Occupational Hazard: The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set

by Eve Langlais

  As he looked down into her eyes now, he found it again. Naked honesty under a cracking surface of bravado. He could make those fissures deepen and split, exposing the desperate soul underneath. Her body would provide its own incongruity in the images Tom envisioned. Her earthy voluptuousness gave the appearance of invincibility. It seemed that nothing should be able to harm a woman like Hattie. She had her own defences, internal and external.

  His mouth twisted. Where were the chinks in Hattie’s armour? Not the body image issues that dogged most women in the fashion industry, he thought. But there was something that made her eyes flicker when he held her gaze. Something made this self-confident woman doubt herself. Some part of Hattie that she wanted to cover up and hide. He needed to find that part of her. He needed her soft, trusting, and vulnerable, spilling out her deepest secrets to him.

  The easiest way would be to seduce her. It wouldn’t be a hardship. He wanted Hattie. She was gloriously sexy with her silky smooth skin, her inviting eyes and her infectious smile. Most of all, her unselfconscious ease with her own body. She would be an incredible lover and it would be the easiest thing in the world to take her to bed, to make love to her, to win her trust and discover her secrets.

  She was looking at him expectantly. She wanted him to kiss her. Maybe more. Definitely more, by the way her eyes gleamed and her body shifted subtly towards him. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Maybe he was the world’s biggest bastard but even he had his limits.

  He didn’t kiss her.

  Hattie bit her lip and turned away, embarrassed to have read things wrong. Usually she had no difficulty in knowing when a man was attracted to her. She would have sworn that Tom’s interest in her was more than just artistic. Earlier, in his studio, there had been real heat in his gaze and enough sexual tension between them to power her flat for a week. She’d wanted him, too. Not just for the sheer physical pleasure of sex, though she was absolutely certain they both knew enough about that to make it happen. More than that, she was intrigued by his cool composure. That bland mask he wore on his eyes and the half-smile that never blossomed into real joy. There was passion underneath it somewhere. There had to be. She’d seen his work and it was brimful of real emotion. It was what set him apart from every other fashion photographer. Tom’s pictures were instantly identifiable to Hattie by the way they made her feel.

  He’d pulled back earlier, in the studio, too. Pretended he was only interested in seeing the picture of her, not the real thing. Well, this time she would call his bluff.

  ‘Here.’ She handed over a large black folder which contained the few life drawings she’d liked enough to buy from the students.

  He opened it carefully, smoothing out the paper with strong, controlled hands. The first was a simple sketch from a two minute pose. Strong and fluid, a couple of charcoal lines brilliantly captured a favourite pose of Hattie’s. She lay on her side, knees slightly bent and one hand supporting her head. Tom examined it for a few moments, then moved on.

  The next picture was a full-frontal pose of Hattie standing with one hand on her hip. Nothing was hidden from view. Not her wide thighs and hips, nor her well-rounded stomach. But the portrait drew the viewer to Hattie’s face. This artist had managed something that very few of the students had even attempted. She had painted Hattie as a person, not merely a model. When Hattie looked at her painted eyes, she saw herself looking back.

  She glanced across at Tom. His eyes roamed across the page, predictably lingering on her breasts. But then he, too, looked at the model’s face. He saw it. He saw her. She sighed with a relief she hadn’t anticipated. He’d said earlier that her personality was her greatest asset and now she knew for sure he meant it. In Hattie’s experience, men all too often said she had a great personality, when what they meant was that she had great tits.

  Tom laid aside the watercolour and picked up the pastel drawing he’d seen part of earlier. She heard his intake of breath.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ he told her. ‘How much did you pay for it?’

  ‘Fifty quid. More than I could afford, really, but I had to have it.’

  ‘Yes. You got a bargain.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  He looked at the picture in silence for several minutes. Hattie looked at him. It was only fair, she decided, if he was going to keep looking at her. Mid-brown hair, neatly cut and minimally styled. No jewellery. A plain leather watch. All as unobtrusive as his clothes. In fact, everything about his appearance was designed to deflect attention away from him. It might almost work, if he weren’t so attractive. If his faded jeans didn’t cling quite so nicely to his thighs. If his hair didn’t curl up in just that way at his collar and round his ears. If his eyes didn’t crinkle into amusement when he was trying not to laugh.

  Yup, she still wanted to kiss him.

  Judging by the way he was all but drooling over her picture, he felt the same. Hattie leaned forward, gently turning Tom’s head to face hers. She bent down and found his lips with her own.

  For an instant, she thought he was going to pull away. Hattie pressed a little harder, wanting him to know she was quite sure. And then he relaxed. His mouth opened under hers and, suddenly, she wasn’t kissing him after all. He was kissing her, and it was every bit as glorious as she had imagined it could be.

  ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured as his hand came up to tangle in her hair.

  ‘Mmm,’ Hattie agreed. ‘Kiss me again.’

  He pulled her closer and held her mouth close to his, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath and practically taste the remnants of the wine they’d shared. Not close enough to touch, though, and she whimpered with the need of it.

  As if that was the signal he’d been waiting for, he closed the gap and relief tingled across her body as his lips crushed hers and her needy tongue met his. This, her nerve ends screamed, this is what we need. More and harder and deeper. She did her best to satisfy them, grabbing at Tom’s shirt and pulling it upwards, exposing his skin to her touch. He had a hand inside her bra and another down her waistband and, oh God, his fingers knew how to play her in a virtuoso performance of sensation and desire.

  Kissing wasn’t enough. Not now she’d tasted it. She needed more. She needed to see and touch and taste and feel all of him with all of her. Now, already. Other people could do long and lingering. Hattie wanted everything straightaway. Impatiently, she shrugged her shirt down over her shoulders and unclipped her bra. She sighed with pleasure as Tom pulled it away, replacing the black lace with strong, clever fingers that held up the heavy breasts and soothed the heated skin. He was slowing her down, making her wait, and she loved and hated him for it in equal measure.

  ‘Take your shirt off.’

  He raised an eyebrow. And then he looked at her and paused.

  Damn. Damn him. He was doing it again. Pulling away. Pretending he didn’t want it. She closed her eyes in a vain hope that she’d be wrong. But when she looked back, he was sitting upright, tucking his shirt back in and raking a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

  ‘Hattie, I think there’s been a mistake.’

  ‘If you’re getting dressed now, there’s certainly been a mistake.’ She didn’t even attempt to disguise her frustration. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘Please put your top back on,’ he said, as calmly as he could manage.

  ‘I thought you liked the way I look without it.’ She was damned if she was going out of her way to make him feel more comfortable. If she wanted to be topless in her own home, she bloody well would be. Whether he liked it or not.

  ‘I do, but put it on anyway. Please.’ This was the last time she was giving in to him. If he thought he could toy with her like she was a mannequin without feelings, he’d soon find out how wrong he was. But she slipped the silky fabric back up her arms and did the buttons. She wasn’t going to bother with her bra and he could damn well live with it.

  Thank God she was getting dressed. There was no way he could have this
conversation while so much of Hattie was on display, and especially while most of his body was still complaining about the sudden interruption. Most of his brain, too, but there was just enough rational thought left in there to stop him from launching across the sofa and picking up where he’d left off. He shouldn’t be doing this and he wouldn’t. Any time now he’d remember why.

  He glanced over, glad to see that she was more or less clothed again, though the lacy bra was still draped over the back of the sofa. Her eyes shot daggers at him that he knew he deserved. At the very least, he owed her an explanation.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.’

  She shrugged one shoulder dismissively. ‘Are you apologising for kissing me, or for stopping?’

  His lips twisted. She had a point. ‘Both, I think.’

  ‘I kissed you first.’

  He shook his head. He wasn’t interested in playing blame games. ‘Look, we need to talk, but I’m starving and you did say something about shepherd’s pie. Can we discuss this over dinner?’

  ‘I expect it’s burnt by now,’ she said with venom.

  He almost laughed. ‘If it’s burnt, I’ll order takeaway. My treat.’

  She stood up and went towards the kitchen. ‘Are you deliberately trying to break down my self-esteem? Is it for the exhibition?’

  He winced. That was too close for comfort, even if he had rejected the idea of using sex to break through to her vulnerable side. ‘I don’t think there’s much wrong with your self-esteem, Hattie. You’re gorgeous and you know it.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  She didn’t sound wholly persuaded, so he followed her into the kitchen and stood beside her at the counter. He waited until she looked up at him. ‘This isn’t about whether or not I find you attractive, Hattie. Because I do.’

  ‘So, what is it about? Because I find you attractive, too. And since we’re both adults, freely consenting, I’m struggling to see the problem.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to be working together.’ It was true and he hoped he could make it sound enough of a reason.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it makes things complicated.’

  ‘You’re telling me you’ve never slept with one of your models before?’

  If only. ‘It’s never worked out well when I have.’ Don’t ask any more, he begged her silently. Please let that be enough.

  ‘Oh.’

  She was still thinking about it, he could tell. Before she could come up with any more objections, he forced out a grin and said in a bright voice, ‘So, now that we’ve cleared things up, you can feed me shepherd’s pie and disgusting wine. I’ll tell you how I became the most famous fashion photographer in the world, while you tell me why you dye your hair red and make excuses for the way people treat you. Okay?’

  Hattie shifted away and regarded him cynically. ‘No way. If you get to decide what I tell you, then I get to say what you tell me.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Why you hide behind the camera.’

  No way. He’d deflect that question as long as he had breath to do it. ‘I don’t hide behind the camera. I’m a photographer. There is a difference.’

  ‘Okay, then. Why are you a photographer?’

  It was a question he’d been asked many times over the years by journalists who didn’t care what the answer was, so long as they could print it in their magazines. He normally gave the same reply about wanting to show the world to itself. Which was true, so far as it went.

  He liked to watch the world. He always had. Even as a child, he was the one on the edge of the playground, watching the others in their games. Teachers who assumed he was lonely had tried to involve him. But they hadn’t understood. He wasn’t lonely; he just liked to be alone.

  An uncle had given Tom his first camera one Christmas and he had immediately fallen in love. Looking through the camera, he didn’t have to join in. He was separate, isolated by the lens. He could watch and observe and listen to his heart’s content.

  He winked at Hattie. ‘What other job lets a man stare at beautiful, half-naked women most of the day?’

  She rolled her eyes at him. She was too smart to fall for that.

  He laughed, reluctantly. ‘I like taking pictures.’

  ‘You’re very good at it.’ She waved a hand towards the magazines. ‘I can always tell when the cover shot is one of yours.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But I still don’t know why you chose to do it as a career.’

  ‘It pays pretty well. I get to travel. Meet interesting people.’ He could rattle off all the reasons people were happy to hear.

  She shook her head. ‘Fine, don’t tell me. But don’t expect me to give up all my secrets, either.’

  ‘I already know your secrets.’

  Hattie snorted inelegantly. ‘What, that I like shepherd’s pie and crappy wine?’

  ‘That you don’t do housework.’ He glanced around the flat. ‘Ever, apparently.’

  ‘That’s no secret. Even my mother knows that.’

  ‘What doesn’t your mother know? About the life modelling?’

  Hattie dished up the meal and indicated where Tom should sit. He hadn’t realised he was so hungry until the savoury scent of the meat had his mouth watering. Proper old-fashioned, home-cooked food was a rarity in his life. He should do something to change that.

  ‘She knows. She doesn’t tell her friends about it, but she knows. She’s seen the business cards.’

  He raised an eyebrow at her as he took his first forkful. ‘This is delicious, by the way. Your mother didn’t approve of the business cards?’

  Hattie forked up her dinner. ‘No. Well, you can see why. She thinks it makes me look like a prostitute.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a hooker’s card with a pastel drawing on it before.’

  ‘Nor has she. Mind you, I don’t suppose she’s seen many hookers’ cards at all.’

  Tom couldn’t help smiling. Hattie was like no one he’d ever met before in her honesty and her unconventional view of life.

  ‘So, you had a strict upbringing? Miss Community Service 2007.’

  She groaned. ‘I can’t believe you found that.’

  ‘It’s in the middle of your mantelpiece.’

  ‘I knew I should have hidden it. My sister brought it with her last time she came. It had got into her box of stuff by mistake. I stuck it on the mantelpiece to keep it out of the way of my nephew. Not,’ she said with a stern look at him, ‘as a display of my achievements.’

  ‘What did you do to win it?’

  ‘Modelled for a life drawing class at the local old people’s home.’

  He choked on his mashed potato. ‘You didn’t!’

  Hattie laughed and went to get him a glass of water. ‘No, I didn’t. I helped out with lots of their other activities, though. Bingo calling, quizzes, jigsaw championships, gardening. There was a drawing class, but they wouldn’t let me sit for them.’

  ‘I bet they loved you.’

  She shrugged slightly. ‘I enjoyed it. Besides which, I told my mum that I was supposed to be there until dinner time. It got me an unaccounted hour twice a week.’

  ‘Which you used for?’

  ‘Kissing, mostly. Occasionally a bit more than kissing.’

  ‘Hattie Bell, do you always say things to try and shock people?’ He wasn’t falling for it again.

  ‘No, that one’s true. My parents didn’t approve of my boyfriend when I was seventeen. That was the only time I could see him. It worked for months, until I found out that he had several other girls as part of his schedule. After that, I just used to hang out with my friends at the shopping centre.’

  ‘Did he break your heart?’

  ‘Nick? No way. My pride was a bit bruised, but nothing else.’

  She picked up their empty plates and dumped them in the sink.

  ‘So who did?’

  ‘Break my heart? Why should you assume anyone has?’
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  Tom leaned back in his chair, admiring Hattie’s bottom as she bent to look into the fridge.

  ‘I’ve got some yoghurts, if you’d like one,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Black cherry or peach?’

  ‘No, thanks. So have they?’

  She emerged with a yoghurt and a spoon. ‘You don’t mind if I have one?’

  He shook his head. ‘Well?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘About my tawdry love affair? Okay, but we’d better go back to the sofa. This could take a while.’

  She finished her yoghurt while she made coffee for him and tea for herself. Sitting cross-legged at the other end of the sofa, Hattie looked pensive as she sipped from her mug.

  ‘He was… well, not exactly my boss, but senior to me at work. He was a few years older, straight out of university, while I’d only just left school.’

  ‘Did he seduce you?’

  Hattie smiled. ‘I seduced him, of course. That was my first mistake.’

  ‘How was that a mistake?’

  ‘He assumed I was easy. He never respected me. I can see it now, but at the time I was just so overwhelmed that someone like him would want to go out with someone like me. I never thought about it at all. He was beautiful, you see, with cheekbones you could cut glass on and a knowing sort of smile that sent shivers down my spine. It wasn’t just me. Everyone in the office fell for him. The girls used to fight over who would take his coffee in.’

  ‘I bet you won.’

  She shook her head. ‘I never bothered. I just went over to his desk one day and asked if he wanted to go for a drink after work.’

  ‘Brave.’

  ‘Stupid. I’d unbuttoned my shirt enough so that, when I leaned over to talk to him, he could see everything.’ She stared down at her mug. ‘I was such an idiot.’