Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

He kept his focus on the sophisticated camera he worked to install on a tripod. “Let’s.”

“You said you’d make sure my face wasn’t in any of the pictures and you were going to Photoshop out the tattoo.”

“Yeah. I’ll crop out or airbush anything in the raw pictures.” He had a remote in his hand. There was a flash from the rigged lights on either side of the backdrop, and the sharp snap of the camera’s shutter.

“I’m going to need to make sure that’s done,” I said. “If you’re not correcting the photos tonight, I’m going to hold onto the memory card until you can.”

That got his attention. “What?”

“You seem like a trustworthy guy, but I can’t have a naked picture get posted and haunt me the rest of my life.”

He looked moderately offended. “Regan, that won’t happen.”

“I know it won’t, because those pictures stay in my possession until you’ve altered them.”

He put his hands on his hips, hinting at his frustration, but . . . tough shit. I’d worked too hard to risk my career over a bad decision. And if I was honest with myself, this night was going to be one really bad decision. Hopefully so wrong and naughty, I’d never feel regret about it.

“Okay,” he said on a sigh, but his expression suddenly brightened. “You’ll have to give me your number, then, so we can arrange a time.”

Shit. “Or we could just do it tonight.”

“No. We’ll be too tired.” He was rather cocky about it. “And there’s been a change in plans. Your cop eyes noticed I didn’t bring any of Paulo’s work in here, right?”

Silas’s mysterious smile made me nervous, and my tone cautious. “I did notice that.”

“Joseph’s birthday is soon. Noemi wanted to have some boudoir pictures taken as a gift.”

It took me a moment to keep up. “And she wants you to shoot them?”

I couldn’t imagine she’d feel comfortable posing for Joseph’s friend, or a man in general. And . . . seriously, brain. Why the fuck was I annoyed at the thought of Noemi posing in lingerie in front of Silas? So what if she was young and beautiful? I barely knew him, and we weren’t together.

“No,” he answered. “I don’t think she’d planned on that. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Joseph found out, and now he wants me to photograph the two of them together.”

Silas’s attention returned to his setup, and he snapped a few more test shots, then studied the screen to check focus or lighting.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not following. What does that have to do with,” I waved my hand toward the backdrop, “all this?”

“I’ve never shot anything like that before. I’d like to practice . . . with you.”

“How—” I got that same sensation I had when going into a meeting underprepared. “We’ll pose together?”

His smile had to be better than the devil’s. “Think you can handle that?”

The challenge in his words got me to hop down off the table. “I’m sure I can.”

“Awesome. I’ve been waiting all day to say this, Regan.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Take off your clothes.”

He’d spun me off guard, and I’d taken a breath before it sank in he’d just issued an order. I didn’t take those from anyone but my superiors, and I opened my mouth to remind him once again—

“Please,” he corrected.

I stood in his dimly lit art studio, my gaze focused on him, and tried to remind myself for the final time I was a foolish, horny woman, and what I was about to do could backfire spectacularly. Yet all I could think about was how quickly I could get his hands on my body. I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on the table.

Silas went to a cabinet of deep drawers and tugged the one open that was labeled “Photography shit.” He retrieved a large wad of white fabric, stepped onto the backdrop, and unfurled it. It was faux fur, like a fluffy bearskin rug. It was spread on the floor, and then he moved back to his camera, checking its placement in the viewscreen.

And when he seemed satisfied, he turned his undivided attention on me, like he didn’t want to miss the show. I grabbed the bottom of my blouse and camisole and lifted up, until I had them off and cast aside. My bra was steel-colored and sheer, barely better than being topless. But he wasn’t looking at my tits.

His heavy eyes followed every curve of the tattoo he’d put on me, and I shuddered under the weight. His expression was engulfed with desire, and thank God he seemed to struggle with it as much as I did mine.