She bit her lip and went to unfasten the bra.
“Wait! Do it slowly and let me shoot that too.”
I stood behind her and clicked a quick succession of photos as her hands twisted behind her and unclasped the hooks. She flung the bra to the floor out of sight and leaned her back one way and then the other, peeking over her shoulder at the camera coquettishly. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d fluttered her eyelashes. She seemed to be getting into the role. I could imagine her fitting the whole cliché of lady-in-the-streets-and-a-freak-in-the-bed. Somehow, I didn’t think Aubrey had a problem with kinky. Without any cues at all, she laid on her back, one arm across her chest, her hips twisted to the side so it wasn’t a full on frontal shot, and, of course, her hair fell in perfect disarray above her head. She lifted her other arm above her, letting it settle in her hair. I did my job, capturing the tableau before me of a curvy young woman inviting someone to join her in bed, her face conveying her utter confidence, as if she knew — and expected the person viewing her to know — exactly what would happen next. As an Usher song faded out, I put down my camera.
“I think that’s a wrap. I know you still have the white outfit left to go, but I think we’ve already got everything you’ll need. We ran through most of the poses you tagged on your Pinterest board, and I know I’ve got pictures of you ranging the whole gamut from demure to seductive.”
Aubrey walked over to the ottoman that dominated her dressing room and started to slip on a robe, when I had a flash of inspiration.
“Hold on one minute,” I called out, grabbing my camera and hurrying over. “Let’s get a few of you on this thing.” I nudged the ottoman with my foot.
Surprised, Aubrey looked at it and considered the prop, then draped herself suggestively across it. “Like this?”
I nodded, snapped a few shots and then walked around to get some from the back. “Perfect.” Aubrey twisted a few different ways, even lying on her back and stretching her legs straight up in the air, crossed at the ankles, before we quit.
As she slipped on her robe, I finished off my orange juice from earlier. “How soon were you hoping to have prints of these?”
“Initially, I was going to say a week would be fine, but now I’m so excited to see the final results that I’ll throw in an extra thousand dollars if you can have them for me tomorrow.”
My eyes widened, and I tried not to let my shock show. Damn, I could do a lot with four thousand dollars for a day’s work. I glanced at my watch. It was already three-thirty. If I hustled, I could probably finish tonight. She wouldn’t need that much retouching. “I’ll have the prints here at noon tomorrow. Will that work for you?”
She reached over and squished me in a hug, catching me off guard. I patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I can’t wait! I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes. I could feel her bare breasts under her robe pressing against me, and I eased back from her, trying to put a little distance between us. It was one thing to photograph those bad boys but it was quite another to have them all up on me.
Shouldering my bag, I headed for the door. “I can let myself out, if you want to stay here and finish getting dressed. I’ll text you when I’m on my way tomorrow.”
“Thanks! I can’t wait to show them to my boyfriend!”
I paused on the threshold to her room. “Oh yeah? Text me and let me know what he thinks.”
“You can ask him yourself,” Aubrey said, her voice dripping sweetness.
“Oh? Will I get to meet him?” My brow furrowed in confusion.
“You already have. West Montgomery.”
CHAPTER 10
I don’t remember leaving Aubrey’s house. Don’t remember the drive home. I had no clue how long I had been sitting in the driveway, white-knuckling the steering wheel and gritting my teeth so no emotion could escape. Holding myself on lockdown. Aubrey’s announcement felt like a sucker punch right in the stomach.
West had a girlfriend.
West had a fucking girlfriend.
The words played on repeat in my head.
Of course, he did. He looked like he could be Poseidon’s bastard son. It would be against the laws of nature for him not to be paired up. The man was made to procreate.
My phone chimed, the sound muffled by the detritus in my oversized purse. I reached for it and dug to the bottom of the bag, where my phone usually ended up hiding. I frowned at the unknown number.
You looked beautiful this morning. I hope I didn’t wake you when I left.
My fingers tightened around the phone. It was from him.
How did he even get my number?
I punched delete and then threw my phone down like it was diseased. It bounced off the passenger seat and settled somewhere in the foot well, the action not enough to calm my temper.
Blinking, I looked out my windshield and focused on the sky. The sun was just starting its descent. Dinnertime had long since passed, but I wasn’t hungry.
I tapped the steering wheel as I contemplated my camera bag. The memory card with Aubrey’s photos was stored safely inside. I could accidentally-on-purpose delete the whole session. Photoshop some zits onto her flawless skin. Maybe some wrinkles too. I could even make her ass and her boobs look saggy. An evil grin brightened my mood at the thought.
But I couldn’t do any of those things. I needed the cash too damn bad. And, if I was being logical, my real beef wasn’t even with Aubrey. It was with fucking West. And more than feeling hurt and angry, I just felt… stupid.
Stupid for not listening to Rue and her brilliant rules. Stupid for not leaving with that British guy instead. Stupid for thinking West felt those same crazy sparks I did when we touched. Stupid for secretly hoping that maybe, maybe it would turn into more than just a one-night stand.
Stupid for contemplating for even one minute that West would pick someone who looked like me over someone that looked like Aubrey.
With a drawn-out sigh of self-disgust, I grabbed my bag and trudged up the stairs to the cottage, ready to admit defeat.
Before heading toward my bedroom and the inevitable editing session, I made a pit stop in the kitchen, pausing to glance between the stainless steel, French-door fridge and the smaller wine fridge. Did the situation call for ice cream or wine? I tipped my head in contemplation. Nabbing a bottle of white and deciding I didn’t need a glass, I made it to my bedroom and tossed my purse and camera bag on my bed.
And stopped.
I couldn’t do this in here. I couldn’t edit photos of West’s girlfriend on the same surface I had fucked him less than twenty-four hours ago.
Closing my eyes, I replayed our night together. I could still feel his callused hands dragging across my skin. His lips tasting and teasing all of me. His cock hard against my hip as we pressed together.
And the whole time, he was cheating on his girlfriend.
This wasn’t the same situation as Asshole and me. I was the other woman this time. Suddenly, my skin crawled, and I felt dirty.
Leaving my stuff on the bed, I stripped down, snagged the bottle of wine, and headed to the shower. Turning the knob as hot as it would go, I drank straight from the bottle while I waited for the water to heat. When steam rose from behind the curtain, I took one last gulp, left the bottle on the back of the toilet tank for easy access, and slipped inside. Grabbing some gritty body scrub, I scoured every inch of my body, every part that West had touched. I repeated the process until my skin was pink and raw, and I no longer felt contaminated.
The water was starting to run cool by the time I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel and retrieving the wine bottle. I’d drunk most of it over the course of my shower. Leaning my head back, I drained the last of it and then abandoned the bottle on my sink as I returned to my room.