Just in Time (Escape to New Zealand Book 8)

by James, Rosalind

  Her rescuer set his two lonely muffins down on the butcher-block counter as she dumped her own into the trash.

  “Thanks,” she said. “If you’ll just…”

  “Yeh,” he said with a smile that was—that was her guy. Her guy who had tackled her, in her bikini. All right, her guy had been blond, and this one was anything but—but he was her guy all the same.

  In your stupid daydream, girlfriend. He’s not your guy.

  “I’ll go back out there,” he said.

  “You here for the shoot?” she asked, then snapped her mouth shut. Why else would he be here?

  “Nah. Just an interested observer.” One dancing brown eye closed, and yes, her dream man was winking at her. “See ya.”

  He walked away. More of a lope, really. All fluid motion, like his joints were better-oiled than other people’s. An interested observer? Yeah, right.

  “Nice of you to show up,” Calvin said as her helper disappeared into the anteroom, leaving the studio charged with a few extra attraction molecules.

  Faith pulled two coffees out of the cardboard tray and took one to Calvin. He was in a temper, clearly. Well, he was nervous. He had a lot riding on this.

  “Want to hear the story of Mrs. Johnson’s toilet?” she asked him. “It’s all to do with her colitis, you see. She has to use extra paper.”

  He paused with his cup halfway to his lips. “No,” he enunciated. “I do not. I think you’re fired.”

  “I am not fired. You need me too much.” Her anxiety was settling now that she was in control again. She hated being late, but she was here now. It was all good. She went back and grabbed the folders out of her bag, then handed a couple to Calvin. Portfolios, with the photos attached, one folder for the men, and the other for the women. “I put them in order. Of who looked best to me, but you tell me, of course.” She handed him another list. Alphabetical. Six men, six women, here for an audition in front of the cameras, because you never knew which one would be right until you actually got them into the studio. “You tell me,” she repeated.

  “You think I haven’t gone through them?” he growled, fixing her with a pale-blue stare. “I’ve gone through them.”

  “Right. So give me a number, boss. One to six.”

  “Who was that one just now?” he asked absently, scanning the list, flipping through the portfolios, because he’d have looked at them, sure. But he wouldn’t have put them in order, not like she did. It always amazed her, how other people did things.

  “Which one?” She sat down opposite him on a stool with her own list, poised to take notes.

  “Mr. Muffin,” he said, and she had to choke back a laugh.

  “Oh.” Her poise faltered for a minute, because she didn’t know which one he was. She flipped through her own copy of the portfolios. “Uh…unless he’s a Master of Disguise, he’s not in here. A drop-in?”

  “I don’t allow drop-ins.”

  “No. Want me to tell him to go away?”

  “What are you, stupid? No, I don’t want you to tell him to go away. I want you to get his portfolio.”

  “Right. So…order?”

  “Him first. And then…” He flipped a little more, gave her the rundown. All he needed was the nudge, and she was a champion nudger.

  “One and one,” he told her as he finished up. “One boy and one girl at a time.”

  “Of course.” She took her folders to the door, opened it, and went on out there.

  He was there. Sitting beside his friend, totally relaxed, unlike most of the rest of them. His head back, laughing. Next to a pretty, petite blonde. Well, they were all pretty, petite blondes.

  Gretchen Galveston, she thought automatically. Number One on her girl-list. Her Fantasy Man had good taste.

  “Hi, everybody.” She cast a smile around the room. “Thanks for coming. We’re going to get through this just as quickly as we can. Any questions before we start?”

  She did her best to be respectful, because she’d hate to be the one auditioning, the one hoping for the callback that meant the auditioning could stop. The one depending on somebody else’s approval to say that she was acceptable. Calvin didn’t normally do this kind of project. He usually had his models pre-selected by the client’s art director, and Faith was glad, because she didn’t have a thick enough skin for auditions. Even being on the other end of them.

  “This isn’t porn, right?” one of the girls asked. A nervy, anxious look to her, too tightly wound. She wouldn’t be picked, Faith knew, and her heart went out a little bit to her.

  “No,” Faith said. “But if you’re uncomfortable being in some pretty skimpy underwear, or being in one of these guys’ laps…” She paused, got a little laughter out of that one. “Maybe a good time to re-think. Anybody else?”

  Nothing, and she looked at her folder again. “Gretchen?” she asked, and yes, the perky little blonde next to Fantasy Man bobbed right up. “And…” Faith looked at her muffin-rescuer. “I don’t have you on the list. Do you have a portfolio?”

  “Me?” He pointed to his broad chest, widened those spectacular eyes at her, the liquid whites setting off the most delicious dark chocolate centers, and laughed. “Nah. I’m just along for the ride, aren’t I. I’m the chaperone. Looking after Solomon here, making sure he doesn’t get excited.”

  “Dude,” the big man with him said, looking pained. “No.” But he smiled all the same.

  “Right,” Faith said. Not here for the shoot? She looked down at her list. “All right, then, Solomon. Come on back.”

  Calvin didn’t mess around when they got there. “I didn’t ask for him first.” He jerked his chin at Solomon.

  “Don’t mind him,” Faith told Solomon, who looked a bit taken aback. “He’s grumpy because his coffee was late.”

  Calvin snorted. “Excuse me? Who’s in charge here?”

  “You are,” she said equably. “Go on.”

  “Thank you. Where’s the other guy?” Calvin demanded.

  “Ah…” Solomon scratched his nose. “You saw Will,” he said with resignation.

  “Yeah. I want him.” Calvin cast a dismissive eye over Solomon. “You’re too big.”

  Solomon grinned. “Not what my—” He stopped, shot a look toward Faith and Gretchen, and clearly re-thought his words. “Never mind. I’m done, then?”

  “Yeah,” Calvin said. “I want your friend. Send him on back here.”

  Solomon shrugged. “Good enough.”

  “Have a seat,” Faith told the young woman hastily. “Gretchen, right? We’ll be right with you.”

  “I’m not worried,” the girl said. “It’s exciting.” She sat down and actually bounced a little. Perky was the word, all right. “When you get my guy, I’m ready.”

  Faith gave Solomon an apologetic look as she led the way to the doorway again. “Thanks for coming. Calvin can be a little abrupt.”

  “No problem. My wife will be relieved, tell you the truth. I’m destined for better things.” He laughed, a rumbling sound, and Faith found herself laughing back. “Yo, bro,” he called out, entering the anteroom again. “They want you. Story of my life.” He heaved a gusty sigh from somewhere in the depths of his six-foot-five frame. “You’re going to have to find your own way back to your place, because I’m not hanging around.”

  “What?” Mr. Muffin looked startled, off-balance for the first time.

  “If you have a few minutes,” Faith said, trying her best for brisk, “Calvin’s interested in taking a look at you.”

  Some of the other guys looked disgruntled, and no wonder.

  “Dunno.” He sounded bemused. “I’m not a model.”

  “Would you come back here and talk to him anyway? Just for a minute,” she coaxed. She could see why Calvin wanted him, because he was perfect. Absolutely perfect. For Calvin.

  Model Behavior

  Will followed her into the studio again. So far, this wasn’t going anything like he’d expected. He’d just been along for the ride.

&n
bsp; She was bloody pretty, the coffee girl. He’d been enjoying taking in the scenery in the outer room, but Solomon had a point about the…curvy parts, he decided as he walked along behind her. Her waist was small, and her hips weren’t, and that long-sleeved T-shirt was working pretty hard, too. Her jeans were nothing but practical, her hair was brown, wet, and tied into some sort of deliberately messed-up knot with the ends sticking out, and if she were wearing any lipstick on that luscious pink mouth, he’d just say it looked natural. But she had a tiny mole just above the outer edge of her perfectly carved upper lip that any man would long to kiss, right before he got down to business on that mouth. Her eyes were blue, wide-set, and clear, and her smile was something special.

  He got a bit distracted by the sight of Gretchen, whom he’d met in the outer room, doing a few unselfconscious stretches. Leaning back with her arms overhead, hands clasped, so her tiny T-shirt rode up over some very nice flat little belly. Yeh, there was heaps to look at in Vegas.

  “Hi!” she said with her sunny smile.

  “Hi.” He gave her a smile in return, then turned to the older fella, sitting and frowning over a folder in his lap.

  “Morning,” Will said. “What can I do for you?”

  The older man looked up, still frowning. “Who are you?”

  Will had to laugh. Well, that was dead rude. “I’m the Designated Driver, you could say. Will…Will Taniwha.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t given his real name. Well, because he wasn’t sure what this was about. “Who’re you?”

  “Calvin Quisp. Photographer. Looking for a model, which hopefully you know.”

  “I’m not looking for a modeling job, actually,” Will said. “I’m just here on holiday for a few weeks.”

  “It’ll only take a few weeks. Six days’ work. If I want you.”

  “Well, if you don’t want me, there’s no point, is there?” Will was getting a bit narky now.

  If the other man noticed the narkiness, he didn’t show it. “Take off your shirt,” he said, “and we’ll talk.”

  “You know,” Will said, “when I try saying that to somebody, it almost never works.”

  The coffee girl was trying not to laugh, he could tell. Those blue eyes were sparkling at him, the pink mouth curving, even though she was fighting it hard. “He wants to see your chest,” she told Will. “That’s all.”

  “And I don’t have all day,” Calvin said. “So take it off, or leave. Shoes, too.”

  What the hell. Will stripped his still-damp T-shirt off in one quick motion and tossed it onto a chair, then kicked off his jandals. “There you go. Those are the goods.”

  Calvin stood up. “Come on. Over here.” He pointed Will to a spot against the bare wall, painted a dull black like the rest of the studio space, went to a camera mounted on a stand, and looked through the lens.

  “Get those softboxes in there,” he told the coffee girl, and she moved to oblige, carrying a couple of rectangular lights on stands and positioning them in some way that must have made sense to the photographer, because he grunted at her, turned back to the camera, and took a couple of snaps.

  “Fold your arms across your chest,” he told Will, “tattooed arm on top.” Will did it, then moved some more at the other man’s direction, feeling like a bit of a fool in just his jeans, his bare feet cold against the engineered flooring.

  “You,” the photographer told the blonde, who’d been sitting and watching. “Got a bra on under there?”

  “Yes,” she said, and giggled.

  “Then take off your shirt, too,” he said, “and your shoes, and go stand over there with him. Your back against his front.”

  She did it, and this was getting interesting at last, because she was tiny, pale-skinned and big-eyed, and her breasts were a pair of pretty little cupcakes in the light-blue bra.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said, and snuggled up. She was wearing jeans too, low-slung, tight ones that hugged her equally tight little bottom, which she was pressing into the tops of his thighs.

  “Hold her,” Calvin told him. “One arm across her chest, just above the bra. The other hand right down at the top of her jeans, like you’re about to reach inside both places. Like a second later, your hands would be there.” He was behind the camera, shooting as he spoke. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. Spread your fingers a little on that lower one. Show us how big that hand is. You’re just about to touch her real good.”

  Gretchen had jumped a bit, though, and Will pulled his hands hastily off her. “Sorry. I’ll…”

  “It’s just that your hands were cold. Don’t worry. I’m good.” He couldn’t see her expression, but she didn’t sound the least bit affected. “Go on,” she urged him. “Do it right. I need this job.” Which was about the biggest turn-off he’d ever heard.

  “Sorry.” He rubbed his hands together briskly to warm them before taking hold of her again. “This isn’t the real thing, right?” he asked the photographer. “Because I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

  “This is just the audition,” the coffee girl said. She said it soothingly, like he was nervous, and he scowled at her a little.

  “Oh, that’s good.” Calvin was sounding excited behind his camera. “Bad Boy all the way. Hold that thought. And keep reaching down there. Look down her bra now. Just that mad. Just that bad. Hold that. And you…Gertrude.”

  “Gretchen,” the coffee girl reminded him.

  “Whatever. No smile. You’re so turned on, and just a little bit scared, maybe. He’s got you, and you don’t know what he’s going to do with you. Put an arm up over your head, reach around for his neck, behind you. You’re pulling him into you, because you can’t help it. Arch that back, because his hands feel so good. Yeah, that’s it. That’s beautiful.”

  Knowing that he was about to dive down a woman’s jeans would have been good. It would have been brilliant, if Will had had the least bit of confidence that she was enjoying it. As it was, it was about as sexy as a rugby scrum.

  “That’s got to be enough,” he said after Calvin had snapped away some more. “And you’re not using it unless I say so.”

  Calvin stepped away from the camera, popped out the memory card, and took it over to the computer. “I couldn’t anyway. Don’t have the lighting right. Sit down, shut up, and hang on.”

  Will’s mouth opened a little. Bloody hell, Americans were rude. He should walk out the door. Why wasn’t he walking out the door?

  Because he was curious. He shouldn’t care what this arrogant bastard thought, but his pride was on the line now. He wanted to see if he’d passed.

  “Yeah…yeah,” Calvin was muttering, scrolling through image after image. Will glanced over his shoulder. He looked like himself, maybe a bit narky, but then, he had been. But Gretchen did look sexy. Her mouth was soft, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, her back arching under his hands. She looked like a woman who was two-thirds of the way there already. Like she’d been a whole lot more into it than she actually had been.

  “Pretty good,” Calvin said. “All right. You two wait outside while I get through the rest of them, and we’ll see.”

  “I don’t think so,” Will said. Enough was enough. “Talk to me. Tell me what the job is, because I know bugger all about it. How much I’d be…putting my hands on somebody, if I did it. Let alone anything else, because I’m not doing anything else.” He could see why Lelei hadn’t wanted Solomon to get the job. There wasn’t a single one of Will’s own sisters or cousins who’d have let her man sign up for this, no matter how many babies had been on the way.

  The girl with the coffee spoke up. Soothing him again. “Mostly standing up. Well, not entirely. But mostly. Mainly wearing just your pants, or with your shirt open, because men look better wearing a few clothes, for some odd reason. Whereas women look better without them. Why is that?” She grinned at him, and he had to laugh, because she was right, at least as far as he was concerned. And because he liked her smile.

  “Because women are prettier, m
aybe?” he suggested. “All smooth and soft? And you know what they say. The circle is Nature’s perfect shape.”

  She choked back a laugh, then went on hastily at another glare from Calvin. “Ahem. There’ll be some shots lying down on a bed, too, of course, tangled up in her, with your hand in her hair. Like that. You won’t be kissing her, because kissing doesn’t photograph well. You’ll be looking dark and dominant and broody, that’s all. Here.” She reached for a clipboard, came and stood next to him, flipped a page. “This is a partial shot list, just sketched out, but it should give you an idea.”

  Her hair smelled good. Like flowers. She was leaning into him a little, holding out the clipboard. Wearing all her clothes, and not pretending anything at all. Somehow, it was so much sexier than holding a half-naked Gretchen, and he was getting distracted. Because she was so…curvy. So soft and pretty and warm there beside him.

  He made himself focus, ran a finger down the list, and came to a screaming stop near the bottom. “Bondage Shots? Shower shots? Spanking shots? Hang on.”

  “It’s not real,” she said. “It’s all just suggestion. Very tasteful. You won’t even be in all of them, especially the bondage shots. It’s all about the girl, for those. Some shots of you holding her, at most, with her hands behind her back. You know the kind of thing. And as for the shower shots, you can wear a…a Speedo or something. And I won’t peek.” She was laughing at him again, he could tell. Or trying not to. Like he was funny. Clearly, standing close to him wasn’t doing nearly as much to her as it was to him.

  “So what’s this all about?” he asked.

  Calvin sighed. “Time’s a-wasting,” he said pointedly.

  “And I can leave right now. Or you—I’m sorry,” Will told the assistant-girl. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Faith,” she said.

  Calvin sighed again. “Faith Goodwin. Which I still say is a perfect name for our girl. Innocence sullied. Oh, I love it. I want it.”

  “Well, you can’t have it. You are not using my name. We’ve had this discussion. Forget it.” She turned back to Will and said, “We’re doing sexy pictures for a new website, a subscription-based thing. The site won’t just be about the pictures, it’s going to have stories, too, because it’s also a writing contest. That’s the big idea. That’s the new angle.”