by H. M. Ward
My hand slides down between us and below his waistband. I stroke his hard length, hoping he’ll ravish me the way I want him to. His breath hitches and before I can do anything, his fingers are around my wrist. “Slow down, babe.” He’s breathing hard in my ear, his face is flushed.
Disappointed I say, “Don’t you ever just want to tear my clothes off and take me?”
Between kisses down my neck, he says, “Of course.”
My heart is pounding. Pulling his face back, I hold his cheeks between my palms. Breathing hard I say, “Then do it. Anything you want, anyway you want. Right now.”
His eyes are wide and dark. They look into mine with an expression that makes me afraid. Edward doesn’t move. His eyes drift lower, watching the deep breaths making my chest rise and fall. After a moment, he steps back and releases me. A rush of cold fills the void. Ice drips down my spine. He’s going to reject me. That look on his face says what I already know.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks up at me, “I—“ he starts to say, but a noise stops him from speaking. The telltale sound of metal scraping lets us know the door is being unlocked. Emma will step into the room any second. His eyes are apologetic, like he can’t be the man I want.
I don’t understand.
We blink at each other as Emma pushes the door open and turns to yank her key out of the lock. She sees us, but doesn’t sense the tension right away, “Hey guys. Anna, you gotta tell me how today went. I can’t wait—” she turns and realizes she walked in on something. It’s probably not what she thinks it is.
I act like nothing happened, and turn toward the kitchen. I pull open the fridge door and bend over, peering inside. “It was interesting. That’s for sure.” I need a drink. Where’s the wine?
I hear plastic bags being set on the counter. Emma says, “I bought your favorite.” She holds up a bottle of White Merlot. I could die. Smiling at me, she holds the bottle by the neck. “You guys can celebrate without me. I totally didn’t mean to...”
I cut her off, “You didn’t. And we already celebrated, didn’t we Edward?”
He nods, “Yup. Dinner and stuff.” He’s staring at me. I can’t tell what he wants from me. I wish he’d just take me in his arms and say he wanted me. But he says nothing. He stands there with his arms folded like he’s an awkward kid.
Emma pulls out two glasses and looks at her brother, “Well, I want to hear about it. Sorry if it’s old news to you. So are you staying or going?” She has her fingers on a third glass, but he shakes his head.
“Nah, I’ll head home. Things to think about.” His eyes are on me, but I can’t look at him. “Congratulations, Anna.” He steps toward me, and kisses my temple. I smile at him, but it’s one of those smiles that feels wrong, like the lines of my face are filled with cement. “See you tomorrow?”
I nod, “Sure,” my voice is too soft.
He knows our relationship is broken. He likes slow and steady. I like everything else. Slow makes me fall into a coma. Steady isn’t my idea of romantic. But I don’t want to lose him. In every other way, we’re perfect together. He steps toward the door and lets himself out. I watch him go. Part of me wants to call him back and be with him his way, but I don’t move.
Emma watches me. She can tell I’m out of sorts, but she doesn’t mention it. Instead we talk about Cole and work and half-naked models. I tell her that I hold reflectors, move lights, and adjust things on set. I leave out that adjustments include things of a more sensual nature.
“So, Cole was with you today?” she asks, knowing it’s weird. “Anna, interns are treated like dirt, and you have the owner doing yours. You ever wonder why?”
For a second the only response I have is a half open mouth. “I have. And I don’t know. For some reason he didn’t want Sottero to have me. That much, I’m sure of.”
She nods at me. Although she hasn’t said it, the question—the reason she’s thinking—has crossed my mind as well. Maybe it was more than he didn’t want Sottero to have me. Maybe he actually wanted me. But that doesn’t make sense. I have next to no reputation, and the one I do have says I’m a pain in the ass, stubborn to a fault.
“So, next week you’ll be out East somewhere. How’d Edward take that?” she asks, and then adds. “You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to, but when I walked through the door, you looked like someone hit you in the head with a frying pan. I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t ask.”
I snort, and pull my knees into my chest. We’re sitting on the living room floor. Half the bottle of wine is gone. Tucking a stray hair behind my ear, I stare at my glass, “He was okay with it. That’s not the problem. He’s always supportive, exactly the kind of guy a girl hopes for.”
She watches me. After a moment she asks, “But not you?”
Shrugging, I say, “It gets into things I can’t discuss with you.” I stare at my toes. Sighing, I finally just ask her, “You know I’ve only had two serious relationships. One was a stoner, and the other was—” I try to find the right words, but Emma choses them for me.
“A dick.” She throws back the rest of her wine.
I nod, “Yeah, so I don’t really know what to expect. I mean, if a guy was great in every single way but your bedroom preferences didn’t exactly line up, what would you do?” I stumble over the words as I say them.
She blinks once and stares at me. “If you asked me that before my third glass of wine, I think I would have puked on you. And I might now, anyway.”
I roll my eyes at her, “Stop it. Be serious for once. I need you. I’m not talking about your brother. I’m talking about me. I’m a freak, Emma. Guys seem to think that I’m this little goodie-two-shoes kinda girl, and I’m not. I want things... things that they seem to think are weird. What do I do?”
Emma seems intrigued. “What kind of things do you want that no one will do?”
I shrug, “I don’t know. Things.” I can’t say it. I don’t want to. But I know what I want, and if I’m with Edward, I’ll be three for zero, in terms of guys that make me melt.
“Okay, you’re a bad liar. But I understand if you don’t want to tell me. I’ve done some things that I wouldn’t tell anyone about either.” I glance up at her surprised. She shrugs, “The right guy makes just about anything sound sexy. But that’s not your problem.” She pushes her dark hair out of her face. “I wouldn’t throw away an entire relationship based on the sex, but staying in a relationship where you both want different things, I don’t know...” Her tone is leading, but she’s saying what I already know.
“It’s settling, isn’t it?”
“Seems that way,” she nods and reaches for my glass. She refills both our cups and the bottle is empty. She glances at her glass, “After I drink this, I won’t have any recollection of our conversation, so if you have to ask me funky sex stuff that involves my twin, you’d better do it now.” She makes a face and I laugh.
I hold onto her shoulder, “I can’t do that to you. Telling you that I want more than he’s willing to give is enough.”
“And that’s the problem that you’ll face with every guy,” she lifts her glass and taps it against mine. The crystal rings. “Cheers, Anna. May your future be filled with someone who can give you everything you need.”
CHAPTER 14
“That’s not what I need,” Cole says in a huff.
He pushes past me and grabs a different white cloth from the prop closet. There are so many props. I have no idea how he decides which to use. He steps in front of me, takes the prop, and walks toward the set.
A model is sitting on a chaise with her back toward us. She’s wearing a tiny panty made of strings. It connects below her hips with a snake wrapped around a red crystal apple, the symbol of Evil Eve. Like Eve was in on it with the serpent in the Garden of Eden. I keep my feminist statements to myself, and follow Cole.
“The set is too smooth,” Cole explains. “Adding something like this will visually add texture and softness. You want t
he viewer’s eye to rest on the curve of her back, right where that apple is. The snake is the leading line that creates the flow of the composition. If you don’t put something in the bottom quadrant of the image, it won’t work as well.” Cole tosses down a fuzzy white rug. He bends at his knees, barefoot, and plays with it until it lies haphazardly, like was thrown there.
I watch him place the rug, but I am having trouble. Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t see it.”
He doesn’t turn toward me. Instead he lifts his camera to his eye and shoots. His fingers curve over the lens and the shutter snaps. Over his shoulder, he says, “You will.”
I don’t reply.
Cole shows me settings on the cameras and lights. He has me move things on set. Basically, I’m his beckon girl. He asks for something and I do it. As the day progresses, I’m starting to see what he’s doing. It comes together with the shoot from the other day. He works his way through the four sets, always shooting to show the model’s best assets while complimenting the teeny tiny lingerie she’s wearing. The trademark Le Femme sexy poses aren’t by accident. Every bit of them is Cole. It’s the way he sees a scene and makes it come together.
___
At the end of the day, I’m backing up the shoot onto his computer along the back wall of the studio. Cole walks up behind me after shutting off the lights in the massive room behind us. The crew and model have left. It’s later than usual. I want to leave, but the shoot ran late.
I watch the data transfer. As each thumbnail shows up on the screen, I look at it. I kind of like that panty after seeing it all day. It’s sexy, or at least I think it is.
I wonder how many things are sexy because someone told me they are.
Cole reaches past me, his finger pressing the screen. A thumbnail just appeared. He’s pointing at it, “That’s the shot before the rug. This is the shot after.” He leans in, not paying attention to how close he is, “See how this image makes you glance and look away?” I nod. It does do that, but I didn’t know why. “It’s because the composition is messed up. The flow is broken. There’s nowhere for the eye to rest or reenter the image. But this one,” he points at the picture with the rug, “is better. Since it’s white on white, the texture doesn’t detract from the focal point, but it lends to the overall image.” He turns to look at me. He’s in my circle of space, but I don’t feel the need to force him out. Although I haven’t been around Cole very long, I’ve already noticed that he isn’t a touchy person. He doesn’t seem to linger this close to anyone else. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
“This shoot was more risqué than the one we did the other day.”
I nod slowly, “Yeah, I suppose it was.” He’s still too close. I arch a brow at him, wondering what he’s doing.
He grins, “You didn’t notice, did you? That she was wearing a piece of string all day?”
Thinking about it, I lean back in my chair. Cole steps in front of me and sits down on the desk. “I suppose not. Actually, I hated that piece of clothing this morning... but it grew on me during the day.”
His eyebrow rose, surprised, “Did it?”
“When I first saw it, I thought it was saying women are evil, you know the temptress bitch scenario.” He laughs even though I’m being serious. “Shut up. It’s real. Look it up,” I say, grinning. “Anyway, as the day passed, I thought it was sexy. I think that’s kind of amazing about this place—you get to define what’s sexy.”
His arms fold over his toned chest while I speak. There’s a gleam in his eye that I can’t ignore. It makes my stomach flip-flop when he looks at me like that. “That’s why I wanted you to work here. I knew you’d see it. Le Femme isn’t about making women into sex objects. You missed that before. When you first spoke to me, that was all you thought we were. But now you see it. Don’t you?”
I nod. Cautiously, I say, “It’s more about defining femininity and power. You showcase your ideals, putting them into pictures.”
I’d only been here for a few days, but there is a reason why I am the best in my class. I see things no one else does. When I find something I don’t understand, I want to know everything about it until I understand it fully. Right now, I feel that way about Cole. He confuses the hell out of me.
I tilt my head, looking up at him, “Was that your intention when you started shooting?”
He laughs, “You didn’t ask if you were right. Most people would have waited for confirmation of their claim, and then asked the next question.” He has a dimple on his cheek when he smiles hard.
“Dude, we both know I’m right and that I’m slightly arrogant—kind of like you—so let’s just call it what it is so you can answer my question.” He laughs. “When you started Le Femme, did you set out to showcase femininity and power?” Sometime while I was speaking, I sat up. By the time I finish, the tips of my fingers are on his knee, and I am looking up at him. I smile noncommittally, and lean back into my chair, slouching, not sure why I did that.
His lips press together into a straight line, almost disappearing. His hands rest on either side of his hips on the desk. He leans forward when I lean back, “You’re dangerous, you know that? Not only do you see things clearly—well, when you actually take the time to look at them—but you also call people on it. You demand honesty.”
“I’m scary as hell,” I joke.
“More than you know,” he says seriously. His eyes rove over my face like he’s considering something. He looks to the side, careful to avoid my eyes. Rubbing an imaginary spot on his jeans, he says, “I started Le Femme as a fly-by-night artist. I wanted to be a painter, but that didn’t pay the bills. Someone took pity on me and handed me a camera. I was able to cut my own path from there.
“When I was on my own, I didn’t like what I saw. Women were portrayed as weak. They were cast into a mold that no longer fits,” he looks up at me and continues, “if it ever did. The pieces that dominated the market only show a certain type of woman—a specific type of beauty. I want to show what I think is beautiful. I want the world to see things through my eyes. And I can do that Anna, I can make you see my perspective through this lens.” He taps at the glass on the end of his camera and looks up at me. “It tilts the world on its side. It has the potential to change everything, every concept you have, every belief you hold...” he places the camera down and shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “God, if you saw my earlier work, you wouldn’t believe it. Le Femme pays the bills. Le Femme is the tame version of me and that’s the Cole Stevens the world knows.
“So, yeah, my ideals leaked into my work. I’ve found that it’s impossible to keep them out, no matter how hard I try.”
While he speaks, I’m glued in place, mesmerized. His blue eyes pierce me and hold me still. I forget to breathe. Stunned, I wonder, who the hell is this? Who is this man? Do I know him at all? Was every assumption I made, every educated guess about him completely wrong?
I drool at him, lost in the shy passion barely contained in his voice, until he says he was on his own. Liar. I know that’s not true. I know he comes from money. Everyone knows that, so I wonder why he says it—why he tries to tell such a blatant lie. Does he think I’m a moron? Maybe. Instead of calling him on it, I listen to the rest of his story. His passion is addictive.
As soon as he stops speaking, I want to hear more, even if it is lies. No one talks like that anymore. No one says what they actually think, what they believe. I find myself staring at his dark eyes wondering how I could be so drawn to him when we are so different. It’s a question that I smash away with a mental broom as soon as it surfaces. Thinking about Cole Stevens is not the pastime of a prudent person.
My inner-self reminds me that I am not a prudent person.
Damn.
CHAPTER 15
The week creeps slowly by. The days are long and every minute of it spent with Cole. Work is more fun than I expected. I still wonder if I made the right decision. I have no idea what to do later in life with the things C
ole is teaching me. I’m not going to shoot this kind of stuff, although I start to see more of him. He seems to trust me, and speaks more freely. It’s strange how often I have a smile on my face lately.
I am seeing double by the time we stop after lunch. Cole stays in order to keep working, getting ready for a meeting later, but he sends me home. The halo that’s burned into my retinas from editing images all day on the computer has started to dull and fade. I don’t know how he stares at a screen all day.
The changes he makes to the photos during editing are so minute. It’s like shifting a grain of sand on the beach. The one tiny movement seems to pull the whole thing together. I’m still uncertain of myself, of what he expects from me. But I show up and I’m trying. I feel like there’s more to learn from him, but I’m not sure what. The speech he made the other night is still fresh in my mind.
I avoid Edward. I don’t know what to do with him. He said he loves me. I owe him an honest explanation about what I’m thinking, I know I do, but I can’t do it. Not yet. Mainly because I have no clue what I’m thinking.
I pull my hair into a pony tail and slip on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. My plan is to lounge in front of the TV while Emma is out, and let my subconscious deal with Edward.
As soon as I kick my feet up, my phone rings. I tilt the screen so I can see the name. SUFFOLK COUNTY POLICE is across the screen. Sitting up, I answer it. “Hello,” I say, wondering who is on the other end of the line.
“Anna, good you’re there.”
“Cole?” I ask, shocked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I can’t talk. I only have a minute. I hate to ask you this, but I need a huge favor. I’m in jail. Please go to the studio, take cash out of the safe. The combination is scratched onto the back of my main camera body. Take ten grand and come get me out. Please.”