Wicked Grind (Stark World 1)

She was a walking contradiction. Sensual yet demure. Sexy yet sweet.

A woman who one minute could look like a cover model, and the next like she'd never done anything more glamorous than walk the dog.

She was hotter than sin, and at the same time she was as cold as ice.

She was Kelsey Draper, and he hadn't spoken to her since the summer before his senior year, and as far as he was concerned, that was a damn good thing.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him, and her lips twitched in a tremulous smile. "Oh," was all she said.

And in that moment, Wyatt knew that he was well and truly screwed.

2

Oh.

The word seems to hang above us inside a cartoon bubble, and I mentally cringe. Ten years at an exclusive girls' school, an undergraduate degree in early education, minors in both dance and English, and the best I can come up with is Oh?

And, yes, I know I should cut myself a little slack. After all, I was caught off guard. Not by the stunning and sensual art displayed in front of me, but by the man who created it. A man who's the reason my palms are sweaty, my nipples tight, and my pulse beating a staccato rhythm in my neck.

A man I once knew as Wyatt Segel.

A man I was completely unprepared to see.

Which means that Nia has some serious explaining to do. "Just some photographer looking for models. My agent says the pay is awesome, and considering how much cash you need by the end of the month, it's worth a shot. He goes by W. Royce, but I've never heard of the guy. Then again, who cares so long as he pays?"

Never heard of the guy? Oh, please. Nia's a model; Wyatt's a photographer. She must have known he'd taken a stage name. And then she went and set me up.

Honestly, I just might have to kill her.

First, though, I have to get this job. My brother Griffin's a fourth-degree burn survivor, and I have less than a month to come up with fifteen thousand dollars in order to enroll him in trials for an innovative new clinical protocol. Not an easy task on my kindergarten teacher salary, and even the additional dance classes I've added to my summer teaching schedule don't come close to taking up the monetary slack.

Which is why when my best friend Nia told me about the audition, it seemed worth the shot. Granted, I took some convincing. And I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of putting myself on display. But I psyched myself up. Desperate times, and all that.

"My agent booked me for a lingerie shoot," she'd told me over drinks on the balcony of her beachfront condo yesterday. "A last minute gig. I guess the photographer's pushing up against his deadline. Anyway, I think you should go in my place. His name's W. Royce, and I can text you the address and time."

My stomach lurched at the thought. "Are you crazy? I can't do that!"

Nia sighed dramatically. "Why? Because it would be wrong?" She put finger quotes around the last word.

"Actually, yes," I said adamantly. Nia constantly teases me about what she calls my elevated sense of scruples. She's convinced that I'm too staid and regimented. That I need to deviate from my safe little routine and cut loose sometimes. But she's one hundred percent wrong about that.

I know better than anyone the price you pay when you break the rules.

"He'll be expecting a drop-dead gorgeous woman who oozes sensuality," I said pragmatically. "And that's really not me."

"Oh, honey, please. We both know you're gorgeous. And where else are you going to get that kind of money so quickly? Especially since you're too stubborn to borrow from me."

"You're assuming I'll get the job." Unlike Nia, who's been modeling since she was seven, I have absolutely zero experience.

"Did I mention you're gorgeous? Just because you never flaunt i

t, doesn't mean it's not true."

I crossed my arms to hide an involuntary shudder. She's wrong, of course. Not about me being pretty--I am. And that's a cross I've had to bear my entire life.

No, she was wrong about the rest of it. Because I did flaunt it. Maybe not much--and only once--but that was enough, and I opened a Pandora's Box of badness that I'm still trying to close.

I licked my lips, my thoughts turning to my brother. That photographer might be pushing a deadline, but so was I. And if there was even the tiniest chance that this job could get me the cash I needed, then didn't I at least owe it to Griffin to try? Maybe under normal circumstances, lingerie modeling would be too racy for my sensibilities. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.