The camera flashed again.
“Stunning!” Demetaro practically screamed. “Storm, do something with your face. No, not that. Laila, help him.”
Maintaining my model-esque facial expressions and poses, I guided Storm into poses. I wasn’t shy about it, either. I took his chin in one hand and helped him find the light. “Use your angles to your advantage. You have a great jawline. Don’t let the camera miss it. Keep your chin up and angle forward to create more shadows. That’s it.” I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled one back while nudging the other forward. “Straight lines are boring. Think of your body as a roadmap for the eyes. Use your shoulders and your hips to create a more interesting story. Like this.”
I put my hip out, rested an elbow on his shoulder, and brought my fingers playfully up into his hair. I crossed my ankles to create a sleek line below to keep the interest up top and on us. Storm reacted seemingly on impulse by wrapping an arm behind my waist and turning his face toward me.
Our eyes locked.
He might have been an arrogant bastard, but he had the most dazzling green eyes I’d ever seen. He stared right into my soul, unblinking, eyes slightly squinted in a smile, as the cameras flashed all around us. I felt like I was gazing into a green, never-ending meadow. There was warmth there that surprised me.
“Don’t fall in love with me,” Storm teased.
I pulled my fingers out of his hair, spun him around, and stood back to back with him. He folded his arms while I bent at the knees, turned my face to the camera, and dropped a bit, as if using his back as a wall to slide down.
Demetaro sounded like he was having an orgasm behind the camera. “Yes! Just like that! Magnificent, Miss Hunt! Magnificent! Storm, don’t move an inch. Keep doing what you’re doing, baby. You’re killing it!”
Even though I might have looked like I knew what I was doing on the outside, I was trembling on the inside. I’d never been this nervous on a shoot before. Something about Storm being so close and so intent on watching me made me flustered.
About twenty minutes in, Storm seemed to find his footing and his confidence. He grabbed hold of me and pulled me in close. Our noses almost touched. His bare skin against mine was hot and he smelled incredible. I breathed him in while he slid two fingers under my bra strap and lifted. My eyes widened in surprise.
“Don’t worry,” he purred. “I’ve got you. But let’s give them something to talk about, yeah?”
My stomach fluttered. Demetaro cried out with pleasure. Blinding camera flashes went off. Storm slid his fingers out from under the strap, across my collarbone, to the base of my neck. More camera flashes. More shouts of victory from Demetaro. More flutters in my stomach.
Storm chuckled deep and low in his chest. His hand slid to my hip.
I pressed both hands to his chest.
“We got it!” Demetaro leapt out from behind the camera, his thick glasses making his eyes look bigger than they were beneath his mane of bleached-white hair. “Let’s break for wardrobe change and come back in thirty.”
I broke free of Storm, but he was hot on my heels as we went to change. On our way we passed a table of food, and I grabbed two finger sandwiches to hold me over.
Storm appeared over my right shoulder. “Join me for some real food after this.”
This guy just didn’t give up.
“I don’t date people I work with, or for.”
“Neither do I.” Storm shrugged. “But since when can’t two people of the opposite sex go for a bite to eat together?”
Smiling, I turned to face him. “I know who you are, Storm Thornton. And I know your intentions. I worked hard to get here and I’m not going to throw it all away by having my picture slapped on magazine covers, sipping martinis with New York’s most eligible bachelor. I’m sorry, but it just isn’t going to happen. I have standards.”
He shook his hand out like I’d just burned him. “Ouch.”
“Keep your head in the game. We still have hours of this left.”
CHAPTER 9
STORM
Anita was on the phone behind the reception desk when I walked into the office on Friday afternoon. Her eyes lit up and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Where have you been? It’s good to see you.”
“Busy week. But it’s good to see you too. Where’s Garrett?”
“The board room. They’re all there, waiting for you.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Anita.”
She returned to her call and I strode through the office, intent on my destination. Garrett had called me this morning, informing me that we had all the still shots from my shoot with Laila earlier this week. The board wanted to review them together to make sure we were all still on the same page before we moved forward with the campaign. After working with Laila, I felt confident the board would like the pictures. She’d given me expert pointers and handled herself like a true professional, even when I tried to stir the pot a bit.
I couldn’t help myself. It was in my nature.
Even though Laila had shot me down yet again—mercilessly, I might add—I didn’t regret flirting with her. There’d been a moment on set where she looked into my eyes that I realized I hadn’t yet seen the real her. Sure, she’d given me glimpses, but the only Laila I’d spoken with and smiled at was the one she wanted the world to see.
I wondered who she was when nobody was looking.
Did she spend her evenings alone trying on all her new clothes and loving her reflection? Did she hate what she saw in the mirror? That would be true blasphemy because she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. I could have gotten lost in those hazel eyes of hers yesterday. And if she’d let me, I’d have taken my time counting each and every freckle on her nose and cheeks.
Did she read books, and if so, what kinds? Was she a sucker for romance, or did she prefer books rich with adventure and action?
Was she a movie buff?
Where did she see herself after her modeling career? What was her family like? Where did she come from? What was her favorite meal? Did she like to go dancing? Did she love or hate the fame?
Who was she?
All those questions rattled around in my mind as I entered the board room.
Garrett stood with his back to the room. His hands were clasped behind his back and his silver Rolex glinted on his wrist, competing with the shine of his wedding band. He stared out at the city while the other members shifted in their seats and said hello.
“Did I make you wait long?” I pulled my chair out and fell into it.
The members all shook their heads.
Garrett turned from the window. “You’re surprisingly punctual actually.”
A manila envelope sat on the table beside a projector that blasted a blank image on the back wall. Presumably, Demetaro’s team had sent digital and physical copies of the photos over for us to review. Our marketing team had also likely gotten their hands on the digital copies much earlier and began making their mock-ups for the campaign. In today’s meeting, we’d be reviewing the first pitch mock-ups and deciding which direction we wanted to go.
I clapped my hands and rubbed them together. “Are we going to take a look at these pictures, or are you all going to leave me waiting in suspense?”