Angelina looked around the room. The men were smiling. The women were practically swooning. He could probably go home with any of them, regardless of their sex. And he wants me?
The one who can’t even remember what cutting loose and having fun feels like?
What would I be to him? An indulgence in curiosity?
A meaningless fling?
Would that be enough for me?
And then what? Could we adult and continue to work together?
“Did you get the shot you needed?” he asked the photographer.
“Sure did. Go change into the trunks with hearts on them and meet me in February.”
He nodded then looked in Angelina’s direction. She dropped her purse then scrambled to pick it up as he walked toward her. By the time she straightened he was right in front of her.
“You’re here,” he said, those blue eyes of his giving none of his feelings away.
She cleared her throat. “I am.”
Despite the others in the room, it was just the two of them . . . nothing and no one else mattered in that moment. A smile spread across his face. “You do like me.”
Her face warmed, but she smiled back. “I guess I do.”
“I’m glad.” He lifted her by her waist and swung her around. It was exhilarating. She laughed in surprised delight. When he came to a stop, he lowered her slowly, letting her slide down his bare chest and come to a rest against the evidence of his excitement. “I like you too.”
Apparently and with impressive size.
Wow.
She steadied herself by holding on to his muscular, bare arms. She had to remind herself that they weren’t alone. “Don’t let me interrupt your photo shoot.”
“What photo shoot?” he asked playfully.
She ran a hand up his chest and breathed in the clean, masculine scent of him. “I can’t be the reason animal shelters don’t get funded. Get your ass into that heart bathing suit.”
His eyes lit with challenge. “I will on one condition.”
Oh, Lord, is it wrong that my answer is already yes? “Which is?”
He bent and whispered into her ear, “Lose the jacket.”
When he raised his head, their eyes met, and she knew one yes would lead to more. Without breaking eye contact, she stepped back and placed her purse on a nearby chair then slid her jacket off and dropped it on top of her purse. The way his gaze roved over her one would have thought her modest, sleeveless dress was a whole lot more revealing.
“Beautiful,” he said in a guttural tone.
After licking her bottom lip, she said, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
A smile returned to his eyes. “Wait until you see my best part.”
Her eyes rounded at his innuendo.
Then he winked. “I have an adorable tattoo on my left butt cheek. What did you think I was referring to?”
Laughing, she shook her head. No way was she going to say.
His grin said she didn’t have to—he knew.
“A tattoo, I didn’t see one—”
It was his turn to look surprised.
She finished quickly. “In the movie. The one time I watched it.” She flushed all over as his grin widened.
“Concealer,” he said with laughter in his eyes. “It’s just a tiny thing. My tattoo, that is.”
She swallowed hard. “I knew what you were referring to. An ass tattoo, sounds like a drunken mistake.”
“Worse. It’s a small yellow rose in memory of my mother. Any mention of her used to make my father sad, so I remember thinking my ass cheek sounded like the perfect place to conceal it. Over the years, though, explaining to women why I chose to honor my deceased mother with a flower on my ass has been—entertaining to say the least.”
A laugh bubbled out of Angelina. “I can see how it would be. That’s sweet, though. I’m sure your mother understands.”
“I like to think she does. Hey, life is tough. You can either laugh or cry your way through it. I choose to laugh.”
Angelina searched his face. “You’re not at all the way I thought you were. You’re so—”
He interrupted. “Don’t say nice. Women fuck nice men once . . . three times tops. Say I’m mysterious. Intimidating. I’d rather you call me an asshole.”
She cocked her head to one side and trusted her instincts. “Who have you been with? I don’t think there’s anything sexier than a kind man.”
His face transformed with pleasure that sent warmth shooting through her. “I do have to finish the calendar. Can you wait for me?”
It would be a real chore, but . . . “I have to pick Whitney up at five, but I have until then.”
“Good.” He erased the question from her mind by cupping her face between his hands and giving her a sweetest kiss that had her toes curling in her high heels. When he raised his head, he was breathing as heavily as she was. “This may take a while.”
“That’s okay,” she whispered.
Only when he stepped away did she realize all eyes had been on the two of them. She smiled awkwardly and gave everyone a quick wave.
The receptionist appeared at her side again with a steaming cup of coffee. “I’m having a chair brought out for you. And I thought you might want this. You two look good together, but I still don’t like you. He was supposed to be mine.”
Angelina accepted the coffee and waited for the younger woman to give some sign that she was joking. When she didn’t, Angelina thanked her for the drink but ditched it as soon as she’d left the room. I’m not taking any chances.
The chair, though, was high backed and comfortable. According to the man who brought it to her, it was also light enough to move around the studio as Connor switched to other sets.
Connor was back almost before she’d settled into the chair. He scanned the room, then headed over to her as soon as he spotted her. Barefoot, bare-chested, in the tackiest Valentine’s Day swimming trunks Angelina had ever seen . . . he was still mouth wateringly gorgeous. “Don’t you dare laugh,” he growled near her ear.
Laugh? Or squirm my way to an orgasm just watching you? “It’s not that bad.”
“I have a problem.”
“You do?”
“Before I start, I need one more taste . . .” His mouth closed over hers again. This time, his tongue slipped between her lips and his hand cupped the back of her head. She opened her mouth wider for him, swirling her tongue around his, meeting his passion with her own. He raised his head. “Now I have a second problem, but I’m hoping the photographer doesn’t notice.”
Her eyes fell to his tented bathing suit and then rose to meet his gaze again. “I can’t help you with that.”
“Not here anyway,” he said, his sexy grin returning. He gave her a quick kiss then shook his head. “No more. I need to focus.”
The way he looked at her made her feel ten years younger and free. “Or just one last one.”
His nostrils flared and he bent in for another kiss, murmuring, “I like the way you think.”
At the photographer’s prompting Connor straightened and trotted away. Angelina raised a shaking hand to her lips, let out a sigh, and smiled. Holy shit.
Connor Sutton wasn’t the man she’d thought he was—he was a million, trillion times more irresistible. The man who turned while posing with a kitten to smile at her—well, that man might just break her heart—or renew her faith in men.