"Look, I know we got off on a bad foot, but-"
"I hate photoshoots," he cuts, color flooding the high crests of his cheeks. "All right? I don't know why. I just do. I know it's a part of my job, but it never gets easier. There's something about them that makes me feel … " His shoulders lift in a helpless gesture.
But his gaze is defiant, as if daring me to tease. Okay, I guess I earned that. I haven't hidden my disdain very well. But that's not what I'm feeling now. "I hate having my picture taken too," I tell him truthfully.
His quirks a brow at me, and I lift my camera with a faint smile. "Why do you think I'm on the other side of this thing?"
"Wanna trade places," he asks with a little brow waggle.
I am not going to find that cute. No way. I have to focus. "I'm fairly certain sure no one is going to mistake me for you."
A slow smile lifts the corner of his mouth and those pretty eyes warm. "Absolutely no possibility of that, Chester."
And there's the flirt I knew was lurking below the surface. My stomach flutters, and I kind of want to kick myself.
He runs his hand over his face so hard that I can hear the scratch of his palm over his stubble. "Fuck it. Let's do this."
"Excellent. Do you want to wait for James to get back? Or start now?"
I'm guessing the latter. And he doesn't disappoint.
"No, I'm good." He clears his throat. Almost as if he's moving in slow motion, his hand goes to the knot of the towel and tugs.
And even though I've put on music, I swear it's so silent just then that I hear that towel slither to the floor.
Jesus.
Like that, my heart pounds against my tight ribs, and I want to sit down, find my breath, because it has fled. Heat swamps between my legs and down the backs of my thighs.
Professional. You are a pro-freaking-fessional.
The voice in my head is tiny and faint, drowned out by the rushing in my ears.
Mouth dry, I stare at the man before me, our eyes locked, the silence so thick I can taste it on my tongue. I see the whole of him, utterly exposed, vulnerable yet so powerful that I can't think straight.
His skin is smooth and golden, but holds a tinge of rose to it, like a man who's been out in the sun a bit too long, or one who might be blushing.
He's the third nude man I've seen today, and yet I'm the one who feels like blushing just now, as if he's the first naked man I've ever seen.
///
There's just so much of him.
Sculpted chest, strong thighs, tight calves, and elegant feet; I take all of it in with a glance. But that's not where I really want to look. Unable to help myself, my gaze glides down.
I've been trained not to stare at a man's penis while working. It's rude, objectifying, unprofessional.
And here I am, staring.
My cheeks burn, my heart thumping out of control. I grip my camera tighter than necessary.
He's beautiful. From a nicely trimmed nest of dark brown hair, his penis hangs thick, long, and dusky rose, over a pair of weighty balls.
And that's enough, missy. No more gawking.
I take a deep breath, look away from the illicit view before I start imagining his cock getting thicker, harder, plumping up with heat and want …
A shiver goes over my skin, and I meet Finn's eyes. Guilt swamps me, because he doesn't seem to have noticed I've been perving on him. He's expression is intense, but pained.
"Talk to me." It's almost a whisper, husky and desperate.
It does things to my insides. Swoony, throbby inconvenient things. I stare at him, my limbs unmoving and heavy, my stomach clenched with anticipation and indecision. He needs distraction, and I can't think of a thing to say. His eyes widen, a plea. I swallow hard.
"What's your best football moment?" I ask. It's a standard question. Get the client to talk about what they love. But I truly want to hear his answer.
He takes a breath, and his gaze turns inward. "Freshman year of high school I made the varsity team. It was just after our first practice."
I take a picture. But he doesn't seem to notice that. He's not looking at the camera, but past it, as if he sees only me.
"Coach had us doing ladder sprints over and over. I was exhausted. My legs felt like jelly. My thighs burned like hell fire."
His thighs-those massive, beautifully muscled thighs-clench as if remembering that pain.
"So there I was," he goes on in a soft, fond voice, "limping off the field with my teammates, the sun so low it lined the tree tops. And I just kind of stopped there at the edge of the field, listening to the guys joke and laugh, and I got this feeling." He pauses and smiles. "That this was it, you know? I knew right there and then that football was where I belonged. It just clicked."
He stands in the light, his feet planted wide, utterly naked. He should look ridiculous. But he doesn't. He looks like a warrior, a man completely at home with his body.
"And here you are," I rasp before clearing my throat. "You've attained the highest possible position in football."
A slow smile unfurls. "Yes, I have."
Pride fills his voice, makes it stronger. But there is also joy. I feel it reverberate in my heart. "That moment," I tell him. "Is what I want to capture."
He blinks, his body twitching. And then he's somehow standing taller. "You want the joy?"
I take another shot, not breaking eye contact with him. "I want you to remember that joy. It will shine through." Another shot. "Despite what you may think, that is what people respond to. That gorgeous body of yours is an expression of what you do, who you are."
When he looks at me, it's with a slow burn of heat. "You think my body is gorgeous, Chess?"
My heart thumps against my ribs. I could lie to him, throw snark his way, but it would ruin this moment. I won't see Finn Mannus after this job is done. We will never be friends. And despite my superficial attraction to him, we will never be lovers. But right now, in this space, there is something pure between us. He's letting me see him as he really is, no pretense. I cannot hide in the face of that honesty. I lower my camera.
"Yes, Finn," I tell him. "I do."
For a second, I think he might reach for me. But he simply draws in a breath, his nostrils flaring slightly. His eyes never leave mine. "I'm all yours, Ms. Copper. What do you want me to do?"
So many ways to answer. But I'm calmer now. He's in my hands, and I will not fail him.
"Will you get on the floor?" I ask.
His brow quirks.
"People will expect a nice chest shot," I explain. "Maybe you holding a football over your-"
"Junk," he puts in with a slanting smile.
I expressly do not look at said "junk" but nod. "I get that this is supposed to be a nude calendar. But I don't want to objectify you." Let's ignore the fact that you mentally ogled him like a perve. "Your body is your instrument. If you're in an unexpected pose, it makes people look at you in a different way."
///
"All right, then." With the grace of a world-class athlete, he lowers himself to the floor.
I raise my camera and peer through the lens. "Can you roll onto your stomach and brace yourself on your elbows? I want a look at that tat."
Finn's lips twitch on a smile as he turns, planting his elbows and forearms on the floor. His biceps bunch as he easily lifts his torso up. Gorgeous. Utterly gorgeous. And his ass? It clenches as if he's … .
I push the thought away.
The tattoo running along his ribs is a black outline of the state of California with the Golden Gate Bridge inside of it.
"Hold on a sec." Setting down my camera, I run over, adjust the lighting, and take a reading. Usually James would do this, but I don't want to break the spell by calling him in. Finn doesn't move, but watches me out of the corner of his eye. Unable to help myself, I crouch down and gently tuck back a lock of his hair that's creating a bad shadow.
The second I touch him, I know it's a mistake. The air between us changes, drawing tight. A hum pulses in my bones, and his expression goes intent, his focus never wavering from mine. In that instant, I know him. I know him. I feel like I've known him my whole existence, like I've been waiting for him to return from wherever he's been.
My muscles seize with the urge lean in, feel his skin, rest my cheek next to his, do... something. I see that knowledge reflected in his blue gaze, as if he wants the same. Blood rushes in my ears, my heart thudding like a warning drum.
But then he blinks, sucks in a light breath-just enough to get some air. And a wall comes down between us. I need that wall.
My head clears and finally I can breathe too, as if I've been let out of a trap. With a smile that is forced and fake, I rise up. "Perfect."