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."