Forbidden Fantasies Bundle(32)

“Rick would kill me if he knew I told you.”

“Trust me, Rick will be fine.” If she had her way, Rick would be thanking Mark, not killing him. She would, too. If all went well, Rick would get laid—and what man didn’t want that?—and she’d get the fantasy sex she’d dreamed of.





7




WHAT THE HELL was Samantha up to? All morning, she’d been giving him looks. Sexy, take-me-now looks. It had been bad enough Friday when she’d left the studio. Watching her little pink tongue perform tricks on a cock lollipop as she’d trotted out the door had just about killed him.

Now on Monday, she’d escalated her behavior, playfully hip-checking him as they moved around the office together, brushing his arm with her fingers as she made a point, allowing her glance to linger. What the hell was she doing? Had she forgotten about his girlfriend, dammit? Did he have to announce his engagement or something?

To make matters worse, just now, she’d rushed out, claiming she had to talk to Blythe, and asked him to get started on the upcoming photo shoot on his own. She’d be there, but not for a while.

He should investigate the Blythe emergency, but Samantha had trapped him waiting for the client—Trudy Norton, who’d requested a Wild West setting for her rodeo-star fiancé.

This was her now, he guessed, tripping toward him from the parking lot in a red cowboy hat and matching boots. And a trench coat. In this heat, that could only mean she wore something racy underneath. Lord. If Samantha didn’t believe in her work so much, he’d have a tough time keeping a straight face.

What was so urgent at the salon? The report Mark had brought him Friday about the drug bust at Moons had made him want to look closer at it, since Heidi, the comb-wielding hairdresser, had been a star witness against mob guys running drugs out of Moons under the nose of the owner Duke Dunmore.

Content with the drugs, prosecutors had ignored the prostitution angle, which might be playing out in the salon, judging from the conversation he’d overheard from under the shampoo sink. For that matter, there was plenty of room for drugs in the freshly installed shelves.

He kind of hoped Shear Ecstasy was the nexus of criminal activity at Mirror, Mirror. Of course, Bedroom Eyes had plenty of semi-empty closets and Samantha had photographed the hookers and strippers, too. He had yet to talk to Sylvestri’s bookkeeper. Samantha could still be involved.

The thought made his heart sink. He cared far too much about her. He could not get the woman out of his head. He wanted to turn her clear blue eyes smoky with lust and drag hungry gasps from her sweet mouth.

Saturday night, he’d taken his parents to a movie and had noticed that the female lead had Samantha’s pointed nose, and the sidekick her small, solid build.

He had to stop this shit. He was on the job. But Samantha’s morning torture had made it a hell of a lot harder…so to speak.

The cowgirl in the trench coat pushed through the door. “Howdy,” she said, tipping her hat, trying for ballsy, though he could tell she felt nervous. He understood completely. He was pretty uncomfortable with his role in this deal.

“Trudy? I’m Rick West. I’ve set up the studio if you’d like to come this way.”

“You’re taking my picture? But I booked with Samantha. Angela told me she was great.” She stopped walking.

“I’ll just be taking the preliminary shots. Samantha will take the final ones.” And the sooner she got back, the better.

“Okay. That’s great. No offense.”

“None taken.” He led her to studio three, which they used for outdoor settings, Trudy’s boots clicking cheerily beside him, while he soaked his undershirt with sweat.

“Do you need to look at our costume options?” he asked her, waving at the dressing-room door. Could he sound any more gay?

“I’m wearing what I want. Under here.” She blushed. “I’m not sure it’ll work. I’ve heard that the camera makes plaid look smeary and is red a problem?” She untied her belt and held open the coat, revealing a red-checked bra with matching panties. “What do you think?”

Lord almighty. He felt himself go as red as her hat. Mark would have loved being flashed by a cowgirl, but Rick was mortified. “That should work…fine.” He swallowed.

“Good. Travis, my fiancé, is such a rodeo fiend.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased.” He led her into the studio he’d set up with a barn backdrop, a short stretch of raw-wood fencing and a large hay bale.

“How perfect,” she breathed, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to him before she rushed to position herself on the bale, on her side, legs extended over the end. “How’s this?”