Rick still wanted her, she could tell by the way a muscle jumped in his cheek and how he kept tightening the cape over her body to keep himself away. She’d bet if she kissed him or touched him, his self-control would snap like a twig.
He brushed her hair away from her face. “I should go. Before I…” Raw longing flooded his features, but he turned away and pushed to his feet. She couldn’t imagine living a life so bound by rules. “Shall I take the film to the lab?” he said, clearly trying to sound normal. He strode deliberately to the Hasselblad.
“Yeah. That would be great,” she said, her voice still shaky.
“There’s another frame here,” he said and looked down into the readout, adjusting the focus. “I still have to take your picture, right?” He smiled.
“I think you got the idea,” she said, confused and a little sad.
“Think back on what happened,” he said, “for just a second.”
She smiled, realizing how much better she felt after those glorious moments. The camera clicked and the flash fired in the middle of her memory.
“Beautiful,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll get this developed and we’ll see if I learned anything from your lesson.” He held her gaze while he rewound the film, a sad wistfulness in his eyes.
“You regret this?” she asked him.
“Not nearly enough,” he said, popping out the film, which he lifted, then turned and left.
Samantha sighed and leaned forward, flexing her bare toes against the cool tile. She felt…good. Calm. Settled into her body, and also sensitized to everything—the air in the studio, the nap of the faux fur beneath her, the silk cloth against her skin. She could still smell Rick, could almost taste him, could feel his tongue right…there. And she wanted more.
Just her luck that she’d finally been bold enough to go for it and she’d chosen a man with the small-town attitudes she’d been eager to escape.
No way could she be with a man who felt guilty about sex. She also wasn’t interested in being a man’s one and only. Not yet. Not until she’d sampled her fill.
At least she’d done it—splashed around a little, made a wave. There’d been that alarming jolt of feeling close to Rick, which made her wonder if maybe sex wasn’t as simple as she wanted it to be, but she’d made progress.
Though she hadn’t come close to drowning.
THE NEXT DAY, Rick skimmed over the dozen proof sheets he’d picked up on the way to the station. He wanted to check in with Mark before he headed to Bedroom Eyes for the day.
While he waited, he flipped through shot after shot of women and couples in skimpy clothes in front of romantic, exotic or outdoor backdrops. Nice. Nice. Excellent. Gorgeous. Samantha was good. Very good.
And there it was—the picture he’d been looking for. The last frame on the last strip. Samantha. Sitting there in her jungle bra, her lips swollen from his assault, but offering up a soft smile, her blue eyes shiny with new bliss and fresh heat. She looked both innocent and carnal—a combination that had turned his self-control into ice on a frying pan.
Look at her. Her tiny photo sent lust pulsing through him and seemed to suck all the air out of the station.
She’d figured out there was no girlfriend. But that wasn’t what had washed away his resistance like so much sand in the surf.
She made him forget himself. Forget all that had happened in the last four years. She turned him into just a man who wanted her with everything in him. When she’d placed his hand on her body, he’d been lost, swept away, aware only of her skin under his fingers, and after that her wet mouth, her sweet tongue and, later, the wet swollen need of her, the taste of her sex, tangy on his tongue, the way her cries declared he was the only one who could touch her this way.
He’d managed to stop short of taking her with his body—as if that were somehow more honorable. But if she’d done one more thing—kissed him, grabbed him, looked at him that way—he’d have caved for good.
He’d been on duty, for chrissake. Samantha was still a suspect, though he was reasonably certain she was oblivious to whatever crime was going on under her nose. Even if Lester Tabor was using her books for illegal purposes, Rick would bet his life Samantha knew nothing about it.
He stared at her photo, feeling the tug of desire all over again. Damn. He prided himself on being able to rationally assess any situation and take the right course, no matter how tough. He was losing it.
“So, what’s cooking at ye olde sex shoppe?” Mark said behind him, looking over his shoulder.
Rick shuffled the pages so Samantha’s picture was hidden.