Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (3 page)

My whole body goes light. All the tension of the day melts as I burst into giggles. No one teases me like this. I shake my head. "I don't have any game."

"Guys don't go crazy for that sweet and innocent thing?"

"I don't really date."

"Just pickup guys in bars and fuck them without learning their names." He shakes his head with mock outrage. "Willow, Willow, Willow. I expected better from you. They at least deserve breakfast in the morning."

"I'm not a monster. I make them coffee."

His interest perks. "Really?"

I hold a poker face for as long as I can (about fifteen seconds). Another laugh escapes my lips as I shake my head.

"Don't even make coffee. So greedy."

"Hey! I live around the corner from a Philz Coffee. I always offer them a few bucks to pick something up."

"So you make them feel cheap too?" He shakes his head. "What do you scream when you come if you don't know their names? 'Baby' or 'Oh God' or 'Fuck yeah'?"

"What do you scream out when you come?"

"Only one way to find out."

He can't be serious.

Tom laughs. "Kidding. You seem like a nice kid, and I know better than to get between Drew and someone he wants to protect. You and I... we're just friends."

Tom and I are going to be friends. I can do that. I nod. Just friends. No problem.

I'll only be around him a few days if I get the gig.

There's a buzz on the other side of the bench. That's a loud vibrate alert. Tom attends to something on his phone. I check the rest of the pictures on my camera for anything remotely appropriate for this assignment. There's nothing.

The waitress interrupts our silence with a promise our food is almost ready. Once she's gone, Tom slides his phone into his pocket and turns all his attention to me.

"How often
do
you get laid?" he asks.

"That is incredibly classified."

"Suit yourself."

Okay. Two can play this game. I tease back. "If you're such a proud manwhore, why did you get a piercing right before going on tour?"

"There's no time like the present. If you want something, why wait?"

"But you're permanently changing your body."

"I did my research. Read about the risks, found a piercer with experience. After that, there's no reason to waste time deciding. Do it or don't." He leans closer. "What did you think?"

Think? It's not possible to think in this state. That piercing, god that piercing. What would it feel like in my hands, my mouth, my—

"You do like it." He laughs. "My eyes are up here, kid."

"I know." I finish my water. How can I be this attracted to Tom? I haven't wanted anyone in years. He's hot, yes, but there have been other hot guys. I go on dates. Kiss even.

I never feel anything this intense. Hell, I never feel anything. Period.

The waitress drops off our food and refills our waters. She fawns over Tom, fetching him several kinds of hot sauce and brushing her hand against his wrist without asking permission.

When she's done flirting, he scoops his dish and a fair helping of rice onto a side plate and passes it to me. "Try it."

"You don't have to do that."

"I thought we covered this. I don't do things unless I want to do them."

"Okay. Thank you." I try a bite of eggplant. It's good. Tender. Spicy. After I swallow, I lick the oil off my lips.

He watches me with a cocky smile. He knows I like it but he doesn't brag about it.

I scoop a quarter of my noodles onto a side plate and offer them to him. "Fair is fair."

He nods. "I like a generous woman."

Oh, god, he's talking about sex again. I take a long sip of water in the hopes of cooling off.

It doesn't help.

We eat in silence. The food is good. Especially the eggplant dish. When I'm stuffed, I thank him for dinner and attempt to relax.

Tom finishes a few minutes later. He pushes the plates aside and leans closer. "You want to tell me why you're here?"

"At this restaurant—"

"In Reno. Drew didn't mention you coming, so I know it was last minute. And the way you've been acting. You're running from something."

I swallow hard. I can't tell Tom. He might relay the information to Drew. I shake my head. No. I'm not telling him.

"I can reword to make it a demand," he says.

"It's not any of your business."

He looks upset. But why? Tom barely knows me. He doesn't have any right to expect me to share my secrets.

An idea hits me. Perfect. It gets me out of answering without telling him to go fuck himself.

I look back at Tom. "I'll tell you. If you do something for me."

He sits up, intrigued. "I'm listening."

"I have an application for a photography job due at noon tomorrow and I don't have any pictures for it."

He shifts back to teasing, shaking his head in mock outrage. "Procrastinating on your homework. I expected better from you, Willow."

"Hey! You have any idea how hard it is to ask someone to get half naked so you can take sexy pictures of them?"

"It can be
hard
."

Oh. I clear my throat. "Are you familiar with boudoir?"

He nods.

"I need a model. I have ten photos due tomorrow. You wouldn't have to get naked. Just underwear."

"Sure. I'll do it."

What?

"Try not to look so surprised." He smiles, the picture of confidence. "You want to use my hotel room or you need some place sexier?"

My head is swimming. Tom is going to pose for me. I take a deep breath. "No. The hotel room is perfect."

For Tom.

Half-naked.

In front of my camera.

I scan the room to assess the lighting situation. There are reading lamps on each side of the king bed. There's a bright fluorescent bulb above the couch. Then there's the bathroom.

My options are limited. But I can work with that. I take a few pictures of the room to see how it looks on screen. Too dark, no contrast. I turn my camera to Tom. He looks right into the lens.

"We starting already?" he asks.

"Not yet."

Click
. It's hard to make out his expression. But one thing is certain.

He's trouble.

He plays with the zipper of his hoodie, raising a brow. "You need me to start stripping, Mistress Photographer?"

Oh yeah. Trouble.

It takes great restraint to stay calm and professional. "Not yet. We'll start with you fully dressed."

I set my camera down and mess with the lights. With no way to angle them, my options are limited. I arrange the lamps
sans
shades until the room is filled with an angelic glow. The soft lighting will be a perfect contrast to the mischievous look in Tom's eyes.

When I'm finished, I turn my attention back to him.

Deep breath. I'm a photographer. If I want any chance of working with clients, I need to get over my shyness. Doesn't matter that my current model is smoking hot and about to strip. It's part of the job.

I look at Tom like he's a prop. Okay. That's it. I point to a spot in front of the bed. "Can you stand there?"

"Naked?" He teases.

My cheeks flush. He's a prop. "No. As you are."

He moves. His hands go to the zipper of his hoodie. He raises a brow. "Do I need to model?"

"If you want."

Something in his expression shifts, more posed and more relaxed at once. He
is
modeling. And he's good at it too. His expression is playful and sexy. It's perfect.

Click, click, click
.

"Tease the camera." I motion to his zipper. "Like you're teasing me."

"You sure? Don't want to get you all worked up and send you home wanting."

My cheeks flush again. It's damn hot in here. I have to tease him back, make him think I'm as comfortable with this as he is. "It's an occupational hazard."

"Shit. Never thought I'd want to be anything other than a drummer." A cocky smile spreads over his face as he unzips his hoodie. He raises a brow as if to say
do you want me? I know you do.

My, does he look good on film. Digital, technically. It takes great effort to stay professional. Somehow, I manage. I can't do many things, really. I can swim for hours. I can cook a decent meal. And I can take a fantastic set of photographs.

Hopefully.

"Take off your shirt." It comes out more demanding than I mean it to. "Please."

"You're so polite, Mistress Photographer. Are you trying to butter me up to get me naked?" He winks.

"Would I have to butter you up?"

"No. But my ego always enjoys a good stroking."

"You're trying to make me blush, aren't you?"

Tom smiles. "I'd never."

"Right. You're a nice guy."

He nods. "The nicest."

He spends ages pulling his shirt up his stomach, revealing inch after inch of defined abs. He has those v-lines. They make it nearly impossible to concentrate.

Tom doesn't wait for my order. He sits back on the bed and spreads his legs in a position that invites someone between them. Me. Well, the camera.

Prop. I need to think of him as a prop. Even if my palms are sweating and my mouth is dry.

Okay. It's way too hot in here. I set the camera down and do away with my sweater.

"Didn't realize it was
that
kind of photo shoot." Tom winks and pats the bed next to him. "I won't bite. Unless you want me to."

"No. It's just—"

"Where have I seen that before?" His eyes go to my chest. Well, the tattoo just above my chest.

"Drew has one." It's quite dramatic. A shattered glass heart, broken and bloody. "His is on his shoulder."

Tom's eyes fix on my chest. "Can't say I find his nearly appealing as yours."

"Thanks." I try to come up with some way to change the subject. There are way too many memories attached to this thing. Awful memories that will get in the way of getting this done.

"Does it mean anything special?"

I swallow hard. "I got it after I broke up with my ex. To remind myself... of something. That I could survive a broken heart, I guess." I can't handle this conversation. It's too revealing. I point to the tattoo on Tom's chest. "What about your lion?"

"Loved
The Lion King
when I was a kid."

"You did not."

"You're right." He spreads his legs wider. "My mom, adopted mom, is an anthropologist. She always had tribal art on the walls." He points to her chest. "This is one of her favorite paintings."

"Did you get it for her?" I ask.

"Not exactly."

"What about your arm?"

"Liked the design."

"That's it?"

He nods. "Tell you what. I'll think a little harder about my next tat."

"It's your body. You should do whatever pleases you."

"Oh,
that's
what you're after." He reaches for the button of his jeans.

Oh God. He's about to take them off.

"No." I bite my lip to keep from blushing. Okay. I need to get back behind my camera. Out of the fray. No chance of getting hurt. I line up another shot of Tom. That's better. "Lie on your back. Please."

His body stretches long as he leans back. That's yummy. I snap more photos than I could ever use. This angle isn't quite right. I try getting closer but that's not it. The left side. Yes.

Without instructions, Tom slides his hand down his torso. Like he's going to start touching himself.

Deep breath. This is normal boudoir stuff. If I can't handle it, then I won't hack it with actual clients.

God, he's sexy. A natural.
Click, click, click
. His hand skims the waistband of his jeans.
Click, click, click
.

His hand is on the waistband of his jeans. The button.

I can't take it anymore.

I clear my throat as I set my camera down. "Maybe try a few sitting up."

He smirks, his eyes catching mine as he sits up straight. He knows how badly I want him. It's written all over his face.

Still, he is an accommodating model. He messes around on the bed. Copies half a dozen men's magazine glamour model poses. Kneeling. On all fours. Sticking his ass in the air.

"That better?" he asks.

I laugh. "You're better at being sexy."

"Am I?" He cocks a brow.

"You know you're sexy. Don't pretend otherwise." Thank goodness for my camera. I could never, in a million years, say anything this potentially embarrassing without the photography equipment shielding me. "Give me a few more. Be yourself."

He does. He shifts back on the bed. Oh lord. He unzips his jeans. Slides them off his hips. To his knees. His feet. He leans back, over the edge of the bed.

Oh, shit. "Tom, you're going to fall."

He does fall. With quite the thud. I bite my lip, bracing myself for a bad reaction.

But he jumps to his feet and laughs it off. He's a little scraped, but it's no big deal.

I set my camera down. "Are you okay?"

He nods to his scraped knee. "Occupational hazard."

He's effortless about everything. It must be nice to take life in stride. To be fearless.

I look back at Tom. "Those are great. I should have plenty."

"Let me see."

"After I edit them." And after a cold shower. "You're a good model."

"I know." He gets back into his clothes and walks to the door. His voice gets serious. "You can tell me tomorrow. About what it is you're running from."

Oh. That. I nod despite the dread forming in my gut. "Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams, kid."

The heavy door slams into the frame.

I plug my computer into the wall and get to uploading the images. The slow progress bar gives my thoughts time to sink in. They're heavy enough to weigh me down.

My first priority is getting far away from Bradley. Done. For now. My second is getting this application in. If I get the job, I'll move into a nice building with security and front gates that lock. If I don't get the job, well, I'll figure out something less depressing than crashing in my brother's spare room until the end of time.

One day, when I'm good enough, I'll open my own studio. I'll get magazine assignments. Editorials. Portraits. Beautiful photos that are packed with personality. I can fill in the gaps with headshots and boudoir.