“Ah, sweetheart,” he said, “you don’t know what you’re passing up.”
Immune, remember?
Oh yes, she was. Completely immune. As an impressionable eighteen-year-old she’d fallen for his particular brand of lethal bad-boy charm. It had been a brief, intense fever that, once passed, had inoculated her against him forever.
The light and noise from the reception in the hotel ballroom flooded in as they stepped out of the laser tag room. Caleb shrugged out of his vest and handed it to a waiting attendant, and Judith gave him her coolest smile in return. “Don’t tell me: sexy calendar, right?”
His grin faltered. “How did—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Hey, it’s obvious. A fundraising idea that requires a portrait photographer? Coming from your brain? I’m thinking it’s probably a beefcake one for the ladies with nakedness and coyly placed props over the important bits.” She folded her arms. “Am I getting warm?”
Caleb’s dark eyes narrowed. “And pretty bloody patronizing.”
“Just returning the favor.”
“So I guess the answer’s still no?”
“Caleb, please. Do I look like the kind of photographer who does pornographic calendars?”
Slowly, that annoyingly cocky grin began to reassert its presence. “Pornographic. Do you even know what that means?”
A flush worked its way up her neck. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I know what it means.”
“Uh-huh.” Unexpectedly, he stepped a little closer to her.
And she found herself having to look up at him. Way up at him. An insidious and wholly unwelcome heat began to gather inside her.
In the darkness of the laser tag room, it had been easy to ignore his physical appearance. But out here in the light, with him bare inches away? Not so much.
Minus the vest on his six-foot-five length of long, lean muscle encased in the tuxedo, he was pretty much the perfect male specimen. With cropped black hair and eyes the color of the darkest espresso, smooth tawny skin he’d inherited from a Maori ancestor, and the powerful shoulders that made him one of New Zealand’s best rugby players, he had most of the country’s female population swooning. Even those who didn’t like rugby.
Not you, though. Immune, remember?
His grin deepened as if he’d seen something on her face he liked and the heat inside her gathered a little tighter. “Perhaps I forgot to mention that you’ll be photographing me?”
Caleb, naked in her studio, reclining on the—
Okay, stop right there. Don’t think about that. Think about his unbelievable arrogance. His massive ego. His bad-boy reputation. Think of how he came to your door eight years ago, after that night you had with him, to tell you that was all he’d get from you. Because you were too young and he wasn’t into relationships. That his career was more important than you …
Judith cleared her oddly constricted throat. “Sorry, but that makes agreeing to your stupid idea even less likely. I do tasteful portrait photography. Not wet jock shots.” Like his current ad campaign for instance. Caleb’s half-naked torso, water dripping off muscled abs, his head thrown back, a pair of tight black boxers molding to lean, hard buttocks… No. Not thinking about that. She took a breath. “Could you stop looming? It’s very irritating.”
“I’ll have you know I never loom.” There was a smug expression on his face, though God only knew what had put it there. “Oh well, I guess I’ll have to find some other photographer. There must be someone who’s dying to get some free exposure.” He raised a brow at her. “Perhaps you could send me some names?”
“Don’t you have some minion who can do that for you?”
“I use my minions for more important tasks, like getting me invited to parties.” His eyes gleamed with unholy amusement, the way they always did when he teased her. “Sure you’re not interested? Not even a flicker? No? Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll find someone myself.” He turned toward the ballroom where the rest of the reception was in full swing. “See you around, darling. If you change your mind, you know how to get hold of me. Though, don’t wait too long. The opportunity won’t be around forever.”
Judith watched him go, realizing she’d been holding her breath like a diver about to leap off the highest platform. She let it out with a huff. Her heartbeat seemed strangely accelerated, her muscles tight. Nothing to do with him, of course. She never let him get to her, not anymore.
Forcing a smile that probably looked as tight as the back end of a cat, she handed her vest and gun to the attendant, adjusted the green silk of her best-woman dress, and reflexively checked the bun the hairdresser had put her hair up into. Still messy, damn it.