grass had been spray-painted to ensure it looked perfect. The morning was brisk but the sun was already shining. It was going to be a perfect day, and the elegant grounds were well suited for the sophisticated fall wardrobe look Ben and Madeline would be wearing.
We also had reserved a meeting room inside the hotel, adjacent to the outdoor space. The doors had been propped open and people filtered in and out, arranging things and preparing for the shoot.
Ben’s headshot was posted next to a cluster of hangers holding dark gray trousers, a silk button-down shirt in charcoal, a woven black tie, and a deep burgundy blazer. Really, he could be wearing a burlap sack and look stunning, but these clothes were gorgeous. The shoes were classic and dressy, too—intricate brown leather lace- ups with burgundy soles. I had a feeling shoes like this would be in all the department stores next year.
Madeline’s digital photo was pinned next to a plaid wool skirt and navy blouse. In her photo, she was a plain-looking blonde with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. But when she arrived, I dropped the croissant I’d been nibbling into the wastebasket. Madeline was stunning. Statuesque and thin, she commanded the attention of everyone in the room. She had a handler with her, and I approached the girl to point them in the direction of hair and makeup.
Fiona found me beside the catering table and shoved a Post-it into my hands like we were passing a secret note. It said,
I looked down at her higher-than-high heels. Flats. Got it. I shoved the note in my pocket and nodded. “Madeline has arrived,” I said.
“Brilliant.” She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Slutty cow,” Fiona muttered under her breath.
Fiona’s attention turned from me to the spread of snacks laid out in front of her. I was proud of the array: fresh seasonal fruit, a selection of French cheeses, and the flakiest croissants I’d ever tasted. Plus, glass bottles of Perrier and various sodas.
Fiona plucked a bottle of Perrier from the stash. I sensed she was about to criticize something when our attention was captured by Ben and Gunnar entering the room. Gunnar headed to the makeup area, while Ben paused just inside the door, glancing around the courtyard. He spotted us and his eyes lingered on mine. He sized me up as he sauntered toward us. A little chill skittered down my spine. I felt hot under his gaze and the memories of his sexy words from last night. My face was flushed and my underarms felt damp. Maybe I had a fever.
Okay . . . so maybe it was a Ben Shaw–induced fever.
I suppressed a shudder as Ben’s eyes drifted over me. His gaze flicked to Fiona, and he stopped in front of her to allow her to press a kiss to both cheeks. “You look dreadful, love.” Her hand captured his jaw to tilt his chin up. He had dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, then his gaze danced over to mine.
His gaze roamed my jeans-clad hips unapologetically, but he still hadn’t greeted me. His gaze lifted, sliding over my chest and making my breasts ache before landing on my eyes. “Tennessee. Sleep okay?”
So we’d moved on from Blueberry Muffin Girl to Tennessee? At least it wasn’t hurled like an insult the way it was when Fiona said it. I suddenly found myself wondering where he was from originally.
“I slept well. You?”
“It was an interesting night.” He laughed softly, the sound rumbling against my skin, causing it to prickle with goose bumps. “Very interesting.”
“Well, I’ve got your cure. Come on.” Fiona set off across the room, heading for the makeup area. She directed Ben to have a seat at one of the makeup stations and pulled a plastic bottle from her purse, handing it to him. It was filled with some sort of green goo. Fiona produced a straw and then gave him a handful of pills. Vitamins and minerals, I presumed. I had figured the models would eat the catering I’d ordered. I’d imagined Ben praising my choice of cheeses and exotic fruits. But I should have known Fiona was staking her claim, fawning all over him as usual.
He uncapped the drink and stuck in the straw, grimacing as he took a large sip. The concoction looked brutal, whatever it was. The thick green liquid disappeared slowly as Ben continued to suck it down, stopping only to pop pills in his mouth between gulps.
My stomach twisted in revolt just watching him drink that nasty stuff. I guess being beautiful took work.
Gunnar was chatting with the makeup artist beside us, handing her various bottles of skincare products. “He breaks out with anything oil-based. I’m having him try this new organic line. It’s fucking fabulous.”
The makeup artist accepted the bottles and added them to the heap of products covering her workstation. Her expression was aloof—very much,
I left Ben and Madeline to check on the set. I knew Fiona would need a chair brought out to watch from, if those pumps were any indication. After dragging a stool outside for her, everything was ready.
With only two models in the shoot day, the atmosphere seemed low key and low stress. Once Ben and Madeline had finished with makeup and hair, they talked with the photographer, getting comfortable with the backdrop and each other. Both models looked impeccable. Madeline’s hair floated across her shoulders in a huge, wavy mass of curls, and her makeup appeared dewy and fresh with a pop of bright fuchsia lip stain. I couldn’t even tell that Ben wore any makeup—probably the point—because he just looked beyond gorgeous. His hair had been smoothed down, parted to one side, and slicked with pomade. The style worked quite well for him. And the growing moisture in my panties was a clear indication of
“He’s almost too pretty, huh?”
I hadn’t noticed Gunnar slide up beside me. “Oh, what?”
His eyes tracked Ben’s movements. “Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t notice.” His lips puckered in the most mocking way.
“Yeah, he’s attractive; of course he is,” I stammered.
Gunnar sighed dramatically. “Don’t let those good looks fool you. That boy would be a hot mess without me, Fiona, and a pile of pills.”
I had no idea what to make of his pill comment, but now wasn’t the time to ask because Fiona was on a rampage, complaining loudly that Ben’s shoes didn’t fit. He needed a 12 and they’d brought an 11. I rushed to calm the situation, but before I could intervene Ben was at her side, speaking in hushed tones to soothe her.
He’d stuffed his feet into the shoes and pleaded with her, his arms out to his sides. “See. I’ll survive for an hour.”
Apparently mollified, Fiona merely nodded, and I released a deep exhale.
The photo shoot began, and watching Ben work was wonderful. He made it look so easy. It was clear that both he and Madeline were experienced professionals. They worked well together, posing, moving against each other to create interesting angles as the photographer clicked away.
I’d never get tired of looking at him. My body exploded as awareness, endorphins, and desire flooded my system. Remembering our secret conversation last night made it even hotter. His intense gaze landed on mine as he continued to pose for the photographer, and I swear, the look in his smoldering gaze was pure sex. Good Lord, I was going to need to change my panties soon.
When the shoot wrapped, Madeline immediately disappeared with her handler, and Ben and Fiona wandered back into the dressing area, seemingly in the middle of an intense conversation. I wondered what they could be discussing that was so serious, since his performance today seemed impeccable.
I busied myself packing everything up and even helped the photographer carry equipment to his car, but I could linger for only so long. Not to mention I was beginning to feel like an idiot for thinking that Ben and I actually shared something the previous night. He’d been bored, tired, drunk, or jetlagged—who knows, maybe all of the above. I hated how desperate I was to get another look at him and made myself move on.
I decided to walk back rather than take the Metro so that I could find a cute little sidewalk cafe at which to
