One (Love by Numbers Book 5)

by E. S. Carter

  “You have amazing brows. Do you get them threaded?”

  What the fuck is this girl on about?

  I mean, she’s sweet and cute as a button, but she talks on and on about things I have no idea of, and even when I don’t reply she keeps going and going and going. I wonder if it’s a nervous thing or if she simply doesn’t have an off switch.

  I’m about to tell her I have a headache and would appreciate some quiet before the shoot when the dressing room door swings open and a striking, caramel-skinned goddess strides into the room wearing nothing but a semi-sheer robe that leaves little to the imagination. With her form backlit by the large window that overlooks the bustling street below, I can see every voluptuous curve of her body in high definition.

  She stills when she spots me sitting in a chair with Zoey fussing over my face, and a polite but aloof smile takes over her exquisite features. Recognition quickly morphs her pleasant smile into a more calculated façade meant for seduction. I see this look on female faces often. It’s one that says ‘You’re Flynn Phillips, and I’m going to tempt you into my bed.’ I’m not going to lie and say that look hasn’t been a success for many others, I’m a young hot-blooded, single guy after all, and as I let my eyes rove her delectable frame, it’s highly likely it will be a winner yet again. Wasn’t I just thinking about getting some much-needed relaxation? What could be more stress relieving than being balls deep inside a beautiful woman?

  “Well, hello,” she purrs in a heavily accented voice that sounds like it’s been dipped in honey. “Aren’t you a treat.”

  Her stride changes into an enticing sashay which only highlights the deep curve of her waist and smooth lines of her hips beneath the diaphanous fabric of her robe. She loosens the belt with deft fingers and allows it to gape a little, generously affording me a clear view of the swell of her breasts.

  Zoey huffs under her breath and steps away.

  “You need to remove your clothing so I can oil your skin. Iz is expecting you back in the studio in a few moments, so if you could strip off while I grab the…”

  The newcomer sidles up alongside Zoey, who is blatantly miffed at being interrupted. “No need, Zoey, my sweet. I can help Flynn get lubed up seeing as we will be all but naked and writhing around on the floor in a few moments time. It will be good for us to become acquainted with each other’s bodies before we get in front of the camera. Don’t you think, Mon Cheri?”

  I smile because this girl is good. She hasn’t bothered to introduce herself, and her over-confidence should be unappealing, but right now it’s a welcome diversion.

  I glance at Zoey and thank her for doing my hair and make-up but dismiss her quickly by picking up the bottle of baby oil and sliding it into the French Seductress’s hand.

  “I think that’s a very good idea…?”

  She smiles in victory, flashing her pearly white teeth and all but elbowing poor Zoey out of the way.

  With feigned embarrassment at not introducing herself, she flickers her impossibly long eyelashes and caresses the bottle between both hands. The look on her face is an attempt at demure while the rhythm of her fingers across the bottle is anything but innocent.

  “How rude of me not to give my name,” she removes one stroking hand from the bottle and slides it up my bare arm, “I’m Céline Bertrand, body and face of Wicked Water. I wasn’t expecting the honour of sharing a campaign with someone as,” she flicks her eyes down over my chest to land on my lap before returning them to lock with mine. “Big as you. I can’t wait to see how explosive this shoot is about to become.”

  Her blatant innuendo is not lost on me, and I don’t bother to fight the grin that takes over my face.

  “Well, Miss Bertrand, I can safely say this shoot is becoming more pleasurable by the second. And to think that only moments ago I wished I was on the beach with my best friend. Isn’t it funny how situations can improve so quickly?”

  I stand and without preamble pull my t-shirt out of the waist of my bottoms before hooking my hand behind my neck to grab the fabric and tug it off in one smooth movement.

  I’m not shy about my body. I worked bloody hard to look this good. My business is health and fitness, and I know every inch of my body is sculpted to perfection. That’s not me being narcissistic; it’s a simple truth. My body is my brand and without it, I’d be lucky to be a minimum wage gym rat right now.

  Céline’s audible intake of air as I drop my joggers and stand before her in just a tight pair of black boxer trunks is a little over-exaggerated and would usually grate on me, but right now I have a raging hard-on that is eager to come out and play, so I ignore her obvious game playing. Besides, it’s hardly a one-sided game. I want to get into her knickers, and she is making it plain that she’s more than eager for that to happen.

  Eyes locked on mine she takes a single step forward and flicks open the cap on the oil bottle. The cool liquid squirts over my chest and drips down my abs to be quickly followed by her nimble fingers and soft palms, but still she keeps her eyes on mine. Just as she is about to oil areas that do not require lubrication, the dressing room door swings wide and Isaac Fox stands in the entryway looking perplexed. His confusion doesn’t last long, though, and the look on his face is swiftly replaced by one of fury.

  The anger rippling from him charges the air and drags my attention away from the soft touches of the hot woman in front of me. Memories of different hands, his hands roaming my skin assault my senses with every second our eyes remain locked. These memories are swiftly followed by a maelstrom of disgust and lust, and I’m not sure which emotion is more prevalent but I grab onto disgust with both hands and force myself to match his angry glare.

  Fuck.

  Remind me again why I agreed to take this job.

  A small and often ignored voice in my head whispers, “Him.” You took this job just to see him.

  No. I didn’t.

  Holding his stare, watching his fists clench and release as they flick from Céline’s hands on my slick chest, to my now impassive face, I know I’m a liar. The hard on I sported for the woman in front of me hasn’t abated. In fact, I’m harder than I was moments ago, and I know, despite my denial that the man in front of me is the reason why.

  True disgust twists my guts. Not at him. At me.

  I’m not attracted to this man.

  I will never be attracted to this man.

  Liar.

  Liar.

  Liar.

  Click.

  Fine mist settles against smooth, tanned skin in perfect iridescent droplets.

  Click.

  A single bead of moisture engulfs all the smaller ones in its path, growing bigger with every inch of firm skin it caresses until it licks a path over his Adam’s Apple.

  Click.

  He swallows and that tempting drop of water, an enticing, cool spring well to my parched throat rolls onwards, over the defined muscles of his shoulders, down, down, down over the broad, sculpted mounds of his pecs.

  Click.

  It slows momentum as it deliciously and haphazardly follows a path dictated by each of his abdominal muscles.

  Click.

  I lick my lips, swallowing hard as my thirsty lens tracks each millimetre, capturing the very moment that dewy bead hesitates before it tumbles over the edge and disappears into the pronounced V that highlights his narrow hips.

  Click.

  I’m so fucking hard it hurts.

  I clear the croak in my throat before issuing a new command, “Céline, can you lift your leg a little higher and arch back?”

  When she effortlessly moves as instructed and new lines are created on which to focus my lens, I swallow down the churning burn of lust and confusion that bubbles beneath my surface and I get lost in the art of creating something beautiful.

  I remove the person that is Flynn Phillips from my head and turn him into a pretty object for my view finder.

  He hasn’t invaded my thoughts over the last year. He isn’t the person that
has taken starring roles in my dreams and often my nightmares. Neither did his parting words flay me wide open and remind me of everything I am and everything I’m not.

  He’s a model behind my lens. Nothing more, nothing less.

  If I keep telling myself all of this, it will soon become true because the reality of having Flynn in my space after what happened between us is fucking with my head. I can’t allow that to happen. How can one man have such an effect on me?

  “Céline, that’s perfect, hold that position. Flynn, can you move your arm a little lower so it covers both her breasts?”

  Flynn does as I ask, his lips at the curve of Céline’s neck where it meets her shoulder, his legs framing her hips as she sprawls against him with her back to his front.

  Fuck, they look hot together. Whoever paired them up for this ad campaign was a genius despite the unoriginality of the concept. Wicked Water wants a wet, sensual, hot series of frames that are sure to come under a lot of scrutiny by the Advertising Standards Authority. In fact, I’m sure they are hoping for that to happen. Adverts that push boundaries, while selling a lifestyle choice via the age old, but successful cliché that ‘sex sells’, always create a buzz. It’s my job to make them beautiful enough to also pass as art and not just consumer manipulation.

  “Okay, I have enough. Let’s do a few of you straddling him, Céline. If you can remove your briefs for this shot, as I need clear lines of your lower back.”

  Céline doesn’t hesitate. She stands gracefully before giving me a sultry smile and shimmying the flesh toned knickers over her hips, down her long smooth legs before stepping out of them and standing bare for both our stares.

  Flynn does a quick scan of her body before his eyes return to me. The intensity of his gaze leaves me feeling unbalanced yet unmistakeably turned on. Forgetting my professional demeanour for a moment, I can’t help but allow my eyes to follow the plains of his body until they rest on the impressive erection in his tight boxers. An erection that pulses under my stare and forces me to blink away my errant thoughts. When my eyes return to Céline, I can’t help but notice the seductive smile on her face or the calculated look in her eyes.

  “Shall we, Mon Amour?” she purrs, pursing her lips and arching an eyebrow. The question is rhetorical and one she doesn’t need a response to, and I know she isn’t just referring to continuing the shoot but insinuating something more sinful, more enticing.

  I clear my throat and motion for her to situate herself, avoiding any further eye contact by fixing my attention on checking the lighting.

  “I’m going to spray you both with some additional mist, so you’re gonna get a little wetter, but I’ll make it quick.”

  “Oh, I’m always up for getting wetter.” Céline infers in her raspy, accented voice, hitching her hips slightly and eliciting a groan from Flynn as her flesh rubs up against him, a noise that he attempts to cover with a strained laugh.

  “I didn’t have any idea of what I was getting myself into, did I?” he laughs but the desire in his voice is evident, despite his attempt at keeping this situation professional.

  Céline answers by undulating over him once more and my eyes snap to his strong hands as they reach out to still her hips.

  “Not the time or the place, I’m afraid.” He chastises Céline with a smile in his voice to which she pouts like a child and bats her eyelashes in pretend innocence.

  “You guys are no fun. All work and no play…”

  Before she can finish the sentence I interrupt, “Gets the job finished and makes the client happy. If you could just channel all the sex you’re trying to force into the room into the next set of frames, you guys can both go and work it out of your system in private.” My voice is snappy even to my ears, but I’ve had enough of Céline’s games and Flynn’s presence. The way I’m reacting today isn’t me. I’m the professional but laid-back guy that doesn’t get phased by anything or anyone. That’s all gone to shit today because I’m barely holding myself together, and I cannot afford to fuck this up.

  Thankfully neither of them react to my words and we wrap up the rest of the shoot in under an hour.

  Wicked Water is going to have an impressive set of images from which to choose. Despite the weird energy I’m expelling, Céline and Flynn nailed the brief, and I have frame after frame of perfection to edit and present.

  “That’s a wrap, guys. Thanks for today, you’re now free to go.”

  Céline stands and stretches out her naked body. Flynn, ever the gentleman stands behind her and helps her into her robe. Despite not looking directly at them both I can feel they have their eyes on me. It’s Céline who speaks first, all innuendo and seduction removed from her voice when she asks, “Want to join us for a bite to eat and some drinks?”

  I look up from my monitor and watch as Flynn grabs a towel from shelves and begins to wipe down his wet body.

  Distracted by the view I answer, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m beat. I have to fly out to L.A. tomorrow, so I need to pack.”

  “I’m sure you have time to squeeze in some food. Come on, Isaac, even you need to relax sometimes, No?”

  Before I can refuse once more, Flynn speaks. “You guys should go. I have another meeting this evening but Céline’s right, Isaac. Everyone needs to relax.”

  There are no hidden meanings to his words and the fact he will be absent makes it safe for me to go with Céline. Do I even want to risk going with her? Earlier today it seemed like a good idea to work off some of my stress with a willing partner, but now I’m not so sure. I feel drained. Despite her turning down the tone of her seduction, there’s only one way that this will go if I agree and do I want to end up in her bed tonight?

  As Flynn pulls up those soft grey sweatpants of his over his firm thighs to rest on his narrow hips, I realise that I do. I want to forget how seeing him again has made me feel, and Céline would be an excellent way to do just that. I turn away from them both as I speak, hoping for an air of casual acceptance.

  “Okay, that sounds great. Why don’t you go and get changed while I pack away in here? I’ll come and get you when I’m done.” Then as an afterthought, one that is in no way an afterthought because he’s consumed all my thoughts since he walked in here just a few hours ago, I add, “I’ll see you around. Flynn. It was great shooting with you again.”

  Rude I know, but that’s all I can offer him without making it obvious how much seeing him has affected me.

  I hear rather than see Flynn and Céline embracing each other and saying murmured goodbyes and then I’m alone.

  My shoulders sag with relief and my head hangs low as I collect what’s left of my equilibrium.

  “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  Flynn’s voice is right behind me. I thought he’d left and was concentrating so much on getting my head together I didn’t hear him step up behind me.

  Trying to cover my surprise I answer without turning around, “Yeah, see you around. Thanks for today.”

  A warm hand lands on my shoulder, the heat of his skin permeating the thin fabric of my shirt.

  “About what happened…” his voice is soft and apologetic.

  “Don’t, Flynn. It’s water under the bridge.” My voice cannot hide its air of defeat.

  “I was a complete prick, I just… I mean, I didn’t…”

  I spin around, shaking off his touch.

  “I said don’t. It was a long time ago. Trust me when I say I never thought about it again.”

  Liar.

  Liar.

  Liar.

  His face is honest, open and… sad.

  He doesn’t have the right to feel that way. One night and a few hurtful words should never have affected me the way it did.

  “I didn’t mean what I said.”

  His eyes hold mine and I swear he’s genuinely trying to make amends, but why here and why now?

  The answer to that doesn’t matter. It’s best I shut this down.

  “Yeah, you did. You meant every w
ord.”

  My voice is firm but resigned. Not allowing him to respond further.

  He stares at me a beat longer and then nods almost imperceptibly.

  “Take care, Isaac. It was good to see you again.”

  And then he’s gone without a look back.

  Good.

  I’m done with looking back.

  I know who I am. I’m happy with who I am.

  Fuck Flynn Phillips.

  “Hold the door!”

  I have one foot in and one out of the exit when the familiar voice halts me in my tracks, and I spin around to face Céline.

  Dressed down in ripped, skinny jeans and a slouchy sweatshirt, she looks nothing like the seductress of earlier and more like the girl next door. Albeit a very attractive girl next door. Natural looks good on her.

  “Hey. I thought you were grabbing a bite to eat with Isaac? Did he stand you up?”

  She huffs the hair out of her face and lifts a ratty looking sports bag over her shoulder. “No, he’s just held up on a call. The agency rang for an update on the shoot so he’s meeting me in the bar across the road.” I motion for her to exit before me onto the street and she offers me a sweet smile of thanks. Her transformation from the woman who writhed naked on top of me less than an hour ago, into the one now standing before me, is quite a head spin and the look on my face must give my thoughts away.

  “I’m just a girl, Flynn. When I’m in front of the camera, I become someone else, an actress if you will. I call it ‘escapism’, my agent calls it ‘method modelling’”. She laughs lightly and shakes her head in a self-depreciating manner. “It’s a cutthroat business we’re in, and I need this more than most, so I do what I have to do to climb to the top.”

  Huh. Well, she certainly fooled me.