Pretty in Kink

by Titania Ladley

  “Now you can go home.” His voice had an edgy hint of anger to it. It made Britt blink in surprise. She looked down in time to watch him lift her away, his jaw set even as sweat dribbled down his temple and into the dark hair of his trimmed sideburn. The abruptness and sudden change of mood left her empty, used. He turned his back on her and adjusted his clothing. “Get dressed. I’ll go get the truck started.”

  “But—”

  He stormed out the door before she could finish her statement.

  “What the hell was that all about? And what happened to ‘lovemaking’?” She looked down to find her pants hanging by one ankle and her shirt and bra shoved up to her throat. The cheap feeling it gave her, along with the shakiness the wham-bam screw had left in her limbs made her own anger spike. Britt choked on mortified self-disgust and gathered herself back together. She located her purse, took a deep breath and followed him out the door.

  “I guess she was right,” she muttered to herself. “I am a whore. But she forgot stupid. Stupid whore.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Where is she?”

  Lexi’s head, now in multi-shades of streaked blonde, popped up from behind the huge copier. Her big whiskey-colored eyes snapped with annoyance. “Shit, you again,” she groaned. “Are you ever going to give up and just go away?”

  He’d been in the store several times yesterday badgering Lexi, and twice this afternoon. He had to hand it to her. She was loyal to Britt. At least he’d assumed that, until he’d gotten home from work this evening and went through his mail.

  He planted one hand next to the register, keeping the publication rolled up and fisted in the other. “I’m going to ask you just one more time. Where the hell is she?”

  Along with the shock at what he’d found in his mail, the fury caused by Britt’s blatant evasiveness reared its head. He’d had it. She wouldn’t answer her door or her cell. Of course, Lexi had insisted Britt had changed her number so he’d give up on his attempts to contact Britt. But Diego saw right through Lexi. She protected Britt from him for whatever reasons, and Britt had allowed it.

  He had a hunch what her reasons were. Knowing them made him angrier, more at himself for losing control and taking her with such brutal force three nights ago, than at her for avoiding him. Yes, right there in his kitchen against his refrigerator he’d ravished her as if there were no tomorrow. True, she’d responded with an enthusiastic passion that had blown him away. But he’d seen the remorse in her eyes after what he could only call a thorough screwing—and all right after that arrogant speech of his about “lovemaking”.

  He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He’d never experienced such an animalistic urge to take a woman before. It was as if he’d been punishing himself for his deceit with the whole picture incident, sabotaging their new relationship to give her an out. He’d even been so reckless as to fuck Britt with his jeans hanging open, and the wadded-up photograph of her stuffed into his pocket right below her ass.

  The guilt ate at him. Almost enough to make him back off and leave her alone for good.

  Almost.

  So now that it looked as if he’d succeeded in fucking things up, he couldn’t allow the consequences of his actions to play through. He’d find her and patch things up if it was the last thing he ever did in this lifetime.

  He supposed he’d also been punishing Britt for being so goddamn irresistible that he couldn’t bring himself to chance telling her the truth. Carolyn’s tirade had served to further emphasize what a jerk he must be. After she’d stopped by and sprung the picture on him, the self-disgust at having tainted Tyler’s photos with that one kinky shot of Britt had been the final straw for him. He’d sensed things were going to come to a head, and desperation and fear of losing Britt had overtaken him.

  Lexi raked him with a sneering gaze. “And I’m going to say it just one more time. If she didn’t tell you where she is, then what makes you think I will?”

  “Because—and I’m truly sorry to do this—if I don’t get a straight answer, she’s going to hear about your little screw-up with the pictures.” He tossed this week’s issue of Leather & Lace Magazine onto the countertop. “Sooner than later.”

  She unfolded herself from the stool she’d been perched on and rounded the copier. The white lab coat all but swallowed up her petite body as she sashayed toward him, her arms crossed over her midriff. “Sorry? You’re truly sorry?” Lexi let out a snort and he caught a twinkle of pure amusement in her eyes. “Right. My ass.”

  He shoved the magazine across the counter. “Take a look. There’re a lot of things I have a feeling you’re going to be sorry about.”

  Diego waited for the guilt to mar her pretty little painted face. Her gaze raked the magazine cover with its photo of a leather-clad babe sprawled over a Harley. He thought he caught the briefest flash of alarm in her eyes, but she replaced it so quickly with a disdainful gleam that he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  Her dark-orange lips curled up in disgust. “Am I supposed to know what this is all about?”

  “Turn to page forty-eight.”

  Her stare zipped up to his, nailed him with true hatred. “Fuck you. I’m not touching that filth.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Filth?” Diego snatched it up, thumbed to the correct page and shoved it in her face. “Is this filth too, your best friend in all her half-naked glory? Photos taken and entered into the ‘filthy’ magazine’s contest by you—without her permission, I’m assuming. Kind of hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?”

  She gasped so convincingly, he almost believed her astonishment to be real. “Omigod. How…” Lexi dragged in a breath and shook herself as if to remember she should stay in character. She backed away from the counter. “No. Uh-uh. You did this. You. You had copies of the pictures. Ooh, you’re going to pay for this one, buddy.”

  He hadn’t expected her to point the finger at him. Caught off-guard, he shuffled back a step, his mind racing to decipher her accusation. “I did this? How the hell do you figure that?”

  She moved back in and leaned over the counter. Her eyes burned into him, reminding him of twin candle flames. “You prick. You must’ve copied the pictures and entered them into this contest. It’s the only explanation, because I know I didn’t do it, and I know for sure Britt burned the originals.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “What? You’re crazy.” He’d been so furious with Lexi when he’d seen Britt—his woman, goddamn it—between the pages of the magazine for the whole world to see, that he hadn’t even considered she’d be so ornery as to try to pin this shit on him.

  “I might be ambitious and risky at times, but I know I didn’t do this. I would never do such a thing to Britt without her blessing.” She leaned back and grinned, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. They snapped as if she’d just thought of a brilliant solution to the turmoil he’d sprung on her, and to her best friend dating a man she despised. “So that, you arrogant bastard, leaves you. The only other person with copies of the photos.”

  Diego thought he’d been pissed before he’d walked into the drugstore. But there weren’t words to describe the fury that simmered in his blood now. “No. I didn’t copy them. But you… You have all this equipment at your fingertips. It was you, wasn’t it? You copied them, didn’t you, Lexi?”

  Again, she trained her expression, masking the brief flash of what resembled guilt. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “For the contest. For the money. You may have given them to her after I brought them back—which I remind you, giving them to me in the first place was your fuckup. But first you made your own copies, didn’t you? Copies you entered into the contest, not expecting to win, but maybe hoping to get your excellent work noticed. Hm, I wonder…what are you going to do with all that money? Are you going to split it with her? Or are you going to continue with your deceit and keep the money, hoping and praying she doesn’t find out she’s eye candy for the whole goddamn world to eat?”

 
; She snorted, but he caught the fleeting ghost of defeat in her expression. The feisty woman would never admit it, but he’d already worn her down, no longer the self-trained actress.

  “Now I know you’re crazy. You’re scraping the bottom of that pit you crawled out of just to keep the blame somewhere else so you can continue to schmooze and seduce her into your dark little world. Gawd, I don’t know what she sees in you.”

  He could imagine steam shooting from his ears. He could feel his nostrils flaring. He leaned across the counter so that his face hovered inches from hers.

  She stiffened but didn’t retreat. Her eyes narrowed, piercing him, hurling back exactly what he gave.

  In a low tone, he snarled, “And I don’t know what she sees in you. A friend would never do this to a friend. But I promise you, she’s going to find out about your part in this if you so much as breathe one lie to her about me or this contest of greed you entered her into. And I remind you again, your part would be giving me the photos in the first damn place, making your own copies and sending them into the magazine.”

  “I did not—”

  He held up a finger. “Now hear me and hear me good, because there’s no three strikes where you and I are concerned. I didn’t do this, and I’m not going to let you stick it to me. If you do, your boss will learn you developed personal film without permission and used store equipment and supplies. Which is employee theft, by the way. Are we clear?”

  “Oh, very, but—”

  “Lexi, is there a problem?”

  Diego flicked a glance over his shoulder. A tall man with a tire of excess weight around his middle stood there in a button-up shirt and tie. Diego scanned the nametag and saw that it read “Store Owner/Manager”.

  “No, Stan, everything’s fine,” Lexi said through gritted teeth. “He had some concerns with his photos, but it’s all good now. He was just leaving—weren’t you, Mr. Mansini?”

  Diego snatched up the magazine and eased away from the counter. He rolled it into a tight tube. “Yes, my business is done here.” He shot her one last warning glare. “But I’ll be back if the ‘photo concerns’ aren’t taken care of.”

  “Concerns?” Stan chewed on his lower lip, his gaze bouncing between Lexi and Diego. “Lexi, has there been a mix-up with his snapshots or something?”

  Diego couldn’t help but snicker. “Well yes, as a matter of fact there was at first. But as Lexi says, it’s all good now. Isn’t it, Lexi?”

  She plastered a fake smile on her face and beamed at Stan. “Yes, just a little misunderstanding, but everything’s all straightened out now.”

  “Good. Good.” The wrinkles on Stan’s forehead deepened. His gaze continued to toggle back and forth between them. “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure,” Diego replied. “Thank you. I’ll be on my way now.” He tapped the magazine in the air in a farewell gesture.

  As he strolled away, he heard Stan ask, “Did he pay for that magazine?”

  “No, no, it…it was his. He brought it in with him,” Lexi replied. “It’s uh, not the sort of magazine we carry here in the store.”

  “Oh.”

  Diego rolled his eyes as he passed through the automatic doors. No, the drugstore definitely didn’t carry that “sort” of magazine. But Lexi had some knowledge of the publication. Otherwise, Britt’s gorgeous body and concealed face wouldn’t have ended up between the pages. And he’d be damned if he’d take the fall for Lexi’s greed and lose Britt in the process.

  * * * * *

  After three days of shooting at a grove on the rural Indian River area near the eastern Florida seaboard, Britt struck what she hoped to be the final pose to wrap up the trip. She was tired and hungry, and the tantalizing smell of ripe oranges on the trees lining the hillside made her cranky. Still, self-pride swelled in her chest for resisting the urge to call Diego.

  Though she hated to admit it, misery had won out without him.

  “That’s it, good. Lift the collar up under your jaw. Now chin down, just a fraction, snuggly look in the eyes. Yeah, you got it, doll.”

  Relieved at the pleased tone, Britt froze the stance, clutched the faux-fur collar and sent the camera what she liked to call her “Ah” look mixed with her “I’m-wet-and-horny” gaze.

  A whore’s gaze as Carolyn might see it, she thought with a mental sneer.

  The lead photographer pressed the shutter release button.

  Click-flash.

  She blinked away the spots swimming across her vision, leaned against the spoke wheel of the old nineteenth century wagon and moved fluidly into the next shot. More like a well-rehearsed dance. Britt knew what Rufus Arman wanted without waiting for his orders, right down to the angle of her bent limbs or the curve of her back. They’d worked together for over two years now. As a team, they were sought after for their low-budget, high-quality shoots that took half the time of most crews. And to department stores, lingerie shops and auto dealers, time equaled money.

  Once Doris had her a deal signed and secured, budgets were allotted, crews were hired, locations were booked and shooting began. No denying that Doris knew her stuff and despite Doris’ overbearing ways, Britt had to admit she’d been a true asset to Britt’s career.

  So with the business end of things run by Doris, Britt and Rufus had fallen into a comfortable pattern of their own. When something bothered one, the other knew it.

  Today was no exception. She’d been distracted and they’d had to reshoot certain angles time and again.

  “Shit, we had it and then at the last second, you blew it.” Rufus moved out from behind the tripod, leaving the crew and all the umbrellas and lighting behind. He crossed the browning grass they’d spattered with fake crimson and yellow leaves and approached in his trademark, effeminate swagger. His full lips pouted, his big brown eyes with the spiky lashes blinked at her and he jammed a fist on his hip and clucked his tongue.

  The air had been still and stifling until now, but she caught a whiff of his sweet cologne when a lone gust whipped in. She almost fainted with relief when the humid air ruffled her hair and cooled the sweat at the back of her neck.

  “Sugar, what’s up your pretty little ass, anyway? I’ve done my best to overlook it, but hell, keep this up and it’ll be dark before it’s a wrap.”

  “I…I’m sorry.”

  He held one eye closed, tilted his head. His wiry black curls, glossed and greased, glittered in the sunlight. “Mm-hm, you got man problems or something, doncha?”

  “No, of course not.” She fanned herself, wishing to god a cold, pouring rain would blow in. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Should I call makeup over? You’re looking a bit drippy.”

  “Yes, I think I need a powder job. This heat is melting me.”

  “Makeup! Brenda! Powder her up.” Brenda was a petite redhead with wide gray eyes who never spoke a word. But she wielded her artist’s hand with perfection, expressing herself in nonverbal ways. She raced over with a tray and dabbed Britt’s face and neck while Britt continued to speak with Rufus.

  “Okay, no man problems. Then it must be bitch troubles. That extremely rare fuck-off look you just sent the camera tells me something’s got to be up.” He widened his eyes and cocked his hip to the side. “And since I know for a fact you don’t swing sames like I do, it must be some platonic chick who’s gone and pissed you off. ’Sup, honey? Let ol’ Rufus have it so we can get out o’ this roaster and back into the blessed air-conditioning.”

  Two other catalog models, also Doris’ clients, sunbathed off set, their shoots a wrap hours ago. They raised their coiffed heads, sensing either trouble or juicy gossip. But when Doris chimed in, they rolled their eyes and settled back in to bake.

  “It’s that thug she’s been cavorting with, I’m sure of it. Her annoying friend Lexi let the whole story slip to me recently,” Doris sneered as she unfolded herself from the director’s chair she always perched in on the sidelines.

  Crap. Well thanks so much, Lexi, to you an
d your motor mouth.

  Most agents kept to the office, but not Doris. She insisted on breathing down Britt’s neck, nosing into her business. She had to admit she envied Doris her cool cropped white pants and camisole-style blouse. Thin and chic, Doris clutched the small battery-operated fan, making sure to keep it trained on her cosmetic-painted face as she neared.

  “Now, Britt, this is getting to be a long day for us all,” Doris chided. Would she ever quit talking to Britt as if she were a child? “Everyone’s hot and hungry, and we can’t budge an inch off this godforsaken farm until you shape up and get that despicable hoodlum biker out of your mind.”

  Britt groaned. “Doris, that’s enough.”

  “Biker? Yum,” Rufus said on a gasp, batting his eyelids. “I wouldn’t mind a rumbling engine or two between my legs.” Catching himself, he cleared his throat and swung his dancing gaze back to her. “So spill, Britt. Who’s this ‘despicable biker’ who’s making us all sweat?”

  Doris waved her free hand, making sure to keep the fan trained on her face with the other. “He’s some lazy ruffian she’s become involved with. She can’t seem to face the fact she’s way above this lowlife.”

  “I’m standing right here. There’s no need to talk about me as if I’m a child in the other room. And he is not lazy. He works hard running his own motorcycle repair and sales shop in Tampa.”

  Doris rolled her eyes. “Whoa. How ambitious.”

  Rufus wiggled his eyebrows. “Sounds de-lish to me. Does he have a big—”

  “Rufus.” Doris scolded with a shiver of disgust. “That’ll be enough. I don’t want to spoil my dinner. If we ever get any,” she added with a narrowed gaze at Britt.

  “Look, it’s just that I’m roasting in these layers of winterish clothes. It’s hard to concentrate with sweat dribbling down my back and my stomach rumbling. I could use a meal myself, along with a cold shower and a good night’s sleep.”