Wild Temptation (12 page)

I flick through a Vogue magazine as I wait. Unfortunately, it’s last month’s, so the content isn’t all that interesting. I’ve read it every time I’ve been here in the last three or so weeks. I put it back on the table next to my chair just as Clara steps out.

“Liv, Sheila will see you now.” Her voice is cold and clinical, and I wonder why she’s not in New York instead of Seattle. She has a little too much bitch for our smaller fashion industry.

I shoot her a sickly sweet smile that reeks of falseness and pass her.

Sheila’s office is warm and comforting but staunchly professional at the same time. There are photos of her family on her desk, but the walls are lined with photos of her models on their best campaigns. There’s one of me in the far corner from the swimwear shoot I did last summer.

I have to admit, it’s one of my favorites, too. The swimsuit made my boobs look really, really good.

“Liv! Come in. Take a seat. Would you like a coffee?” Sheila looks up and sets her glasses on top of her head, carefully avoiding her bangs.

“A bottle of water would be great, thanks. I ran here,” I explain unnecessarily.

“Of course, hon.” She picks up her phone and asks Clara for a coffee and a bottled water. “First, we’ll go over your pictures from your latest shoot. Then we’ll discuss the possibility of the new one. Okay with you?”

“Sure.” I wait as she pulls out a file and lays the photos out on her desk.

Clara comes in with our drinks and leaves without saying a word. Moody bitch.

We flick through the pictures one by one, creating three piles. Yes. No. Maybe. Looking at them this way, I almost believe Tyler when he said that he’d never be able to choose his favorites. It’s hard enough for me and Sheila to do it.

Because, damn. Tyler Stone is a fucking good photographer.

I don’t like many pictures of myself, but I like these. Somehow, through the awkwardness of seeing each other again and that raging sexual tension that basically had me wet the whole shoot, we somehow managed to get some incredible pictures.

After flicking through the ‘maybe’ pile, we pick four photos and add them to the ‘yes’ one. Satisfied, I take a long drink from my water while Sheila organizes the pictures.

“Right, this shoot. It’s for Balfour, a new swimwear company. This is their first major campaign and they’re using the advertising department to make a few waves. Now, if they select you and the first shoot goes well, there’s the potential to become the face of the company.”

My head spins—in a good way. “Okay. Where will the shoot be?”

“The first shoot, the test shoot, will be in a studio here in Seattle. Probably one of ours. If they like the test, then you’ll go to California for the real one.” She shuffles some papers and turns to her laptop. “Are you interested?”

Am I interested? Hell yes. “Absolutely. Will you send them images from last summer’s shoot?”

Sheila nods once. “Yes, and a few studio lingerie shots. All your swimwear shoots are on location, so they need a feel for you in a studio. I’ll put together a portfolio this week and mail you a copy at the weekend so you can look through it before I send it.”

“Great.”

We say our goodbyes and I leave her office, ignoring Clara on my way out. The chilly breeze is now a biting cold as clouds roll overhead, and the temperature seems even lower after coming out from the warmth of the building. Still, I pause just outside and whip my phone from my bra. The security guard gives me a funny look. I grin.

The pictures were great. Thank you,

I text to Tyler. Hey, he’s an asshole and he pisses me the hell off, but they were great. I can be nice to him if I want to be.

I told you they were incredible. I’m happy to stare at you in underwear if you want to repeat it.

A
nd there goes my nice mood.

You’re a prick.

I tuck my phone back inside my bra and run toward my apartment. Sometimes, I’m glad I live downtown. Friday and Saturday nights aren’t those times, but on a Monday when it’s about to rain, I’m definitely happy I do.

I pick up the pace when a few odd drops of rain fall on my face. Somehow, I make it back to my apartment block before it comes down full force. It pelts the windows as I make my way upstairs, forgoing the elevator in favor of fitness.

Yeah, you can bet your ass I’m having takeout tonight.

“Where have you been?” Sean walks into my apartment without knocking.

“Seriously? I could have been naked in here.” I look at him from my position on the couch. And it’s not a lie. Given my seriously erotic dream about a certain photographer last night that involved our mouths, certain parts of our bodies, and possibly a scarf and my bedposts, the temptation to be tucked up in bed with my vibrator—again—is almost overwhelming.

“Do you regularly watch TV naked, lying on the sofa, with one of your legs hooked over the back?”

“Perhaps I do.” I swing my legs around and sit up, patting the space next to me. “What’s in the bag?”

“A new pair of shoes.”

“For me?”

“No, darling, I regularly bring myself home five-inch heels.”

I gasp and reach for the bag. Sean shakes his head, holding it away from me.

Sean shakes his head, holding it away from me. “Do you have wine?”

“Seriously? You’re bribing me?”

“Liv, these are one-thousand-dollar shoes. If you can’t manage a glass of wine, then we’re reevaluating our friendship, darling.”

I roll my eyes and sigh, but my insides are buzzing with excitement. I love shoes. I love shoes like Dayton loves lingerie. They’re my guilty pleasure—the one addiction I allow myself to indulge in. And Sean, being a sales assistant at Arabella’s, the hottest shoe store in Seattle, adds to my indulgence whenever he can.

After all, he works in a female shoe store. Not even he can get away with those shoes. So last season’s styles and samples at a huge discount come right my way.

I put two glasses of wine on the coffee table and sit down. “Gimmee gimmee gimmee!” I punctuate each word with a bounce.

Sean, the bastard, grabs his wine and sips it slowly, grinning before handing me the bag.

I dive into it the way a candy-deprived kid would attack Wonka’s Nerds. And I gasp when I open the box. Oh my God. “Sean! These are
new s
eason Louboutins! How? Why? I mean, what?”

I twist the nude Lady Peep Sling Patent shoes around, staring at every inch of the gorgeous creation.

“Well, we had some discount. They seriously overstocked and the warehouse refused to take them back, so Fiona said we could use our end-of-line discount. Plus, I remembered I totally forgot your birthday because I was out of town. So this is a belated birthday present.”

“My birthday was nine months ago.”

“Eh, I forgot Christmas too.”

True.

“I can’t accept these,” I say, never taking my eyes from them.

“I paid cost price, darling. They’re yours.”

“I owe you so much wine.” I slip my foot in immediately and lift my leg in front of me. “Perfect fit! Oh, oh.” I reach over and grab Sean’s face, planting a huge smacker of a kiss on his cheek.

He flushes. “Well, yes.” He grabs his wine and finishes it in one go just as there’s a knock at my door.

I frown at Sean and take the shoe off, putting it back in the box. I pull my door open a crack and stop breathing when I see Tyler standing there. “What are you doing here?”

We haven’t spoken for three days—haven’t seen each other for four. It’s been a long week—quiet, but long. I’ve almost got used to having his arrogant, asshole-ish ways pissing me off. The days feel a little empty without it, if I’m honest.

“I need to talk to you,” he replies gruffly, curling his fingers around my door. “Can I come in?”

“I have company.”

Apparently that doesn’t deter him because he shoves the door open anyway.

“Hey!” I cry as he passes me.

Sean’s eyes flick between us, his eyebrows arching when his gaze settles on me. “I think I’ll be going.” A smile teases his lips as he stands.

“That’s probably a good idea.” I shoot a glare at Tyler. “Thank you for my shoes. They’re gorgeous.” I hug Sean tightly and kiss his cheek again. If only because something tells me it’ll piss off Tyler.

“I’d say anytime, but I don’t want you getting greedy.” Sean grins sassily and backs out of my apartment. “Have fun.” He closes the door behind him, leaving me face to face, and completely alone, with Tyler.

“Who was that?” Tyler questions.

“My neighbor,” I reply dryly.

“He’s a guy.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You could give Cumberbatch a run for his money with those excellent skills of deduction.” I snort.

Tyler picks up the shoe box. “A guy who’s your neighbor and buys you Louboutins?”

I snatch the box from him, set it on the sofa, and glare at him. “And Sean’s about as straight as a fucking Oreo, so I’m not sure what the problem is. I’m not even sure there should be a problem.”

Angus jumps from his perch on the windowsill and hisses at Tyler. I rub my hand across my eyes, walk to the kitchen, and grab a can of food from the cupboard.

“Angus,” I coo, tapping the can against his food bowl.

He prowls across the kitchen and dives in. Problem solved.

“You have a cat?”

“Obviously.” I put my hands on my hips and turn to him. “What do you want?”

Tyler walks to me and cups my jaw, running his thumb across it. “To talk to you.”

I smack his hand away. “You can do that over the phone. Or email. Or text.”

“I don’t have your email, and there’s no guarantee your feisty arse will text me back.”

I glare at him. “Talk. Now.”

His chuckle is low, hitting me deep in my stomach. Damn.

“Okay. Should I start?” I raise my eyebrows. “Why are you here?”

“You intrigue me, Liv.”

“Sounds like a pathetic excuse for a pick-up line to me.”

“If I was going to use a chat-up line, I know for a fact that wouldn’t work. It’d have to be something dirtier for you.”

I refuse to blush. “Don’t fuck around, Tyler. You’re here for a reason. Now I want to know what it is.”

He studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes flicking across my face and curving over my body. Then he steps forward, once again cupping my jaw, and speaks low. “You’ve driven me crazy ever since you walked into the photoshoot. I never planned to see you again after that fucking amazing night and couldn’t believe you were there. And you were so fucking sexy,” he murmurs, stepping closer to me. “You were so carefree and confident, like you belonged in front of a camera. In front of my camera. Everyone left and you didn’t realize because you were so into what you were doing.”

“It’s not my job to call the end of a shoot. It’s the photographer’s.”

“I know. But there you were, the woman who’d been the reason behind my hard-on for days, and then there you were in Aaron’s apartment. I don’t believe in fate, but that’s a fucking coincidence if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Or a bit of bad luck. Depending how you look at it. Personally, I think it’s Fate’s Big Fuck-Up.”

He smiles, his thumb ghosting over my bottom lip. “Or good luck,” he whispers, leaning in.

I put two fingers over his mouth. “We’re not done talking.”

He pulls my fingers away from his mouth and wraps his hand around the back of my neck, tugging me against him. “I want you, Liv. It’s driving me fucking insane not having you. I thought if we didn’t speak for a few days, if there was no contact whatsoever between us, that I could forget you. But I can’t. I can still taste the sweetness of your kisses on my tongue. I can still fucking feel you clenching around my fingers as you moan into my mouth.”

My heart pounds loudly.

“I want you so fucking much, babe, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

His lips have barely brushed mine before I push him away. Wants me? No. I don’t do wanting. I don’t—I can’t—want a single person or have them want me.