Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (6 page)

"Please." I press my palms together. Self-respect is much less important than working with Hazel Alexander. "I'll beg."

"Don't beg. I'll get ideas." He slides his arm around my lower back and holds me in place. His other hand goes to his phone. He dials and brings the thing to his ear. "Hey, Hazel. It's Tom."

Success! I can just barely hear her on the other line.

She's no-nonsense. "Yes... if you know she's dependable... Lot of grunt work... Look forward to meeting Willow tomorrow."

"Later." Tom hangs up his phone and slides it into his pocket. He releases his grip around my waist then looks at his arm like he's not sure how it got there.

"She said yes?" I ask.

He stares back at me with a wide smile, clearly enjoying tormenting me. "Did she?"

"You're killing me."

"Yes, she said yes. She's looking forward to meeting you."

I throw my arms around him and squeeze tight. Tom steps back, surprised, then he moves forward. Hugs me back.

He feels good. Hard. Safe.

"You that excited?" His voice is apprehensive.

"Yeah." I pull my arms to my sides. "Sorry. I shouldn't have jumped at you like that."

"It's all right. Just surprising."

It is? But he's experienced. "You've slept with 500 different women."

"Don't really stop to cuddle." He runs a hand through his hair. "I just... uh." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "You're going to stay through the tour?"

Fuck yes. I'll stay anywhere to work with Hazel Alexander. I nod.

"Then you'll need clothes. You only have that." He nods to my messenger bag. "You need help picking out stuff for clubs or you have that covered?"

"I can manage." Probably.

"Just, uh, make sure you pick out some lingerie."

Say what? I stare back into Tom's eyes but it doesn't help me figure out what he's getting at. "Why?"

He pulls out his wallet and counts out a thousand dollars in hundreds. "It's a surprise."

He is incredibly obvious about handing me the money.

I shove it in my purse before anyone can get ideas about mugging me. "What is this?"

"An advance on your salary. We're going to take our first set of pictures today. Get everything you need for the rest of the tour. Plus at least one set of matching lingerie."

I raise an eyebrow. He just smiles and nods to a bench outside the department store. "I'll be here."

***

I
t takes two long, exhausting hours of shopping to get everything I need. After I finish, Tom leads me to the parking garage, back to his flashy red convertible. It's a bright contrast against the beige concrete walls and the dusty asphalt.

Tom unlocks the trunk, stuffs my bags inside. Something in his expression changes. The softness in his eyes is disarming.

He leans against the car next to me. "Listen, kid. I hate to risk ruining the mood but I need to know what it is you're running from."

"Why?"

"A deal is a deal."

It's true. A deal is a deal. I take a deep breath. The air smells of gasoline. It's quiet. I can hear my heart beat.

"You're not okay," he says.

"Yes, I am."

"You're running from something bad, huh?"

"No. Just..." I pull my hands into my lap. "Just the normal stuff."

"Normal. Is that why you're cringing?"

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. Whatever it is, it's not normal."

I turn to face him. "It's very normal."

"Bullshit. You want me to call Hazel and tell her you're a liar?"

"Would you really do that?"

"I might." He stares into my eyes. "Been known to do whatever it takes to get what I want."

"You swear you won't tell Drew?"

"Why should it matter if—"

"Swear or I'm not telling you."

He nods.

Panic fills my stomach. I stare back at Tom. There's something earnest about him, something trustworthy. But that's not enough. I need to be sure.

"Seriously," I say. "If you tell Drew, everything is going to be fucked. You have to promise."

"I won't tell him. We're friends. Any secret of yours is just between us. Same goes for any secret of mine."

"Okay."

His shoulder presses against mine. He's warm.

"I live in an apartment in Berkley. A little studio in a six unit building. Mom didn't take me changing my major to photography too well. I moved out before she had the chance to kick me out. The place is a great deal and about all I can afford. I don't really have a choice about moving. Not without some serious cash."

He stares back at me. "I get that."

"My ex-boyfriend showed up as my new next door neighbor. Convinced my landlord that he's a nice, dependable guy I guess."

"He hurt you?"

"Someone always gets hurt when a relationship ends."

"He hit you?"

I can’t answer that. "I don't want to be around him. That's all."

"Yeah, sure."

His fingertips brush my wrist. The touch is soft and delicate. How can someone who comes in like a God damn wrecking ball have such a delicate touch?

I say nothing. He responds with silence. We lean against the car, him looking at me, me trying hard not to notice how he's staring.

Minutes pass. My heartbeat, my breath—both slow to something normal. Until the only thing mixing me up is how badly I want the comfort of Tom's arm around me again.

I step sideways, adjust my clothes, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.

"You have a picture or something?" Tom asks. "For our head of security. I'll make sure he keeps it from Drew."

I nod. There are lots of pictures of him online, from his college football days. I pick the most recent one.

"Thanks." Tom borrows my phone for a minute then hands it back. "It's okay. I'll make sure he's not around."

"It's nothing."

"Yeah. Of course."

I nod. Of course it's nothing. But I'm not selling that story. Not even a little bit.

Tom studies me. He must decide I'm okay, because the serious look drops off his face.

He slides his arm around my waist. "You're probably caffeine deprived. Let's get a coffee or something."

***

A
fter an almond milk latte and a one-sided conversation about horror movies, I am over-caffeinated and sufficiently distracted. It's clear why Tom runs around like a monkey on cocaine. The man drinks an ungodly amount of iced coffee.

His fingertips skim my palm. He's back to his usual bouncy self. No cracks, no softness, no signs he's ever been hurt.

He looks me in the eyes. "You feeling properly energized?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I have an idea. Want to indulge me?"

"Depends on what your idea is."

"The tabloids need to know about my new fuck buddy," he says.

I'm not following. "You don't have a fuck buddy."

"Sure I do." He nods to me. "She's a mystery girl with an edgy hairstyle and great taste in men."

He means me. Okay. This might work.

"You're game?" He asks.

Maybe. I nod anyway.

"Then let's take a picture of us fucking."

L
et's take a picture of us fucking
.

Has breathing always been this difficult?

"The hair really does match your cheeks," Tom says.

"Are you out of your damn mind?"

"And you think I would be fuck buddies with someone so shy." Tom shakes his head. He points to the department store across from us. "We're going to take a picture in that dressing room and you're going to leak it to a celeb news site."

"We're going to take a picture of us fucking in that dressing room?" I blink way more than any person should. "You don't mean..."

"Of course I don't
mean...
We'll cheat it. Don't tell me you don't know how to cheat a shot."

My body responds with gusto. Heart racing, heat building between my legs. It takes my head a few moments to catch up. The assignment is unorthodox, but I can do it. "What if Drew sees it?"

"He won't."

"You sure about that?"

"If you even say the words TMZ around Drew, he glares at you and threatens to hit someone." Tom nods. "If he does see it, I'll explain what we're doing. He won't like it, but fuck him. You want to spend your life making decisions because you're worried your brother is going to hit someone?"

"That's not it, exactly."

"Willow, it's your life. If you don't want to do it, tell me. But if you do want to do it, then fucking go for it. Don't let anything stop you from taking what you want."

"I'd be more receptive to your message if I didn't think you were trying to manipulate me."

"I don't need to manipulate women into pressing themselves against me. If you aren't game, I'll find another model." He scans the coffee shop, his gaze fixing on a tall woman with light hair. "But I'd rather not lead her on."

No. I don't want him pressed against that other woman.

He looks at me. "Are you in or out?"

I take a deep breath, cultivating the
go for it
confidence spread over Tom's face. I can do that too. I can be the kind of person who says
yes
to life instead of hiding behind my camera.

In theory.

Enough hesitation. I'll figure out what kind of person I want to be later. Right now, I need to please my client. I make eye contact. "I'm in."

"Then let's go."

***

T
om tears the tags off the black lace bra and panty set I bought at the department store. "I like your taste. Classy."

My cheeks flush. I try my best to shift into professional mode. We're in the handicapped stall of a dressing room, not a studio, but I can do this.

"Is the goal something we're taking for our depraved pleasure or something that belongs on Instagram?" I ask.

"Either way."

"They're different. The former will be messy, more about the physical and less about the props or anything. But you've seen pictures on social media. People pose them, get their latte arranged next to their book, next to their plate of grapes. No one really sits that neatly. You know?"

He nods. "Pretty and smart. Picked a good fake fuck buddy."

He's thinks I'm pretty and smart. I'm not sure which is more flattering. I clear my throat to keep desire from swallowing me whole.

"I want it to look like you leaked this picture. It's up to you."

"Then I don't need this." I point to my camera, return it to my purse, and fish out my cell. "It should look heat of the moment. Like we were so desperate to fuck that we nearly ripped off our clothes."

"This is why I need you, kid." He pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. "Good?"

My gaze goes to his chest, his stomach, the soft tuft of hairs below his belly button. Very good. Great. Amazing.

I unlock my phone, open the camera app. "Maybe a few like this. Sorta... you stripping for me."

He cocks a brow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A woman should enjoy her work."

Tom laughs. He motions to the waistband of his jeans. "These too."

"Not yet." I snap a few shots of him, waist up. God, he's yummy. Unbearably yummy. It's practically objective.

I grab the bra and panties and toss them aside. Time to think like a photographer. If we were going to fuck in here, we'd have a few good options. There's the seat. Big enough for me to climb on top of him. Or he could lift me and push me against the wall. Or turn me around and take me from behind.

A flush spreads over my cheeks and down my chest.

I pull my sweater over my head and toss it on the ground.

Tom's eyes go to my exposed skin. My shoulders, my neck, my chest. His cheeks flush. He's checking me out.

He wants me.

But he made it clear we're only friends. I'm keeping this professional. Well, as professional as pretending to fuck in a dressing room can get.

I press my cell to my chest. "Come on. Let's get posing. Grab me and press me against the wall."

"Bossy all of a sudden."

"Just do it."

"As you wish, Mistress Photographer." Tom slides his arms under my ass and lifts me. "Wrap your legs around me."

I do. It puts us in quite the compromising position. He shifts, holding me against the wall. His crotch presses into mine.

"Not sure if this will come out well." I hold my phone over my head, press my cheek against Tom's to shield my face from the camera, and take half a dozen photos.

"Can't complain about the working conditions." He shifts his body into mine, pressing me harder against the wall.

God, that feels good. I take a deep breath so I won't be totally red. "Can you set me down?"

He does. I focus all my attention on the pictures. Most of them are garbage—a whiff of hair or a strange angle on the floor—but a few are in the right direction. They focus on the tattoo spanning his shoulder blades, his arms around the mystery girl with short pink-tipped hair.

I show Tom the winners.

He points to something on the image. "Your straps are showing."

I stare back at him, unblinking.

"Keep your top on, kid. But push the straps to your shoulders or something."

"You better hope you're right about Drew not seeing these."

"I'm not worried about Drew. Push comes to shove, I can take him." He motions for me to adjust my top.

I pull my tank and bra straps off my arms. They hang under my armpits. It's unflattering from straight on, but it should work from overhead.

"Okay. Press me against the wall." I brace myself for the slight impact.

"Mmm, so bossy." He slides his arms around me and pulls us into position.

Somehow, we're closer this time. I can feel his heart beating against my chest, his breath against my neck.

His lips brush my skin. His fingers dig into the fabric of my jeans.

I shift, trying to get comfortable, trying to focus on taking pictures.
Click, click, click
. Then another angle and a few more for good measure.

"Wllllw." Tom's voice is muffled. "Yrrr ttts rrr prsssd tooo myyy faaaa."

"Huh."