Picture Perfect

by Jade C. Jamison

  “Eh. I’m back in town, hanging with my family for the holidays. Trying to figure out something to get for the people who already have everything they want, and I decided a cup of hot cocoa might get me in the holiday spirit.”

  “Can’t hurt, right?”

  “Right. Kind of hard when you’re having to work your way through the greedy masses who want that one last thing on the shelf you’d been eyeing.”

  I frowned. “So hot chocolate, then?”

  “Yeah. Your company would be nice, too.”

  Tilting my head, I said, “That’s sweet. Unfortunately, I’ve got another four hours on my shift, and you’re just one of hundreds of shoppers who’ll be in here this morning.” I would have loved nothing more, though, because my nerves were already standing at attention, remembering this man’s touch.

  “I’m only in town for a few days…but I’d love to see you while I’m here.”

  I paused as I touched a couple of buttons on the cash register. Was he asking me out on a date or just for a romp in the hay?

  And did I care?

  After the way I’d been feeling, I knew a little dose of Shane would definitely be the cure. “When are you free?”

  * * *

  So the idea of a real date had been nice, but I hadn’t expected it to be in an expensive restaurant that required reservations. That had been just the beginning, though.

  I’d only ever eaten French food once or twice, so I found myself wondering if all French restaurants were like this one, with a menu completely in that language (and while I knew what some words—like bouef and poulet and fromage—meant, other items like gigot d’agneau dauphinoise escaped me). Fortunately, our waitress expected that and actually took time with the menu. I let myself drink in the experience and realized that it was all part of the ambience—being immersed in the culture.

  I was afraid of spilling wine or food on the linens or breaking some of the delicate china on the table. In that restaurant, I felt like I’d been transported far away from my home, my life, and even my worries, and I allowed myself to relax. I’d been stressed and worried and, while those problems weren’t going away, I decided to let them go for the time I was with Shane.

  I settled on a chicken dish that sounded absolutely divine and then sipped the white wine from the delicate glass. I felt all the tension in my muscles slowly easing out of my body and reassured my brain that it was okay to enjoy myself. When I set my glass on the table, I looked at Shane. We were seated closely to one another rather than across, and it made for more intimate conversation. The restaurant wasn’t packed and parties were spaced far apart, so it was like Shane and I had our own little corner of the world.

  He was smiling at me, but I couldn’t read him, so I asked, “What’s put that look on your face?”

  Shrugging, he said, “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

  I grinned then, shaking my head. “Uh, that’s what a lot of women wear on dates, you know.”

  “Yeah, but it’s cold and your legs—”

  “My legs are fine.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “That they are.” That was when I felt his hand on my knee. “Just for the record, I wasn’t complaining about seeing your legs. And I probably should have mentioned that red is my favorite color.”

  My lips were still curled and I was trying to figure out a flirty answer to give, but the waitress arrived with two plates of salade and a bowl of bread to go with the pats of butter already on the table. “Can I get you anything else for now?”

  We both assured her we were fine and I picked up my cloth napkin, unfolding it to place on my lap.

  Shane’s hand was still on my knee.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your salad?”

  “In a minute. I want to watch you.”

  “You don’t think that’ll be boring?”

  “Not even close.” His warm hand squeezed my knee before sliding up my thigh, bunching the dress. All of a sudden, my heart began thumping in my chest.

  I made sure my voice was low, not that there was anyone close enough to hear me. “Are you being naughty?”

  “Maybe.” The amused sound of his voice told me he most certainly was. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  With this man? Never. I bit my bottom lip, realizing I was grasping the fork a little too tightly. Had he already wound me up that much? And would I be able to make it through dinner with him teasing me like that? I tried my best to seem unaffected and uncaring—but Shane likely knew better. “No. I’m just gonna eat my salad. If watching it makes you—” In a split second, Shane slid his hand completely up my thigh so that his hand was pressed up against my pussy. I could feel myself throbbing below in tune to the beating of my heart.

  Shane slid his chair closer without moving his hand and the depth of his voice sent a chill through my body. “Holy shit. You’re soaking wet.” I felt his lips against my ear, unfettered because I’d worn my hair up, and his breath was hot. “I might have to do something about that.”

  My voice sounded like a weak kitten to me. “Right now?”

  His finger sliding under the panel of fabric was my answer, but he said, “No better time than the present. You go ahead and eat, beautiful. I just want to give you your dessert early.”

  My eyes scanned the dining room, assuring me that we might as well have been alone, because everyone there was just as into their food and their dining partners as I was mine. In response to Shane’s promise, I spread my legs a little and adjusted my ass on the chair, allowed him easier access to me. “Thatta girl,” he said before sliding his finger down my slit, going straight for the area that would, so to speak, give him the most bang for his buck.

  I sucked in a deep breath and lowered my hand to the table, the fork still in my grip but no longer commanding my attention. I bit my lip again and focused my eyes on a crouton, hoping I’d look halfway normal to anyone passing by, but my mind was not on food. It was on the swirling finger rubbing my clit, rapidly bringing me to the precipice. I had a fleeting thought, wondering what I’d say if the waitress came by at just that moment or if Shane would go ahead and take over but, even so, she’d have to wonder what the hell was wrong with me—or she might figure it out.

  But there it came with our waitress nowhere to be found. Shane knew it, too, because of the way I fought to keep my legs from squeezing around his hand. But, more than that, I clamped my jaw closed so I wouldn’t cry out in pleasure. And, as I came down from the high, I realized I was also clutching the fork in my right hand and the tablecloth in the left. I relaxed my hands and forced my breaths to come more slowly before I opened my eyes. I was afraid to look around and so I didn’t. I instead looked over at Shane.

  “Nice?”

  I grinned as happy hormones coursed through my body. “Yeah.”

  “You’re not gonna go to sleep on me, are you?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I’d like to return the favor.”

  A boyish expression lit up his face. “Later. Our main courses are on the way—and you still have your entire salad to eat.”

  I glanced over at his plate, almost empty. How the hell had he done that? I’d only had one bite—and he was right. Our main dishes would be there any minute. I stabbed several leaves of lettuce but, before taking a nibble, I asked, “So tell me all about your life in New York.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” The grin on his face was charming and intoxicating, and I felt a twitter of something inside my chest. I knew Shane was a hell of a catch…and he was here with me. I was going to enjoy his company while I could. So I smiled back as I chewed my salad. “It’s amazing, Ivy. My agent is incredible, and she keeps telling me I’m a hot commodity. If you would have asked me a year ago what I thought I’d be doing with my life today, I wouldn’t have told you this. My outlook then had been pretty bleak. But it’s so different now. A few days a week, I have to go to a shoot or two and it’s not like it was with Greg. Most of the photographers there are all business and
they probably shoot thousands of pictures in the space of an hour. I’ve been doing work for a couple of clothing stores, and it boggles the mind the work they have you do. Last week, I was already modeling swimming trunks.”

  “So you make good money?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but I have to. You wouldn’t believe the cost of living in the Big Apple. It’s ridiculous. The food’s not so bad, but rent is insane. Transportation’s easy, though. I guess it’s just a matter of where I want my money to go. But…my goal’s been accomplished. I paid off my student loans and I have a savings account now and a new goal.”

  I raised my eyebrows. What did this man have up his sleeves? “Do tell.”

  “My agent suggested acting.”

  “Oh…Broadway. Makes sense.”

  “No. Film. Which means I’d probably move to L.A.”

  At least that was a little closer to Colorado—but why did I care? Shane and I were just enjoying a fling. He wasn’t going to be part of my future, so why was I worried about where he planted his roots? “When are you thinking about doing that?”

  “Well, I’ve enrolled in acting lessons—I figured I could find ones in New York that were just as good, if not better, and I start in January. I’ll keep modeling and then move to L.A. when I’m ready.” I rested my fork on the almost-empty salad plate and pushed it to the side so there was room for a larger plate.

  “That’s amazing, Shane. Crazy but amazing.”

  He shrugged, grinning and nodding. “Yeah, don’t I know it. But my agent says I have a good face for the camera—whatever the hell that means.”

  I knew what that meant and had to agree with his agent. That was why his career had taken off—the camera loved him so much that other viewers couldn’t help but be fascinated too. “I could see how acting would probably be a better long-term career.”

  “No shit. I don’t plan on getting plastic surgery or dying my hair just to look perpetually young.” I could respect that. It was part of the reason why I’d been sour on modeling all along, in spite of the fact that I made decent money when I did it. “But what about you, Ivy? What’s been going on in your world since I saw you last?”

  I frowned a bit. I couldn’t remember what all I’d told Shane and what I hadn’t. “You know I’m a grad student, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So this spring I’ll be defending my dissertation. I think I’m just about ready.”

  The waitress showed up with our meals then and slid a plate in front of me before giving Shane his. Then she asked if we needed anything else before whisking our salad plates off the table and scooting off to fetch a little more wine. I was picking up my knife to cut the chicken when Shane said, “Back to your dissertation. You don’t seem too thrilled about it. Did you have problems writing it?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Shit. I’d just let the cat out of the bag.

  Shane cocked his head. “So what is it then?”

  I took a breath. Did I even want to tell him? And why did it matter? Shane and I had met at Greg’s studio. At best, maybe he could give me some advice; at worst, I might feel a little better talking about it. So I told him first about how I’d come across one of our most suggestive photos being used as a book cover. Shane nodded and smiled through a couple of bites of food but he let me talk.

  “I explained to Greg that I initially hadn’t thought it through—you know, modeling without my bra. With it on, there was still enough of an element of ‘decency,’ if you could call it that, but enough that I’d feel comfortable arguing my position with anyone who cried foul. But I know there are those out there who would make a federal case out of topless photographs—and I see one of two things coming out of that: I either never get the job I’ve been working so hard for or I get started, only to have it yanked from me at some point in the future.”

  “What did he say?”

  The waitress came by with a wine bottle and filled up our glasses. “How’s the food?”

  My almost untouched food? “Great.” Shane agreed, but we were mainly just trying to get her to scoot off. I wasn’t going to let the wine go to waste, though, so I took a long sip before I looked back at Shane.

  “You said you talked to Greg. What did he say?”

  “One hundred thousand.” Shane squinted his eyes. “Dollars. And I was only asking him to stop selling the topless ones.”

  Shane was quiet but I could see the rise and fall of his chest underneath his button-down shirt. “That was it? No negotiation?”

  “He said his business has taken off since he started selling our photos. The ones from that session. He credits you but it’s my bare top in them.”

  “You think you’d have problems even though your nipples aren’t showing?”

  “When I actually saw the photographs—and knew with some of them there’s no denying it’s me—I realized just how suggestive they were…and it’s a chance I’d rather not take.” I could see in Shane’s eyes that he was trying to problem solve but there was only one answer at this point. “I guess all I can do is hope that those pictures eventually grow old and stale and none of my colleagues come across those pictures. The one thing in my favor is I doubt anyone in my circles would be searching for those types of novels, so the odds of them finding one of those covers is low.”

  “But you saw it.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, and that’s why I still have a little healthy fear. Unless all those photos are unavailable, there’s always a chance—but I figured the popularity of a book wanes over time, so what’s already done might eventually be okay. If he keeps selling them—well, you never know what that could lead to.”

  Shane was quiet for a while and I wasn’t sure why. His jaw was rigid, though, until he lifted the wine glass to his lips and downed the glass in one quick swallow. “I know how to solve your problem.” I raised an eyebrow. I was all ears. If he’d thought of something I hadn’t, I’d be willing to give it a try. “Good old-fashioned negative reinforcement.” Shane placed the glass back on the table before looking me in the eyes. “I’m going to beat the shit out of him. He’ll stop.”

  “No, Shane. That won’t work. He could have you arrested and then the pictures will really be out in the open.”

  Shane stood, and I could tell then that his anger was overruling anything his brain would tell him. “Threats are sometimes just as effective.”

  But the way he’d formed his hands into fists as he marched out of the restaurant—leaving me speechless and unbelieving at the table—made me see that he was only saying that so I’d let him go. Coming to my senses, I ran outside and saw Shane storming through the parking lot toward his car. “Shane. Shane!”

  But my words were lost in the cold night air, falling like silent snow on deaf ears.

  PART FOUR

  I STOOD IN the cold December air in a sexy but skimpy red dress. I’d been emotional, but that was no longer stopping the chill in the air from touching my nerves. The hair on my arms stood straight and I was on the verge of shivering, but I had to try one last time to get my date’s attention…to stop him from doing something we’d both regret.

  “Shane!”

  To hell with shouting. I ran across the parking lot in heels, putting the bulk of my weight on my toes to stop myself from tumbling on the concrete until I caught up with Shane just as he reached his car.

  “Shane,” I said, feeling a little short of breath, but holding his arms in my hands, forcing his attention on me. “Don’t do this. It won’t solve anything.”

  Fury darkened his face under the street lamp as two snowflakes landed on his hair, melting on impact. “It’ll make us feel better.”

  I shook my head, closing my eyes. “No, it won’t. It might make you feel better for a second—until something else happens. This isn’t a permanent solution, Shane. You’ll know that if you think about it.”

  “But, Ivy, I can’t just sit around and let this shit happen to you.”

  “You can and you will.
” I sighed. “I’m just going to move forward with my plan.”

  “Your plan of not doing anything?”

  I shrugged as I felt my body gear up to begin shivering. “It’s all I’ve got right now. But I’m talking more on the other end. I need to prepare for the time when those photos are found—come up with a good explanation and argument for why they shouldn’t matter. That way I don’t have to worry about it looming over my head.” I could see by his expression that he wasn’t buying my lame answer. “It’s a shitty situation, but I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

  He didn’t like my argument, but the reluctant look in his eyes told me he was going to respect my wishes nonetheless. He touched my cheek before saying, “I only want to fight those battles because I care about you. Speaking of which, look at you. You’re freezing.” He pulled off his jacket. “Let’s get you back inside.”

  “I don’t want to take your jacket, Shane. Then you’ll be cold.”

  Draping it over my shoulders, he said, “We’ll be back inside in a minute.” He pulled me close and we walked back in the restaurant. When we got to the table, we saw the waitress and someone else, perhaps a busboy or sous chef, standing nearby, chatting quietly.

  With a nervous look on her face, she said, “Oh. I thought maybe you guys were a dine-and-dash.”

  Shane removed the jacket from my shoulders before pulling out my chair. “We just needed a little fresh air.”

  “No problem. Please let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Wine. We need more wine.”

  And, as Shane sat down beside me, my mind raced ahead, planning a steamy evening devised to keep his mind off my problem—because it was my problem, not his…and so I needed to worry about it on my own.

  * * *

  Shane’s breathing was rhythmic and slow—in and out, in and out—and I only noticed it once the furnace vents shut off, the sound exiting my dark bedroom like an unwelcome guest. And even though his warm body held me close, I was alone with my thoughts just the same.