Talking Dirty With the Player(35)

…

Caleb watched as Judith turned on her heel and went back down the corridor toward the studio. Something in his chest felt tight.

He’d bought the necklace as a peace offering, hoping she’d remember the bluebird he’d bought her for her thirteenth birthday. A reminder of the friends they’d once been. And perhaps of what they could be if he stayed in Auckland.

But it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. Not when she still couldn’t get past his reputation.

Dammit. What was he going to have to do to prove himself to her?

Following her down to the studio, he found her bent over, fussing around in a bin full of props, muttering under her breath. He tried not to look at the way her skirt pulled tightly around her rear. There was a little slit up the back, exposing her elegant calves and a glimpse of thigh. Some lace…

Bloody hell, were those stay-ups?

Caleb cursed and looked away, trying to ignore the way his body had begun to harden.

“Ah,” Judith said, straightening. “And here we have one ball.”

He glanced back to find she’d managed to haul out a soccer ball from the bin. “I can’t use that. I play rugby, not soccer.”

She scowled at him. “It’s the only ball I’ve got. Is it my fault you didn’t bring anything with you?”

“It’s not my fault when I only got an hour’s notice.”

“Plenty of time to go get your kit at least.”

“I couldn’t. I was buying a bloody present for you.”

Color swept through her face and she looked away, her hands pulling at her clothes, smoothing her hair.

He put his hands in his pockets to stop the instinctive urge to reach for her. Touch her. “Chemistry’s a bitch, huh?”

“Tell me about it.” She glanced away, fingers reaching absently to brush the bird at her throat, the way she used to with the bluebird he’d given her. As if she was using his gift for reassurance.

Determination settled down deep inside him. He’d had her trust once before. He would earn it again because she was totally worth it. The only thing he had to do was overcome the last eight years of living like he didn’t give a shit.

Easy, right?

A slightly awkward silence fell.

Jude’s fingers dropped from the necklace. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

Oh, there were a great many things he wanted to do. Things such as running his hands up her thighs and lifting her skirt to see whether she wore stay-ups or not. Unbuttoning that silky blue blouse and reacquainting himself with the softness of her skin. Kissing her delectable mouth…

Patience, mate.

With an effort, Caleb tried to get his thoughts back on track. “Well, we have a photoshoot to take care of first.”

“I suppose so.” She blew out a breath. “Right, so, photos…”

Caleb turned away, picked up the soccer ball, went over to the black chaise, and sat. “What do you want me to do with this?”

She’d picked up her camera, looking down at the screen as she lined up the shot. Then she pulled a face. “No, it’s not right.” She bit her lip. “What I want is to recreate the pictures I took yesterday.”

“What pictures?”

“The ones of you and the kid.”

“Seriously? You mean I should have brought a kid in here, too?”

Judith threw him an irritated look. Putting down the camera, she walked over to the table again and fiddled around with the laptop. “Come here,” she said. “I’ll show you what I mean.”

He put down the soccer ball and joined her, looking over her shoulder to the picture on the laptop screen. And his eyes widened.

On the screen was a photo of him. A rain-soaked photo, the edges blurred a little, the colors cooled and darkened. He was crouched in the center of the picture, facing a boy. The expression on the kid’s face was one of pure enthrallment, the beginnings of a delighted grin turning his mouth. As for himself, well, he had his arms up, his hands outstretched, illustrating some point in the way the teachers at school had always encouraged him not to do because it was distracting. He looked intent and excited, his eyes on the boy’s, both of them totally caught up in the moment. A moment of connection.

Judith had captured it beautifully.

Something about the picture made his throat tighten. Made him feel as if she’d peeled away a protective layer of himself, exposing a sensitive, vulnerable part of him he hadn’t known existed. Really, he should be telling her to delete the photo, but he couldn’t. Because it was brilliant.

“You can’t recreate that,” he said hoarsely. “Use that picture, Jude. Use it.”

She turned her head, glanced at him in surprise. “That one?”