seemed to preside over the shoot.

The pools at Caesars Palace were lush with palm trees, and rich with stately Roman architecture and statuary. The Venus pool was the most exclusive of all—it was topless, though today all boobs were covered.

Barely.

The whole scene was such a stark contrast to Michael’s morning. After his run, he’d met with Curtis, who operated a gentlemen’s club that Michael’s company handled security for. Curtis wanted to beef up the services, given the increased gang activity across town. That was something Michael had been hearing from many clients these days. Even his brother Colin had recently helped to strengthen security around the community center where he volunteered and his girlfriend worked. Caution was the new watchword, as the Royal Sinners and their crimes made businesses wary. After Michael’s meeting with Curtis, he’d finished a walk-through of a bank that had hired more protection in light of some recent robberies.

Funny how he’d gone from armed guards in aviator shades to perfect tens soaking in the rays.

He was liking the way the afternoon was shaping up to be much better.

He’d told the intern—at least, he guessed the young woman with purple hipster glasses, jet-black hair, and a clipboard, who’d done her best impression of a sentry at the pool area door, was an intern—that he was here to see Annalise. The gatekeeper checked the list, found his name, and waved him in. Michael picked a potted palm tree on the terrace, out of the way of the models and the photographic entourage. He could have stared at the blonde, let his eyes travel across the wispy brunette, or roamed his gaze over the chestnut-haired beauty floating on a gold raft.

Nope. His eyes were fixed on the redhead, watching her work. Such a familiar image—Annalise viewing the world through her lens, snap, snap, snapping. Strong arms raised her camera, hands working the shutter, her eye capturing the women in repose. She wore jeans and a black tank top. Her red hair was swept high on her head, some sort of chopstick stabbed through it.

After several minutes she stopped shooting, and the bearded guy in the odd pants clapped and told the models to take a short break. “Get a bottle of water. Have a salad. Be back in twenty minutes. You were all amazing. Perfect. Brilliant. Gorgeous,” he said, then blew kisses to the bikini-clad women who scattered from their posts. The man draped an arm around Annalise, and she nodded several times as he talked quietly to her.

The man then joined the models, who were flanked by attendants, while Annalise scanned the pool area. Soon, her eyes landed on Michael and lit up, beaming at him. His heart slammed against his chest at her reaction. She weaved through lounge chairs, around the edge of the pool, and soon stood face-to-face with him, then lips-to-cheek. She whispered, “You’re here.”

She sounded amazed that he’d made it.

“Did you think I wouldn’t show?” he asked, regarding her curiously.

She shrugged as a small smile of admission crept across her lips. “Maybe.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Why would you think I wouldn’t show?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off as she raised her chin, meeting his eyes. Her gaze went soft, almost vulnerable. “It’s just that…you never know.”

He nodded his understanding. Yeah, he got that. You never knew if someone would show or if something would derail them, or if a fate would change in the blink of an eye.

She grabbed her camera bag from a nearby table under a big yellow umbrella. He followed her. “Thanks for inviting me,” he said, looking at her over the tops of his shades. “Was it a good shoot?”

She raised her face, and little wispy tendrils of red waves moved with her. “It was. These women are terrific. They love the camera and the camera loves them. It makes my job easy, having such talent to work with.”

He smiled at her comment. It would be simple for her to say something catty, to toss a quippy one-liner about a too-skinny model. Instead, she’d done the opposite—praised them, not for their beauty, but for their ability.