“Just for the opening. In fact, just for part of the opening. Then you can leave the stage and we’ll use a video projection.”
He turns to face me, and I can see that his mind is whirring, visions of how to bring this show off racing through his head. “What do you think?”
“I—” I shake my head, trying to take all this in. “I think I’m a little overwhelmed.”
He laughs, then nods. “Right. Sorry. I’ve been living this project for almost two years now. I get a little carried away.”
“That’s okay. I like it.” The words escape before I can think about them, surprising both of us. He meets my eyes, his own narrowed with thought.
“I call the show A Woman In Mind.”
I consider that, then smile. “I like that, too.” I lift my hands and make air quotes. “W. Royce presents, A Woman In Mind. Did the idea start with a particular woman?”
“It did,” he says slowly, sounding a little surprised that I asked.
“I thought maybe. You’d mentioned strong women earlier, and I know you’re close to your grandmother. And goodness knows her story is amazing. I can’t really imagine a more confident woman.”
“I didn’t think you knew that much about her. You told me back then you’d seen her movies, but—”
He cuts himself off, and I realize that we haven’t really talked about “back then” at all.
“I’ve been reading about the Golden Age of Hollywood,” I say to fill the awkward silence. “Because, you know. I live here, and I love classic movies.” Mentally I kick myself. I had no intention of revealing that I’d gone on a spree twelve years ago, reading all about his grandmother and her movies. As if somehow that could bring Wyatt back to me, even if only in my fantasies. “What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing. Not a big deal at all. And no. She’s an inspiration, of course. But she’s not the woman I imagined.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t continue. And for some reason, I don’t want to ask. I think maybe I’m afraid of the answer.
“Right,” he says after a moment. He rubs his hands together.
“I guess we should get started.”
“It’s almost two in the morning,” I protest. “You were really serious about starting tonight?”
He indicates the bed. “I see you there, spread out and sleepy. Consider it method acting.”
“Sleepy?” I lift a brow. “Doesn’t sound very sexy.”
“Trust me,” he says. “And take off your clothes.”
13
Wyatt almost laughed at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Kelsey’s face.
“Erotic photos, remember? Did you think they were all going to be lingerie and lace?”
She wrinkled her nose in a way that looked just a little too adorable. “Um, kinda.”
He was torn between laughing at her naiveté and pulling her into his arms to reassure her.
He chose a middle ground, and kept his arms clamped firmly at his sides. Ever since she’d walked through his door, he’d been fighting the desire to touch her, to reassure her. Hell, to just fall back into old patterns and talk to her.
The bottom line? He missed her.
But what he missed was a fantasy. A Kelsey that she’d once projected as part of a teenage game. A sexual long con.
And even if there had been a tiny bit of the Kelsey he thought he knew hiding beneath the surface, he was certain that the years had hardened her. Any girl who could play the kind of games she’d played back then couldn’t hang on to any thread of innocent sweetness.
He’d loved a girl who’d been smart and sweet and sensual and exciting. But that girl had never really existed. She was an illusion.
An illusion that had haunted him for years, and that he was now trying to recreate with his camera.
There. He’d said it.
Kelsey wasn’t just a girl, she was The Girl. The one he’d always had in the back of his mind. The one he didn’t even realize had been his inspiration until she’d walked through his door. All along, she’d been his muse, and he hadn’t even known.
And now that she was here, beautiful and tempting and all grown up, he couldn’t help but think that it had been a mistake to conjure her at all. Because she was too damn tempting, and it was taking all of his strength to harden his heart.
“You’re serious?” she pressed. “That’s how we’re going to start this. I just drop my jeans and panties, rip off my shirt and bra, and then stand here on display for you? No easing into it? No letting me even get the feel of being in front of a camera?”
He considered saying yes, but she looked so damned perturbed that he took pity on her. He hooked his thumb toward a door on the far side of the room. “There should be a robe on the back of the door. Undress in there, put it on, come back out here.” He glanced at his watch. “We really need to get started.”
He could practically see the battle raging across her face. Argue or change. And he was almost disappointed when she tossed her head and marched silently to the bathroom.
He waited impatiently, then tried to look professionally bland when she emerged from the room in the fluffy, white robe that she’d cinched so tight it was a wonder she could breathe.
She lifted a brow in what was an obvious question, and he pointed to the bed in reply. She headed there, then climbed on. The four-poster was tall, and she sat on the edge, her feet swinging like a child, her discomfort obvious.
With any other model, he’d talk to her. Make her feel comfortable. Try to soothe her into the role.
He knew he should do that with Kelsey. After all, she was the model he wanted. And yet he couldn’t quite make himself do it. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, he wanted to see her squirm. Petty, yes. But he’d meant it when he said he wanted to punish her. Hell, he’d wanted that for years. The desire to punish was almost as intense as the basic, unflinching desire to simply have her in his arms again.
But that was him thinking with his cock, not his head. Because Kelsey Draper was bad news. He’d learned that the hard way, and Wyatt wasn’t the kind of guy who made the same mistake twice.
He had no intention of using the tripod to take these shots, and yet he bent over and fiddled with the height and angle anyway, just so he’d have something to do while he got his head together. Because as much as he hated to admit it, she was making him more than a little crazy. Even something as simple as seeing her sitting so perfectly straight with the oddest mixture of trepidation and anticipation coloring her expression. He looked at her, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or spank her or both.
All he really knew was that he wanted answers.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to open wounds that had healed long ago.
Except, of course, she’d opened them again simply by walking through his door.
Shit.