No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  When I did as he said, he reached forward and ran his fingers across my neck to gather my hair. I tried not to shiver in response, but couldn’t help it. I still didn’t trust his motives, and was positive now his asking me to model had more to do with Mr. Gabriel and Marie than my skin tone, but as he gently moved me into position and adjusted my hair and silk covering, I couldn’t help but feel like clay in the hands of a master sculptor. I didn’t even flinch when he asked Emily to remove the pin at my spine and for me to hold the sheet up with my right hand. By the time he stepped away to get his camera, I was strangely relaxed.

  “Perfect,” Brandon said quietly. The soft click of his digital camera working to take each shot was the only sound in the room. I sat perfectly still as he moved around me, taking shot after shot. I was startled out of my odd calm when he said, “Okay, Beautiful, let’s try a new position.”

  I nodded, wondering if his ability to put even someone as tense as me at ease was part of why he was so successful. It had to be, because I doubted anyone else could have taken me from a bundle of quivering nerves to willing to be molded by the hands of a near complete stranger. I didn’t resist as he guided me to lean back on the divan.

  “Let’s get rid of this,” he said, and lifted my head to remove a small throw pillow. “Yes, that’s it.”

  My hand still pressed to my breasts to keep the sheet in place, I had a moment of hesitation as I realized the lying flat position was bound to highlight curves that had been hidden in the first position. My breathing quickened when Brandon wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled it away to lay it so it was dangling off the small couch. The sheet stayed in place, thank God, but I flinched when he reached for the edge of it.

  “I’m just going to adjust it,” he said. “Marie would never go for nude pictures in the magazine, so you’re safe.”

  He chuckled a little, but it seemed directed at Marie’s unwillingness to bare it all, than at my fears. Even still, I couldn’t breathe as he pinched the fabric hovering above the space between my breasts and began peeling it back. Shouldn’t he be pulling it up? I wanted to say something, but he’d just promised I would stay covered. Yet, the sheet moved slowly down the curve of my breasts at an opposing speed to my breathing rate. With careful thought, Brandon folded the edge of the sheet back, just before my nipples were exposed.

  I was struggling to handle that when his fingers glided onto my left calf. Curving his hand around my ankle, he pushed me to bend my knee and scoot the foot toward my hips a few inches, just enough that the sheet slid down my thigh to puddle at the juncture between my leg and torso. My right leg he left lying flat, seemingly unaware of the fact that I was panicking.

  “Breath for me, Beautiful,” he whispered as his hands moved to the sheet. “Close your eyes and breathe.”

  I tried, even though what I really wanted to do was run away. Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to fill my lungs completely, then empty them as I fought to clear my mind. I could still feel Brandon’s fingertips brushing against my skin as he adjusted the fabric. By the time he finished, my stomach was bare, the sheet covering only my breasts and hips. My breaths were still erratic when he took my right arm and gently placed it over my eyes with my hand hanging down in front of my face.

  “For a little anonymity,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear him.

  Still terrified of baring so much for his camera, his words and concern did scale back my panic enough that I started to get my breathing under my control. He waited at my side until I was taking in long, deep breaths and he saw my muscles relax.

  “Just like that, Beautiful,” he praised. “You’re doing great. Stay right there.”

  I was relieved when he stepped away, but tensed at the sound of the camera working. Brandon saw it and said, “Relax, breathe, trust me, okay? My goal is to make you and everyone who looks at these see how beautiful you are.”

  “I thought your goal was to show photographers how to capture light skin tones correctly,” I muttered, glad for a distraction, even if just a small one. I was still listening to the indistinct sounds of his camera.

  Brandon chuckled. “That is your goal. My goal, any time I’m behind the camera, is to capture beauty and share it with others.” He paused, the sound of his feet sliding across the ground telling me he was moving to a new angle. “Right now, that beauty is you. You, your flawless skin, and your lovely body.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me I’m pretty,” I grumbled, thinking of all the times I had been the butt of jokes and innuendos in college. Maybe that wouldn’t have bothered some girls. Several of my friends relished that kind of attention. Growing up the way I did, I hid from it.

  He moved again, squatting beside the divan, camera clocking. “Although you are attractive, the beauty I attempt to capture goes deeper than that.”

  “How, exactly, do you capture something like that on film?” I asked.

  In answer to my question, he trailed his fingers down the curve of my neck, making me gasp. I heard the click of the camera a split second later. Red blossomed on my cheeks. Another click. I turned my head on instinct, hiding even more behind my hand.

  “Don’t hide from me, Beautiful,” he said. “Emotion is how I capture beauty deeper than skin.” His finger touched my chin, urging me to face him again. “The first time you blushed in front of me last night…that was when I wanted you in front of my camera.”

  “It wasn’t some ploy?” I couldn’t help but ask. “To get back at Marie, or Mr. Gabriel?”

  Brandon chuckled. “Oh, I have ways of getting back at both of them for a variety of reasons, but you, Beautiful, aren’t one of them. I simply wanted you here, now, posing for me, showing me what you hide from others. The job offer is secondary to that.”

  For a long moment, I simply watched him, examining his expression, looking for some hint that he was playing me as I had suspected. The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to convince me on its own. It was his demeanor that did the rest. Last night, he had been a wolf, looking for ways to get what he wanted at the expense of those he felt owed him a debt. In that moment, there was kindness in his eyes, honest admiration and desire to share what he saw but was blind to others.

  The tension I’d been holding since the first time we met, slowly seeped out of me. I relaxed into the thin cushions of the divan and closed my eyes. Sensing movement from Brandon, this time I didn’t tense up again or wonder what he was doing, or for what motives. Somehow, he had convinced me to trust him. Part of me still thought sitting for him on a work project had been a huge mistake. For some reason, I didn’t particularly care anymore.

  FIVE

  Molten

  “Reagan, are you ready to go?” I asked after knocking on her open door.

  “Oh!” She met my gaze, but looked away quickly. “Yes, I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I meant to come by your office early so you weren’t waiting on me.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, wondering why she seemed to be avoiding my gaze. I hoped she wasn’t still uncomfortable over staying at my place last night. I’d done my best to make sure she knew I was more than happy to have her. “I’m ready whenever you are. Don’t feel like you have to rush.”

  Despite what I’d said, she quickly shut down her computer and shuffled stacks of papers into piles I assumed had some sort of system in her eyes. They looked like a mess to mine, but I was sure other people would say the same about my desk. She stood a moment later and glanced around the room with a frown.

  Noticing her purse lying haphazardly on a chair to the side of her desk, I picked it up and held it out to her. “Looking for this?”

  She sighed when she saw it, but only met my gaze for a half-second before turning away. “Thanks, I’m always losing that thing in here.”

  Accepting the purse without looking at me, I became almost annoyed with her. “Ready?”

  When she nodded, I gestured for her go ahead of me and closed her office door before stepping away.
Reagan was already five steps ahead of me. My irritation grew by a small degree. It didn’t like being upset with her, but I had no idea why she was making me chase after her. Luckily my stride was much longer than hers and I caught up without having to break into a jog that would have drawn attention.

  “Trying to beat me to the elevator?” I asked, keeping any hint of annoyance from my voice.

  “What?” she asked, glancing up at me. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize how fast I was walking. I just feel like I’m always in a hurry. Emily complains about it all the time when we go somewhere together.” She looked away then, gaze searching for the elevator and how far away it was.

  I didn’t exactly think she was lying, but there was more to her behavior than that. I decided not to press her right then, and hit the call button. Taking the tactic I had when driving her into work that morning, I kept the topics focused on following up with progression toward the print deadline. Slowly, she stopped trying to avoid me and eased into a more normal pace of conversation.

  Keeping it up until we reached a nearby restaurant fifteen minutes later wasn’t difficult. I actually did have quite a few things to discuss with her. Once we were seated, however, there was only one thing I wanted to know about—what I suspected had contributed to her anxious state.

  “So, how did the shoot with Brandon go this morning?”

  Reagan hesitated a moment before smiling. “Great, actually.”

  Raising one eyebrow, I asked, “Really? No problems at all?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure how it would go at first, but he really does know what he’s doing. Once he was focused on the shoot, everything went smoothly. He does have some concessions he’s going to ask for, though.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Marie knew he would.” Nothing could ever be easy with Brandon. “What does he want?”

  We were interrupted by the server arriving to take our drink orders. I ordered a glass of merlot, then turned my attention to Reagan to see what her answer would be. When she asked for water, I shook my head. Her eyes widened, surprised by my interruption. “When on a business meeting, you can order alcohol. Your client most likely will and you don’t want to make them think you’re either better than them for abstaining or trying to get them loosened up while you stay coherent.”

  “Oh,” Reagan said, “well, I guess I’ll have a glass of your house white then.”

  The server nodded and disappeared.

  “So, what did Brandon ask for?” I asked.

  Reagan frowned. “He wants to pick his own models, retain rights to anything not published in the magazine, and have final approval on what images do get published with the articles.” She shrugged, clearly uncertain of whether or not his demands would be a problem.

  Before answering her unspoken question, I asked one of my own. “Will you be comfortable working with him on a regular basis?”

  I was surprised when a slow smile spread across her lips. “Yes, I think I’ll be just fine with that.”

  More curious than ever, I held back on asking why the change of heart. Instinct told me it wasn’t a discussion she’d want to have in a public place.

  “Do you think Marie will be upset over his demands?” Reagan asked.

  I waved off her concern. “Those were pretty much what she expected from him. She’ll fight with him for a few days to prove a point before ultimately caving. Despite their antagonistic relationship, she knows he’s the best there is.”

  Reagan breathed a sigh of relief.

  I was about to tell her she’d done a great job handling Brandon when my phone buzzed. Speak of the devil. I pulled up the text message and read it silently.

  Images will be ready for your approval after lunch. Look for an email from me. ~ Brandon

  Surprised by the fast turnaround, I was glad to see he wasn’t playing games with this, at least. Looking back up and smiling at Reagan, I said, “Brandon said the images will be ready by the time we get back to the office.”

  She froze, her easy smile drooping as her eyes widened. “Oh, great,” she said with false satisfaction.

  Setting my phone down, I zeroed in on her. “Reagan, is everything all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

  The server returned and set our drinks down. Reagan took a sip of hers immediately, then set it back down with shaking fingers. Supremely confused by that point, I was forced to wait through ordering our entrees before addressing Reagan’s strange behavior. By the time the server walked away to give the chef our orders, Reagan had found her composure again.

  “Was what I ordered all right?” she asked. “I wasn’t really sure if there was some kind of etiquette to ordering food during a business meeting.”

  In all honesty, I hadn’t paid any attention to what she ordered. “No, you were fine,” I said distractedly.

  Sure I hadn’t imagined her panic at the mention of the pictures, I supposed the best option was to simply wait until they arrived and I could see for myself what the problem was. Her question spurred me to remember I had asked her to lunch for a reason. Well, a reason other than my own desire.

  Calming my thoughts and focusing on her drew my gaze to her hair. It was the first time I realized she didn’t have it pulled back in a braid or ponytail. I wasn’t sure how I had missed it earlier. I loved her hair down, and the urge to run my fingers through it set my knee to bouncing. Her makeup was different as well, still subtle, but expertly highlighting her features. I supposed I had Emily to thank for that. She’d been pestering Reagan about letting her fix her up for months. Two days in a row of seeing her dressed up was not good for my focus. Even in slacks and a sweater I was having a hard time not thinking about the best ways to remove each piece of clothing from her body.

  “You look beautiful, by the way.” I’d said it pretty much without thinking, but as soon as color began to spread through her skin, I shook myself and held my hand up as a passable reason for the comment came to me. “Get used to taking compliments. You’re most definitely going to get them, even at meetings like this, and you don’t want to be turning red every time someone offers one up.”

  Reagan’s lips pressed together, but she made a visible effort to calm herself and put on a more confident air. “Thank you,” she said politely.

  Her response made me smile. I had an honest to God assignment from Marie, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy this. Any time I could spend with Reagan outside the office, was time well spent.

  “What else do I need to know?” she asked. “I’m sure I made about a million mistakes last night with Brandon.”

  I doubted Brandon cared about her mistakes and had very much enjoyed her blushing, but I did have a job to do. We spent the next hour eating our lunches as I offered up tips on how to deal with clients during a meal. Marie would definitely include her in business dinners during the convention. One might not think there was much to it, but as I imparted what I had learned over the last several years, I realized just how much it really did require from the host. Reagan lapped it all up eagerly. Despite her initial refusal to acknowledge she was a good choice to meet with Brandon, she now seemed ready and willing for another opportunity to be offered up. I was pleased as we finished our meal and walked back to my car.

  Offering her my hand, she hesitated only a moment before taking it and allowing me to help her into her seat. Once there, she exhaled slowly, as if she had just survived something. I chuckled to myself as I walked around the car to my door. Another buzz from my phone kept me from joining Reagan. Sitting in my notifications was an email from Brandon with the subject line simply stating, “Skin Tone Shoot.”

  Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I opened the door and took my seat. As I looked for an opening to merge back into traffic, I asked Reagan, “Would you mind coming to my office for a few minutes when we get back? Brandon just sent the images and I’d like to go over them together.”

  “Of course,” Re
agan replied in a voice that said she’d rather do anything else but that.

  Curious, I glanced in her direction to find her staring resolutely out the passenger side window. Confused by her responses, I held back until I could open Brandon’s email. She claimed the shoot went well, no problems. She was either lying, which made no sense since she knew I would see the images, or something I couldn’t even guess at had left her anxiety-ridden about what the email would reveal.

  The ride back to the office was quiet.

  When I parked in my usual space, she was out of the car before I could even make a move to open her door and was heading for the door. “Reagan,” I barked more sharply than I meant to.

  She froze and turned back to face me slowly, her eyes showing the whites as she crossed her arms over her stomach. She didn’t say a word, just stood there waiting for me to explain myself.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” I said as I approached her. “Would you please quit running off ahead of me?”

  “Of course,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

  Sighing, I rubbed at my forehead. “It’s fine. I’d just rather not chase you around the office, unless…”

  I stopped talking before I could say something stupid. Reagan, however, hadn’t missed the slip. “Unless?” she asked. Her eyes darted back and forth, probably trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why I would like to chase her around the office.

  “Never mind,” I said. Reaching forward, I touched her arm, meaning just to prod her into following me. When she pulled back, I couldn’t help it resist any longer. “Have I done something to offend you?” My question came out harsh, accusing.

  “No!” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “Just what?” My frustration was making me twitchy, my hand tapping against my leg.

  Reagan looked away. “Just something Emily said.”

  “About me?” My voice, much less threatening now, pulled her gaze up to mine.