Besides, when Joseph asked Caleb to work with her on this fundraiser, Caleb was pretty sure “working with her” didn’t include any sexy-type of shenanigans. He didn’t want to put that relationship at risk, either.
“I understand. Anything else?”
She leaned her hip against the table. “The shots need to be done in the studio.”
“I thought you said something about photographing people doing their jobs? How can they do that here?”
“They can bring props.”
“Seriously, Jude?”
Her hand moved, smoothing down her glossy hair. “If you want a perfect shot, it has to be here. In a controlled environment.”
Typical Jude. Even as a kid she’d always had to know what was going on, always had to have a plan, always had to be in charge. It drove him crazy.
“Sounds like it could be a bit stagey,” he commented.
“Says the man who has posing down to a fine art.”
It was clear she didn’t mean it as a compliment and for some reason, coming from her, it hurt. He tried not to let it get to him. “So give me an example of what you mean.”
Judith gave him a narrow look. “An example?”
“Yeah. Show me what you can do here.”
She didn’t reply for a moment, staring at him. Then, clearly coming to a decision, she said, “Sit on the edge the couch.”
So she was going to take up the gauntlet then? Excellent.
Caleb strolled over to the couch and arranged himself picturesquely on it.
“No.” Judith frowned. “Not like that. Sit on the edge. Like you’re sitting there having a conversation with someone.”
He adjusted his position, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. “Like this?”
“Yeah, that’s good. That’s great, in fact.”
That small crumb of praise cancelled out his earlier hurt and sent a dart of unexpected pleasure through him. Pathetic, mate. Absolutely pathetic. He squashed it flat.
“What do you want me to do now?” He didn’t much like taking orders, but he was beginning to be a little curious as to what she was going to come up with.
“Just sit like that for a second.” She looked up from the camera and went over to one of the floor standing lights, where she fiddled with it.
For a change she didn’t look smooth or sophisticated or even faintly exasperated. As she moved the light and then checked her camera, she looked absorbed, concentrating fiercely on what she was doing.
Fascinating. Her job had never impinged on his consciousness much—art was not his thing—and now he couldn’t help but pay attention. He studied her as she worked, watching her absorption, his own interest catching. “You really like this photography stuff, huh?”
She didn’t look up from what she was doing. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she echoed, glancing up from her camera. “What do you mean, why?”
“I mean, why is it so interesting to you?”
She blinked. “Well, I like being able to show people something new about themselves. I guess that’s why I’ve always really enjoyed portrait photography.” The look on her face relaxed, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in her eyes. “I can give people a glimpse of themselves from a different perspective, one they may not have thought of before.” A funny smile curved her mouth. “It sounds weird but I really do think that sometimes you can capture a person’s soul with a camera.”
“That’s not weird.” He liked that smile, that spark. It reminded him of the open, passionate teenager she’d been at eighteen. The one he’d been helplessly drawn to despite the fact he knew Joseph would have killed him if he’d known what had gone on between them. “That’s pretty incredible.”
Judith stared at him a moment longer before abruptly looking back down at her camera. “Yes, well. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my photography.” Her cheeks had gone pink. “Can you smile for me?”
Actually, he kind of did want to hear about her photography. He smiled. “Nothing wrong with talking about what interests you.”
Her straight, dark brows descended a little as she stared into the camera. “Only if other people are interested, too. No, I don’t want that smile. Give me a real one.”
A real one. What the hell did she mean by that? “I’m interested.”
“Yeah, right. And now you’re scowling. No, smile properly.”
“I am smiling properly.”
“No, you’re not. You’re giving me Abs of Steele again.”
Caleb shifted on the couch. The way she’d said the name the media had lumbered him with made it sound even lamer than it was. “What do you want, then?” he growled. “If you’re not careful I’ll take my shirt off again.”