by Cole, Starla
Syria inhaled sharply. The woman was beautiful, her body curved and toned, perfectly tan with no lines. Her breasts were still high and firm, her legs slender and shapely. Keeping the shoes had been a good decision, as it made her calves stay taut and as her knee came up and around the trunk, the shiny smooth leather was a killer juxtaposition against the roughness of the bark.
Syria wondered what it would feel like to have your naked skin against a tree, out in an open park. She couldn’t hold a candle to a woman like that. She wasn’t beautiful whatsoever, her mixed heritage of Oklahoma mother and a father from India made her skin a strange watery coffee color, and her hair dark but not thick and lustrous like Indian girls, just curly and unmanageable.
She didn’t belong in this town. Her absent father, who turned out to have lied and was married, seducing her mother at an ashram on a trip to India twenty years ago, was a constant source of gossip. Her mother hadn’t dated, and the two of them kept to themselves on a little lot surrounded by wheat fields out on the highway as Syria went through school.
Watching Anthony close in on the woman, taking tighter shots of her face and parts of her body, set Syria on fire. He was so comfortable with it, like he did it every day. Maybe he did. She imagined herself in Sharon’s place, breasts exposed, thighs rubbing a tree, out in public, pictures forever capturing the moment.
“I think we’ve got it,” Anthony said and turned to Syria. “Can you hand Sharon the robe?”
He turned away to pick up equipment, but Syria couldn’t take her eyes off the woman now, her skin rosy where it had made contact with the tree. She handed her the robe, but Sharon didn’t put it on, kicking off her shoes and walking over to her underwear, passing close to Anthony.
Syria clutched the disc, wondering what the woman was up to. Anthony was kneeling low, packing his camera in a bag, and Sharon stood over him, her breasts just above his head, the bare mound right where his face would be if he turned. “So do you think we have some good stuff?”
Anthony was stuck, and while he didn’t seem upset by it, he also didn’t want to turn right into the woman’s naked body. Syria felt sorry for him. Did many of these women proposition him after shoots, either boldly or subtly? He was extraordinarily cute, his short brownish gold hair spiking straight up, those happy blue eyes, and the lean frame. She could see the appeal.
Anthony kept busy with the bag. “Absolutely, Sharon. You are a rare treat to photograph.”
This mollified the woman, and she stepped back to retrieve the black lace. When she looked down to step into the thong, Syria could see Anthony visibly relax. She began to wonder if he’d needed the reflector at all, or if he had wanted Syria as a buffer.
She walked over to them as Sharon finally hooked the bra back on and headed toward a bag that hopefully held more clothes. “That was fun,” Syria said, passing him the disc.
He stood up and twisted it, collapsing it down into a quarter of its previous size.
“Wow!” she said. “Can I do that?”
He handed it back to her. She opened the disc, and it popped out suddenly. She lost her grip and it smacked her in the nose.
“You okay?” Anthony took her arm and shoved the reflector out of the way. “It opens quick!”
Syria rubbed her face. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” She passed the reflector back. “Perhaps I need safety training before operating heavy machinery.”
He laughed, a ringing sound that bubbled through Syria’s already warmed-up body. “You’re funny AND useful. I’d love to work with you again.”
Syria blushed. She’d just failed to do a basic task, but still, he was being nicer to her than pretty much any boy she’d ever talked to.
Sharon interrupted them, seeming a bit miffed. She tore a check off her pad. “I expect I’ll see these soon?” She looked from Anthony to Syria.
He accepted the check. “Absolutely. You’re my highest priority.”
Sharon watched him a moment. “You are a sweet talker, Anthony. If only I was ten years younger.” She pinched his cheek and sent a scathing look over at Syria. “Ta ta!”
When she had disappeared over the hill crest, Anthony exhaled in a long slow rush. “I am so glad you came along. That woman is a tiger.”
Syria sat in the grass to watch as he collapsed his tripod and packed it in a bag. “I think you mean a cougar.”
“Her husband is a big banker dude. She’s a great client. Her orders alone can feed me for a month.”
“Must be tough, photographing hot naked women all the time.”
He pulled the light stand closer and removed the flash. “It’s harder than it looks. Sharon is in good shape, but they aren’t always.” He twisted a knob, and the stand shrank down. “And then there’s moments like this.” He gestured around him.
“Isn’t it illegal to shoot nudes in public?”
“Yes and no. If it’s not sexualized, like shooting a porn movie, it can be art. But they can still get you for public indecency.” He stuffed the light stand in next to the tripod. “I hate doing it this close to kids.”
All his stuff seemed to be packed up now, and he folded up the piece of canvas he’d laid everything out on. “I don’t think I got your name?”
Syria’s face bloomed hot as she realized she hadn’t given it to him when he’d said his. “It’s Syria McMillan.” She held out her hand. “This was fun.”
He took it, but instead of shaking it like he had earlier, he held it between his fingers like she was a princess. Her heart beat a little faster. “Syria.” He looked at her again. “With caramel skin and hair like black fire. Are you part Native American? Puerto Rican?”
“My father is from India,” she said.
“It’s an exquisite look.” He let go of her hand. “I tell you what.” He slung a bag over his shoulder. “Help me get this stuff to my car, and I’ll take you to dinner for your trouble. You did save me, you know.” He passed her a camera bag.
Syria stood back up and brushed the grass from her shorts. Her heart was hammering out of control. This amazing cute and funny guy wanted to have dinner with her?
She took the bag from him. Maybe it was just a thank you, but she had to do it. The day had gone from horrible to amazing, and she wasn’t ready for the good stuff to end just yet.
“That sounds great,” she said.
“My car’s up that way.” He pointed back toward the lot. “We can pick a place.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early and I need to get my equipment somewhere safe, but maybe in a few hours?”
“Sure.” Syria scooped up her blanket and keys and had to force herself not to skip as they headed up the hill. Never had a day turned around quite as fast as this one.
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© 2014 Starla Cole
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination for are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, organizations, or locales, is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are over the age of 18.
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