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.
He changed his lens, then changed it back, then realized he couldn't procrastinate any longer. He took the camera off the tripod and went to kneel in front of the bed, taking a series of shots as he moved.
"Probably won't make it in the show," he said, feeling centered again now that he was seeing her through a lens, "but I like it. You look fresh. Innocent." He stood. "It's a study in contrasts," he added, then tilted his head down so he was speaking more to the camera than to her. "We both know that looks can be deceiving."
Even with his head down, he could see the way her hands tensed, clutching the mattress on either side of her. Good. They needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The way she'd deceived him. The brutal game she'd been playing. That bullshit Hollywood game. That goddamned fascination with celebrity.
That was the mindset that had killed his father. And she was a living, breathing reminder.
Not that he needed a reminder. Hell, his life was a reminder. Wasn't that the whole point? Why he was Wyatt Royce now, and not Wyatt Segel? Because he had to prove to his family what his father never could? That he was one of them, even without the name?
"Wyatt?
"Lay back," he ordered, gratified when she complied. But it wasn't quite right, and so he slung the camera over his shoulder, then crossed to the bed, his head tilted as he looked her up and down.
As he watched, she drew a breath, which turned into a yawn.
"Is this boring you?"
"I'm tired," she snapped. "It's well past my bedtime."
"Good. Stretch out. Pretend you're about to sleep."
Her brow furrowed, as if she wasn't certain he was serious. Then she did as he commanded, scooting up and pulling the covers down.
He almost stopped her, but a sudden vision of her naked body entangled in a sheet stopped him. "That's good," he said, leaning over so he could toss the bedspread off. "But I need you to take the robe off."
She did, staying under the sheet the entire time she squirmed out of it, then dropped it on the floor beside the bed.
"You're still just a little too covered."
The thin, red sheet was all the way up to her chin, and she bit her lower lip, her body going perfectly rigid as he drew the sheet down, exposing her neck, then her shoulder, then her breasts. He let his fingers graze her skin as he did, telling himself he was only doing that so that he would drive her a little crazy. After all, this was about sensuality, and he wanted the image to show her arousal.
All of that was true, of course, but the bigger truth was that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel her heat, the way she shivered under his touch. Wanted to know that she was responding to him. That she wanted him.
"Good," he said, when she bit her lip so hard that it turned white, then turned her face away from his. Her cheeks were pink, and her nipples tight. Slowly, he reached down and cupped her breast, then felt himself grow hard when she gasped audibly.
He ran his thumb around her nipple, amused when she squeezed her eyes shut. But that amusement faded to something much more dangerous when she opened her eyes and met his full on, because the expression of longing he saw there just about slayed him.
"Is this punishment?" she asked, and he almost melted on the spot.