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When we made it to the location, I placed the wagon beside a rock. Kiera opened the garment bag, handing me a short-sleeved knit top and patterned shorts to wear. Then she dropped a pair of black sandals on the ground. “You can change over there.” She pointed to a group of boulders. “No one’s around, so you don’t need to worry. Plus we’re not doing an underwear shoot.”

I didn’t go to the boulders. Instead, I took off my clothes, sneakers, and socks, and tossed them into the wagon. Then I changed into the new stretchy shirt and shorts and slipped on the sandals. “How many underwear shoots have you done?”

I didn’t like the image of her with male models in nothing but underwear. A woman like her would arouse any man.

She turned her back to me as though she hadn’t seen me naked. “A few times . . .”

My question was geared toward her taking photos of men in underwear, but her answer incited a new image in my head.

“You’ve posed in underwear too?” I wanted to strangle whoever he was.

The doctor in me—the part that was supposed to care for and treat a person in need—vanished.

Kiera turned around. “It’s called boudoir photography. And yes, I posed for a friend.”

“Male or female?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Male.”

“Can I see the photos?”

“No.”

Her quick response knifed me in the gut. “Why not?”

“Because we need to resolve our ‘unfinished business’ first.”

My mood soured for the rest of the photo shoot.

Who got to see her in all those poses? What had she worn for the bastard?

CHAPTERTEN

KIERA

Why did I have to say that?

I didn’t want to discuss any “unfinished business.” That would mean bringing everything out in the open. Was I even ready for that?

Ugh.I didn’t like how my brain forgot how to function properly when he was around.

I should have concentrated on finishing the session quickly so we could both depart and return to our own lives. And yet my brain held the “unfinished business” in place, demanding to be addressed.

What was unfinished about our business? We’d slept together once and never saw each other again. I hadn’t seen him at any of our friends’ gatherings. He’d been avoiding me. But I suppose I hadn’t tried to reach out to him either. Especially not after the way things had ended.

What could I have said even if I had reached out?Hey, thanks for a fabulous night. Sorry, I took off without a word, but how’s life?Awkwardness flared like a swollen foot, no longer suitable for that designer shoe.

We had a spontaneous one-time thing that changed the dynamics between us. Even my body couldn’t stop itself from wanting him.

“How many photos are in your boudoir album?” He pursed his lips, crossed his arms, showing off the thick muscles and looking grumpy for no reason. “I want to see them.” This was no longer a question, but a firm statement from a man with a mission.

Why was he so curious about my boudoir photos? I’d done it in my last year of college as part of a personal project. Somewhere deep inside me, an ember of hope sparked, warming up everything around it. Could the scrunched face and curiosity be signs of jealousy?

But he had a girlfriend. She’d been all over him at the restaurant. She was probably another doctor, something like a prostate specialist, or whatever they were called. Don’t ask me why that specialty came into my head.

“Why?” I wasn’t his normal highly educational type. I went through four years of college, and that was enough.

“Why not?”