The reporter was wrapping up his questions, and Ethan smoothed down his black tie, ready to bolt, when a firm hand gripped his wrist. He turned to Grant, ready to snarl.
“We’ll have her take some pictures of just me first, then us together, okay?” his friend asked.
Okay. That gave him more time to stall and come up with an excuse to leave, so he nodded and followed along as they all trouped to Grant’s office.
Lissa stepped forward, her movements graceful, like a dancer’s. Her red-painted toes peeked out from under a long purple skirt. As she fiddled with the knobs on top of her camera, a large collection of bangles clicked together on her forearm.
Large hoop earrings swayed as she held up the camera to her eye and directed Grant. The man smiled as he stood casually behind his desk, one hand braced on the back of his burgundy leather chair.
Despite the objects in the room—chairs, bookcases, a plant—Lissa moved around the room nearly silently, without bumping into anything.
Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off her, especially when she bent over to get a different angled shot, which put her very round ass right in his line of vision.
He needed to take his jacket off, or loosen his tie, because his heart was pumping hot, hot blood faster and faster and it was all heading right down to…his cock.
Oh, so now his libido decided to wake up. Fuck it all.
He stood behind a chair in a corner, hoping it hid the evidence of his arousal. The reporter had left and, as it was a Sunday, the office was deserted. It was just Grant, Ethan, and this woman who was making him harder and harder with every glance out of her kohl-lined eyes.
And then she turned to him fully, the camera held out at her side. She licked her lips, a swipe of that pink tongue on her full red lips. “Are you ready?”
He was going to pass out, and then he’d wake up and kill Grant. His friend should have warned him about the picture thing. Hell, this was why he’d avoided just about any sort of gathering lately, including their friends’ engagement party. He’d have to attend Marley and Austin’s wedding in a couple of weeks, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now.
He gripped the back of the chair in front of him until he felt the fabric begin to give away under his blunt nails. His heart pounded from anxiety, and his cock pressed against the zipper in his suit pants…and he was all about conflicting emotions today, apparently.
He was unsettled.
He didn’t like feeling unsettled. And the source of that was in front of him right now, a hand on her hip, one perfect dark eyebrow raised at him.
With a finger pointed at Grant’s chest, he said, “I told you no pictures. And I meant it.” Then he turned to Lissa and tipped his head. “I’m sorry. Good luck with the article.”
And then, before anyone could call him back, he strode from the room. He was almost to the front door when fast footfalls sounded behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a camera-less Lissa jogging after him. “Hey!” she called.
He whirled around, twisting his face into the glare that had always served him well. Except around her apparently, because as she came to a halt in front of him, her skirt swirling around her legs, she didn’t look scared at all. In fact, she looked pissed. “You know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, which only succeeding in drawing his gaze to her cleavage. “It’s kinda rude to bail on your business partner.”
She pursed those pretty lips, and even with the horrible fluorescent lights in the ceiling of the office, she was gorgeous. Her long lashes fanned out over dark eyes.
“I said no pictures.” His voice sounded deeper than usual.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you said that. About three times. What’s your hang-up?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because my job is to get the shot—”
He scoffed. “You got a shot. Of Grant. He’s the pretty one, anyway. So can I leave now without being accosted again?”
She jerked her head back. “I’m accosting you?”
“You’re preventing me from leaving.”
“Why are you so angry?”
The words were said quick and on a shout. And they both recoiled, she as if surprised by her own words, and Ethan at the vehemence of her tone.
He wanted to point at the scars on his neck. He wanted to pull out the photo of his dead sister and shove it in her face. There were many, many reasons he was angry, but all of them he’d caused himself.
He stepped closer to her, but the minute he did, all rational thought seemed to leave his brain. She smelled amazing, like flowers and coconut, like a tropical paradise mirage. Up close, her brown eyes were wide and warm, ensnaring his gaze so he couldn’t look away.