Calvin snorted. “Excuse me? Who’s in charge here?”
“You are,” she said equably. “Go on.”
“Thank you. Where’s the other guy?” Calvin demanded.
“Ah…” Solomon scratched his nose. “You saw Will,” he said with resignation.
“Yeah. I want him.” Calvin cast a dismissive eye over Solomon. “You’re too big.”
Solomon grinned. “Not what my—” He stopped, shot a look toward Faith and Gretchen, and clearly re-thought his words. “Never mind. I’m done, then?”
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “I want your friend. Send him on back here.”
Solomon shrugged. “Good enough.”
“Have a seat,” Faith told the young woman hastily. “Gretchen, right? We’ll be right with you.”
“I’m not worried,” the girl said. “It’s exciting.” She sat down and actually bounced a little. Perky was the word, all right. “When you get my guy, I’m ready.”
Faith gave Solomon an apologetic look as she led the way to the doorway again. “Thanks for coming. Calvin can be a little abrupt.”
“No problem. My wife will be relieved, tell you the truth. I’m destined for better things.” He laughed, a rumbling sound, and Faith found herself laughing back. “Yo, bro,” he called out, entering the anteroom again. “They want you. Story of my life.” He heaved a gusty sigh from somewhere in the depths of his six-foot-five frame. “You’re going to have to find your own way back to your place, because I’m not hanging around.”
“What?” Mr. Muffin looked startled, off-balance for the first time.
“If you have a few minutes,” Faith said, trying her best for brisk, “Calvin’s interested in taking a look at you.”
Some of the other guys looked disgruntled, and no wonder.
“Dunno.” He sounded bemused. “I’m not a model.”
“Would you come back here and talk to him anyway? Just for a minute,” she coaxed. She could see why Calvin wanted him, because he was perfect. Absolutely perfect. For Calvin.
Model Behavior
Will followed her into the studio again. So far, this wasn’t going anything like he’d expected. He’d just been along for the ride.
She was pretty, the coffee girl, in a healthy sort of way. He’d been enjoying taking in the scenery in the outer room, but Solomon had a point about the…curvy parts, he decided as he walked along behind her. Her waist was small, and her hips weren’t, and that long-sleeved T-shirt was working pretty hard, too. Her jeans were nothing but practical, her hair was brown, wet, and tied into some sort of deliberately messed-up knot with the ends sticking out, and if she was wearing any lipstick on that luscious pink mouth, he’d just say it looked natural. But she had a tiny mole just above the outer edge of her perfectly carved upper lip that any man would long to kiss, right before he got down to business on that mouth. Her eyes were blue, wide-set, and clear, and her smile was something special.
He got a bit distracted by the sight of Gretchen, whom he’d met in the outer room, doing a few unselfconscious stretches. Leaning back with her arms overhead, hands clasped, so her tiny T-shirt rode up over some very nice flat little belly. Yeh, there was heaps to look at in Vegas.
“Hi!” she said with her sunny smile.
“Hi.” He gave her a smile in return, then turned to the older fella, sitting and frowning over a folder in his lap.
“Morning,” Will said. “What can I do for you?”
The older man looked up, still frowning. “Who are you?”
Will had to laugh. Well, that was dead rude. “I’m the Designated Driver, you could say. Will…Will Taniwha.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t given his real name. Well, because he wasn’t sure what this was about. “Who are you?”
“Calvin Quisp. Photographer. Looking for a model, which hopefully you know.”
“I’m not looking for a modeling job, actually,” Will said. “I’m just here on holiday for a few weeks.”
“It’ll only take a few weeks. Six days’ work. If I want you.”
“Well, if you don’t want me, there’s no point, is there?” Will was getting a bit narky now.
If the other man noticed the narkiness, he didn’t show it. “Take off your shirt,” he said, “and we’ll talk.”
“You know,” Will said, “when I try saying that to somebody, it almost never works.”
The coffee girl was trying not to laugh, he could tell. “He wants to see your chest,” she told Will. “That’s all.”
“And I don’t have all day,” Calvin said. “So take it off, or leave. Shoes, too.”
What the hell. Will stripped his still-damp T-shirt off in one quick motion and tossed it onto a chair, then kicked off his sandals. “There you go,” he said. “Those are the goods.”
Calvin stood up. “Come on. Over here.” He pointed Will to a spot against the bare wall, painted a dull black like the rest of the studio space, went to a camera mounted on a stand, and looked through the lens.
“Get those softboxes in there,” he told the coffee girl, and she moved to oblige, carrying a couple of rectangular lights on stands and positioning them in some way that must have made sense to the photographer, because he grunted at her, turned back to the camera, and took a couple of snaps.
“Fold your arms across your chest,” he told Will, “tattooed arm on top.” Will did it, then moved some more at the other man’s direction, feeling like a bit of a fool in just his jeans, his bare feet cold against the engineered flooring.
“You,” the photographer told the blonde, who’d been sitting and watching. “Got a bra on under there?”
“Yes,” she said, and giggled.
“Then take off your shirt, too,” he said, “and your shoes, and go stand over there with him. Your back against his front.”
She did it, and this was getting interesting at last, because she was tiny, pale-skinned and big-eyed, and her breasts were a pair of pretty little cupcakes in the light-blue bra.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, and snuggled up. She was wearing jeans too, low-slung, tight ones that hugged her equally tight little bottom, which she was pressing into the tops of his thighs.
“Hold her,” Calvin told him. “One hand across her chest, just above the bra. The other hand right down at the top of her jeans, like you’re about to reach inside both places. Like a second later, your hands would be there.” He was behind the camera, shooting as he spoke. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. Spread your fingers a little on that lower one. Show us how big that hand is. You’re just about to touch her real good.”
Gretchen had jumped a bit, though, and Will pulled his hands hastily off her. “Sorry. I’ll…”
“It’s just that your hands were cold. Don’t worry. I’m good.” He couldn’t see her expression, but she didn’t sound the least bit affected. He could have been her mum, giving her a cuddle. Well, that was flattering.
“Go on,” she urged him. “Do it right. I need this job.” Which was about the biggest turn-off he’d ever heard.
“Sorry.” He rubbed his hands together briskly to warm them before taking hold of her again. “This isn’t the real thing, right?” he asked the photographer. “Because I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“This is just the audition,” the coffee girl said. She said it soothingly, like he was nervous, and he scowled at her a little.
“Oh, that’s good.” Calvin was sounding excited behind his camera. “Bad Boy all the way. Hold that thought. And keep reaching down there. Look down her bra now. Just that mad. Just that bad. Hold that. And you…Gertrude.”
“Gretchen,” the coffee girl reminded him.
“Whatever. No smile. You’re so turned on, and just a little bit scared, maybe. He’s got you, and you don’t know what he’s going to do with you. Put an arm up over your head, reach around for his neck, behind you. You’re pulling him into you, because you can’t help it. Arch that back, because his hands feel so good. Yeah, that’s it. That’s beautiful.”
Knowing that he was about to dive down a woman’s jeans would have been good. It would have been brilliant, if Will had had the least bit of confidence that she was enjoying it. As it was, it was about as sexy as a rugby scrum.
“That’s got to be enough,” he said after Calvin had snapped away some more. “And you’re not using it unless I say so.”
Calvin stepped away from the camera, popped out the memory card, and took it over to the computer. “I couldn’t anyway. Don’t have the lighting right. Sit down, shut up, and hang on.”
Will’s mouth opened a little. Bloody hell, Americans were rude. He should walk out the door. Why wasn’t he walking out the door?
Because he was curious. He shouldn’t care what this arrogant bastard thought, but his pride was on the line now. He wanted to see if he’d passed.
“Yeah…yeah,” Calvin was muttering, scrolling through image after image. Will glanced over his shoulder. He looked like himself, maybe a bit narky, but then, he had been. But Gretchen did look sexy. Her mouth was soft, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, her back arching under his hands. She looked like a woman who was two-thirds of the way there already. Like she’d been a whole lot more into it than she actually had been.
“Pretty good,” Calvin said. “All right. You two wait outside while I get through the rest of them, and we’ll see.”
“I don’t think so,” Will said. Enough was enough. “Talk to me. Tell me what the job is, because I know bugger all about it. How much I’d be…putting my hands on somebody, if I did it. Let alone anything else, because I’m not doing anything else.” He could see why Lelei hadn’t wanted Solomon to get the job. There wasn’t a single one of Will’s own cousins who’d have let her man sign up for this, no matter how many babies had been on the way.
The girl with the coffee spoke up. Soothing him again. “Mostly standing up. Well, not entirely. But mostly. Mainly wearing just your pants, or with your shirt open, because men look better wearing a few clothes, for some odd reason. Whereas women look better without them. Why is that?” She grinned at him, and he had to laugh, because she was right, at least as far as he was concerned.
“Because women are prettier, maybe?” he suggested. “All smooth and soft? And you know what they say. The circle is Nature’s perfect shape.”
She choked back a laugh, then went on hastily at another glare from Calvin. “Ahem. There’ll be some shots lying down on a bed, too, of course, tangled up in her, with your hand in her hair. Like that. You won’t be kissing her, because kissing doesn’t photograph well. You’ll be looking dark and dominant and broody, that’s all. Here.” She reached for a clipboard, came and stood next to him, flipped a page. “This is a partial shot list, just sketched out, but it should give you an idea.”
Her hair smelled good. Like flowers. She was leaning into him a little, holding out the clipboard. Wearing all her clothes, and not pretending anything at all. This situation was messing with his head. He made himself focus, ran a finger down the list, and came to a screaming stop near the bottom. “Bondage Shots? Shower shots? Spanking shots? Hang on.”
“It’s not real,” she said. “It’s all just suggestion. Very tasteful. You won’t even be in all of them, especially the bondage shots. It’s all about the girl, for those. Some shots of you holding her, at most, with her hands behind her back. You know the kind of thing. And as for the shower shots, you can wear a…a Speedo or something. And I won’t peek.” She was laughing at him again, he could tell. Or trying not to. Like he was funny.
“So what’s this all about?” he asked.
Calvin sighed. “Time’s a-wasting,” he said pointedly.
“And I can leave right now. Or you—I’m sorry,” Will told the assistant-girl. “I don’t know your name.”
“Faith,” she said.
Calvin sighed again. “Faith Goodwin. Which I still say is a perfect name for our girl. Innocence sullied. Oh, I love it. I want it.”
“Well, you can’t have it. You are not using my name. We’ve had this discussion. Forget it.” She turned back to Will and said, “We’re doing sexy pictures for a new website, a subscription-based thing. The site won’t just be about the pictures, it’s going to have stories, too, because it’s also a writing contest. That’s the big idea. That’s the new angle.”
“A writing contest,” Will said slowly.
“Yes. Where people can submit their episodes of their own unfolding story every week, as new pictures go up. Erotica, or erotic romance. Whichever.” She was smiling at him encouragingly again, like she was talking about some kind of kids’ writing contest, describing their Best Christmas Ever. “We give the two characters names, and people write stories about them. They write about what’s going on in the pictures, do you see? And the viewers get to vote on which stories they like best. The most popular stories show up on the site first. Fun times reading, and looking at pictures of sexy people being…well, sexy. Win-win for everyone.”
“Isn’t there a basic flaw in that idea?” Will asked.
“What’s that?” She looked startled. She hadn’t thought of it? Seemed doomed to fail to him, although what did he care?
“Why would somebody pay for this?” he asked. “Isn’t there porn online for free? I mean,” he added hastily, “I’ve heard.”
She laughed again. “Yeah, I’ll bet you have. But there’s nothing like this. It’s surprising, I know, with all the free stuff out there, but erotica’s about the most profitable genre people can write in these days. I did the research. The new idea is the…full-service aspect. You get the pictures, and the stories to go with them, and you get to vote. Interactive. Nothing too dirty either way, don’t worry. There’ll be rules.”
“Well, not that many rules,” Calvin said, and she made a shushing gesture at him that Will didn’t miss. Who was running this show, anyway?
“Well, you think there’s money in it, anyway,” Will said, although he still doubted it. “Or you wouldn’t be paying people to pose for it.”
“And I wouldn’t be sitting around yapping to somebody about it, either,” Calvin grumbled. “Instead of getting on with it.”
“I can leave,” Will reminded him. He crossed his arms again, realizing he hadn’t put his shirt back on, which Gretchen had already done, quick and businesslike. “How much does it pay?”
“Four thousand,” Calvin said. “Full model release.” Whatever that meant.
“Wait a minute.” Faith held up a hand. “You’re on vacation, right? From…somewhere?”
“Yeh. From New Zealand.” He thought about explaining why he was here, about the football, and the rugby, and abandoned the idea fast. Who knew what kind of extra visibility they could get out of that? That would be the last thing he needed.
She sighed. “Never mind, then. We’re wasting our time. No work visa.”
“Hang on,” Calvin said. “I didn’t hear that. Payment in cash, is what I meant to say. Of course,” he added smoothly, “in cash, it’s thirty-three-fifty, because I can’t deduct it.”
“Wait.” Gretchen spoke up. “You said four thousand.”
“For you,” Faith said, “four thousand. And Calvin—No.”
“Oh, yes,” Calvin said. “Yes. You say yes now,” he told Will, “and you’re in.”
“Me too?” Gretchen asked.
“No,” Calvin said. “Not until I test the other girls. But I want him. Yes or no?” he demanded.
“Uh…” He shouldn’t, but what the hell. If he’d been worried that he’d get too aroused, embarrass himself, he’d just been put shockingly right on that one. He was in limbo just now, and a person could only train for so many hours a day. Meanwhile, he could pose in his jeans a few times, holding a pretty girl, which wasn’t exactly hardship duty. Why not? He wasn’t in New Zealand, not in the relentless scrutiny of a harsh public eye. He didn’t have to behave himself here, and if his photo appeared on some pay-per-view website in the States that didn’t have a hope anyway, who was goi
ng to know—or care?
What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. He was in Vegas, and he needed something to happen. Perfect.
“Right,” he decided. “I’ll do it. What the hell. One for the memoirs.”
The Hurtin’ Kind
Will had surprised her. And maybe disappointed her a teeny bit, too, in a weird way. She hadn’t thought he’d go for it.
Now, it was one-thirty, and she was sitting across from him in the Turkish restaurant next to the UNLV campus, running through her list. Calvin had been impatient to keep looking at the girls that morning, and Will had said that he had to get on, that he had a workout to do. Calvin had muttered something caustic about models who came to auditions without being prepared to stay a while, Will had answered cheerfully that he hadn’t come there to audition and wasn’t going to sit around now, and Faith had delegated herself to handle the details.
“So who’s the lucky girl chosen to be my victim?” Will asked now. He’d insisted on buying Faith’s lunch, too, which had been nice of him.
“Oh, pardon,” he said when she looked up in surprise, “my partner in almost-nearly consensual yet decidedly dirty acts of love.”
“Darn it,” Faith said, fighting a smile, “nobody’s even written anything yet, and you’ve already got the plot. And it’s Gretchen.”
“Ah. Gretchen.” She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. “I saw the list, remember? I’m guessing here that I’m meant to be the hard warrior. Got some dark tribal desires, maybe. I’m a wee bit…savage.” He leaned closer and whispered the word, those liquid brown eyes widening a little, and she very nearly choked before he sat back and continued in a normal tone of voice. “Of course, I’m painfully jaded by my past experience with women, too.”
“You are?” She took another bite of salad and tried not to laugh.
“Yeh.” He sighed pitifully. “They’ve hurt me, and now I take what I want—which is a bit nasty, by the way—and don’t let them get close. So we start in on it, because she can’t resist me. I tend to have that effect. I’m all broody, like I’ve lost every game, and yet she melts whenever she sees me, because apparently she likes blokes like that. Must be an odd girl.”
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