Occupational Hazard: The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set

by Eve Langlais

  ‘Turn this way,’ he instructed. ‘Glance over your shoulder, Hattie. That’s it. Drop the reins. Hitch up your dress.’ Throughout, he kept the camera clicking, capturing as many moments as he could, hoping that just one of them would have the magic he needed.

  ‘We need more movement.’ Tom nodded to the handler. ‘Walk him across the hall.’

  Hattie squeaked.

  ‘Sit up, Hattie. Shoulders back, chest out.’

  She glanced down at her cleavage. ‘I don’t think my chest goes any further out.’

  He grinned. It was extremely tempting to take some close-ups of her bodice. Maybe later. For now, he needed a way to inject more drama into the shot.

  ‘Can the horse climb the stairs?’

  ‘Of course.’ This was a specially trained horse for film and television. No doubt they were hoping for a remake of Black Beauty. The handler mounted the stairs and held out her hand to call the horse to her.

  ‘You’ll need to stand aside,’ Tom warned her. ‘I need a clear shot up the staircase.’

  Obediently, the stallion climbed up two steps towards his handler. Tom nodded that it was enough and the woman moved out of shot.

  Hattie was still just about upright in the side-saddle. She’d dropped the reins and was gripping the saddle with one hand while the other was twisted into the horse’s mane.

  ‘Lean forward,’ Tom told her.

  She leaned and wobbled a bit, but twisted just enough to regain her balance. As she twisted, her sharp heel dug into the horse’s side like a spur. Tom caught his breath as the stallion reared up. Hattie flew backwards, hands waving helplessly in the air and her scream electrifying the room.

  It was a perfect shot. Nature asserting its brute force over the attempts of human civilisation. Hattie, hanging helplessly in mid-air, was lit from behind so that her silhouette was clearly outlined. He couldn’t have planned it more perfectly if he’d tried. He kept his finger on the shutter, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. Every shift of light on the shot silk gave a new drama. Somewhere in these few seconds could be the money shot of the whole exhibition.

  Then, as if he was waking from a dream, the screams pierced through the camera. Hattie’s screams. The horse’s wild whinnying. Other people yelling in fright.

  Damn it, this was no dream. This was real and that was Hattie, lying on the ground, white as the marble tiles beneath her. God, she couldn’t be hurt. What the hell had he done to her? What had he been thinking? He cursed under his breath and, too late for it to count, he dropped his camera and ran towards her.

  ‘Unconscious,’ his assistant muttered grimly. ‘I’ll call an ambulance. Don’t move her.’

  The life had seeped out of her. Hattie, who was so vivid she could light up a room with her smile, lay still and silent. And he had done it to her.

  Tom rested his hand gently on her throat just to reassure himself that the blood was still pumping in her veins. Still warm, still pulsing, still breathing. As long as she was still breathing, she was okay. He counted the rise and fall of her chest as though he was responsible for each breath she drew into her lungs, willing her to keep going.

  By the time the ambulance had arrived, her eyes were open. They checked her over and strapped her into a terrifying neck brace and spine support so that she couldn’t move. He watched as they carried her into the back of the ambulance and drove away.

  ‘We’re done here.’ The team were standing around uncertainly. He shook his head. ‘You’ll be paid for the full week, but the rest of the shoot’s off. Can’t continue without her.’

  ‘She might be back for tomorrow,’ someone suggested.

  Tom ran his hand over his face. ‘No. That’s it. Thanks for your work, everyone.’

  He’d go and see her. He couldn’t bear to think of her waking up in hospital alone. And he needed to explain. But hell, the last thing he wanted was to be in a hospital again. Since Lianne, he’d managed to avoid the agony of the waiting room and the disinfectant smell of the wards. He hated the memories they resurrected and the guilt they reminded him of. He wanted a stiff drink to help him find the courage to do it, but that wasn’t allowed if he was going to drive to the hospital. He’d just have to face up to his demons with all his faculties alert. If it hurt, well, he deserved it.

  ###

  She was awake. Alive. Extremely lucky, the doctors said. No internal injuries. She was on a small ward with three other women and, everywhere he looked, harsh images of Lianne’s last few weeks came crowding back. The metal-framed beds surrounded by thin curtains that never quite managed to hide the indignities being suffered behind them. The paraphernalia of medical care, which cluttered the space with tubes, bags, machines, cables and trolleys.

  He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the woman lying in front of him. Healthy, strong Hattie, who had no internal injuries. Who was going to be okay.

  ‘I brought your suitcase.’ He put the bag down by the side of the bed.

  ‘Thanks.’ He’d never heard her voice so weak. His heart twisted with the familiar sting of guilt.

  ‘They say they want to keep you in overnight.’

  She nodded, then winced. ‘Sorry.’

  Tom flinched. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. It was my fault.’

  ‘You said you wanted to shatter me.’ The flippancy was a facade. Her eyes were shining with tears.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d ever said that. Meant it. Now he’d give anything to see her flirting and winking at him. He preferred the strong Hattie, before he’d broken her. ‘I didn’t mean it like this. You know that.’

  ‘It’s only a dislocated shoulder. I’ll be fine tomorrow.’ God, would she ever stop with the brave front?

  ‘You’ll be bruised and sore for weeks.’ There were no marks on her face, but he could see a shadow forming on her left forearm, and the rest of her body had to be worse off.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m so glad you came to cheer me up.’

  ‘God, Hattie. I thought you were dead.’

  Her hand lay on top of the hospital sheets. She opened her fingers and crooked them towards him. He half-lifted his hand, then dropped it.

  ‘I could have killed you.’

  ‘I expect you still could if you wanted to.’

  ‘Of course I don’t want to.’ He took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be shouting at her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘I know that. Accidents happen.’

  ‘Accidents happen when irresponsible idiots like me are allowed to get carried away with our reckless notions, without caring who gets hurt along the way.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s your fault and it bloody hurts. If I could lift my hand up more than three inches I’d hit you hard enough to dislocate your shoulder so you could see how it feels.’ The anger in her voice was something of a relief. He needed to be yelled at and no one did it better than Hattie when she was angry.

  ‘I’ve cancelled the rest of the shoot.’

  Hattie glared at him. ‘I’ll be out of here tomorrow.’

  ‘You dislocated your shoulder. You can’t work tomorrow.’ What the hell was she trying to prove? That she was Superwoman? She could barely move without grimacing and there was no way she’d be able to pose for him for weeks.

  ‘Back in the saddle. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you come off a horse?’ There was desperation in her eyes, and he couldn’t understand why. He’d expected her to be relieved that she wasn’t missing out on the rest of the shoot.

  ‘No.’ He was never letting her anywhere near another horse. He’d be happy if she spent the rest of her life wrapped up in a thick blanket of bubble wrap.

  ‘You didn’t get the shots you wanted.’

  Bile rose in his throat as he thought of all the shots he had got. ‘I got plenty.’

  ‘So you don’t want me to be your model any more?’ Oh, damn. Suddenly it made sense. That was the question she’d been trying to ask and the rea
son for the brave face and the muted anger. She was terrified that she’d lost her job and, with it, her best hope of a career.

  He ran his hand over his face and shook his head. ‘I can’t afford to set up another shoot for the exhibition. I think I’ve got some shots I can use from the last couple of days, though. You’ll still be in it. And I’ll do the studio pics I promised when we’re back in London.’

  She looked at him for a moment, hardly recognisable with her hair askew and pale without the make-up. How could he have done this to her?

  ‘No, I want you to do them at the house. Tomorrow.’

  He’d walk on broken glass if she asked, but... ‘I sent everyone home. There’s no one to set up the lights. No costume, no make-up.’

  ‘We’ll manage. I want pictures that don’t look like everyone else’s. Something to make an agent sit up and take notice.’

  He owed her that much. ‘Fine.’

  Chapter Five

  Of all the ridiculous things Tom had made her do, this was the one she felt self-conscious about? She was being ridiculous and she knew it. All he’d asked her to do was straddle a chair backwards and lean on her arms.

  ‘Relax,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t,’ she told him.

  He stood up and looked at her directly. ‘Is your shoulder hurting?’ There was concern in his voice, but mostly guilt. Hattie was getting a bit fed up with the guilt, to be honest. It had happened, she’d survived, mostly intact, and he’d apologised. He needed to get over it already.

  ‘No.’ It was hurting a bit, to be honest, but that wasn’t why she was tense.

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘This.’ Hattie stood up and gestured at the studio he’d rigged together. ‘It’s not me. It’s not what I wanted.’

  ‘You wanted portfolio shots. This is the best I could do, now that everyone else has gone.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t want pictures that try to make me look like every other model in town.’

  ‘Hattie.’ He took hold of her elbows and gazed down at her. ‘You could never look like every other model.’

  ‘Well, that’s true, I suppose.’ She was three times the size of most of them, for a start.

  ‘But you need head shots. Front and profiles. Full body. Standing, walking, posing. Agents need to see the range.’

  He was right. He knew the industry inside out and that was exactly what bookers wanted. She’d had no success with her current portfolio, but it wasn’t just the photos that were the problem. ‘Maybe I should just admit that this isn’t going to work, after all. No one’s going to book me unless I lose a ton of weight, are they?’

  ‘I did,’ he reminded her softly.

  She met his gaze, remembering that first day in his studio. The heat which had sizzled that day flared between them again. She’d promised she wouldn’t flirt with him any more, but damn it was hard when he looked at her like that. And when he looked like that. Like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

  ‘You said I was your muse.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Am I still?’

  He stepped closer, eyes narrowed on her face. Hattie held still while he let his gaze rake over her body, measuring every inch of it and then back again. Eventually, he dragged his eyes back up to hers and sighed. ‘Damn it, but you are.’

  ‘Right. So get inspired. And don’t ask me to sit on that stupid chair again.’

  They got on much better after that. He chucked the chair away and got Hattie to curl up on one of the ancient sofas with a book, while he distracted her from reading it by telling silly jokes. She giggled and grinned and glanced over her shoulder to catch his eye, and all the time his finger was on the shutter, snapping everything.

  Eventually, he announced, ‘We’re done.’

  Hattie stretched, careful of her injured shoulder. ‘Can I see them?’

  ‘I need to sort through, pick the useable ones, and edit them first.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now I need dinner.’

  ‘You sent the chef away,’ she said with accusation in her voice. ‘And you know I can’t cook.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know that. You make excellent shepherd’s pie, for a start.’

  ‘I’m not cooking tonight.’

  He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you. I’m taking you out.’

  ‘Are you taking me on a date?’ Was he finally making a move? Well, hallelujah. He’d better have been worth the wait.

  She’d wear the polka dot blouse which gave every impression of being modest and sensible. Until she leaned forward and her entire cleavage was on view. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself. She grinned with anticipation.

  ‘I’m feeding you dinner,’ he clarified sternly.

  ‘And after dinner?’ She winked.

  ‘Hattie...’ He rubbed at the back of his neck. He didn’t sound all that sure.

  She put her hands up to indicate she was backing off. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to decide now.’

  ‘Right. Look, I don’t know if this is such a good idea.’

  ‘We’re done with the shoot, right? So I’m not your model any more. So...?’ She left the question hanging. If he had any other objections, he could say so.

  He started putting the furniture back and picking up the props they’d used. ‘Go and get changed, Hattie. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. It’s only the pub down the road. Nothing fancy.’

  ###

  Jeans ought to be outlawed. Well, maybe not all jeans. But the kind that moulded themselves around a woman’s backside so that you could see every curve definitely ought to be illegal. The kind where you couldn’t help but wonder if her legs would look as amazing without the denim as they did with it. And then, you remembered exactly what her legs looked like without anything on them and forgot everything else in the world.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Sorry. Miles away. Are you ready?’

  Her lips curved into a smile that told him she knew just where his mind had been. ‘Yes, I’m famished.’

  ‘Good. It’s the sort of place where they think they’ve failed if you clear the plate.’ He held the door for her and locked up behind them.

  ‘That’s my favourite sort of place,’ she said. ‘I can’t bear those restaurants where they serve a spoonful of food on half an acre of white china, and charge you a fortune for it.’

  ‘The kind where you have to stop for pizza on the way home because you’re still hungry?’ He pressed the car remote and walked round to the driver’s side.

  ‘With anchovies?’ Hattie suggested as she slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘Not a chance. Pepperoni and extra cheese.’

  She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. ‘So conventional.’

  ‘There’s nothing revolutionary about anchovies.’

  ‘There is if you have them with pineapple.’

  He swung round to look at her in horror. ‘You don’t?’

  Her eyes twinkled. ‘Want to find out?’

  ‘I’ll order it one night and make you eat it.’

  ‘Great. A second date.’

  He’d walked straight into that one. It was just so easy to imagine hanging out with Hattie, ordering pizza, laughing over her ridiculous topping combinations. Insisting she cleaned her teeth before he kissed her so that she wouldn’t taste of anchovies, then kissing her. Kissing her a lot.

  ‘This isn’t exactly a date, Hattie.’ God knows what it was. He knew what she was hoping it would be and part of him – not just that part of him – was hoping for that, too.

  ‘Okay. But you’re paying, right?’

  ‘The reason you’re here is because I screwed up yesterday. So yes, I’m paying.’

  ‘Cool. I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu, then. That should help to get rid of some of your guilt. And then you can tell me why you have such a hang-up about sex. That’ll be fun.’

  He pressed his lips tightly toge
ther. He did not have a hang-up about sex. He enjoyed sex a lot. He just didn’t have sex with models, for a perfectly valid reason, based on previous experience.

  He ordered a coke for Hattie and ginger ale for himself.

  ‘I should have driven,’ she said. ‘Then you could have had a drink, at least.’

  He frowned at her. ‘You are in no state to drive.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Right.’ For some value of ‘fine’ that apparently included her wincing whenever she lifted her arm. In other words, not fine at all. ‘Do you want a packet of crisps while we order?’

  ‘Cheese and onion.’

  They found a table near the log fire. As Hattie pointed out, if they were going to freeze back at the house later that night, they might as well get warm now. Tom brought their drinks over and a large packet of crisps, with a couple of menus under his arm. He ripped the bag open so that they could share.

  ‘Beef and stilton pie with chips.’

  Tom raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I thought you were going to choose the most expensive thing on the menu.’

  She shrugged, then winced again. She was hardly in a fit state to eat dinner, let alone have sex. He shouldn’t even be contemplating it. ‘I decided I’d rather pick what I actually want to eat.’

  He nodded. ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘So you’ll have to get over the guilt on your own.’ She met his gaze, a challenge in her blue eyes.

  ‘Hattie...’ He didn’t know what to say to her. She could have been seriously injured. For a moment, he’d feared even worse than that.

  ‘Tom. One night in hospital and some painkillers. It’s not like anyone died.’ She waved a hand as if it was nothing and the knot of guilt inside him grew harder.

  ‘I’m going to order the food.’

  When he got back, Hattie was leaning over to pick up a crisp, taking her time, and surely she hadn’t been so... on show before? If he’d thought the jeans were bad, that top was positively wicked. God, he wasn’t actually drooling, was he? She had the most fantastic breasts. He’d known that for weeks. He’d imagined holding them. Stroking them...

  Tonight. She wasn’t his model any more. She wanted him. And God, he wanted her.