The Chase (8 page)

And I’m still in those stupid sweatpants.

“They’re ready for you.” Amy runs a hand through Adam’s hair, fussing with it a bit... unnecessarily, because I’m sure that they’ve got a stylist waiting at the shoot. Her fingers trace over his cheekbones, his eyes as she fusses over nonexistent dark circles, muttering about how he needs to get more rest and not burden himself with extra things—this, of course, with a quick glare in my direction.

When she bends to brush at some nonexistent lint on the thighs of his pants, my fingers fist in the soft as sin sheets of the bed, to keep from clawing her big blue Bambi eyes out.

“I suppose
she’s
going?”

Adam
looks up, casts me an unreadable sidelong glance, then nods. “She is.” And then he’s gone, without so much as a backward glance that tells me we’ll pick this up later.

With Adam safely out of the room, Amy sneers
up the stairs at me and slaps a key card down on the table that stands by the door. “Suite 1232. Down the hall.”

Sniffing with her nose in the air, she turns to leave, then pauses in the doorway with one slender, amethyst tipped hand on the polished door frame. “This photo shoot is for the magazine Entice. These are fashion people. So try to dress like you care.”

Okay. That’s it.
I scramble to my feet, ‘cause the tit punching is so going to happen—I’m sick of this chick.

But she’s gone, which is probably a good thing. I don’t want to have to explain to Adam why I beat up his assistant... or why I’m so good at throwing a punch. That is a lesson from my past that he doesn’t need.

Scowling, I pick up the bag of clothes that Amy provided for me and upend it on the bed. None of the pieces that she chose for me are anything I would ever wear—not in my real life, where I’m strictly a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, and certainly not for Miss Black, who insists on the expensive, elegant tramp look, while these clothes scream street walker.

I sift through the pile, my mind full of the way Adam looked as he ordered me to strip.
So far he’s seen me in oversized sweats, and in a dress torn by the hands of another man.

I want to catch his eye, as best as I can with what I’ve got. Which, I realize with a grimace, is a red pleather miniskirt, a
sheer white wife beater, bedazzled black pumps, and...

Christ on a cracker, the bitch got me crotchless panties.
I’d leave the useless things off entirely, but I’m not brave enough to go commando under the tiny little skirt.

But when I look in the mirror after
sliding into the outfit and finger combing my hair, I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see. The clothing may be club wear, but it’s clearly expensive and fits me well. My hair is a lot crazier than I would usually style it, but given how thick and stubbornly straight it is, it’s been saved from the disaster it could have been and just looks... sexy.

And the makeup that I so carefully applied for my date with Henry Thomas, what now seems like a year or so ago, looks... kinda great, in that way that makeup you sleep in sometimes inexplicably does.

I feel good.

I feel
hot
.

And d
espite the fact that he basically kidnapped me, despite everything I heard about him before I ever met him... I want this. I want him. And though it’s all kinds of crazy, he wants this every bit as badly as I do.

And giving in to this heat is the
worst
idea in the history of ever. But even though I don’t know why he went to Miss Black in the first place... even though I don’t know if this can go anywhere...

I’m not sure that
I care.

Chapter Six

When I open the door to the suite that has been rented for the magazine photo shoot, I instantly notice two things.

One, it’s really freaking bright.

And two, Adam still looks
really good in those suit pants¸ which have been paired with a leather belt studded with spikes. A red tie hangs loosely over his chest, emphasizing his six-pack.

And his arms are around a naked—
completely
freaking naked—Victoria’s Secret model. Like, literally a Victoria’s Secret model... she’s the star of their new line.

She’s got crazy curly black
hair, and smooth, smooth skin the color of a Starbucks mocha. And you can see an awful lot of that skin, because she’s
naked.

Did I mention she’s naked?

The door clicks shut behind me, but no one seems to notice that I’ve entered the room.
Adam
sure as hell doesn’t notice—he’s too busy getting bright red lip prints all over his chest.

If I had any doubt about what I’m feeling for him, it would slap me in the head right about now, as a surge of unprecedented jealousy makes my legs tremble.

“That’s great, guys.” I watch as the photographer, a small, mousy woman in baggy corduroy pants, lets her camera fall from the strap around her neck, stopping and wiping the back of her hand over her forehead, which gleams with sweat. I feel a smidgen better as I look at her... actually, as I look all around the room.

There are lots of people in here, but despite Amy’s comment about this being a fashion shoot... not everyone looks like a model, and not everyone is wearing designer clothing. In fact, it’
s as if Adam and the model with him are aliens, beautiful creatures that shine so brightly that the ordinary people surrounding them look dull in comparison.

I wouldn’t mind being one of these ordinary people... except that I can’t imagine Adam being wi
th someone who doesn’t shine brightly as he clearly does.

Fascinated
by the efficient blur of motion that is a major magazine photo shoot, I stand back and watch as Adam and the model are given a quick break. One assistant appears with bottles of icy water for them, going so far as to unscrew the caps and, in the model’s case, hold the thing up to her glossy red lips. The second the water break is done, a makeup artist scurries over, wiping away perspiration brought about by the hot, unrelenting lights. She applies powder to both faces, then retouches the model’s red lips.

Yeah, I guess she needs a fresh coat of lipstick...
‘cause her first dose is smeared all over Adam’s chest.

“Okay, let’s talk about the next set.” The photographer pulls a rubber band out of her pocket and ties back her not quite blonde, not quite brown hair and eyes her subjects intently. “I really want to push the boundaries here. Adam, this isn’t a setup that anyone is going to expect from you, and so I want to go for that extra shock factor.”

The model stares off into space. Adam nods.

“I want this to be kinky. Adam, I want you to get handsy. Thighs. Tits. Whatever you want, okay?” The photographer doesn’t ask the model if she’s okay with this, but the other woman seems bored, like she could care less.

“Okay. Go.” Stepping back, the photographer again raises her camera and starts to shoot. And in the blink of an eye, Adam has pulled the model so that she’s straddling his lap. Her head is thrown back in apparent ecstasy as he palms her breast and nibbles on her neck.

This—I should probably be jealous of this. But instead I’m finding it really fucking hot. Probably because when Adam lifts his head, his eyes seek me out where I stand in the background.

That connection between us snaps into place, pulling tight with so much heat that I swear I can hear it sizzle.

“
Yes
! Whatever you’re thinking about right now Adam, keep thinking it.” The photographer is a study in frenetic motion, circling the pair that look for all the world like they’re making wild, passionate love. “
That’s
the intensity I want!”

Adam keeps his eyes on mine as he shifts the model, turning her so that she’s lying between his legs, her back pressed to his naked chest.

Slowly, so slowly, he takes her breasts in his hands, and through the connection of our stare, I feel like it’s me his hands are on.

When he slides his palms down, tracing her ribcage, I can feel the heat move over my skin, too.

His palms come to rest on her upper thighs, and my own legs quiver.

“Stop! New idea!” The photographer, clearly into her work, offers hands to both the model and Adam to help them up. The model looks confused, and Adam entertained.

“Over to the window.” She shoos them over to the far side of the suite, which is nearly identical to the one that Adam and I are sharing, meaning that the walls are made entirely of glass.

“Adam, lean back against the glass. Shanti, straddle him again, but tuck your face into his shoulder... I don’t want to see it. I want you to be nameless.” At this the model frowns, clearly wondering why on earth she should have to hide a face as magnificent as hers.

The photographer scowls, and Shanti hurries to comply.

The woman wielding the camera paces back and forth, eyeing the scene with a somewhat manic eye. Adam and Shanti are in the positions that she place
d them in, but aren’t moving.

“We’re missing an element.” She mutters, then snaps her head up, pointing to the assistant who provided the water bottles. “You! Bring me another female model.”

“Uh...” The skinny, pale man dressed entirely in back looks around with wide, fearful eyes. “We don’t... um...”

Desperately, he looks around the room. When his eyes look in my direction and his face lights up, I look over my shoulder to see who he’s looking at.

“You. There.” Moving awfully fast in a room that’s full of cables and other potential hazards, he’s quickly at my side, his hand clamped around my wrist within the blink of an eye. “Over here. You’re needed.”

I dig my heels in the carpet and pull back. “I’m so not a model. No way.”

“Unless you want to watch me get pushed out into that very lovely ocean, get your sweet ass over here.” He tugs at me; I pull back. “The guilt will be all on you if they find my body washed ashore later. My boyfriend’s grief? That’ll be on you, sweetie.”

My mouth falls open at the massive guilt trip, and the assistant uses my momentary shock to propel me across the room. I look at Adam desperately, but he’s
got his head tipped back laughing and is of no help whatsoever.

“Here you go, Sybil.” The assistant simpers at the photographer. She bares her teeth in return and he scurries away.

These people are freaking weird.

“You. What’s your name?” The photographer—Sybil—
circles me like a dog looking for a place to do its business, looking me up and down.

“Carly.” Wild eyed I look down at Adam. He’s still smiling, but this time he gives me an encouraging nod.

Sybil sniffs. “Nice to see a model with a normal name. None of that Gaga, Iggy, Apple crap.” Then without warning, she spins me around and presses me to the window.

“Getting there.” Humming to herself, she arranges my arms so that my hands are splayed against the window as if I’m about to get strip searched. “You have fabulous legs. Hmm.”

“Um. Thank you?” The glass is cold against my skin, but feels refreshing when I rest my forehead against it. But...

Wow. The world stretches out below me, and my stomach lurches, my brain not comprehending that there’s a sheet of glass between me and the massive freefall into the ocean.

I suck in a breath and try to slow my pounding pulse. As my eyes scan the panorama below me, I actually do calm down a bit, the beauty of the water crashing against the rocks washing over me.

I’ve never seen anything like it... I’ve never been out of New York state before. And standing here, hovering above the water but not falling...

I almost feel like I could fly.

“Almost there.”
Behind me Sybil mutters some more. I turn my head to find her fixing Adam with her stare. “Reach back and grab her leg. Grab it like you mean it.”

I would have laughed at the fervor in her voice, but I choose that moment to look down at Adam. He’s looking back at me, and the corners of his lips are curved up in a wicked smile.

The arm closest to the window is wrapped around Shanti, who is in her own little world and quite possibly asleep.

His other arm, though... Adam slowly wraps it around my ankle, just a
bove the studded leather pumps.

The heat of his hand is intensified by the look in his eyes as he stares up at me, and I start to burn.

“Yes!” Sybil starts to take pictures, but I only barely register the click of the camera. My attention is focused entirely on Adam, who is slowly sliding his hand up my leg until he’s cupping my inner thigh, right beneath the hem of my teeny tiny skirt.

I hope that no one can hear the moan I make when his
fingers, rough from playing his guitar, scrapes over the tender skin. But the smirk that forms on Adam’s lips tells me that he, at least, can.

“That’s it! That’s the cover shot!” Shouting triumphantly, Sybil drops her camera and steps back, accepting the water bottle that the assistant who dragged me into this brings for her. Shanti immediately climbs off of Adam’s lap and obediently follows yet another assistant back to the cloth backdrop for the next setup, but Adam and I stay frozen for a long moment. I suddenly don’t care that we’re surrounded by people, or that I’m pressed against a sheet of glass that makes me feel like
I’m on top of the world.

I want him to move his hand again
... right between my legs.

“You’re done, Cora.
Thanks.” Sybil waves her hand, dismissing me and breaking the spell.

“Carly,” Adam correct
s as he slowly releases me.

“Sure,” Sybil agrees cheerfully, clearly thrilled that she got the shot she wanted. “Just one more setup Adam, then I think we’re done.”

Adam nods, then slowly stands. He tugs me away from the window and turns me gently toward the side of the room I’d been standing on before getting dragged into the photo shoot.

He tugs me close to whisper in my ear. “I’m almost done here. And then we’re finishing this, kitten.” And then he’s gone, leaving me to make my way to the edge of the room again, my body on fire.

I can’t stem the tidal wave of need as I watch them set up for the last scene of the photo shoot. I might even have smiled dreamily.

Of course, the feeling can’t last.

“Shut your mouth. You look simple.” Amy sidles over to me, where I still stand by the door. It’s really the wrong moment to poke at me.

“What is your
problem
?” I don’t appreciate Amy’s nasty words breaking through the dreamy lust that I’m floating in. “What have I ever done to you?”

I know, of course, why she doesn’t like me—she thinks I’m a threat. And after that little interlude by the window, I suppose I am. But even I know that I’m not around permanently.

The thought of Amy making her play once the week is over... of her sleek red head pressed together with Adam’s midnight dark one...

It makes me want to puke.

“You think you’re the first girl to fall for Adam Kincaid?” Amy sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “You think you’re the only one sucked in by the way he has of talking to you that makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world?”

Her painfully
obvious feelings for Adam make me feel even more sick to my stomach. No, I don’t suppose I’m the only woman who has fallen for Adam. Not by a long shot.

I don’t much like the thought of being one of the crowd, waiting for him to bestow his attention on me.

Pressing my lips together, I watch as Sybil pauses to switch out a lens in her camera. The second that the lens isn’t aimed at him, Adam turns it off... that thing that will make readers of that magazine believe that he is absolutely into Shanti.

He’s good at that.
And I know that while he might be genuinely interested in me right now—he makes me feel uncertain, but I’m not so insecure that I can’t see my own appeal—knowing that it will end hurts. And it
will
end... he’s famous. I’m a call girl. The tabloids would have a freaking field day with this.

But... I want to take that step. I want to
live
before I go back to Miss Black and my mother and barely scraping by.

And I am so out of my element here, I need a moment to process that... a moment alone.

Amy makes a small moment of triumph as I turn, wobbling on one of the stupid high heels that she picked out for me. I couldn’t care less what she thinks, I just know that I need to get out of here, away from the people cooing over Adam, telling him how wonderful he is, trying to get a piece of some part—any part—of him.

My heart aches for him... what must it be like to live like that? When I see this
, the way people react to him, I understand completely why he’s drawn to me. Though given the way my pulse is thundering, I’m not as immune as I’d like to be.