No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  Her fingers came up to her mouth, pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger as she tried to find the nerve to say what she was thinking. “Was prepping me for the convention the…only reason…you asked me to lunch?”

  I didn’t know whether to kiss Emily or threaten to fire her. Taking a step closer to Reagan, I found myself holding my breath when she didn’t shy away from me. She wasn’t breathing at the moment, but she wasn’t running either. Her fingers quit playing with her lip, and her whole hand slid down her neck to curl into a fist below her collar bone. The movement drew my eyes to her breasts, to how her chest shuddered as she finally took a breath. Need pooled in my core, quickly making the prospect of being around other people extremely unappealing.

  “What are you doing for dinner tonight?” I asked.

  Reagan sucked in a sharp breath. “Nothing,” she whispered.

  My lips curved up into a smile. “Yes you are. You’re having dinner with me tonight. Unless you have an objection to that?”

  Her eyebrows piqued. “Oh, um, okay.”

  Reaching past her, I pulled open the door to the short flight of stairs that led up to the lobby. Reagan kept her gaze on me as she stepped backward into the stairwell, continuing to watch me as she slowly turned around. I moved to follow her, but didn’t make it far as I watched her hips sway back and forth which each stair she climbed. Closing my eyes, I tried and failed not to think about the bra and panty set Claudette’s had sent over that morning, and the fact that Reagan was wearing it. I wanted to tear the slacks off her body right then, the sweater too, see her in the pale lavender lace right there in the stairwell.

  “Are you…coming?” Reagan asked.

  I looked up and found her watching me. Was there a hint of a smile on her face? Did she know I was watching her…and liked it? Grunting a response that was hardly a proper reply, I jogged up the half flight of stairs to pass her and open the lobby door for her. She smiled and mumbled a quiet thank you as she passed through.

  I was following her again, walking toward the elevators as I struggled not to press my hand to her back as though she needed my guidance to make it there. As we waited, then rode the elevator up to the third floor, she snuck glances at me every few seconds. Her expression alternated between half-smiles and anxious frowns. It took all my self-control to keep my expression neutral. The four other people in the elevator with us certainly helped. Without them, I knew it was fairly likely I’d have had Reagan pressed up against the wall, exploring every inch of her.

  I’d pretty much forgotten why I’d actually asked her to come to my office by the time we made it there. All I could think about was closing the blinds and fucking her on my desk. The urge only got worse when she tried to pull a chair out as I walked by and I stumbled into her. Her perfume invaded my senses and I found myself reaching for her before I could stop myself.

  A small gasp escaped her lips as my fingers gripped her hip. I slid them away immediately, knowing I wouldn’t be able to let go if I touched her for more than a half second. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” she said.

  “It’s fine,” I replied, before moving to sit behind my desk.

  I needed some distance. I also needed some cover. If she saw the bulge in my slacks, I knew she’d be uncomfortable despite her willingness to have dinner with me. Desperate for a distraction, I woke my computer up and went straight for my email. I’d left all the details of the shoot up to Reagan. Not being sure what to expect, I had no way of preparing myself for what I saw when I clicked on the first image.

  I knew it was her the second I saw it. Her long, gorgeous hair was something I’d wanted to run my fingers through for the past year. The curve of her shoulders was something I’d noticed every time she walked by my office or sat across from me. Her slender waist and rounded hips called to me, begged my hands to grasp them, pull them to me and show her what true pleasure was. I had never seen her back fully revealed as it was in the image before me, but I recognized her all the same. I didn’t need to see the face turned away from the camera to tell me the truth of why Reagan had been so on edge.

  Shock was my first reaction. Confusion hit next. Then anger.

  “Would you care to explain this?” I demanded, still looking at the image of her posing for Brandon in nothing more than a silk sheet.

  Silence.

  Tearing my eyes from my computer screen, my livid gaze pinned her where she sat. “I want an explanation, right now, Reagan. I want you to tell me exactly why it is that you are posing for Brandon when we have a crew of models ready and available for this sort of thing!”

  Eyes as wide as saucers, she swallowed several times before managing to speak. “He…he insisted.”

  “What?”

  “Last night. At dinner.” She swallowed again, her breath hitching before rising in pace. “He said he’d only do the shoot if…if, I, um, was the one to sit for him.”

  I was going to kill him. Shaking my head, I tried to shove all my anger toward the man who was supposed to be a friend, but I was furious with her for agreeing to this. “Why the hell would you think it was appropriate for one of the magazine’s managers to pose half naked for an article that is going to be published in that same magazine?” I shouted. “Your name is in the credits of the magazine!”

  “I… he said…” Her lips pressed together to keep them from trembling. “Don’t list me as the model,” she pleaded. “He kept my face out of the shots for…for anonymity.” Her last two words trailed off into a whisper as her gaze dropped to hide the tears pooling in her eyes.

  Guilt hit me squarely in the chest. “Why?” I begged. She had to hear the pleading, the anguish in my voice, but I could do nothing to hide it. “If you were going to sit for anyone, it should have been…” I shook my head. “Why agree to this?”

  “I just,” Reagan whispered, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “What?” I shook my head, more confused than ever. Posing nearly naked for another man, why would she think that would make me happy?

  “Brandon insisted I sit for him or he wouldn’t do the shoot,” she said without looking at me. “I knew signing him was important to you. It was the first time you’d asked me to do something this big, and I…I didn’t want to let you down.” Her fingers swept beneath her eyes, quickly in the hopes that I wouldn’t notice.

  Christ, I am such an asshole. Leaning back in my chair, more guilt heaped itself onto my shoulders. I’d unknowingly pushed her into this. Reagan had confided in me how her beauty had made her a target in college, and how important being taken serious was to her. I’d known Brandon would probably try something to piss Marie off, or poke at me, but I’d never expected this. Did he guess how I felt about Reagan, and decided it would be fun to use it against me, make me jealous?

  “I am so sorry, Reagan. You never should have felt pressured into this.” Dropping my head into my hands, I was more concerned with how I’d hurt her than Marie’s possible irate reaction to the whole thing. My plan to get her to quit playing games and offer Brandon the contract had managed to blow up in my face.

  “It’s okay,” Reagan whispered.

  “No, it’s not,” I snapped.

  She jumped and stared at me with glassy eyes. “But…it is, really.”

  Struggling to understand what she meant, pieces of our lunch conversation came back to me. She’d been honestly pleased with how the shoot had gone. It made no sense based on what I knew of Reagan. She took charge when it came to work duties, but froze at social situations. I understood the reason for that better now, but it made no sense why she would defend Brandon when he’d all but tricked her into sitting for him. I knew there was no way she had wanted to do it, and must have been cursing both me and him the entire time. She’d been genuinely happy about the outcome when I asked earlier, though.

  “Explain, please,” I begged.

  “I was so scared at first, but you were right about him.” She blinked, clearing the last of her
tears. “He not only knows what he’s doing behind the camera, I’d never seen a photographer take so much time and care with a model. Or with getting exactly what we needed for the article. I thought he was playing games with me when he first asked…” She shook her head. “Working with him, it’s not something I’ll forget. He’s exactly what we need here.”

  Slowly, Reagan stood. “I should have asked your opinion before agreeing, but I wanted so badly to handle it on my own and not let you down. I’m sorry if I overstepped. Don’t let my bad decision affect offering Brandon a contract.”

  She stepped away from the chair and gripped the doorknob. Her gaze slid from mine, but she didn’t shrink away from me. An almost physical change came over her. Her beautiful, tempting lips evened out to a neutral expression. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  Then she was gone.

  Stunned, it took me a moment to get my thoughts together. My gaze went back to the image. Conflict churned in my gut. She was right that it was perfect. Perfect for the article. Perfect as a piece of art. Every curve of her back and shoulders were highlighted to accentuate the lines of her body. Her hair was a soft blonde, drawing the viewer’s attention down its length to then continue down her spine. Brandon had captured multiple lighting examples all in one image.

  I clicked on the next one, and the next. Each one perfect, exactly what had been asked for to go with the article. He had proved he could follow orders, as Marie put it. Yes, he’d made his demands, but nothing we hadn’t already been willing to concede. These images would convince Marie to stop dicking around and get him onboard with the magazine before she lost her chance. I had no doubt of that. It had proved Brandon’s point that he hadn’t needed Marie’s guidance to become the best, as well. She’d be pissed at having to eat her words, but she would. She most definitely would.

  Having reached the end of the images, I sat back. I was trying to figure out what to do next when a second email popped up. From Brandon. A paperclip icon said there were attachments that had come with the email. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, since the all images the article required were in the first email. Curious, though wary, I clicked on the new email.

  Send the first set to Marie and tell her to get off her ass and offer me the contract. I already know she’ll agree to my concessions, so there’s no point in wasting time negotiating. I hate that shit.

  This set, is for you. A gesture of good faith. 1-5 will be added to my art show at Marpole Gallery in two weeks. Image six is for you to keep, all rights are yours. She’s an amazing woman. You’re a fucking idiot if you don’t make a move on her.

  Even knowing it was a very bad idea to look at the second set of images, I scrolled down to the attachments and clicked on the first one. Reagan lying flat on her back, nipples barely covered and pressing up against the silk, made me groan. Pulled to the side, the silk wasn’t covering her torso from just below her breasts to the tip of her pelvis. Her expression was almost pained, her positioning just stiff enough to look as though she were hiding some unknown agony. I had no doubt it was one of the images from early in the shoot.

  I clicked to the next image and wanted to strangle Brandon. A closer view of her face, most of it was still covered by her hand. The way her lips parted in surprised pleasure was like a punch in the gut. What had he done to elicit that reaction? I clicked again, and found myself faced with a macro shot of a pink blush spreading through her cheeks as her fingertips attempted to hide it. My cock hardened at the flush of color. She had no idea how much those blushes affected me, how she could get me to do just about anything when faced with one.

  The next image had her back to the camera again, the shot focusing on her hair as it trailed down her back in half-light and shadow. I wanted to follow the curves as well. I wanted her back in my office, bare down to the lace bra and panties she wore, and only those still on so I could remove them one at a time. My fingers were itching to explore every inch of her body.

  Unable to help myself, I clicked for the next image and nearly crushed the mouse beneath my fingers. Standing this time, Reagan held the sheet pressed to her breasts with the other hand holding it bunched at her hip. But it was her hair cascading down to hide her that got to me. Only the corner her face was visible. Not enough to be recognized by most. I wasn’t most. One eye peeked out from the curtain of hair. There was fire in her eye, a daring almost. It was as if she were challenging the viewer to take the sheet from her. I wanted to rip it from the image, expose her completely, but only to me.

  It made me insanely furious to know Brandon planned to display these five in his next show. I didn’t want to share Reagan with anyone, let alone allow Brandon to feed his ego. It was beyond my control by that point. The last image, though, he’d given me the rights to it. Which he never did. Brandon Frere was either paid very well for his work, or he kept a tight-fisted hand on it. Giving up full rights to me? I clicked on the last image.

  Reagan sat on the divan, knees up to her chest with the silk sheet pinned between them. That was the only part of her body covered by the thin material. My gaze followed the edge of the silk, down the length of her stomach and thigh to the curve of her hips, completely bare in a side view that hid everything but the perfection of her skin. A thin strand of her blonde hair somehow managed to attract my attention. It pulled my gaze back up its length to where it met the rest of her golden mane. Hair fell to one side, down and over her legs, but that wasn’t what held my attention. Looking directly at the camera, smiling a lazy smile that made my cock strain against my slacks, was Reagan’s face. Absent of self-doubt or worry, she simply looked at the camera and seemed to be asking me what I was waiting for.

  ***

  I was still trembling slightly an hour after leaving Mr. Gabriel’s office. Where the nerve had come from to say what I did and then get up and leave, I had no idea. Even knowing my boss would most likely not be thrilled about my posing for Brandon, I hadn’t expected the vehemence of his reaction. Shocked, yet oddly touched by his obvious guilt for yelling at me, I still wasn’t sure what to think. Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus. I tried to anyway.

  Emily appeared in my doorway, brows up to her hairline. “Well? What did Mr. G think of the pics?”

  My lips parted, but I had no idea what to say.

  Eyes widening, Emily darted into my office and closed the door. “Oh my god, you didn’t tell him you were the model beforehand?”

  Not quite sure how she guessed that just from my reaction, I couldn’t deny she was right. “I don’t even know why I didn’t tell him.” Tossing my pen aside, I rolled my eyes. Well, I kind of knew why I hadn’t told him. I’d been too drunk to consider it. I was just screwing up one after another lately.

  “What was that eye roll about?” Emily demanded. “What haven’t you told me?”

  “Nothing,” I said. I sighed. “Except that, you know, Ben drove me to meet Mr. Gabriel at a tavern after meeting Brandon and I accidentally got myself so drunk he had to carry me to his car, then I passed out and he took me back to his place so I could sleep it off, and these are clothes he bought me, and he made me breakfast and drove me to work, and now he’s pissed at me, and I am officially the world’s biggest ass at this point. Just the regular old stuff. Nothing major.”

  I dropped my head into my hands as Emily stared at me in shock.

  “Wait, where did you sleep at his place?” Emily asked.

  “Guest room.”

  She sighed disappointedly. “And how exactly did you accidentally get drunk?”

  Rolling my head back and forth I groaned. “If you order a shot of whiskey and a cute, lesbian waitress asks if you want to try the ‘Whiskey in a Jar’ they’re known for…tell her no.”

  Emily snorted. “If a sexy, lesbian waitress offers me whiskey of any kind, I am definitely not saying no, but that’s beside the point. Why were you getting drinks with Mr. G anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” I whined.

  I felt as though
I had no clue what was going on anymore. In any aspect of my life. Wanting more responsibility at work meant figuring out the whole grown up thing and dressing the part. It also meant working more closely with the one man I could barely stand to be around for more than five minutes without having to sit on my hands. Sitting for Brandon had felt amazing, but inspired loads of guilt after my boss’s reaction.

  “Okay, we are going out tonight. I want all the juicy details and every dirty little secret you’ve been hiding from me. I’ll even pretend to be a sexy lesbian waitress and ply you with whiskey if it helps.”

  “I can’t,” I pouted.

  “Why not?”

  Looking up at her, I hesitated giving an answer. When she crossed her arms and stared me down, I felt I had no choice. “I’m going to dinner with Mr. Gabriel…maybe. He may have changed his mind after seeing the pictures.”

  Emily grimaced. “I can only imagine how pissed he must have been if you hadn’t prepared him. He can’t like anyone else seeing that much of you, even a gay photographer.”

  “Do you really think that’s why he flipped out?” I dared to ask.

  Scoffing, Emily rolled her eyes. “Most definitely.” She paused, considering something for a moment before speaking again. “Why are you going to dinner with him?”

  I honestly expected that was off the table now, but I didn’t have a great answer either way. Shrugging, I said, “I’m really not sure.” I sank down in my chair and pursed my lips. “I got up the nerve to ask him whether or not business was the only reason we went to lunch today. His response was to ask me if I’d go to dinner with him tonight.”

  Sparks danced in Emily’s eyes. “That poor man. He’s been dying to ask you out for a year, waiting for you to give him an opening. Thank god you finally put him out of his misery.”

  “I seriously doubt he’s going to keep the date.” I couldn’t help sulking at the admission.

  Standing, Emily shook her head as a sly smile spread across her lips. “Give him a few hours to cool down. Bet you twenty bucks he shows up at your door at six o’clock, wanting to know if you’re ready to go to dinner.”