Jill Shalvis - Bared

But neither the great outdoors nor the man cared. Rafe looked her over impassively from her long, damp and slightly tangled hair hanging over her shoulders, down her legs to her feet, which she’d slipped out of the sandals. Her body started that odd quiver thing again.

Then she thought she saw it-a flash of heat in his eyes, her only sign that she really did look good enough to pull this off.

There was some sort of forbidden excitement in that, and a sense of power as well, so that when he pointed to the bench again, she went to it.

But nothing could stop the little feeling that she was the lamb being led to the slaughter.

“Lie down,” he said in that demanding, yet somehow compelling, voice that could convince a nun to sin.

She lay on her back and studied the stark white ceiling of the gazebo. The bench was a little chilly beneath her, but since her body felt so inexplicably hot, it was okay, and at least her entire backside was covered.

“Arms up, over your head,” Rafe said from behind his camera, and when she complied, he lifted his head and just stared at her.

“What?” Her arms were still stretched over her head, her body laid out like a sacrifice. “No good?”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s good.” He kept staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s amazing, actually.” He looked through his lenses. Then he took the camera off the tripod. “Arch up, just a little.”

As she did, he came close, very close, shocking her when he put a knee on the bench near her hip and looked down at her through the camera from above. “This is the angle,” he whispered, and since he seemed to be talking to himself, not her, she remained silent.

“Remember that shoot we did in Fiji, Amber?”

His voice, so close, startled her, as did the question. “Um…”

“You played that prank on me. You’ve always played pranks on me, hiding my unused film, unplugging the lights, using makeup to create chicken pox, but Fiji…that was what led to our first and last date.”

They’d dated only once? Amber had insinuated there was much more than that. “Well-”

“You handed me your robe, and underneath it you-” He broke off with a little laugh and pulled away from his camera to look directly at her. “Well, I don’t have to tell you-you remember what you did.”

She only wished she did.

“You always screw with my head, knowing damn well that when I’m on a job, I’m on it one hundred percent, no playing around.”

She had the odd urge to apologize, to somehow alleviate his frustration with her, which was silly because he was talking to Amber, not her. But knowing that didn’t take away the urge.

He added a candle near her opposite hip and lit it, his eyes dark with concentration. He ran his work-roughened fingers up her outstretched arm, moving it slightly to the right, then stared down at her again. He adjusted her other arm as well, so that her fingers brushed each other high above her head. Then he slid his fingers beneath one of her knees and lifted it slightly.

Everything within her reacted to his touch in a way that shocked her. He was simply a photographer, simply a man doing his job. A man who hardly seemed to notice she was nearly nude-

He slowly rearranged the loose, white material, draping it over her torso, her belly, curling it between her hip and the candle, then over one thigh.

At the touch on her inner leg, she jerked and a sound escaped her, one that sounded…needy.

Lord, she was bad at this, bad at being cool, calm, sophisticated Amber, bad at being so blasé about what he could see of her. Her body hummed again, hummed and ached, and it made her close her eyes.

A slight breeze brought a few drops of rain to hit her face, for which she was grateful. Research. Fun. She was doing one and having the other, she reminded herself. One weekend pretending to be wild and open and sexy. One little weekend.

But really, this had to be the last time she bailed Amber out of trouble.

Her mother would be happy to hear that. Unfortunately, the knowledge was little comfort to her at the moment, lying here in practically nothing.

“Your eyes need to be open for the shot,” Rafe said, and when they flew open to stare at him, his shutter clicked.

People were going to see this-her stretched out so open and vulnerable and…bare. They were going to see it and-

“Remember New Mexico?” He was busy with his camera, not looking at her.

“Well-”

“It was our first shoot together. You were an hour late and hated your costume, so you staged that little tantrum that got me yelled at by the director.”

Sounded like Amber.

“You felt so bad you kissed me when we were done.” He stopped messing with his camera and looked right at her, still at her hip, still so close that now she could see that his eyes weren’t just dark, dark melting-chocolate brown but had little specks of gold in them that danced in the glow from the candles.

Eyes that were now waiting for…something from her.

“You said it would be our tradition,” he said. “Just you and me, and you promised to kiss me after every shoot.”

Oh God.

“You always have followed through on that promise, even when I didn’t want you to. So what I’m wondering now is, why haven’t you kissed me yet?” His vow was low and spellbinding, his eyes so fascinating she couldn’t tear hers away.

Research, she told herself. Simple research. She could lean forward, kiss him and chalk it up to the wild, sexy experience she needed for her script.

Oh, yes, it was quite the sacrifice, but she could do it. Closing her eyes, she waited. And waited.

Finally she opened them again.

Only to find his filled with amusement. “You’re supposed to kiss me, remember?”

Right.

Oh man, Amber, you have no idea what you’re asking of me…

He cocked a brow. “Problem?”

“No-” Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and then licked her lips. “No problem.”

His gaze darted to her mouth. “You always were a tease.”

That got her. Tease? Well, tease this…and lifting up, she went after him.

IF RAFE HAD HARBORED any doubts about which twin he had, they vanished now. Emma’s eyes were open, wide and unsure as she moved close, and though he felt the urge to laugh at her, he didn’t, because, for whatever stupid reason, he wanted the kiss.

He wanted it from Emma. Unsettling, that.

Her lips touched his, in a short, achingly sweet little kiss that was over before he could blink.

She lay back on the bench, shot him a nervous smile. “There.”

“Yeah. There.” He straightened and tried to collect himself, wondering why, when he’d hoped to catch her red-handed and humiliate her for this little stunt she’d pulled, he felt as though he had just won the lottery?

The storm was messing with his head. So was his need for this shoot to be over. He’d just talked on the phone to his sister Tessa, who was still in such a state of early marital bliss that it had been almost painful to hear. He was happy for her, thrilled she’d found someone to put that joy in her voice and yet, at the same time, it’d left him feeling a little…empty.

Damn.

Time to go home. Past time. “Stretch out,” he demanded, forcing himself to get back to cool and distant. He looked through the lens. God, she was beautiful-the setup, the location, the outfit…Everything was just right.

He knew within two minutes he’d already gotten all the film he needed, but he shot a little bit longer, if only to keep her there sprawled out for his eyes only.

Her nipples were hard. Was she cold…or excited? With Amber he’d had a shot at guessing, but with Emma, he had no idea. He’d teased her with his comments-“remember this” and “remember that”-hoping to startle her out of this ridiculous ruse. But in the end, he’d teased himself, for Emma hadn’t caved.

She did seem to be having trouble breathing and still looked a little wild-eyed, as if uncertain about what he would ask her to remember next.

It made him want to tell her Amber had come to his room for wild sex after every photo shoot.

When he finally set the camera down, she crossed her arms over her body. “Is that it?”

When he nodded, she sat up, still hugging herself. “Can I have my robe?”

He wanted to tell her to walk over and get it, exposing her hot little ass, but even he wasn’t that big of a jerk. He tossed it to her.

When he had his camera in its case and she was completely covered again, he looked at her. She’d done everything he’d asked, including things he shouldn’t have asked, and still a part of him wanted to push her.

“Good shoot.”

With a nod, she started walking, presumably back to the hotel room she’d taken under her sister’s name. He waited until she’d brushed past him before he took her arm, holding her back. “Amber.”

“Y-yes?”

He’d been going to tell her they’d never really kissed, that he knew who she was, but she looked so sweet, so damn unexpectedly sweet, that he got mad all over again.

Walk away, said a little voice. You don’t care. You’re one shoot closer to done. Just walk away.

“Rafe?”

“Nothing.” He let her go, and turned away.

“’Night.”

“’Night.”

By the time he got back to the hotel, she was nowhere to be seen. Just as well.

And when he checked out early and caught a late flight back to Los Angeles, he figured he’d never see her again.

Also, just as well.

EMMA WORKED THE ENTIRE NEXT WEEK around the clock. She’d figured it would be hard to forget Kauai and all that had happened there, but her writing distracted her.

Her writing always did. She nearly forgot to eat and sleep when she buried herself. Well, she nearly forgot to sleep, anyway, because, quite honestly, there was little that could make her forget to eat.