Pretty in Kink (16 page)

“Yes, I think I need a powder job. This heat is melting me.”

“Makeup! Brenda! Powder her up.” Brenda was a petite redhead
with wide gray eyes who never spoke a word. But she wielded her artist’s hand
with perfection, expressing herself in nonverbal ways. She raced over with a
tray and dabbed Britt’s face and neck while Britt continued to speak with
Rufus.

“Okay, no man problems. Then it must be bitch troubles. That
extremely rare fuck-off look you just sent the camera tells me something’s got
to be up.” He widened his eyes and cocked his hip to the side. “And since I
know for a fact you don’t swing sames like I do, it must be some platonic chick
who’s gone and pissed you off. ’Sup, honey? Let ol’ Rufus have it so we can get
out o’ this roaster and back into the blessed air-conditioning.”

Two other catalog models, also Doris’ clients, sunbathed off
set, their shoots a wrap hours ago. They raised their coiffed heads, sensing
either trouble or juicy gossip. But when Doris chimed in, they rolled their
eyes and settled back in to bake.

“It’s that thug she’s been cavorting with, I’m sure of it.
Her annoying friend Lexi let the whole story slip to me recently,” Doris
sneered as she unfolded herself from the director’s chair she always perched in
on the sidelines.

Crap. Well thanks so much, Lexi, to you and your motor
mouth.

Most agents kept to the office, but not Doris. She insisted
on breathing down Britt’s neck, nosing into her business. She had to admit she
envied Doris her cool cropped white pants and camisole-style blouse. Thin and
chic, Doris clutched the small battery-operated fan, making sure to keep it
trained on her cosmetic-painted face as she neared.

“Now, Britt, this is getting to be a long day for us all,”
Doris chided. Would she ever quit talking to Britt as if she were a child?
“Everyone’s hot and hungry, and we can’t budge an inch off this godforsaken
farm until you shape up and get that despicable hoodlum biker out of your
mind.”

Britt groaned. “Doris, that’s enough.”

“Biker? Yum,” Rufus said on a gasp, batting his eyelids. “I
wouldn’t mind a rumbling engine or two between my legs.” Catching himself, he
cleared his throat and swung his dancing gaze back to her. “So spill, Britt.
Who’s this ‘despicable biker’ who’s making us all sweat?”

Doris waved her free hand, making sure to keep the fan
trained on her face with the other. “He’s some lazy ruffian she’s become
involved with. She can’t seem to face the fact she’s way above this lowlife.”

“I’m standing right here. There’s no need to talk about me
as if I’m a child in the other room. And he is not lazy. He works hard running
his own motorcycle repair and sales shop in Tampa.”

Doris rolled her eyes. “Whoa. How ambitious.”

Rufus wiggled his eyebrows. “Sounds de-lish to me. Does he
have a big—”

“
Ru
fus.” Doris scolded with a shiver of disgust.
“That’ll be enough. I don’t want to spoil my dinner. If we ever get any,” she
added with a narrowed gaze at Britt.

“Look, it’s just that I’m roasting in these layers of
winterish clothes. It’s hard to concentrate with sweat dribbling down my back
and my stomach rumbling. I could use a meal myself, along with a cold shower
and a good night’s sleep.”

Rufus let out a low whistle. “Uh-huh, cold shower, I
bet
.”
He tapped a well-manicured, blue-tipped nail against his chin. “So when do I
get to meet this hot stud-muffin of yours? He got any rough and grungy biker
friends looking for a good time and a real man to ride?”

“Oh gawd, how sickening.” Doris spun on her sandaled heel
and went back to shoot orders from her director’s seat.

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I want to get this day over with
just as much as you do. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

“Sure, sweets. Believe me, I know how men can do that to
you.” He lifted a thin shoulder. “Get under your skin and in your blood, it’s
hard to shake ’em. Just relax, ignore The Ice Queen, and if you need anything,
someone to talk to or whatever, let old Rufus know, you hear?” He winked and
crossed back to the tripod. Readjusting the lens, he barked an order to angle
the bounce lighting panel so that the sunlight blinded Britt. “Let’s roll!”

The crew scrambled into action.

Blinking away the spots in her eyes, Britt laid her head
back lazy-like on the top of the wheel and turned her face toward the camera.
She hooked her thumbs in the jeans pockets and set her booted heel against a
spoke to draw up her knee. Thrusting out her chest, she located the lens and
aperture hole that controlled the amount of lighting allowed inside, and fixed
her gaze just above it. She knew the pose would emit sex appeal due to the snug
sweater, jacket and skintight jeans, while her pursed lips lent her a pouty,
almost innocent look. It would help sell the department store’s new fall line.
The catalog would go out midsummer, just about the time finicky women yearned
for relief from the heat and looked ahead to autumn.

Britt did her best to hide her discomfort, pleased when
Rufus and Doris both nodded their approval. It was difficult to appear cool and
sexy when the heat made her so dang dizzy. The overhead sun gave her the sense
of being closed in an oven. She longed to strip off the stifling clothes and
bare herself down to her perspiring skin.

Like she had done with Diego.

Just thinking about him, picturing that thick head of long hair
and that face framed by her legs made her pussy ache. Wow, and that body. She
moistened her lips, closed her eyes and cast her face to the sun. The warmth
made her think of his heat, caused her limbs to move and her hips to sway just
so for each pose.

“That’s it. Yeah, baby, you got it. Work it,” Rufus coaxed.

She heard the distant click of the shutter, blinked back the
flash of lights, ignored the murmur of approving voices. In her mind, Diego’s
scent filled the space around her, his muscles flexed beneath her palms, his
strong body pummeled hers.

Britt sat on the ground, the wagon wheel behind her, and
struck a playful, grinning pose. Again, praise and excitement from the crew.
She glanced over and caught Doris’ smug nod and wondered what she’d think if
Britt told Doris that her inspiration was the “lazy ruffian”.

But Britt had issues of her own with Diego, the reason she
hadn’t called her home voicemail to check for messages since he’d taken her
home three nights ago. She needed time, she decided, clamping a piece of straw
between her teeth and sending the camera a smoldering look. She needed to
decide if she wanted to get entangled between Diego and his ex, and share in
all that emotion and rage she’d glimpsed that night.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to learn all the hidden
truths, all that had caused the haunted look in his eyes and the anger in
Carolyn’s. Had he cheated on Carolyn? Or maybe
she’d
cheated on
him
?
Did he still love her, and was he using Britt until Carolyn came around? Or
were there some tug-of-war issues going on regarding the child Diego refused to
talk about? From the outside looking in, it appeared to be a very messy
situation, and she probably didn’t even know the half of it. Did she really
want to take the chance and complicate her life with all that drama?

She made a point not to furrow her brow when she again
thought of Carolyn and her antagonism toward both Diego and Britt. Whore. The
word stuck in her craw like a big fat thorn, even as she smiled for the camera.
To think one of her first-ever experiences with all that kinkiness Diego
gravitated toward, and now she’d been labeled a whore.

And then there was the violence of their last lovemaking
session—the one she’d dubbed the “refrigerator fuck”—which now that she thought
about it, had in fact underscored Carolyn’s snide comment. Despite the
humiliation of her new rank, her mind flipped to a rerun of the scene. Her face
warmed at the memory of it. Rufus cooed his approval and she moved fluid and
graceful into the next pose.

She stood back up, her breathing quickening, and let her
limbs flow and her eyes go dreamy, recalling the way Diego had taken her with
brutal, almost sadistic power. Yet he hadn’t forced her to do anything she
hadn’t wanted to participate in. True, he’d taken her by surprise, but even now
the crotch of her panties wetted as she remembered how he’d yanked her clothes
off in that dominant, haphazard manner that took her breath away. He’d slammed
her against the humming refrigerator. His eyes had drilled into hers like the
devil’s flames. There’d been a sort of desperation in them, tumultuous emotions
she hadn’t wanted to decipher as he’d looked up at her while he fumbled with
his pants.

Oh, but she could well remember what she had wanted—the
sensation of his erection spearing her. It had made her fear she might faint
with excitement when he’d burrowed deep inside her so that she’d almost
orgasmed with that one blinding penetration. Ah, and her own weight and gravity
had made him sink to depths no one had ever traversed before, not even him. The
passion and intensity of the whole mating flurry had made her come alive,
almost animal-like, and much more desirable than she’d ever known with any
other man.

No, Diego wasn’t even close to any other man she’d ever
slept with before. Diego embodied the collective meaning of extreme, wild,
wicked and mysterious.

Yet he had a tender, thoughtful and sweet side, along with a
tortured, emotional element that squeezed at her heart and held her enthralled.

Britt blew out a breath when Rufus called for a wrap of the
shoot.

Her insides sizzled just thinking about Diego. If he were to
emerge from the dilapidated barn behind her and start to seduce her, she just
might allow it right here in front of the whole crew. Except for Doris of course.
But Britt had gotten a charge out of having sex on his rear deck, that
delicious thrill of someone chancing by and seeing them.

Well someone had, but Carolyn didn’t count. That didn’t turn
Britt on at all to have a snarling, jealous ex-spouse watching her get fucked
in the hot tub by Diego. But before that, before the mood had been broken,
Britt had to admit she’d enjoyed the drugging buzz of almost getting caught or
being watched, which was something she’d never dabbled in or even considered
before Diego.

Ha. Maybe Carolyn was right. Only Britt didn’t charge for
her “services”. She gave them freely. Which meant she was more a slut than a
whore. She sighed, disgusted with her own self-recriminations. Even though she
admitted to a sick sort of attraction to this dark lifestyle Diego had
introduced her to, there were other serious matters to consider before allowing
herself to take any more plunges.

Like getting herself involved in the Carolyn and phantom-boy
situations.

She had to stop. Britt yanked off the jacket and crossed to
her bag. She needed a break, to think, to decide if she had the desire and the
time to get involved in someone else’s soap opera. Her life, though lonely and
uneventful, had been cruising along just fine before she’d met Diego in the
drugstore. Before Diego, Doris had been on her case to assure she continued to
date men who would be good for her career, Lexi had taken to all her dates,
there had been no ex-wives or children factored into any of her relationships
and she’d been able to concentrate much better at work.

All that pre-Diego.

“Tomorrow we hit the Tampa studio for some indoor filler
shots, guys, so be there at ten sharp,” Rufus announced. “And don’t go screwing
off and missing your evening flight back to Tampa. I’ll see you all in the
morning.”

Britt knelt and unzipped her bag. She fished her cell phone
out while the team broke down and packed up the equipment. Makeup closed down
and the other two models slinked over to wardrobe to change out of their
bathing suits.

As usual, Doris hovered nearby with a watchful eye and her
ears perked. Britt ignored her and pushed the Power button. She waited for the
device to fire up, noting the message icon when the start-up screen cleared.
Her stomach quivered. It had to be Diego. She’d opted not to answer each time
she saw his name come up. She’d decided it was better that way—for now. It made
it easier for them both to keep a distance during this strange stage of an even
stranger relationship.

She ignored the self-irritation that hovered in the
background of her mind and called her answering machine at home. Disappointment
sank heavy in her abdomen when she listened to a couple of telemarketing
messages, but nothing from Diego. There were several hang-ups, but she didn’t
know how to check her caller ID from here. Resigned to waiting until she
returned home later in the evening, she called the voicemail on her cell.

Two messages. Butterflies fluttered in her gut.

The first one from Lexi had come in earlier in the
afternoon. It proved to be a long, rambling one that made Britt grin and her
heart trip over her ribs.

“Look, I know you’re busy all the way down there on location
at some freaking orange farm or whatever, but would you call me as soon as you
can get a signal and tear your hot ass away from the cameras? It’s about that
prick, Diego. I swear, if that bastard comes into the store one more time
demanding to know where you are, I’m gonna call the damn cops. Wowza, you
picked a real winner this time.”

Lexi blew out a long, weary breath. “Okay, okay, so I’ll
admit the guy’s hot, but geez, as soon as he opens his fucking smart-assed
mouth and drills me with those devil eyes, I’m all creeped out. It’s like,
shit, does he have the mafia on my tail, or what? Feels like I’m gonna get
whacked any minute. Please, puh-leeze call me ASAP, would you, Britty? Before I
lose my shittin’ job—and my freaking mind?”

Britt punched buttons to get to the second message.

Please be Diego, please…