Test Shot (3 page)

“Because of me.”

“Well, you were a little late.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I allot each new prospective client twenty, so you’re already running over.” Her sunny smile didn’t hide the darkness clouding her eyes. Whether it was due to his tardiness or another reason, he didn’t know.

But he wanted to. For a guy who was careful to keep his professional entanglements strictly business, his curiosity toward her was already straining. It had started with her phone call. She’d phoned him late in the evening several nights ago, and since then, he hadn’t been able to get her voice out of his head. It was made for the radio. Not for something as classless as phone sex. Maybe as a narrator for one of the audiobooks he bought by the dozen for his commuting trips to potential jobs. She hadn’t once strayed into anything but polite, neutral territory, but he couldn’t help his terminal interest in peeling back layers.

And Layla Palmer, he would bet, had plenty of them.

Manda was attractive and fun, the kind of woman who didn’t require deep thoughts or expect any. The same couldn’t be said for Layla. He didn’t doubt that he’d pegged her correctly as wholesome, though appearances could be deceiving. Especially considering where she worked. So were the glasses and confident manner a ruse? Was she really a wildcat in tailored clothing?

Maybe he just needed to get laid. Clearly he was thinking way too much.

“Since we’ll probably need to schedule another appointment, you’ll have time to compile as many questions as you’d like,” Layla continued, oblivious to his internal debate. “First I need to know your comfort level, straight out. Judging from your earlier comment about naked modeling, I’m assuming you’ve had time to research what kind of agency Hot Shots is.”

“I wouldn’t have sent in my résumé otherwise.”

“And you still showed for our meeting, so I’m guessing that’s a good sign?”

“I’m willing to hear what’s on the table.”

With a brisk nod, she tapped a pencil on her Day Planner. She’d tucked any signs of nerves away, as if she barely cared that he was about to drop trou in her office. Was she really that blasé? And God, could he ever be as unruffled as her man if she were
his
fiancée? Knowing she was staring at strange nude male bodies day after day. Seeing it as work, no more, no less.

“Handy, since I’m willing to see more of what you’re bringing to the table as well.” She cocked her head, her mile-long lashes dipping down to hide her eyes for a moment. “So, ah, Sawyer Blake, do you want to do this with just you and me? I can call in one of the other agents if you’d like. In fact, I’ll need to if you decide to sign with us.”

Something about the way she used his full name made him grin. She might as well have been a naughty kindergarten teacher who spent her evenings participating in wet T-shirt contests. “Need to verify my talent, hmm?”

“You could say that.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a couple of folders before shoving some papers across the desk. “There are disclosure agreements you should sign, for your protection and ours. Plus they’ll probably make you more comfortable with our procedures here.”

“I signed one already. Otherwise I’m good to go.” To prove it, he reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Her throat bobbed, and the involuntary reaction pleased him inordinately. Finally she was looking at him as more than a piece of man flesh up for inspection. For this instant, he’d become just a man. As she was just a woman.

“Sawyer, I can—”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, tugging his shirttails out of his jeans. “No disclosures needed. Or any other agents.” She leaned back in her chair and rested her small hands over her stomach. Her gigantic diamond engagement ring winked in the sunlight, drawing his focus to her fingers, then upward to her attire. She wore a dove-gray turtleneck sweater that highlighted the soft rise of her breasts and the rapid inhalations she was trying to hide. He didn’t stop his perusal until he registered the open fascination in her eyes. They’d warmed to dark chocolate brown, and he’d happily lose himself in them while he stripped for her.

“Okay,” she said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Layla startled at the suddenness with which Sawyer started to undress, but she tried not to look rattled. She’d already shuffled around her normal procedure for him. Crass or not, Sawyer’s hot-as-hell body and soulful face might as well have been imprinted with dollar signs. So his lateness didn’t really matter in the scheme of things.

What about that you touched yourself to his picture last night? Where does that rate?

Nope, not going there.

So far, nothing about this day was ordinary. Not her fiancé’s behavior, nor the way this meeting had gone. Normally she started with more conversation to break the ice, followed by a brief run-through of the model’s history, but she figured if he couldn’t strip with relative ease, they wouldn’t have much to discuss.

Though many of Hot Shots’ bookings didn’t require complete nudity, it saved a great deal of time to assume they would. The last thing any of the agents wanted to deal with was someone who initially seemed okay with the idea, then balked when a client’s time and money were on the line.

But Sawyer’s reaction was something else. As unnerved as he’d seemed when he’d walked into her office—and as unnerved as he’d made her, because she read his feelings as clearly as if he’d telegraphed them—now he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. His odd reaction fit, considering Aidan’s equally strange behavior.

Then Sawyer opened his shirt, and she forgot about everything but him.

Damn, he had one hell of a chest. If she’d thought it lick-worthy in a magazine, when he was just a few feet away, it blew her mind. Each muscle defined to the nth degree, covered in golden skin free of any tattoos. Even the dark blond hair dusting his chest somehow emphasized exactly how built he was.

His nimble fingers moved to the button of his jeans, and her breath actually tripped. If her chair had arms, she would’ve gripped them.

The door opened, and she jumped so fast her knee banged the underside of her desk. She grabbed hold of her throbbing kneecap and tried not to wince as Con and Drew, the owners and senior agents of Hot Shots, strolled into the room.

“Clearly we’re interrupting something.” Even from this distance, Layla could see the speculative glance Drew tossed over his shoulder at Con, who still lingered close to the doorway.

“You’re not interrupting. Guys, this is Sawyer Blake, a model I’ve been eyeing”—she stopped and took a cleansing breath—“a model I’ve had my eye on since I saw his
Eloquent
photo shoot.” She opened her desk drawer and held the magazine out to Drew. “Pages twenty-three to twenty-six.”

“Twenty-seven,” Sawyer corrected smoothly, arching a brow at her when she flung him an annoyed glance.

Touché.

“We apologize for interrupting your interview.” Con strode forward to shake Sawyer’s right hand. The left still toyed with the button of his jeans. “I’m Conrad Becker, one of the co-owners and senior agents of Hot Shots. This individual beside me is my partner, Drew Cole—”

“—also known as his favorite person in the whole world,” Drew added with a grin.

“Not hardly, unless you grow some vital new equipment between those tree trunks you call thighs.”

“That’s what he says in front of mixed company.” Drew winked. “Truth is, he’s not fussy.”

Con slid his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. His casual attire was the exact opposite of Drew’s tailored suit, sans tie. “I’d say it in front of any company, but today you’re not my type.”

“So I’ve got a chance tomorrow?”

“You’ve
never
got a chance, pal.”

Layla rolled her eyes at the guys’ typical antics. That Sawyer merely grinned at them increased her irritation. Clearly she’d been the only one ensnared by inappropriate lust.

Which was just as well, since she wasn’t supposed to be aroused by her potential clients. Then there was that whole engaged-to-be-married thing, even if the person she was engaged to had almost seemed eager to encourage said lust.

Something she still wasn’t interested in thinking about. At all. Nor was she dwelling on friendly texts from random doctors.

After midnight, a person was allowed to do things they normally wouldn’t. She’d made a mistake in looking at Aidan’s phone, but she wouldn’t do it again. And she wouldn’t borrow trouble by seeing things that weren’t there.

“Sawyer Blake, you said?” Con looked briefly at Layla before returning his attention to Sawyer. “I think I’ve heard of you. You were in Skyline Restaurant’s recent series of ads. You played the role of the upwardly mobile, upper-twenties New Yorker perfectly.”

She blinked. Leave it to Con. While Drew continued to page through the magazine—and from the smirk on his face, he was
not
looking at the pictures of Sawyer—Con, the business shark, was already cruising through the water with the scent of blood in his nose.

“Yes, that was me. I did a series of commercials with them as well.”

“Very nice. Skyline’s a highbrow establishment. Lots of big names dine there. Celebrities.”

“I dine there,” Drew said under his breath, though no one seemed to care.

“Yes, a friend of mine owns it. He gave me my start before I moved to New York.”

“Good friend.” Con cast a look at Layla. Though he didn’t give her the thumbs-up sign, he might as well have. “So now you’ve come to us.”

“I’ve come to hear what we can offer each other, assuming we turn out to be a good fit.”

“Smart. And you were in the process of revealing some of your assets when we barged in to ask Layla if she needed our assistance. Should’ve known better.” He smiled. “She always has things under control.”

“You’re leaving?” Layla asked, that strange little quiver returning to her voice. And right between her breasts.

“We are. Unless you need us.” Apparently figuring she didn’t, Con gripped Drew’s arm and yanked him toward the door.

Drew didn’t glance up from the magazine. Unless she was mistaken, he’d found the swimsuit pullout section at the back of
Eloquent.

“Do we need them?” she asked Sawyer, who shrugged as if it was her call. He seemed more at ease now after meeting the guys. Maybe that they appeared to be the epitome of successful young professionals—Con’s rugged lumberjack look aside—had convinced him of the operation’s legitimacy.

“Guess we’re good,” she said to Con, who was already on his way out the door. “Right,” she added when it clicked shut. “Thanks.”

She shook her head and groped for her pencil. “There’s always Manda. She could join us if you’d like.”

“Unless you’re both going to be undressing for me, nope, I’m fine with just you.” His cheeky grin as he popped the button on his jeans and went to work on the zipper helped her to relax. As inane as that was.

She wasn’t supposed to be nervous. He was the one getting naked. She swallowed and shifted on her chair when he eased his tight jeans down over his ass. It wasn’t as if she’d gone hot and wet. Absolutely not.

He bent to unlace his boots, then pulled them off and set them by her desk. One toppled over the other like a pair tossed aside by a child. She stared at them, not directing her gaze at him until he’d pushed his jeans all the way down to his ankles. A quick glimpse of his equally tight boxers and she rotated the pencil, inadvertently stabbing herself in the palm with the point. Shit. But she didn’t make a noise, just wailed silently in her head.

Fuck!

Face blank, he straightened and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, shimmying them down with the aplomb of a man who didn’t mind in the slightest losing his shorts in front of a stranger. She could work with this. With him.

God, could she.

Not looking at his cock wasn’t as hard as she’d expected. He had nice legs, the kind the average, unattached woman could fantasize about hooking her own around. Strong thighs, with just the right amount of hair. Sturdy knees, built for running. Then there was that long white scar running down the inside of one calf. How had he gotten that? Skateboarding? Skiing accident?

Woman gnawing up his sexy leg as if he were dinner and she’d decided to feast on the nonessential parts first?

“Ms. Palmer?”

Her gaze snapped up at his amused tone, but unfortunately it snagged directly below his waist instead of continuing up to his face. She stared at his partially erect cock for a full thirty seconds, relieved that it appeared normal and didn’t seem likely to shoot off gold sparks. She hadn’t been sure for a while there.

Though he was well-built, he wasn’t intimidating. Aidan’s was bigger, probably. Wider for sure. But Sawyer’s was as long as the rest of him, and just as comfortable under the spotlight. In no time at all he went from half-mast to almost all the way.

“You’re not minding this part of the interview.” Her attempt at humor echoed in her ears.

He wasn’t the only one not minding it. If she placed her palm between her legs, she knew her skin would come away damp.

But no one else would know. Cheating in her brain—whether while she held a vibrator or while she imagined crawling across her desk and crawling all over Sawyer—didn’t count. As long as she kept her legs tightly closed, it wouldn’t hurt anything. It wouldn’t hurt her and Aidan.

“Sorry.” He shrugged, not sounding sorry at all. “A pretty lady eats me up with her eyes, that’s what happens.”

In spite of her awareness of how easily lines like that fell from many men’s lips, she couldn’t help the way her shoulders lifted. But she could help her thoughts.

This was business.
Just
business. He wasn’t any different than the other men she saw naked on a daily basis. Last night’s solo session and Aidan’s dirty follow-up didn’t change a damn thing.

Deliberately, Layla leaned back in her chair, determined to act as if this was merely routine. That she wasn’t inappropriately attracted to someone she wanted to represent. That her fiancé hadn’t shoved her toward Sawyer, for reasons she didn’t and couldn’t understand.