I nod once and exhale slowly. I take a moment to close my eyes and get into the place where I forget about the eyes on me. It’s hard in this instance when his gaze—even through a camera—is all I’m truly aware of.
Somehow, I get to a place where I feel like I can concentrate on this shoot. I fall into my usual rhythm, the freeness of my movements throwing it off a little. Usually, I’m told what to do, who to be, how to sit or lie or stand.
“Good, good…” Tyler mumbles. “There’s a glass of wine on the side. Use it.”
The sight of the red wine makes my stomach roll. Damn, I hate red wine.
Still, I wrap my fingers around the stem, lean back, and rest the glass on my thigh. The shutter clicks twice. After a few shots on the bed, including one with my lips firmly clamped as I tilt the glass up, I slide onto the floor.
I lean on the bed, the wine glass my focus, and the shutter clicks again. And again. Tyler comes closer, moves to the side, shoots down.
He instructs me in my movements now, pulling me from the sofa to the bed to the middle of the floor. Playful, sexy, brooding—we cover every emotion and pose possible.
“Move to the window,” he orders, taking the wine glass from me. “I want you sitting on the seat, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Put your back against the wall.”
I follow his instructions.
“Put one hand on your thigh, the other above your head. I want you to look out of the window. Imagine you’re waiting for someone to come home, someone you miss, and the lingerie is for him.”
I swallow.
“You need to think of nothing other than being intimate with him.”
My mind flashes back to him kissing his way down my stomach and parting my legs. His fingers rough, his touch desperate, his movements easy and controlled. His breath hot against my skin...
“Perfect,” he says in a voice lower than before. Lower and rougher.
My heart pounds in my chest fast enough that it’s capable of destroying my calm mask. I desperately want to run my tongue over my dry lips, and it flicks out before I can do anything about it.
“Now, imagine he’s home, and he’s walking up those stairs, and he’s opening the door. You turn to him.”
I turn my face and he’s standing right in front of me. His camera is resting on the chair, and the look in his eye destroys any hope of my heart calming.
It’s dangerous. It’s a desperate glint of wanting, and my chest heaves as he brings a hand to the side of my face. He lightly brushes his fingers down my cheek. They’re rough, rubbing along my skin as they hover at my jawline.
“What are you doing?” My words are a shaky whisper.
“I’m appreciating a beautiful woman.”
I swallow. Three times. “Your job is to do that behind the camera. Someone might come up.”
Tyler smiles. “They left half an hour ago, when you were trying not to drink that wine.”
I pause, my lips curving. “Clara left?”
He nods, curling his fingers under my chin and stroking my jaw with his thumb. “Yes. There are reasons I shoot alone. One of them is so I can take photos without any rules because I enjoy it.”
“So the last… Here… They were…?”
“For my benefit.”
“And we’re here. Alone?” Oh, this is not good.
He leans in and his breath tickles my lips. “Yes, Liv. We’re here alone.”
“This is unprofessional,” I say as my blood roars through my veins in a way that contradicts my words.
“We’re not working anymore,” he whispers, closing the distance between our mouths.
It’s a light touch, one I should barely feel but one I feel prickling all over my skin. The kiss is slow and sweet, and my hand betrays me by finding his shirt and fisting the material.
“Yep, this is very unprofessional.”
Tyler grabs my thigh and spins me to face him. With one hand in my hair and the other grasping my hip, he lowers his mouth to mine once more.
His lips work mine forcefully, sweeping me away to a place where I can’t think of the fact that I’m kissing a man I was never supposed to ever see again. His kiss is intoxicating, smothering me with desire and need.
And need is bad. Need is very, very bad, but no one tells my hands this as they find the bottom of his shirt. I tug at it lightly, and he grazes his teeth over my bottom lip.
“I thought this was unprofessional?” he whispers in amusement.
Oh, fuck this. “We’re not working.”
He laughs, a rich sound, and releases me to remove his shirt. I trail my fingers down his lightly sculpted body until they rest on his belt. The bulge in his pants clearly shows his erection, and I reach out. I brush my hand across it, letting my fingers curl around its hardness. He hisses in a breath, grabs my arms, and pulls me to standing.