Unshuttered

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  Ian stuck his tongue out at her.

  “I wouldn’t be flashing that around if I wasn’t planning on using it.”

  Oh, he wanted to. “And get slapped with a harassment suit if I did? No way.” Rocking back on his heels, he said, “Drop your elbows some, the angle’s still too steep.”

  She backed into a softer incline, making the chain shift to fill in the hollow he had just been admiring. Summoning up his restraint, he reloaded the camera and began shooting. The lower angle worked better, catching the soft swell of her stomach and a hint of the black lace panties, the gemstones glistening around the demure ivory cameo that almost perfectly matched her skin tone.

  Ian didn’t know what was wrong with him. He had photographed dozens of women in his time as a fashion photographer, many of them wearing a lot less than Josie was wearing at the moment. While he considered them all attractive enough, they had never aroused his passion in anything beyond artistic appreciation. What Josie was inspiring at the moment was purely carnal and making his slacks more than a little uncomfortable at the moment.

  “Got ants in your pants?”

  Her stomach shifted just enough with her words for the chain to catch the light. He snapped several shots instead of replying.

  She let her head slouch back. “I know I’m not the best model you’ve ever had,” she said roughly, “but at least you could be a little more sympathetic here. It’s not like I wanted to parade around in my birthday suit.”

  “That’s hardly your birthday suit. I’ve seen women wear less at the Shore.” He wouldn’t mind seeing her naked. Full breasts unhindered and begging for attention. The smooth, pale curve of her behind. Was she a natural redhead? He’d wager good money that she was, but to know for sure…

  “Oh, thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

  He was certain anything he tried to say right then to compliment her would only come out twelve different kinds of wrong, so instead he ignored it, going back to the case for another large ring, this time a dinner ring of uncut amber set in dark Russian gold. “Lay down,” he ordered as he brought it over to her.

  She glared at him yet did as he commanded.

  “Now pucker up.”

  “What? If you think I’m kissing you—”

  Ian held the ring over her lips. “Pucker up,” he repeated more sternly.

  Her eyebrows knit together, but her full, kissable lips pursed as he requested, making a dark ruby peak that was the perfect platform for the ring.

  He grabbed the camera again, shooting as soon as he brought it around. “Now, I know your cheeks are going to get tired, but don’t move. Breathe slow and even through your nose and, whatever you do, don’t swallow.”

  Only her eyes moved, narrowing slightly at him before she focused back on the ceiling. He knew she was dying to say something. Josie always had something to say. But she kept to his instructions, lips pursed and breathing even, probably biding her time. Snapping the pictures as quickly as he could without sacrificing the quality, Ian finally removed the ring.

  Making a show of stretching her lips and flexing her jaw, Josie rolled her head towards him. “I don’t seem to be in any danger of lock-jaw. Could have been worse.”

  No, but the way her mouth was working, he was sorely in danger of leaning down and kissing her. “Turn your head.”

  “God, you’re bossy.” She did as he asked.

  This time he got a hairbrush from the dressing table and brought it and the whole tray of jewelry back to the posing cube, trying to ignore how vulnerable and inviting Josie looked on the liquid silk, her skin even paler under the hot lights. He was grateful she wasn’t facing him at the moment or he’d be out one personal assistant, let alone a model. Kneeling beside her, he began brushing her hair out into a smooth curtain against the black fabric.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was thick, almost sultry when she asked, ratcheting up the intimacy of brushing her hair like this.

  “What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?” He wouldn’t if he were her. The long slope of her neck was distracting him, making him wonder what it would taste like, how sensitive she was to a small nibble right at the base.

  “I trust you.”

  Jesus.

  Rather than risk their working relationship, he began laying out the jewelry against the backdrop of her hair, weaving strands of coppery silk through and around each piece until they seemed to be one whole piece. He adjusted the light downward, mitigating any shadows and deepening the saturation until her hair was the color of mahogany.

  “I always wondered why those models never froze their non-existent asses off. Almost feel like I should be wearing sunblock.”

  Smiling, Ian picked up his camera and started shooting. If these weren’t the favored shots of the collection, he’d eat his equipment. Mikaela’s no show was the best thing that could have happened for any of them.

  Now that Josie wasn’t watching him, with the safety of the camera narrowing his focus, he was able to say what he should have before. “You’re really very good at this,” he said quietly, as though maybe she wouldn’t hear him. “These pictures are going to be beautiful.”

  “Good photographer,” she dismissed just as quietly.

  He lined up a couple more shots, closer this time. “A photographer is only as good as his subject.”

  She snorted. “You don’t believe that.”

  “I do.” Taking a risk, he circled around to shoot down her cheek and over her ear, adding the human element. “Anyone can take average pictures of average people. Really good shots only come from serendipity.”

  “Not sure I buy into that, but whatever. Still, you’ve got to admit that certain people make your job easier.”

  He knew she meant people as in professionals like Mikaela. The truth was, while he’d never really paid attention to it, professionals like Josie, the assistants, were the ones who made his job easier. Josie served as his first line of defense, placating clients and models alike, diffusing tantrums on both ends of the camera.

  “I really appreciate this, Josie.”

  She looked up at him, and he almost drowned in the deep green of her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone it’s me.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed of anything,” she said flatly. “But I’m a PA. I like being a PA. This isn’t a very PA-thing to do.”

  “Well, I promise not to breathe a word. I’d hate to lose my best PA to a modeling career.” He took advantage of the moment to catch one last picture of her profile, jewel-bedecked hair streaming out behind her.

  She glared up at him. “I’m your only PA.”

  “All the better, then.” And just that quickly, they were back on familiar footing, part antagonistic, all friendship. With deft fingers, he plucked the gems out of her hair and put them away. “Why don’t you go get changed and go on home? I’m going to get started developing these.”

  She sat up, her heavy breasts straining at the tight bra. Not that he noticed. “You need any help with that?”

  Being trapped alone with her in a small darkroom was probably not the best thing in the world for his restraint. “No, thanks, I’ve got it. You’ve stayed late enough as it is.”

  “All right.” Rising, she swayed to the dressing room, her precarious balance on top of the high stilettos making her hips draw promising figures as she walked. “I’ll leave the FedEx form for you before I go.”

  “Great, thanks.” Grabbing up the rolls of film, he nearly ran for the darkroom before he could give in to the temptation to follow her into the dressing room instead.

  Ian tried to lose himself in the familiar routine of processing, deliberately focusing on each step, though by this point he could develop film in his sleep. It worked, for awhile. Not a very long while.

  The moment the first images started to appear, he faced another distraction entirely. His erection, which had subsided to a manageable level, returned full force with the first
glimpse of Josie’s soft curves.

  He couldn’t ignore them. He had to check the quality and composition, incorporating all the little adjustments that made the difference between a snapshot and art. It was a little easier to maintain distance now that her warm, supple flesh wasn’t three feet away, but all the same, by the time he put the last print into the fixer, his cock ached.

  When he reached for spare clips from a bin under the bench to hang the prints to dry, his knuckles brushed across the tented front of his slacks with electric results. Instinctively he dropped the clips to cup himself, the hard-on that had previously ached now throbbing.

  “No,” he told himself, but didn’t move his hand. It didn’t help his restraint any that he still had a good window of time to hit the FedEx drop off. Or that the prints needed to dry before he packed them up.

  Before he could think twice, Ian finished hanging up the prints and headed to the sink to wash his hands. Shaking them dry, he unfastened his pants and drew out his cock. His groan echoed off the close walls the dark room. “Fucking pervert,” he muttered as he began to stroke himself.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out the reason. All the models he normally worked with, who never earned any sort of physical reaction from him, were all of a type. Pencil thin, injected, suctioned, implanted and lifted into something so unrealistic it was impossible to think of them as real. With Josie, every curve was natural, every color real. If he kissed and licked and nibbled at her full breasts, she would feel every single touch, and the soft cushion of her round thighs would welcome him into her. “Jesus,” he groaned at the thought, pulling faster.

  Or maybe her assertiveness would play out in bed as well, and she would insist on being on top, her breasts softly slapping his chest as she rode him, her pale skin flush with exertion and pleasure as she cursed and pleaded and took him for all he was worth.

  In that vein, he replaced the lace with leather, hugging her curves like a second skin, constrained breasts rising high and taunting him.

  “On your knees,” she’d say, circling around him on more practical heels. Stopping beside him, she would lean close and grab hold of his spiky shag of hair. “What do you say, Ian?”

  “I’m sorry, Josie.”

  “Apologies are meaningless. What do you say, Ian?”

  “Anything, Josie. I’ll do anything you want.”

  So close.

  Her breath would tease against his ear, maybe her tongue would dart out. “Good boy. Now come for me, Ian.” A sharp tug of his hair to drive her point home. “I said come for me, Ian. Now.”

  With a grunt, he did, spilling hotly over his hand.

  “Fuck, Josie…” He braced himself against the wall over the sink as he recovered.

  One thing for certain, tomorrow was going to be hell.

  Chapter Two

  He couldn’t go home. Home meant bed, and bed meant a long night trying not to violate Josie’s trust as badly as he had in the darkroom. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d make it. His cock was already aching again.

  He had two options: coffee and work, or going out to get completely shit-faced. Only one of them promised to leave him any dignity. The thought of drunk-calling his assistant in the middle of the night to confess his lust for her was enough to drive him to the coffeemaker.

  Several pots of black Colombian dark roast and a lot of pointless busy work later, Ian wasn’t any closer to being in control of himself.

  He jumped when Josie popped her head into his office. “Did you get the prints out all right last night?”

  “Hm?” He glanced at his watch in a panic. What was she doing here? “What was that?” How was it eight thirty already?

  “There weren’t any problems last night, were there?”

  “What? Problems?” He looked everywhere but at her. “Ah, no, no problems. Got the package out well ahead of schedule.”

  “Well, good then.” She hesitated. “So…why are you here so early?”

  “Early?” Rattled, he looked at his watch again. “Oh, I suppose it is. I…uh, didn’t sleep all that well, so I came in.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she took in his rumpled shirt. The same exact shirt he had been wearing yesterday. Smooth. “Ian, you didn’t go home last night, did you?”

  Slouching back in his chair, he ran his fingers absently through his hair. “I got distracted.”

  “With what?”

  He couldn’t admit the truth. If she didn’t laugh at him, she’d slap him. “The…thing. The shoot. The shoot next week in Chicago.”

  Folding her arms below her breasts—God, did she have to do that?—she glared at him. “What are you worrying about that for? I’ve had everything set on that for two weeks.”

  “I know. I…” His hand went through his hair again, the way it always did when he was thinking too fast. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I…couldn’t let it go, okay?”

  “Ian.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up out of the chair. “Go home. Get some rest. You aren’t making any sense.”

  “No, I guess not.” He glanced at her, then quickly looked away. “You, um, you look, uh…” She wore a loose blouse that was buttoned surprisingly low for her, showing more than a hint of cleavage, a skirt that fell just below her knees and barely hid the top of her black leather knee boots that had a thin heel to give her leg a nice line.

  God, she looked amazing.

  “You…you look nice,” he said finally.

  “Sure took you long enough to compliment me,” she said lightly. “Not good for a girl’s ego.” Propelling him to the door, she asked, “How much coffee have you had since last night?”

  “I, uh…four.”

  “Cups?”

  “Erm, pots. Possibly five. It’s sort of all blended together.”

  “Christ, Ian, you’re lucky you’re not in the ER. Wait here.” Josie went to her desk and retrieved her purse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Diving your over-caffeinated ass home, what does it look like?”

  Even as hyped up on caffeine as he was, he knew this was a really bad idea. “I’ll be fine. Really, I can manage a ten minute drive.”

  “No way, buster.” She shoved him into the bright daylight, giving a satisfied smirk when she saw him wince. “I like job security. You driving right now guarantees that I’m going to end up unemployed. So suck it up.”

  *****

  Christ, she had cleavage.

  Ian didn’t look over at her. He didn’t want to see the bare skin showing between the top of her boot and the bottom of her skirt where it had hitched up in the driver’s seat, teasing him every time she stepped on the gas. He didn’t want to stare at her ruddy hair, loose and smooth and begging him to run his fingers through it. God, he didn’t want to be tempted to bury his face in the inviting cleft the neck of her blouse offered.

  It was the caffeine. He wasn’t thinking straight. Josie was his friend and a great assistant. Giving in to any of the urges now hammering through his body would only ruin both those relationships, and those were more important to him, no matter what his hormones might be insisting.

  Did she have to wear those boots?

  “I knew you were going to nod off,” Josie said knowingly, snapping him out of his trance.

  Ian focused on the dashboard for all he was worth. “I suppose the buzz was going to wear off at some point.”

  “You know it wouldn’t kill you to admit I’m right every so often.”

  “You’re always right, Josie. Why state the obvious?” He frowned, thinking it over. “Damn.”

  He caught her smiling. “I think I need to keep you sleep deprived more often.”

  She was more right than she knew.

  “So did you hear anything back from Altair?”

  He hadn’t expected the question. “About what?”

  “About what?” She shook her head in bemusement. “About the current state of affairs in Djibouti. About the pictures, of course. What did they think? Di
d you hear anything?”

  “Not yet. We might hear back this afternoon, but it isn’t likely. They said they’d have an answer by Friday.”

  “Does everyone in the damned company need to review those shots?”

  The bluster did nothing to disguise the blush tingeing her checks. Grinning, Ian shifted to lean against the door to better study her. His traitorous eyes naturally zeroed back in on her cleavage. He’d seen a hell of a lot more of Josie last night, but something about the carefully constructed display made her even sexier covered up than she had been unclothed.

  She shot him a disgusted look. “This is where you’re supposed to say, ‘The shots are gorgeous. They should be lucky for the privilege to see you in your spectacular beauty.’“

  He gaped at her, earning a frown.

  “Christ, it’s a good thing my self-esteem is so stable. I’d be in therapy if I relied on you to boost it.”

  Except it wasn’t, was it? “My God.” The realization stunned him.

  “What?”

  “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

  Her brow furrowed as her hands tightened on the wheel. “Like I care what a bunch of jewelers think of me.”

  “Okay, first off, it’s not about you. They aren’t thinking about you, Josephine Guinness, fiery redhead and PA extraordinaire. They’re thinking about their product and if the pictures make them look good or not. And second, you were gorgeous, so stop worrying about it.”

  “I think I liked it better when you weren’t patronizing me.”

  “Is that what you think? Is that what you really think?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “That’s it. Turn the car around.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Josie, take us back to the studio.”

  “Ian, you need sleep.”

  “Not until you take me back. Now do it.”

  She glared at him, but turned off at the next light and looped the block, heading back to the studio.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Whatever you’re up to, no more coffee, got that?”

  “Yes, Josie.”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off again. Just so we’re clear. That was a one time deal.”