Jake slid up next to her. “What do you want?” He put his arm around her shoulder, his lips against her neck and felt her shiver.
“Hotel.” She closed her eyes, curving her neck so he could get closer.
“You have that magazine shoot.”
She groaned. “Blow it off.”
“Only take an hour.”
“Too long.”
“I’d like to watch.”
She opened her eyes. “Okay, but then it’s just you and me.”
“Assuming you don’t change your mind.” It’d kill him for sure if she did.
“Then don’t make me,” she said, licking his ear.
They took the car to a photographic studio where the fashion editor of Now was waiting. He whisked Rielle away to dress for the shoot, leaving Jake to cool his heels watching the photographer set up.
He didn’t want to think too much about what he and Rielle were doing. So many reasons why it was a bad idea, but be damned if he wasn’t going to let it run its course, so long as she still wanted to and there was no predicting what she’d do. The shoot was a time out, a chance to see if the madness was still running free in both of them or if it was just another brain snap, glorious but momentary.
He was having coffee with the photographer when Rielle re-entered the room in a cotton dressing gown. Her makeup was dark and smoky, her lips red, her hair pinned up high and artfully tousled with a host of jewelled butterflies nestled in it.
They positioned her on a plush red velvet 1930s style chaise lounge, in front of a distressed brick wall. The richness of the soft, round-edged lounge contrasted with the scratched rawness of the wall behind it. The robe was discarded. Jake saw a flash of pale flesh. And when the photographer and the editor stepped back, Rielle was naked but for a creamy gold satin sheet falling between her bare legs and held scrunched in one hand over her breasts.
He swallowed hard and reached out for the edge of the wall to steady himself. This wasn’t a time out. It was foreplay.
“Beautiful, darling. Drop your chin, lift your eyes,” said the photographer, down on her knees in front of Rielle. “Gorgeous. Now tilt your head to the left. Let the sheet go, just, ah that’s perfect, just there.” She snapped away furiously, scrambling lightly across the floor boards to change her angle.
“Now give me that look you give your lover when he’s done something especially nice,” she said.
Rielle closed her eyes and let out an audible sigh, her shoulders softened. She leant further forward, let more of the sheet slide through her fingers, showing more of the swell of her breasts, the curve of her shoulders and one hip. She stretched her lips into the softest smile and then opened sleepy, heavy eyes.
“God!” groaned Jake. He bit his tongue to stop articulating his need so blatantly. He imaged that look—sultry, seductive, rip-your-heart-out-hot—was for him. The editor gave him a curious look and moved away, and Jake was glad he’d had enough presence of mind to check the swear word he’d wanted to utter. He thanked heaven Trish Reed had instilled a veneer of good manners in him.
“Perfect,” said the photographer. “Hold that.”
They shot another half dozen poses, each one sexier than the last, a blistering barb sent to test his patience. He couldn’t get Rielle out of here quick enough. While she was changing, the photographer let him see the shots on her computer. He struggled to maintain any semblance of composure. Rielle seemed to be reaching out of each frame and into his heart.
“Did you like that?” she asked when she had dressed again and joined him.
“No,” he rasped. “It was torture.”
She laughed, and it was musical, and like everything about her—driving him mad.
They made it back to the hotel in record speed, trying not to give their driver too much reason to be watching them and not the road. Not succeeding. They all enjoyed the ride.
In Rielle’s big suite there was no turning back, no hesitation and no second thoughts. They came together like fire on ice, scorching, shocking, stinging and melting each other. Rielle’s sharp breaths and high whimpers made Jake all but lose it before they’d even undressed. He couldn’t remember ever being so desperate, so short on control. He was sick with it. Bent all out of regular shape and normal behaviour.
This was happening. Really happening. He’d get to learn Rielle though her body. He’d get to love the rock star and the real girl inside the performance.
And she wanted it as badly as he did.
His touch made her tremble so fiercely her knees collapsed under her, but he held her tight and scooped her up, carrying her the short distance to the bed and throwing her down on it.
“What do you want?” He stood over her, fumbling in the darkened bedroom with the catch on her shoe, his voice tense, crackling with excitement. When he’d asked her that in the car, he’d never expected to end up here. Now he was mad from expectation.