Forbidden Fantasies Bundle

by Dawn Atkins

Mark patted the ground beside him for a lug nut she could see was just out of reach. She plopped onto the curb, grabbed it and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  The good news was that now she knew nothing stood between them except Rick’s wrong impression of her. If all he wanted was sex, then she was his girl.

  She handed Mark his wrench.

  He swore mightily, then apologized to her.

  “Swear away,” she said, pondering her next move. As she handed Mark tools, then his soda, then the jack handle, a plan began to form in her mind and her hurt feelings turned to excitement.

  “Got it,” Mark said, sitting up, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his forearm, streaking dirt like war paint across his forehead.

  “Hang on,” she said and used a napkin to clean him off.

  “Thanks for the help,” he said to her. “You okay with the Rick thing? I mean if what I said causes a problem, I—”

  “I’m fine. Better than fine. Understanding Rick better can only help us work better together.”

  “Rick would kill me if he knew I told you.”

  “Trust me, Rick will be fine.” If she had her way, Rick would be thanking Mark, not killing him. She would, too. If all went well, Rick would get laid—and what man didn’t want that?—and she’d get the fantasy sex she’d dreamed of.

  7

  WHAT THE HELL was Samantha up to? All morning, she’d been giving him looks. Sexy, take-me-now looks. It had been bad enough Friday when she’d left the studio. Watching her little pink tongue perform tricks on a cock lollipop as she’d trotted out the door had just about killed him.

  Now on Monday, she’d escalated her behavior, playfully hip-checking him as they moved around the office together, brushing his arm with her fingers as she made a point, allowing her glance to linger. What the hell was she doing? Had she forgotten about his girlfriend, dammit? Did he have to announce his engagement or something?

  To make matters worse, just now, she’d rushed out, claiming she had to talk to Blythe, and asked him to get started on the upcoming photo shoot on his own. She’d be there, but not for a while.

  He should investigate the Blythe emergency, but Samantha had trapped him waiting for the client—Trudy Norton, who’d requested a Wild West setting for her rodeo-star fiancé.

  This was her now, he guessed, tripping toward him from the parking lot in a red cowboy hat and matching boots. And a trench coat. In this heat, that could only mean she wore something racy underneath. Lord. If Samantha didn’t believe in her work so much, he’d have a tough time keeping a straight face.

  What was so urgent at the salon? The report Mark had brought him Friday about the drug bust at Moons had made him want to look closer at it, since Heidi, the comb-wielding hairdresser, had been a star witness against mob guys running drugs out of Moons under the nose of the owner Duke Dunmore.

  Content with the drugs, prosecutors had ignored the prostitution angle, which might be playing out in the salon, judging from the conversation he’d overheard from under the shampoo sink. For that matter, there was plenty of room for drugs in the freshly installed shelves.

  He kind of hoped Shear Ecstasy was the nexus of criminal activity at Mirror, Mirror. Of course, Bedroom Eyes had plenty of semi-empty closets and Samantha had photographed the hookers and strippers, too. He had yet to talk to Sylvestri’s bookkeeper. Samantha could still be involved.

  The thought made his heart sink. He cared far too much about her. He could not get the woman out of his head. He wanted to turn her clear blue eyes smoky with lust and drag hungry gasps from her sweet mouth.

  Saturday night, he’d taken his parents to a movie and had noticed that the female lead had Samantha’s pointed nose, and the sidekick her small, solid build.

  He had to stop this shit. He was on the job. But Samantha’s morning torture had made it a hell of a lot harder…so to speak.

  The cowgirl in the trench coat pushed through the door. “Howdy,” she said, tipping her hat, trying for ballsy, though he could tell she felt nervous. He understood completely. He was pretty uncomfortable with his role in this deal.

  “Trudy? I’m Rick West. I’ve set up the studio if you’d like to come this way.”

  “You’re taking my picture? But I booked with Samantha. Angela told me she was great.” She stopped walking.

  “I’ll just be taking the preliminary shots. Samantha will take the final ones.” And the sooner she got back, the better.

  “Okay. That’s great. No offense.”

  “None taken.” He led her to studio three, which they used for outdoor settings, Trudy’s boots clicking cheerily beside him, while he soaked his undershirt with sweat.

  “Do you need to look at our costume options?” he asked her, waving at the dressing-room door. Could he sound any more gay?

  “I’m wearing what I want. Under here.” She blushed. “I’m not sure it’ll work. I’ve heard that the camera makes plaid look smeary and is red a problem?” She untied her belt and held open the coat, revealing a red-checked bra with matching panties. “What do you think?”

  Lord almighty. He felt himself go as red as her hat. Mark would have loved being flashed by a cowgirl, but Rick was mortified. “That should work…fine.” He swallowed.

  “Good. Travis, my fiancé, is such a rodeo fiend.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be pleased.” He led her into the studio he’d set up with a barn backdrop, a short stretch of raw-wood fencing and a large hay bale.

  “How perfect,” she breathed, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to him before she rushed to position herself on the bale, on her side, legs extended over the end. “How’s this?”

  She looked like she’d been dumped from a horse.

  “Maybe lean a little to the left.”

  She did.

  “Not so far…that’s it…a little more…to the right now.” He felt like he was directing traffic. “Not so far…whoops.”

  She’d slipped to the floor, but gamely climbed back up.

  He approached and patted the end of the bale. “Maybe put your foot here and lean on one elbow.” Now one breast seemed to smother the other, but what was he going to do about that?

  “Better,” he said, adjusting the reflector and the hair light. Much easier than handling her boobs.

  Using the digital, he checked the shot. Nice rim effect around her shoulders and maybe the suffocated breast wasn’t so bad. “Great,” he exaggerated. “All set.”

  Poor Trudy froze up like a corpse.

  This was why he disliked portraits. He didn’t care to stare into people’s hearts through a lens. He didn’t want to see their fears, their doubts, the don’t-dare hopes behind their shaky smiles. Animals were so much simpler. And a mountain sunrise didn’t care who loved it. It just was. In all its glory.

  “How about you think good thoughts,” he said.

  She produced a grim smile that matched her rigid body.

  Where the hell was Samantha?

  “Maybe just relax everything,” he said. And could you straighten your breasts? Samantha would have the woman posed softly, her eyes glowing with love, with minimal direction. He was failing wildly and confusing Trudy while he was at it.

  Trudy blew out a breath, but that made the tit problem worse. “Does my stomach pooch too much?” she asked.

  He looked through the lens. “Nope. Pooches just right.” Lord. He snapped a couple horrible shots, then slid one sweaty palm down the side of his pants.

  Maybe Bianca would pop in. She’d come in for a couple friends’ sittings and never hesitated pointing out when they looked goofy or wrong. Somehow no one got offended.

  “Should I smile or just look sexy?”

  Her smile looked like a grimace. “Let’s try the sexy look.”

  She straightened her mouth and tilted her head, looking like someone had stabbed her with a pitchfork.

  “Okay…” Click. He cringed at the digital image he’d captured. “Maybe the
smile again?” Just as bad. Click. Click.

  Emboldened by the clicks, Trudy widened her smile, leering like a bad jack-o’-lantern.

  This was harder than it looked.

  Come on, Samantha. Get in here.

  If he uploaded these shots for Trudy, she’d burst into tears and run out the door in her tablecloth underwear.

  Samantha peeked in the door to see if Rick was twisting in the wind yet. Looked that way. He wiped sweat from his forehead, took a shot, then grimaced, wiped more sweat and took another shot. Poor Trudy looked like she’d lost her prom date or had her car stolen.

  It was go time with her plan. It was a good one. Not only would she and Rick have sex, but she’d have turned him into a decent boudoir photographer at the same time.

  Still, her heart bumped her ribs and she had to take deep breaths to steady herself. “So, how’s it going?” she said, waltzing in.

  Rick shot her a grateful look. “See for yourself.” He handed her the camera in play mode.

  Holy moley, Trudy looked like a wax museum figure.

  Fix this. Please, Rick’s eyes begged.

  “We’re getting there,” she said to Trudy. “But how about we try a different tack?” She squatted beside Trudy, instructing her how to shift her body, coaching her into warm thoughts about Travis. In a few seconds, Samantha had a comfortable rhythm established.

  Rick took over the digital and she headed for the Hasselblad, and before long, she was delighting Trudy with the best of the digitals. As soon as Trudy had tapped happily out the door in her red boots and trench coat, Samantha turned the sign to closed, locked up and faced Rick. “How about we debrief the shoot?” she said.

  “What’s to debrief? It was a train wreck until you got there,” he said, shaking his head, a self-mocking smile on his face. “You proved your point. It’s harder than it looks. I assume that was your point?”

  She smiled. “Let’s take a look. Shall we?” In studio three, Samantha clicked through the horrid shots Rick had taken followed by the good ones she’d snapped. It was like some extreme makeover show—before and after—horrible grimace followed by warm smile, wax figure versus sexy woman. “What do you think?” she asked him.

  “That I’d better stick with sets and lighting,” Rick said with a rueful grin.

  “I think you just need a little practice.”

  “You want me to torture another poor client?”

  “No. I have a better idea. Practice on me.”

  “On you?” He swallowed hard.

  “Exactly. Just like learning CPR on a doll. I’ll pretend to be a client and you take a boudoir shot of me.”

  “A shot of you? I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll just watch you more closely.”

  She shook her head. “We learn best by doing.”

  “You expect me to take a picture of you…dressed like…” He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He pulled at his collar.

  “We can be professional about this, Rick.”

  “Like I said. Not a good idea.” He folded his arms. No way.

  “It’s not your girlfriend, is it? She trusts you to work here, right? Surrounded by nearly naked women? I mean she knows about your job…?”

  “It’s not that. It’s…”

  She was enjoying seeing him squirm a little. After all, he had lied to her. “What? What is it?”

  He swallowed again, then seemed to think it through, take on the challenge and leveled his gaze at her. “Okay. You win. If you can handle it, so can I.”

  “Great. Let’s start with my outfit.” She took a deep breath and let out the words in a slow tease. “How do you see me, Rick? In leather? Velvet? Silk? Something see-through perhaps?”

  His eyes went bright and his words were low and serious. “You’d look great in all of it and I think you know that.”

  Warmth shot through her at his tone. He felt the tug of lust, too, thank goodness, because she needed his resistance to collapse fast. She had only so much boldness in her.

  She maintained her professionalism for the moment. “Generally, Rick, you’ll want to offer direct guidance to the client, but for now, let’s say I’ve already decided what to wear. Because I have. I’m going for an exotic temptress look, so how about you set up studio two for me?”

  “If you say so.” He sighed. “Any particular backdrop or props?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Somehow, I think that’s impossible.” What are you up to? he asked her with his eyes, but she only winked and hip-swayed away, pretending a calm she didn’t feel. Her heart tripped like a hummingbird’s wings.

  In the dressing room, she grabbed the leopard-patterned bikini top with a matching skirted bottom she’d decided on. It had a wide woven band that would de-emphasize her little tummy bulge. Trembling, she changed into the outfit. No shoes or stockings. They’d have all Rick’s clothes to deal with as it was. She looked at herself in the mirror, hoping for the best.

  She looked…exposed. And too obvious.

  She hated how fast sexy turned into slutty in her mind. But there was no help for it. To make herself feel better, she threw on a purple silk cape, hooking the gold-braid clasp and letting the hood bunch at her neck. The cloth whispered across her arms and brushed her thighs in a luxurious way. In the cape, she looked regal and sultry. Plus, now Rick could adjust the fabric around her body.

  She looked better. Well, except for her flushed face, feverish eyes and the way she was shaking. How could she draw Rick into her fantasy, when she looked downright scared?

  Light flashed off her locket where it lay over the cape and she opened it, turning the photograph inside so she could take some courage from it. In the picture, she looked a little nervous, but still very sexy. Seeing the photo again made her breathe more deeply, feel more calm.

  Samantha looked from the locket to the mirror and realized she looked great. She would be great. With a swish of her cape, she strode off to make something wonderful happen for herself.

  When she entered studio two, Rick turned, holding a blue velvet pillow in one big hand, the digital camera around his neck. At the sight of her, something powerful seemed to pass through him. “You look…wow,” he said, his eyes raking over her. “I picked this to match your eyes.” He lifted the blue pillow.

  “You noticed my eyes?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged as if it were only one of many things he’d cataloged about her. He gestured at the set. “Look okay?”

  He’d placed the tiger-striped chaise at an angle, with the wire arch behind, twined with swaths of faux leopard fabric that happened to match her bra. There were two other pillows—one purple, one black resting against the head of the chaise.

  “It looks perfect,” she said.

  “So do you.” His voice sounded thick with hunger and that made desire pool in her abdomen.

  “So how do you want me?” she said.

  He stared at her. “You don’t really want me to answer that.”

  “Sure, I do. You’re the photographer, remember?” Oh, she was getting into this.

  He sighed, shook his head, resigned to his fate. “Why don’t you just make yourself comfortable?” He patted the chaise.

  She held his gaze as she approached, then lowered herself onto the item, bracing herself on an elbow, covering herself with the robe so Rick would have to open it up.

  He adjusted the blue pillow behind her back, then crouched beside her, inches away, frank appreciation in his gaze. He looked at her through the viewfinder. “Very nice,” he said, letting the camera fall away.

  “Don’t you think I’m too covered up?” She tugged at one side of her cape. “Reveal me for the camera, Rick.” She was damned pleased with her tone.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He unlatched the clasp at her throat, his fingers brushing her skin, lingering a little. She breathed in his spice and starch, felt the heat shiver in the air between them. The robe teased her skin as it escaped her body, revealing he
r leopard-spotted bikini top and the gold-trimmed skirt.

  Rick stared at her breasts. “You match the arch.” He seemed to struggle to keep his voice steady.

  “Excellent choice,” she breathed. “You read my mind.”

  “I’m afraid so.” He arranged the cape around her arms with care, but his fingers brushed her bra. He hesitated.

  “Move me the way you want me,” she said, shifting her breasts closer to him.

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  “Oh, but I think I’m making this very easy.” She shrugged so that one side of the cape slid completely off her body to the floor, exposing her to the heat of the lights. Already a sheen of sweat made her thighs slippery. She wanted to wrap them around Rick’s hips and hold on. Her sex pulsed like a tiny, hot heartbeat, wanting so much more.

  She guided Rick’s hand to her hip. “Move me, Rick. The way you need me.”

  She felt him slide into her words, as silky as the robe falling away from her body, and he pulled her hip toward him, then brushed the top of her thigh with trailing fingers. “Bend your leg,” he said, and pushed gently at her ankle to show her how he meant her to move.

  “Like this?” she asked, bending her knee, resting her foot on the chaise. “Is that better?”

  “Depends what you mean by better.” Another wry smile.

  “Now you need to get me in the mood,” she said. Here was where she had to handle this just right. “Ask me why I want this photograph.”

  “Okay…Why do you want this photograph?”

  “It’s for a man who wants me, but not…quite…enough.” She paused, settling into the role she’d decided to play.

  “I see.” Rick was wary, but listening closely and his green eyes gleamed with heat.

  “He wants me, but he won’t do anything about it.” She let her finger slide down the edge of her bra, gratified when Rick’s eyes followed the path her fingernail took.

  “Samantha, I…”

  “I don’t know why he’s resisting.” She slipped down to her stomach and made a circle around her navel. “He even made up a girlfriend to scare me away. Can you believe that?” She met his gaze.