Of course, that particular word could also be a portent that this was a very bad idea.
That, however, wasn’t a possibility that Wyatt wanted to consider. Not now, when everything had suddenly turned his way. When the woman who had been his muse for all these years was not only back in his life, she was in his show.
More important, she was in his bed. Or, at least, she would be. And damn soon, too.
He knew it might not last. That she might be interested only in using him to push past her fears. That when the show ended, she might simply walk away, and once again he’d be left only with her memory.
He knew all that, but he didn’t care. Because not only was he selfish enough to want her any way he could get her, he was also arrogant enough to believe that he could keep her.
And, frankly, he was sentimental enough to believe that the bond that had developed between them that summer had never been severed. Frayed, maybe. But it was still there, and Wyatt intended to follow it back to her heart.
“Wyatt?” Her hands were so tight on the steering wheel that he feared she’d bend the thing. Nerves, he knew, but he was damn proud of her for pushing through. “What do you want me to do?”
He couldn’t hide his smile, and when he met her eyes and her cheeks bloomed pink, they both laughed out loud.
“Maybe I should rephrase that,” she said.
“Baby, I think you phrased it just fine.”
Her blush deepened, and damned if the reaction didn’t drive him absolutely crazy. Didn’t make him want to drag her over the gearshift and kiss her senseless.
Bottom line? He wanted her. Plain and simple. More than that, though, he wanted to help her. To show her the power in pleasure. To help her break free from her father’s bullshit chains and be like the women pictured on his walls.
And it wasn’t just that sensual confidence he wanted for her. He also yearned to see her finally follow her dream. To dance, if not on a stage, then in life. Free and on fire, the way she was when he’d watched her through the studio window.
He wanted all of that, and more.
“What do I want?” he repeated. “Right now, I want you in my studio in front of my camera. I want you on that bed, your eyes wide. Your lips parted. Your skin flushed. I want to watch you. I want to take thousands of pictures of you. And then, Kelsey, I want to touch you.”
He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek as he did so. “What do you want?”
“Um, what you said is good. Yeah. I think that’ll do just fine.”
He chuckled. “I think you better let me drive.”
“Right. Good plan.”
She slid out of the car, and he did the same. Once he was behind the wheel and they were back on the road, he glanced sideways at her, noting the way the knit skirt fell almost to her ankles.
She caught him looking and smiled.
He indicated the skirt. “So what are you wearing under that?”
To her credit, her blush didn’t bloom too deep. “Well, duh. What do you think I have on?”
“I can think of a thousand things. And nothing,” he said. “You tell me.”
“Underwear.”
“Show me.” He recalled in intimate detail the panties she’d worn the night of the party, and he expected that she hadn’t strayed far from those simple white briefs.
“Pardon me?”
“Take off your panties,” he clarified, working very hard to keep his voice even. On the one hand, her reaction was adorable. On the other hand, his jeans had become uncomfortably snug.
“Umm.”
He hit the brake at a four-way stop, then turned to look at her. “We had a deal. This will only work if you follow the rules and trust me.”
“I do. But . . .”
“What?”
She swallowed, the only sign that she was nervous as she looked him in the eye and said, “It’s just that I don’t see a camera or a bed.”
Damn.
“I always have a camera,” he countered. “Even if it’s only on my phone. But you make a fair point,” he continued, before she could argue. “So I’ll let you decide. You can wait until we get to the studio to do what I say, or you can take your panties off right now.”
“I get to decide?”
He nodded casually, knowing he’d moved too fast. This was new territory for her, and while he was happy to play erotic games, he needed to remember exactly who he was playing with. “Absolutely. Totally up to you.”
“Okay, then,” she said. And when she reached under her skirt and managed to discreetly remove a pair of red lace panties, he just about drove the damn car off the road. Because not only had she just surprised the shit out of him by yanking them off, but because he knew what that really meant—that this was about them. About Kelsey and Wyatt. And not just about the job.
And that one factoid made him as hard as steel.
“Should I just leave them here?” she asked, smiling sweetly as she hooked them over the rear view mirror.
“You know you’re not playing fair.”
“Maybe not,” she countered, her face lit with pleasure. “But I like the way it feels to finally be in the game.”
24
In Antelope Valley, I’d felt bold and in control, the sensation of cutting loose and racing Blue down the open road fueling my confidence.
Driving back through the canyon, I’d felt sexy and clever, delighting in my ability to not only surprise Wyatt, but to light that fire of passion in his eyes.
But now, in Santa Monica, all of my strength and confidence is fading, replaced by a flutter of nerves that has me tapping my foot and twisting my skirt in my hand.
And the closer we get to Wyatt’s studio, the more nervous I become. Because I’m not just going to be on display for Wyatt, but for the world. And even though I admire those women who already hang on his walls, I can’t help but hear my father’s voice like a low drone in my ear. An early warning system of some approaching doom that I could have prevented if only I’d been a good girl, the way I was supposed to be.
Wyatt’s studio has access to a multi-level parking garage, and once he kills the engine, he turns to me, frowning slightly. “I lost you somewhere, didn’t I?”
I shake my head and try to conjure a smile. “I’m right here. Really. It’s just nerves.” That, at least, isn’t a lie. “Just the thought of being in front of a camera like that.”
He doesn’t answer for a second, and I’m not sure if he believes me or not. But then he smiles gently and squeezes my hand. “You’ll do great. You already did, remember?”
I laugh. “Yeah, but then I ran.”
“A valid point,” he concedes. “But you’re not going to do that this time.”
“No,” I promise. “I won’t.”
I mean it, too. But that doesn’t still the butterflies in my stomach.
The parking structure exits onto the street, and so instead of entering through the alley and the studio door, we go in through the gallery. It’s a retail space from which Wyatt sells his work, and the walls are covered with stunning landscapes, vivid seascapes, and beautiful architectural shots.
“These are amazing,” I say.