by Sara Daniel
“You have enough shots. One of them will be a good fit. Let’s call it wrap,” Kyle insisted.
Mother joined them under the bright studio lights. “The sexier this calendar is the more copies will sell. Leo’s been talking up Mr. September as a key selling point for distributors.”
Gretchen watched the discussion for a moment. Both Mother and Melodie had good points, but only one argument had a chance of swaying Kyle. “The money from this project goes to help people like Brett’s widow and her two little babies who will never know their father. Do it for him.”
Grief flashed across his features, and he paced the floor before stopping in front of her. “I need to show you something…in private.”
“Of course.” Her heart thundered. After the disastrous conversation when she’d dropped him off following their trip, she’d been convinced he’d never speak to her alone again. But he’d deliberately signaled her out with everyone watching, and the flimsy walls of the dressing room behind the studio offered an illusion of seclusion more than actual privacy for a discussion.
“It’s almost lunchtime,” Melodie announced, making a show of looking at her watch. “Let’s break and meet back here at one o’clock.”
“Thank you,” Gretchen said, grateful for her understanding.
“I’m holding you responsible for making sure he comes back. On time.”
Gretchen glanced at Kyle, but he was already striding from the building still wearing the leather jacket from the photo shoot. By the time she caught up he had his arm in the air, signaling for a cab, while the vehicles zipped by without stopping.
“Where’s the nearest hotel?” he asked.
“Privacy’s one thing. Taking me to a room you’ve rented for the hour is something entirely different. Let’s go to my apartment. At least I know the sheets are clean.”
“I’m not attempting anything sleazy. I need to talk to you.”
“In the living room then.” With her mother’s mementos surrounding them, Gretchen should be able to control the urge to jump him before he remembered she didn’t fit the type of woman who belonged at his side and rejected her again. She could stay focused on uncovering his hang-ups so they could make the photo shoot a success.
She ushered him inside then locked the door behind them. “What’s going on?”
Kyle tensed. He tossed the jacket onto the couch and turned to her. “If the pictures from this morning aren’t what Leo’s looking for, I need to pull out of the calendar.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I can never model again.” He reached for the hem of his T-shirt. His hands trembled. Then in one coordinated motion he whipped the shirt over his head.
He stood straight and proud, glaring at her. His abs sculpted a breathless six-pack. His pectoral muscles glistened without a drop of oil.
The only imperfection was a single, straight scar spanning the length of his sternum.
Chapter Six
Kyle squeezed the T-shirt in his fists, unable to move, regretting the decision to reveal his chest. He hadn’t shown it to anyone outside his cardiologist’s office and the hospital. Beyond them, only his parents and siblings knew about the surgery—about his freaking defect—at all.
Zola’s scandal had been the perfect cover to say he was leaving the industry in disillusionment. He’d planted a couple rumors. One, he had to enter a treatment program for abusing performance-enhancing drugs. Another, he needed medical help for an eating disorder. Any subsequent rumors of medical problems or surgery simply fed the rumor mill of misinformation.
Gretchen stepped toward him. She raised her index finger, grazing the bottom-most point of his scar.
He flinched.
She drew back. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” He had no physical pain. “Now, do you believe me? I can’t model. Nobody’s idea of a sexy man includes a six-inch scar running the length of his chest.”
Her hand settled on the white gash. “What happened?”
“I’m defective. For a while the defect was only on the inside. Now the evidence is on the outside, too.” If he sounded bitter, he didn’t care. He’d been known as the model who had no major issues, whose body was as close to perfect as any could be, and he could never reclaim that status. He wanted her to reject him and get it over with, to pity him and promise never to ask anything of him.
“So, I’m guessing this scar happened some time in the past year, coinciding with your abrupt departure from civilization.” She traced the indent from the top to the base of the sternum.
He flinched again, but she didn’t stop.
“My grades in anatomy were never anything to brag about,” she continued. “But I’m going to guess heart surgery.”
He nodded, equally loving and hating the tender exploration, powerless to stop her.
Her lips quirked. “As much as I’d like to figure all this out on my own, your scar doesn’t have tattooed into it exactly what’s wrong or if you’re healed now.”
“Does it matter?”
She lifted her gaze from his chest, all amusement gone as she met his stare. “Of course, it matters. We’re talking about your health, your life. You’re under thirty years old and you had heart surgery.”
“Consider it another reason you don’t want to invest in me as a model. I could die tomorrow.”
He felt, as well as saw, her sharp intake of breath. He’d convinced himself over the past week she didn’t care about him, but he no longer believed it.
“Are you relaying an official prognosis?” she asked softly.
“No.” His cardiologist thought his chances of living to a ripe old age were just as good as anyone else’s, but he was making a different point. “I told you I was supposed to join the military with Brett. Except, I didn’t pass my physical. First they told me I had a heart murmur. More tests uncovered the tricuspid valve in my heart had a leak.”
“You knew about this the entire time I’ve known you.”
“The irony, of course, is Brett aced his health evaluation. Now he’s dead, and I’m still here.” He took a deep breath. “The stupid valve never stopped me from doing anything anyway. Well, at first. Then as the years went by, I’d get winded exercising. Weights I’d bench-pressed with no problem I suddenly couldn’t lift. Last summer, I got dizzy walking up stairs, and I couldn’t keep pretending everything was normal.”
“But you did pretend,” she accused. “I never noticed. My mother didn’t have a clue.”
Which was what he’d wanted. “The valve was failing, so I had open-heart surgery to replace it. Then I went home to recover. After I couldn’t get into the military, Zola made it easy for me to reinvent my life. But this time a backup plan didn’t fall into my lap, even though I’m as much damaged goods as a model as I am to the military.”
“You are not damaged goods.” Gretchen spread her hands across his chest, her palms flat against his nipples.
His battered heart warmed at her defense, but he couldn’t accept her protection. “How can you say so when you’re touching the evidence?”
“This?” She pressed her finger against the length of his disfigurement, no longer gentle. “This marks you as a survivor. It proves you’re strong and you’ve endured against the odds. You’re damn lucky to have good doctors who found and fixed the issue.”
Lucky? Him? The only time he felt lucky was when he held her in his arms. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Of course not. You’ve been too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”
Her words stung. He opened his mouth to refute them. He hadn’t been feeling sorry for himself for an entire year. Except, well, yes, a little bit, okay, maybe more than a little.
“You’re alive, all of you,” Gretchen continued. “And it’s time for you to live like you are. I don’t care if you decide to model again or not, but this,” her gentleness returned as she tapped the scar again, “should not be hidden. It might keep your chest out of live runway shows. It might
change DeAngelo Vurberuchi’s offer. Companies will want to airbrush it out of print ads and will take it into account when deciding whether to hire you. Then a whole section of the industry will want you more because you have this mark, and you’ll have to walk the line between celebrating it and being exploited because of it.”
He stared at her, affection and hope ballooning inside him. He’d never once looked at his heart defect and scar like a badge of honor, but she made him want to believe. “You’re not repulsed by me?”
“Repulsed? Kyle Ramsey, don’t ever associate your name with that word. You’re a survivor. Rising above your wounds and adversity makes you a hero.”
***
Gretchen glided her hands over Kyle’s chest again, unable to stop touching him. The line of pale, distorted flesh splitting him down the center did nothing to take away from his overwhelming sexiness. In fact, in the midst of his utter physical perfection, the scar served to remind her he was a real person with feelings, and his body issues were more than a figment of obsessing in front of the mirror, not unlike her own insecurities.
Despite her assertions, she hadn’t convinced Kyle every inch of him was beautiful. He still clutched his shirt as if prepared to cover himself the moment she came to her senses. She peeled it out of his fist and tossed it next to his jacket on the sofa.
“Let me show you how much I like your body exactly the way it is.” She tugged his hand, leading him to her bedroom, and flipped on the light. They stood inside the door as they had a couple weeks ago, only this time she pressed his back against the wall.
She brushed her lips along each of his shoulders, while running her hands up and down his chest, kneading her fingers into the sinewy muscles beneath his golden skin. Then she kissed her way over his chin, down the scratchy underside of his jaw, over his Adam’s apple, and into the hollow of his throat.
Beneath her, he tensed. His pulse fluttered, she hoped due to arousal and not because her touch made him nervous. Even if she hadn’t laid his misgivings to rest, she planned to transform his tension into desire.
Gretchen continued her journey, using her tongue in addition to her lips as she traversed the center of his chest, along the uneven lines and crevices of scar tissue to the bottom of the sternum bone and onto the hard, flat plane of his stomach.
She knelt in front of him, nibbling on his navel. Peeling back his low-rise jeans, she kissed the dark hair revealed with the release of each button. His full erection throbbed through the denim. Yes, arousal. Desire. She lowered the pants and followed them with his cotton briefs until he stood completely naked.
His cock danced full and proud in front of her face. She pressed her lips to the tip then sucked him in.
His hands fisted in her hair. She swirled her tongue around him and licked her way down his shaft.
“Gretchen.” If his physical form had left any uncertainty, the way he said her name would have assured her of how much he wanted her. As much as she longed to suck him until he came in her mouth, she wanted to make love with no clothing between them even more.
She licked back up his length to the head and drew him inside her mouth. He moaned, and she repeated the motion, his sounds of pleasure driving her to suck with more fervor.
On the edge of losing control, she released him. Kissing her way up his chest to his lips, she stood again. “Take off my clothes. I want your chest touching mine when we make love. I want our hearts to beat as one while you come inside me.”
His breath hitched, and his chest heaved as he unbuttoned her blouse. She kicked off her lower garments while he peeled away her shirt and bra. Discomfort flickered through her. Her soft, protruding body contrasted with his sleek hardness.
She lifted her gaze. The moment she met the desire and appreciation gleaming from his gray-green eyes, her insecurities evaporated.
Kyle carried her, rubbing his naked flesh with hers as he crossed the room to the bed. Laying her across the mattress, he knelt between her legs. He slid his hands from her shoulders to her thighs, the same path she’d taken while they were standing.
She shuddered beneath his touch and reached for a condom from the nightstand. She’d meant to take control but had become lost in her desire. “I’m ready for you now.”
“Already?” He pressed a finger inside her.
She moaned and twisted, showing him her heat and wetness.
He slipped his finger out and caressed the tops of her thighs, his thumbs entreating against the sensitive juncture, while he kissed his way down the center of her chest just as she had done to him.
“I’ll go mad if you don’t come inside me now.” She gasped, drowning in the combined sweetness and eroticism of his touch.
He fitted the condom on and leaned over her, the tip of his erection positioned at her entrance. His chest brushed hers. “Take me in then. My body’s all yours.”
She lifted her hips, wrapping herself around him and thrusting upward. “Say it again, the part about your body.”
“It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” He grasped her ass and angled her higher, driving deep.
She pressed her hands to his back to erase the space between them. “I want your chest so close we’re one,” she reminded him.
“Yes.” He urged her legs flat on the mattress and pushed his own legs straight between hers, his chest flush with hers. Framing her cheeks with his hands, he stilled. They both lay unmoving, except for the beat of his heart answered by the rhythm from her own chest wall. Lower, the pulse of his need drummed in time with hers.
She met his gaze and couldn’t deny it anymore. The unthinkable had happened. She’d fallen in love. But his life was taking off again, and she would weigh him down by attempting to be a part of it. She had to let him go. The scar over his heart wouldn’t get in the way of the career he deserved and wouldn’t stop other women from fighting for the chance to be with him. Perfect or not, he remained the same sought-after man.
But she was no longer the same. She’d fallen in love with a man whose image could only be tarnished by being seen with her.
***
Kyle lay still until his muscles trembled with the force of keeping them confined. Then he thrust with an urgency that welled from his core. His need overwhelmed him. He couldn’t see and couldn’t think. He only felt and wanted. Gretchen. As she convulsed around him, he dissolved into a great, shuddering climax, coming and coming until he was spent. She shuddered and clung to him, and he came again.
The sex was so amazing he didn’t care if he ever moved again, but he roused himself to lift his chest so he didn’t crush her.
She smiled up at him as if he’d handed her the greatest gift, instead of the other way around. “We better shower before we go back.”
“Forget the photo shoot. Let’s stay in bed for the rest of the day.” Hell, maybe the rest of the year. He could get her a good deal on a weekly grocery delivery.
“Go back,” she repeated, her smile still intact. “However, we definitely need to shower first. Together.”
Wanting her so soon should have been a physical impossibility, but dang if he didn’t sport impressive proof of the impossible. Gretchen was incredible. With her by his side, the perfect life he’d stopped believing in became a reality.
***
Kyle’s plans for the shower stretched longer than the hot water. Much to his disappointment, they dressed and headed to the studio. They were so late he wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone had given up on them and gone home. In fact, he considered the chance a best-case scenario. However, the morning crowd lingered, watching two young men pose under Melodie’s instruction.
She lowered the camera and waved him over, putting him in the spotlight again. He grasped for Gretchen’s hand, but she shifted out of reach as Zola rushed forward. “Kyle, meet Henry and Hector. I’ve just signed them as my newest clients. They’re gaga over the idea of you mentoring them.”
“Kyle Ramsey, what an honor.” A bare-chested guy tossed down a surfboa
rd he’d been posing with and jogged toward him.
“You’re a modeling legend,” the other man gushed, tripping over the surfboard in his path.
“With the ladies, at least.” The men nudged each other and laughed.
“What’s your secret?”
They both looked so similar, and the introductions had happened so fast Kyle wasn’t certain who was who. He muttered something he hoped sounded like a polite greeting rather than a brush-off. He didn’t want to be a legend with the ladies. He wanted Gretchen.
After a moment of inexplicable panic, he found her deep in conversation with the photographer and strode to join them.
“Kyle’s happy to take his shirt off, but he has a scar running down the middle of his chest. I know you have airbrush techniques to get rid of it, but he doesn’t want to fake its existence. At the same time, he’s not ready to make it a spectacle either.” She turned and winked at him.
At first, her blasé conversation over what he’d kept a closely guarded secret for the past year caught him off guard, but her nonchalance stopped everyone else from freaking out. His defect and how he incorporated it into his career were nothing more than obstacles to be worked around. His previous absolute physical perfection had been important to him alone.
Melodie considered him. “Let’s try some back shots looking over your shoulder.”
“How about a shirtless thinking man’s pose?” Gretchen suggested, gesturing how holding his arm straight up and down over his chest would cover the scar.
“Absolutely. We have a lot of possibilities we can work with. I love a professional challenge.” Melodie rubbed her hands together. “All right, Kyle, let’s get your chest oiled up so we can make this photo shoot a wrap. I already had to reschedule my afternoon appointment. I’m not breaking my date with my fiancé tonight.”
Kyle gulped and sought out Gretchen’s gaze as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, this time with an audience. The pity and the shock absent from her eyes was displayed by several others. But he also found the frank lust and open appreciation he’d come to expect from modeling and had thought he’d never see again.
