She wasn’t fazed. In fact, she was so unfazed she could turn to face him while he stood at her side and playfully toyed with her starfish necklace as if she didn’t have a single care.
His gaze dropped to her throat—mostly unblemished, though he’d certainly tried to leave his mark—then rose to her eyes. “Arrangements have been made at the Helping Hands donor house on Seeley Drive for a week from Friday. The living room is close enough to what I had in mind for the cover, but there are no Christmas accents yet.”
“Jill, Lorelie, and I will handle decorations.”
“From the store, please.” He tapped his fingers on the side of his desk as he sifted through the photos from their last shoot. “We have an expanded Christmas section from last year.”
“I saw some of the stuff in the storeroom. Thank God the store hasn’t begun decorating for the holidays yet. It gets earlier every year.” She shuddered. “Though that Santa’s toolbox display is adorable.”
He glanced up, a smile playing around his mouth. “That was my idea.”
“Here I thought you were just a pretty face.” She ran her nail under her necklace. “Once you select the bedroom shots you want, we can focus on the cover. I think carrying the country-chic theme through works best, especially with Christmas, but that’s up to you.”
“I told you I’d give you room to work.” His voice was even, though his eyes burned. She didn’t get why until she realized her nervous fingers had strayed to the neckline of her V-neck shirt. Rather than move her hand, as was her inclination, she slid her fingers just that much lower. His nostrils flared. “Stage the cover as you’d like. All I ask is that I’d like you to leave the decorations after the shoot so the house will be decorated for the new owner. Her deployment ends right before the holiday, and I think that’d be nice for her to come home to.”
She swallowed as his words sank in. “Sure.” Surprised at how weak her voice sounded, she cleared her throat.
“We need to wrap up the magazine and put it to bed week after next if we want to meet our deadline. The printer’s already booked tight and if we miss our window, we’re out of luck until December and that’s too late for a holiday issue.”
“We’ll make it. Don’t worry.”
“There’s still outstanding editorial. Some of it yours.”
“On it,” she said cheerfully, glancing down at her watch. “Gotta book soon. I need to go look at paint swatches for the Taylor job.”
When he didn’t reply, she looked up to see him staring fixedly at a photo of an old-fashioned slatted bed with a gauzy red canopy. “I knew you’d never go for that shot, but I had to take it. That bed screams homemade carpentry.” Something about those carved bedposts made a girl think very bad thoughts. Maybe of a broad hand gripping them for support while he moved harder, faster. Driving her into the cloud-like mattress, pounding into her until the red canopy fluttered from the force of his thrusts.
He traced the slatted headboard with his wide thumb and she swore she felt her panties disintegrate. “Interesting design. Lovely craftsmanship.”
“It is.” She sounded entirely too breathy. “I’d put candles in those grooves in the headboard. With the canopy, and all those pillows—” and that hard, toned body fucking her into oblivion “—the scene would be set for romance.”
He slanted her a look. “Or extremely hot sex.”
“My, my,” she murmured. “Someone’s mind is in the gutter.”
“Potato, potahto. You call it one thing. I call it something else.” He shrugged and flipped the photo over. Slipping it into the keep pile, rather than the discards.
She suppressed a sigh. If he kept this up, she’d bind her wrists for him herself.
Then he delivered the kill shot just before she left.
“Sunday night my parents have a thing.”
She blinked innocently. “Well now, that sounds thrilling.”
A smile played around his mouth. “Do you have plans?”
“Unless hanging out with Jill counts, no.” She gripped the doorknob at her back, suddenly realizing she should’ve lied. “This is…a date?”
He leaned a hip against his desk and gave her a hard stare. Eyebrow lifted, of course. “You’re my girlfriend, are you not? You campaigned for the role with all the zeal of a missionary.”
“The only missionary ever mentioned in conjunction with me is sex.”
“No wonder you ran from my balcony.” Though his tone was teasing, his eyes were dark and broody. “Never would’ve pegged you for a strict traditionalist.”