Cory motioned to the photographer and stepped out of the shot.
After a few stumbles, she settled into her role. With the teddy bear tucked into her side, she posed, glittering just as brightly as the oversize snow globe on the end table beside the couch. And every now and then, Victoria winked at Cory, as if they were sharing a private joke.
Pride swelled in his chest. She was so incredibly talented, and as unique as the leaves starting to scatter outside the window behind her.
He wanted her, body, heart, and soul. Perhaps even for…life.
Was that crazy, considering they’d only been involved for a few weeks? The years before had been a sort of prelude, if one filled with potential violence on her end and perpetual annoyance on his counted as such. Still, they’d built a foundation. He had no doubt that she would challenge him every day for the rest of his existence. She would make him laugh, and turn him on, and make him dream about something beyond letters and numbers on a page. Having her in his life would make every bit of it worthwhile.
If he was canny enough, perhaps he could even persuade her it was all her idea. He could only imagine her reaction if he posed the question: “Hey, want to consider us making this fake love thing real?” If she got there on her own, she’d focus on getting him to see things her way.
He had a feeling he’d enjoy that.
At the end of the shoot, they went to an early lunch at the Chinese place near Value Hardware. He asked if she wanted to attend another event on Sunday and this time, there was no hesitation. She said yes right away.
So far, so good.
They held hands all the way back. Not by agreement, just a sort of fumbling finger bump that ended with him grabbing hold and her smiling instead of elbowing him away. It was relaxed and easy, as natural as turning to her in the middle of the sidewalk and kissing the strawberry lip gloss off her mouth. She tasted like bubble gum and peach iced tea and he caught himself rubbing his lips together all afternoon just to see if any of her flavor remained.
That night, she called before bed to say good night. After a full day of work on Saturday, he called her to do the same. Without saying it aloud, he knew they were both anticipating Sunday night’s party—and what would come after.
He wasn’t a romantic, and he didn’t believe in fairy tales. That was her department. But when she opened her door to him Sunday night with her golden hair coiled atop her head and her toned body draped in a column of black silk that fell from throat to toes—save the slit that stopped damn close to her rib cage—he fell hard. She wore diamond earrings and a tiny diamond stud in her nose, and neither sparkled brighter than she did. Somehow she’d bewitched him, and he didn’t want the spell to ever fade.
“You look like an angel,” he murmured.
She turned and showed him the lace-up back. So many laces. She grinned over her shoulder, though her eyes were too dark, the shadows beneath them too heavy. “A wicked angel.”
Frowning, he stepped forward. Something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that.” He stroked her cheek and his heart turned over as she pressed her face into his palm. “What is it?”
“We’re going to be late.”
“I don’t care.” He took off his coat and set it aside to prove how serious he was. “Talk to me.”
She shook her head so hard he worried she’d dislodge something. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. It’s just me, Vic.”
Then she was in his arms, and hell if he knew how she’d gotten there. But God, it felt good. Right.
So fucking right.
It was only when she eased back that he realized she was crying. “I’m sorry. We don’t have…this.” She waved between them while he shut the door. “You’re not my boyfriend. Not my any—”
He gathered her up and carried her into the living room, then settled her on his lap. “Shh. Stop.”
“Look at you carrying me. All romance hero-y.”
Her sniffle cut off his laugh. “Just call me Swashbuckling Manflesh and be done with it.”
“What is it with you and pirates?”
“After that castrating statement, I am now behooved to say something dickish to get back my romance hero cred. I hereby demand you get on your knees and suck me off.” He nudged her shoulder. “Now, wench.”
She peeked up at him from under tear-starred lashes. “Can I give you an IOU?”
He ran a fingertip down her nose. “I’ll collect.”
“Good.”
She gave a watery laugh and tucked her wet face into his throat. “I’m sorry. I know we should get going, but…I need you tonight.”