by Jean Oram
“Yeah?”
She bucked halfheartedly against him and he pressed in closer, licking her mouth in a slow, languid move that had heat pouring down through her belly and into the space between her legs. She dropped her head back, and his mouth moved to her neck, kissing, nipping, and holding so much promise she moaned, wishing he’d take her to her bed.
His mouth returned to hers and she poured her passion into him, their hips grinding together as they slid down the wall and onto the floor. They rolled, leaving her on top, and as his shaving-cream-covered hands began tugging at the hem of her shirt, she whipped it off. His eyes were dark pools of lust and longing, and Hailey froze, doubting herself.
What was she doing? She was supposed to be his photographer. He was paying her as a professional. Not for a good time where she could give in to her longings. Especially since this could never be anything more than a fling.
She lowered herself to him, trying to listen to her body and its needs, instead of her mind and its wants.
His hands moved up her skin with purpose and she lost herself in the moment.
The doorbell rang and Hailey sucked in a breath, determined to ignore it. She ran her hands down Finian’s chest, showing him she had no plans to stop.
The front door’s hinges creaked as it opened.
Hailey scrambled for her shirt.
Finian, smiling, wiped her face with what was now a bare hand, removing a trail of drying shaving cream. With a wink that looked a lot like a promise, he headed to the bathroom as she checked her shirt for tell-tale handprints.
“Hailey?” called Simone. “Are you home?”
“Simone?” Hailey quickly adjusted her shirt and smoothed her hair. “I’m upstairs.”
“I’m just dropping off invites for tomorrow’s opening.” Her friend appeared at the top of the stairs. She cast a glance around the sitting room, her dark brown eyes on the lookout. “Why do you have shaving cream on your forehead and shirt?”
“I was, um, shaving my legs.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No, nothing,” Hailey said quickly.
Simone gave her a sly grin. “Okay, well, here are your invitations. I’ll see you tomorrow to hang the pics?”
“Yup.”
Simone handed Hailey the stack of postcards and headed down the stairs, saying, “Don’t do anything with him that I wouldn’t!”
Hailey closed her eyes. She was going to end up in the tabloids again if she didn’t get control of her lust and longing for the man she really shouldn’t have.
Finian was by far the best subject she’d ever had model for her, and it wasn’t just because he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, or that every time she thought of his kisses her hands shook. She’d taken over a thousand shots of him during the afternoon. An insane amount, but she’d loved every second of it. And if she was honest, she loved having him to herself.
“If all people were as easy and fun to photograph as you are, I would so be in the portrait business for life.”
Finian smiled and let out a huge yawn from his spot on the studio floor, where she’d been snapping a few candids of him, freshly shaved.
Okay, so she’d kind of gotten off track with the standard head shot thing. Way off track. She blamed the way he’d revved her engine during his shaving session for that.
“I’m sorry.” She leaned forward, pressing a hand to his forearm. “I’ve exhausted you. You should have told me to stop.”
“I never tell a beautiful woman who’s having fun with my body to stop.” He sent her a wicked grin and she slapped him with her camera’s shutter release cable.
“Ooh. Whips? I would have never guessed.”
Hailey gave him a playful shoulder shove and laughed as he rolled over on the fake bearskin rug, exposing his bare abs. She stood and went to her desk so she wouldn’t be tempted to straddle him, and put her equipment away. When she was done, she grabbed the items she needed to show him the afternoon’s photos.
“Do you want to see the pictures? Say yes,” she prompted. She’d found parts of that layer she’d been looking for. Deep within him. The real Finian. And she’d captured it. “You’re going to be pumped. Blown away.”
“Yes. But no to whips and chains. Not my thing.”
“Ever tried it?” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed when he blushed. “Your reputation is completely inaccurate. My, my. Wait until I tell the world.”
“Image isn’t everything. Or is everything. I can’t remember anymore.” He rolled back onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and yawned again. He played with a tuft of the fake fur under him. “This rug feels good.”
She tore her eyes away from his near-nakedness, where she’d had him pose like a nude baby on the rug, with a worn pair of jeans gracing his legs and hips. She’d wanted to ask him to take off his pants, to really play up the parody but hadn’t had the courage.
She locked the cabinet that held her camera equipment. “I had fun today.”
They were completely different people, living in different worlds, but they’d connected and bonded for a few hours. And somehow that had chased away her demons so she could enjoy life--her life--if only for a little while.
“Thank you,” she said, nudging his shoulder as he joined her at the computer.
“It was fun, wasn’t it? But you don’t need to thank me. Anytime you want to have fun, I’m your man.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Hailey.” He gripped her face between his hands. “Look at me. There are two Finians. I know you’ve seen both, but you keep assuming the one in the tabloids is the real man. He’s not. This man, here, is real.” He placed her palm on his bare chest, her fingers trembling. “I’m real.”
She bit her lips and worked to keep her emotions at bay. She knew this was the real Finian. It was just hard, the way she was developing feelings for him, because she knew the other--show business--Finian was the one who ruled both lives. And where did that leave her?
Leaning back, she broke contact and turned to her desk. “I kind of got sidetracked with the shoot, but there are some good pictures in here that you can probably use for other purposes. Promo or your website or something.”
Sidetracked was an understatement. She’d slipped further and further off track as the afternoon progressed. The more Finian got into it, roaring with laughter, shooting her playful looks, scowls, and more, the further she’d slipped.
“Does it sound weird to say that I feel I know you better now?” She always did after photographing someone, but this was different. He’d let her into himself. Trusted her like nobody else had.
“Maybe it was the way you grilled me about my family and my life as you took photos,” he joked.
“I was getting you to open up.” She’d caught various emotions, whether in his expression or in his body language, which often revealed more than words. His family was close and meant the world to him. That had translated into a softening of his pose, and made the creases in his face vanish. Talking about his agent and career had created instant tension, as well as lines at the corners of his mouth. Jessica Cartmill? That had been interesting. His face had remained practically blank when Hailey had asked how his ex was doing, how they’d met. No flash of love, devotion, happiness, or even pain. It was odd. Really odd. Spooky, almost.
“I feel as though I know you better, too,” he said.
“Shall we?” She collected the supplies she needed and opened the garage door.
“I thought we were going to look at the photos?” He slung his bag over his bare shoulder.
“Do you work out a lot?”
“Are you usually this ADHD?”
She laughed. “Let’s get a snack. I’m famished. Plus, we can watch these on my TV in the house. Bigger screen.”
She led him back to the house, tugging his hand to draw him over the threshold faster, in case Austin was lurking outside somewhere. She set Finian in front of the large monitor she used as a
television in the living room, and plunked her bag on an armchair.
In the kitchen she made popcorn over the stove, added butter and salt, grabbed two beers and headed to the living room, where Finian was stretched out on her cream-colored sofa, eyes closed.
She grabbed her phone and, unable to resist, snapped a couple shots. He was peaceful, handsome, and more youthful looking now that he’d shaved. Quietly, she set up the monitor so they could flick through some images together, then waved the popcorn under his nose to waken him.
His eyes cracked open and he focused on her blearily. “That smells like it needs to be in my stomach.”
“Real butter.” She plunked the bowl on his chest and shoved his feet off her end of the couch. She sat, using a mouse to advance the images, her hand brushing his as they shared the bowl of popcorn.
“This is weird.”
“What do you mean?” She pulled her hand back, wondering if he’d noticed that she always went for popcorn at the same time as him. She was definitely out of practice at flirting.
“All these photos. Sitting here watching and eating popcorn. Feels surreal.”
“Don’t you watch your own movies?”
“If I can help it, no.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I don’t like watching myself on screen. It feels…” He gave a shrug and sank down lower in the cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
“My mother recorded my outgoing voicemail message for me. I don’t like the sound of my voice when it’s recorded.”
“Nobody does.”
“Not everyone’s heard my voice, you big meanie.”
Finian smiled and tossed a few pieces of popcorn her way. “Someone once told me it’s not all about me. Maybe it’s not all about you, either.”
Hailey snatched up the popcorn bits and tossed them back at Finian, who caught them in his mouth, leaning toward her, his shoulder pressing into hers as he lost his balance.
“I thought you loved the limelight and seeing yourself on the big screen?”
“I like the consequences.”
“Having the paparazzi jump into your love life?” She felt her cheeks flush as he glanced over at her, his eyes a bright, inquisitive blue. “Not with me. I’m not in your love life. I mean we’re not--I’m not…you know.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Hailey rolled her eyes and began advancing photos, jumping to some of her favorites near the end--the shots where she’d caught the other side of him.
Finian swallowed, head tipped back. “These are…” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes stuck to the screen where he was revealed, uncovered. Raw and laid out for the viewer. Real. So very real.
He swallowed again.
Hailey bit her bottom lip and refrained from saying anything. Could he see who he could be? The side of him that she’d begun to adore? The world would eat this up and it would pull him to a higher level of fame. Something he must surely want.
His hands clenched into fists, his eyes flickering darkly. “But they’re art.”
“Of course they’re art,” she snapped, rising off the couch. “What did you expect? Department store family portraits in front of a fake cloud background?”
Finian laughed, raw and brutal.
“Don’t be rude.” She flicked her shirt so that it hung straight. “I thought this was what you wanted. Something different. And now you’re laughing at me. How perfect. Thanks for the reminder of who you really are.”
“Head shots,” he choked out.
“Yeah, head shots.” She marched out onto the porch, slamming the door behind her.
How had she let herself believe for a few short hours that she was someone interesting? Someone special? Someone he liked hanging out with, as though they were on the same page? She’d thought he understood what she was doing, posing him in unconventional positions.
What a waste of a day. Anger and frustration welled up inside her.
The worst was that it was an amateur move for not asking for a specific list of the shots he needed. He’d said he wanted something different, and she’d stupidly assumed he’d expected something other than the plain, boring standard fare which lacked interest or uniqueness.
Why had she tried to make art with him? She was supposed to be saving her cottage. Finian was Hollywood, and despite what she wished him to be, he was still an actor who wanted the easy way out. He didn’t want gritty. He didn’t want real.
And he didn’t want art. He wanted plastic. But she had given him his real emotions, served up in digital.
She opened the door to her house, shaking her head at the still form still staring at her television. She leaned in, and said, “I’ve got work to do in my studio. Let me know if you see a boring pic you want me to send to your agent and let yourself out when you’re done.”
Finn flexed his hands and reached for the garage’s doorknob before changing his mind. What could he say to Hailey? How could he make up for laughing at her, then sitting there like a stunned dork instead of running after her?
Sucking in a breath, he yanked open the door and rested his shoulder against the frame. “There’s a fund-raiser ball at the Windermere House tonight. Want to crash it with me?”
She was at her worktable, the obvious agitation in her moves leaving him uncertain.
“I don’t crash parties. Especially ones like those.”
She didn’t even deign to look his way. Not good. But was it because she was feeling unsure, or was she still mad?
“Besides,” she continued, “I’m not the kind of woman who has things she can wear to something like that. If I were to take you up on your gallant offer, which I am not.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with pain.
“I’m sorry I laughed. I didn’t mean to.”
She nodded, head bent again. She was more unsure than super ticked. He raised his eyes upward in thanks. He could coax unsure into sure. The problem was, that she was back to being tough Hailey. Real-life, hard-nosed Hailey. Not the woman he’d chased with shaving cream, making her laugh and squeal until he’d been so turned on he’d had to concentrate way harder on his shaving than he should have in order not to cut himself.
That Hailey had glowed. All her burdens had lifted and she’d bloomed. But now she was closing her petals as if expecting a storm to break her stem.
“Please,” he said, his voice low. He wanted this woman at his side. To keep him from being the big jerk he was so used to becoming. To be the man she saw through the lens of her camera. Bigger in soul than he felt.
He wanted to be someone who made eyes twinkle for, all the right reasons, when people saw him coming. The reasons that made Hailey’s eyes light up before she caught herself and acted indifferent to his arrival. Not the reason Hollywood twinkled. Not the way people expected the worst when they saw him and wondered what buffet table he’d break when he fell over drunk, or which lucky woman would get laid upon it so he could feast on her mouth for all to see. Arrogant prick. That was who he’d become.
But with Hailey he was himself. His old self. And it felt okay to be that person. Really okay. Safe in ways it had never felt with anyone else--even his family.
In fact, he felt so okay that he’d even argued with Derek over the artsy role his film buddy, Bruce Proust, had offered. Last week it would have been a flat-out “No, thanks,” as the offered role was something he used to do before Hollywood. Something Derek told him would do no wonders for his career. It was as though Finn had killed that part of himself--the artistic, creative side--in order to succeed in Hollywood. But this afternoon Hailey had dug it up, breathed life back into it and shown him that it had been merely hiding out, waiting for a safe place to play. She’d quite simply captured the art side of him and presented it as if it was obvious.
Everything he was wrestling--who the world thought he was, who he thought he should be, who he was, and who he wanted to be--she’d ensnared for him to ponder
. At first he’d been so stunned it was as though someone had dropped a grand piano on him. All those emotions. The light and angles. The way he looked. The way he held himself... It was art. Art that he had believed could no longer apply to him in his fake world of Hollywood and false images.
Finn hadn’t known what to say. How to react. Sitting there, he hadn’t been able to rev his engine out of the rut of stunned-ocity he was feeling. But now, maybe he could make up for his lack of response. He could take her out, bring to light that blossoming Hailey he’d been so smitten with earlier. Return the favor by bringing a part of her back to life.
Plus he felt a strong urge to keep her close until he figured himself out. On the other side of the sealed door was his real life, and Hailey was the key to the lock he didn’t even know he’d been trying to pick.
She cut him a glance, her posture stiff. Professional Hailey.
He adopted a formal business tone. “I’d like photos of myself in a tuxedo.”
She gave a small harrumph. “Fine. Put it on and we’ll snap off a few uninspired poses that will lack originality right here, right now. No need to take me out in public in order to do so. I’ll only want to artify you.”
Finn swallowed and shut his eyes. Regret speared through him and he moved to where she was standing, turned her around and laid his palms on her shoulders, making her face him.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was laughing at your photos. They’re amazing. I wasn’t expecting it, and it hit me, Hailey.” He took a hand off her shoulder, placed it over his heart. “It hit me here.” He moved his hand to his head. “And here. I don’t expect you to understand, since you don’t know me. You only know who you’ve let yourself believe I am.”
“I know who you are.”
“No, you don’t.”
She turned away, picking up her camera. “Come on, let’s get the shots over with so you can go crash your fancy party.”
“The tux isn’t with me.”
She heaved an impatient sigh, hand on hip.
“And I’d like shots of me…” His mind ran through various ideas. He needed her with him tonight. At any cost. “In crowds. And in the night, outside. And…a dark lawn. The whole man-of-mystery thing.” He frowned at her shaking shoulders. “What?”