Or he was much too big for it. Chance Hathoway seemed much too large for her small, known world in general.
“No one will be in for probably an hour or two, but if someone does come, I’ll hear the door chimes,” she said, hoping she sounded calm and matter-of-fact. In truth, her heart was beating uncomfortably fast.
He placed his computer on her desk and started hitting a few buttons, his manner focused. The irises of his eyes were hazel flecked with gold, the warm tones perfectly suited to his sandy blond hair. While his skin, eyes and the hair on his head possessed tawny hues, his thick eyelashes, the hair on his muscular forearms and the light scruff on his jaw were a darker brown.
He turned the computer sideways so that they could both see the monitor. His expression had gone every bit as impassive as hers. Sherona felt like he’d just dealt her a hand in a high-stakes poker match.
She stared at the screen. Her mouth went dry.
The photograph had caught her in midstride as she walked toward the shore. The evening sun and the glistening moisture on her naked body made her skin glow . . . luminesce. It was the expression on her face that made her stare in wonder, however. She looked serene, but a small smile shaped her mouth.
It was as if Chance knew perfectly well he’d caught a part of her that she wasn’t entirely sure existed until he’d captured it with his camera.
She knew now.
She felt odd . . . dizzy.
“The delete button is right there.”
Her gaze flashed to his face at the sound of his gruff voice. He seemed somber . . . watchful. She remained unmoving.
“Would you like to see the rest of them?” he asked after a stretched, straining silence.
She nodded. It was all she could manage by way of a response.
His long fingers moved on the keyboard, reminding her of the lover-like way he touched his camera the other day—precise, knowing, masterful. She stared at the screen, overwhelmed by an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Here was an image of her squeezing the excess water out of her hair, crystalline droplets clinging to her right breast, a thin rivulet streaming down her ribs.
In this one, she stood at the water’s edge. Chance had caught the expression of a woman who was entirely at peace with herself—who liked her own company. Tears burned behind her eyelids.
He clicked a key on the computer. Her breath struck in her lungs at what she saw. She looked across the desk at Chance, her eyes going wide. He stared back at her unblinkingly, just like he had the moment after he’d taken this photograph, when he’d caught her startled wonder as she recognized his presence. Sherona had precisely the same feeling she’d had when he’d photographed her. A heavy, hot sensation of arousal pooled in her sex.
He tapped his finger. In the next photo, her gaze remained fixed on him, her hands by her sides, her shoulders back, her breasts thrust forward, a hint of defiance on her face.
“No, don’t,” she said sharply when he lifted his finger.
“Why not? These are the most beautiful shots of all . . . certainly the most honest,” he said, his eyes looking very warm.
He hit a key. Her heart felt like it had lodged itself in her throat. She couldn’t help but look. Stare. In the image, she faced the camera full-on, unafraid. Sherona wasn’t sure if it was the setting sun causing the effect, but her skin looked flushed with a golden pink hue. A few droplets of water clung to her pubic hair and the two fingers she’d placed on her labia to staunch the sharp stab of arousal she’d felt.
Heat washed over her cheeks and chest. She reluctantly met Chance’s gaze and felt that jab of lust all over again. Why did she find his observance of her so potently erotic?
“You can’t possibly mean to delete them now that you’ve seen them,” he said, his low, gravelly voice an audible caress in the tiny, still room. His accent perfectly suited him—lyrical and rough at once. His voice had nearly as palpable an effect on her as his eyes. “They’re some of the best photographs I’ve ever taken.”
She blinked in dazed surprise.
“I mean it,” he said with quiet conviction. “I want to photograph you again.”
“You mean . . . nude?”
He nodded. Their voices had gone hushed and intimate. Another wave of dizziness struck her, but the expanding ache at her sex seemed to ground her, keep her in the moment there with Chance. She couldn’t escape him; she didn’t want to.
“But not just nude,” he said.
Confusion flickered through her, but so did another prickle of sexual awareness. It was as if his voice itself were touching her . . . seducing her. “What do you mean, not just nude?”
He nodded once toward the photograph on the screen. The captured Sherona stared back at both of them, her awakened sexuality a palpable thing.
“I want to see more of that,” he said. “I want to liberate the hint of what I’m seeing there. I want to see it all, Sherona.”