Читать книгу Stripped - Nicola Marsh - Страница 15

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.

Hart caved.

Well, technically he’s only agreed to doing a few shots around the resort but it’s a start. I’ll have him agreeing to the rest before he can say ‘I’m a contradictory jerk’. Because he is. The way he stared down his nose at me one minute, then flirted with me the next... I could’ve slapped him.

Instead, I had to play nice. Especially when he said he had the power to fire me. That gave me a fright. But I took a risk. Rather than back down as he would have expected, I goaded him further and it worked. I’d pitched to guys like him in the past: they respected courage so I showed no fear.

Unfortunately, it semi-backfired when he found my boldness a bit of a turn-on, if the way he looked at me was any indication. He switched from moody to intrigued, like he couldn’t figure me out.

Confronting the guy I kissed was bad enough. My quick mental argument between my logical side and my inner vixen when I entered his office went something like this:

Why the hell does Hart Rochester have to be the hottie you kissed? What’s so special about him that he makes you want to shuck your panties? What the hell were you thinking?

Well, I wasn’t. He’s a seriously good kisser and he’s hot and I’m in a man drought so I couldn’t help myself despite having to work with him. Damn, he looks fine. Better than I remembered in the semi-darkness last night. I wonder how unprofessional it would be to lie on his desk and ask him to take me now?

Thankfully I managed to appear calm and coherent during my presentation. But I was ultra aware of him throughout, staring at me with those enigmatic eyes that shield his every thought. Only when he lightened up did I see a glimpse of how he could be if he let go: funny, interested, alive.

The latter had me spooked because when I’d first entered his office and we’d got past the awkwardness of our kiss, I’d seen a man sitting behind a desk who appeared like a robot. Like he was going through the motions. Like he didn’t want to be here.

I’m good at my job but no amount of positive PR will make an ounce of difference if he looks like that in the rebranding material I have planned. Which is why I’m here to ensure he lightens the hell up.

‘How about this for a few casual shots?’ I hand him one of the outfits I asked him to bring down to the cabanas circling the pool.

He stares at the red polo and navy shorts like I’ve given him a chicken suit to wear. I expect him to baulk. Instead, he shrugs and glances around. ‘Where should I change?’

I refrain from rolling my eyes, just. He’s deliberately making this as hard as humanly possible and my patience is wearing thin, considering we’ve been at this for an hour.

I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think. ‘I don’t know, Einstein, maybe in one of the cabanas?’

‘But the material is flimsy, you’ll see everything.’ He ducks his head to murmur in my ear. ‘Or is that your intention, perv?’

I bite back a laugh. ‘Trust me, Sweet-Cheeks, if I wanted to see everything it wouldn’t be out here.’

‘Then where would it be?’

He hasn’t moved, deliberately staying close enough to taunt me, so I respond in kind. ‘Somewhere private, because I don’t like an audience for what I have in mind.’

He makes an odd strangling sound and backs away. Go me.

I deliberately avert my gaze when he enters the nearest cabana. But I’m only human, and insanely attracted to this smart-mouthed guy, so I risk a peek.

Bad move. While I can’t see anything per se, I see enough. The angling of the sun ensures light pours through the cabana’s canvas, casting his shadow against the opposite wall. He has his back to me and I see him slip off his shirt and pants, leaving him silhouetted like a goddamn Adonis. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long, lean legs.

My mouth goes dry as he half turns and I see the rest: an obvious bulge in his jocks. Nice to know I’m not the only one turned on. I continue staring as he steps into the shorts, hikes them up and pulls the polo over his head. I’m hot, flushed from head to foot. Damn island heat. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Thankfully the photographer is busy changing lenses and doesn’t notice my flustered state as I reach for a water bottle from the cooler nearby and roll it across my forehead.

‘Heat getting to you?’

I jump and almost upend the bottle. He’s snuck up behind me, the ratfink. His tone is silky smooth, as if he knows I’ve been perving on him.

I turn and glare at him, annoyed by his smug grin and knowing eyes, and I realise something. If he’d changed in the cabana on the other side of us, the sun wouldn’t have cast him in shadow. Which could only mean one thing.

He wanted me to watch.

Two can play this game and I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be better at it than him.

‘Yeah, it’s incredibly hot here.’ This time I roll the bottle across my upper chest, where the condensation transfers onto my skin.

He’s riveted, staring at my chest like he wants to lick off the water droplets. The thought alone is enough to make my hand shake. I changed into a sundress after our meeting. It’s not particularly low-cut but what skin that is exposed is now moist and he can’t stop staring at it.

‘You’re...’ He drags his gaze off my chest and meets my eyes. His pupils are dilated amid all that gorgeous blue. I’m definitely winning this battle.

‘What?’

I eyeball him, daring him to articulate what’s going on here. Disappointingly, he mutters something unintelligible and turns away, missing my victorious fist pump.

‘I can see your reflection,’ he says, sounding amused rather than annoyed, as I belatedly realise we’re standing near the trendy glass-enclosed poolside bar.

‘Good. Then you’ll know how absolutely pumped I am that this photo shoot is going so well.’

He turns back to me. His pupils have returned to normal and he looks way too controlled. I’ll fix that. I’m not done with payback for that little cabana stunt yet.

‘Where do you want me next?’

I flash him an innocent smile. ‘If you’re after the PG version, I’d like you to strike a casual pose over by the bar.’

He swallows. ‘And if I want the R version?’

I lean closer and his sharp intake of breath indicates he isn’t as controlled as he appears. ‘You’ll have to be a lot nicer to me.’

I will him to say he does want it, that, despite our logical agreement to forget that kiss, he isn’t averse to doing it again and a whole lot more.

I brace for him to fob me off and put an end to our verbal sparring.

‘I thought we agreed not to do this,’ he says, sounding gruff.

‘We’re just flirting. It’s healthy.’

‘The thing is, if you push me too far, it won’t stop there.’

I resist doing a fist pump again. ‘Promises, promises.’

He swipes a hand over his face, like he wants to eradicate my presence altogether. ‘This is a dumb idea.’

‘There are dumber.’ I hold up my hand and start ticking off a list by lowering my fingers. ‘Leg warmers. Crimped hair. Scrunchies. Acid-wash jeans—’

‘As much as I like hearing that you’re an eighties aficionado, can you be serious for one damn second?’

Okay, maybe I’ve pushed him too far because now he looks plain tortured. ‘I don’t like mixing business with pleasure.’

I shrug. ‘Me either. But we’re both adults. I’m pretty sure we can separate what happens out here from what could happen in there.’

I point over his shoulder towards the luxurious villas scattered among the lush tropical gardens. ‘Or do you prefer it on the beach only?’

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, ensuring I’ll have to smooth it before the next batch of photos is taken.

He’s conflicted. I see it in the shadows scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, in the wry twist of his mouth. He wants me but doesn’t want to relinquish control.

So I take pity on him. ‘The photographer’s ready to start shooting again, so why don’t you head to the bar?’

He locks eyes with me and I glimpse something that gives me hope: indecision. ‘This isn’t over.’

‘I’m counting on it.’ I wave him away with a dazzling smile. I hope it hides how damn uncertain I am about this too.