Page 47

VICTOR

“ Y ou’re a goddamn goddess, Barbara,” I said as I captured three more photographs.

The sleek black dress fit her like a second skin, and it shimmered with an almost ethereal quality under the hot glare of my studio lights.

It was a masterpiece—but next to her, it was an afterthought.

“That dress belongs in a couture house.” I lowered the camera to admire her directly. “But it doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

Barbara struck another pose, her movements fluid and instinctual—the ease of a professional who knew her body and the camera’s eye. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Victor,” she teased, though the pleased smile on her lips told a different story.

I raised the camera again, framing her silhouette as she turned to offer a view of the dress’s daringly low neckline. “It’s not flattery if it’s true,” I countered. “You were born for this—commanding every eye in the room, captivating every lens.”

She laughed softly, the sound like glass chimes in a warm breeze. “You make it sound so grand. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not just a dress.” I lowered the camera and walked toward her. “It’s your creation. Your talent. Your future.” I stopped short of her but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. “I want to send these photos to a few fashion houses, see if anything comes of it.”

Her eyes widened, blue as a summer sky, a flicker of hope breaking through. “You’re serious?”

“They’d be fools to say no,” I said, tracing a finger along the delicate fabric of the dress. “You told me you dreamed of being a designer. Let’s make it happen, sweet angel.”

For a moment, she was silent. I could see the wheels turning, the familiar tug-of-war between risk and duty. Then, slowly, her lips parted. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”

“No, my darling. It’s you.” I stepped back and picked up the camera again. “Now, let’s get a few more shots.”

She resumed her poses, each more daring and confident than the last. And I saw it—right there in the soft glow of my studio lights—Barbara wasn’t just modeling. She was stepping into something bigger, something entirely her own.

After several more clicks of the shutter, I lowered the camera and slowly walked toward her. “Now these…” I said, my voice hushed to a near whisper. “These are for my eyes only.”

Barbara held her breath, and for a moment, I thought she might protest. But then her shoulders softened. She knew what I meant. Knew what I wanted. And she was willing—no, eager—to give it to me.

I stepped behind her and eased down the hidden zipper. With a whisper of silk, the dress slid down her body and pooled at her feet. She stood before me in nothing but her skin—a goddess unrobed, her beauty almost too much to take in at once.

“Don’t move,” I commanded, raising the camera to my eye.

The first flash captured her in stark relief against the white backdrop, every line and curve of her body etched in light.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cover herself.

But she wouldn’t meet the camera’s eye either.

A beautiful blush bloomed across her cheeks and down her chest—a painter’s dream of soft color against pale skin.

“Beautiful,” I murmured.

Each click of the shutter was a brushstroke on canvas, each flash a burst of inspiration.

I circled her, capturing her from every angle—the elegant slope of her shoulders, the soft arc of her hip, the effortless sensuality in the way she shifted her weight and tousled her hair.

Her nude form was art in its purest sense, and I was merely documenting what already existed in perfect harmony.

“I remember the last time I had you here in my studio—so prim and proper in that pale yellow dress.”

“How could I forget?” she replied, her voice distant and dreamy. “You said you just wanted to take some ‘innocent’ pictures.”

I laughed, the sound rougher than I intended. “Innocent, yes. You were a saint in my lair, where you had no business looking so pure. It took everything I had not to ravish you right then and there.”

“But you didn’t,” she noted, her eyes finally meeting mine with a challenge.

“No,” I admitted. “Because you weren’t mine yet.”

I lifted the camera one last time. The flash burst against her skin like moonlight on water.

“And now?” she asked, her voice tinged with the same blush that colored her cheeks. “What’s stopping you now?”

I let the question hang between us, the air electric, crackling with anticipation. Then, deliberately, I set the camera down.

Two strides. That’s all it took to close the distance.

“Nothing.”

Waves crashed and receded on the dark beach below.

The crisp night air was thick with salt.

I lounged on a deck chair, a loose Hawaiian shirt draped casually over my shoulders with the first few buttons undone, and my linen trousers cuffed at the ankles.

I didn’t dress down often, but it seemed appropriate given the setting—and the woman who made me feel more at home than any place ever had.

I toyed with a glass of bourbon, its contents swirling lazily in the dim moonlight that filtered through the cloud canopy. My fingers itched for a cigarette.

A door slid open, drawing my attention, and I looked up to see Barbara step onto the deck. She wore a pair of cuffed jeans and one of my dress shirts, the oversized garment hanging loosely on her slender frame. Her hair was a tousled halo, and she moved with an easy, unhurried grace.

“You know,” she said, pausing for effect, hands running over her hips, “this is the first time I’ve ever worn pants.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised but also amused. “Is that so?” I set my bourbon down on a nearby table. “They suit you.”

She shrugged, though the way she shifted under my gaze told me she was pleased. “Edith gave them to me a while back, but they’ve been sitting in the box ever since. She loves wearing pants, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.”

“You can pull off anything,” I said, letting my eyes trace the lines of her body. The denim hugged her curves in all the right places, giving her an air of casual confidence that was effortlessly sexy. “You look incredible.”

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that was both modest and playfully coy. “It’s different, that’s all. I’m used to dresses and skirts. And I can hear Mother chiding me that they aren’t ladylike.” She rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes a change is good,” I said, beckoning her with a slow curl of my fingers.

She hesitated for a moment, then walked over and slid onto the lounge chair with me, her body nestling against mine. The intoxicating scent of her perfume mixed with the ocean air and a lingering trace of our earlier passion.

I draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I like seeing this side of you,” I murmured into her ear. “More relaxed, more…real.”

“I’ve never seen you dressed casually before,” she remarked, her fingers playing with the loose fabric of my shirt. “It’s always a tailored suit or…nothing at all.”

She turned her gaze toward the restless ocean, opening her mouth and then closing it again as if weighing whether to speak. She decided against it. A blush spread across her cheeks, warm and luminous in the soft glow of the deck lights.

I smiled, enjoying the rare moment of vulnerability from her. “What’s on your mind, sweet angel?”

She bit her lip—soft, uncertain. “It’s silly,” she admitted after a long pause.

“Now you have to tell me.”

Barbara took a deep breath, as if summoning the courage to dive into deep waters. “Do you remember when I first came to work for you? As your secretary?”

“Of course. You were terrified of me,” I teased, though we both knew it wasn’t true.

“I most certainly was not.” She shot me a look but softened almost immediately. “I’ll admit I was intimidated,” she corrected. “But also…fascinated.” She searched my face for something—permission, perhaps—for what she was about to reveal. “After my second day, I had a dream about you.”

My lips curved into a sly smile. “Oh?”

“In the dream,” she continued hesitantly, “you were at a beach house like this one. You wore a loose shirt and trousers—just like now. You looked…different. Softer.”

I slid a hand around her waist, letting my fingers skim the fabric of my shirt she wore, tracing slow, deliberate patterns.

“Dreaming about your employer? Tsk, tsk. And here I thought you were the picture of propriety.” My voice was low, teasing, an edge of possession creeping in.

“Tell me, darling—what exactly happened in this dream?”

She paused, savoring the moment. “You went to kiss me,” she said, her tone almost wistful. “But just as your lips touched mine, I woke up. A blasted thunderstorm ruined it.”

I chuckled softly, the sound blending with the distant roar of the surf. “A thwarted kiss. How tragic.”

“Not so tragic. The next day,” she continued, “you took me for a drive and brought me out here for the first time. So I got a real kiss from you instead. And that was a much better deal.”

I smiled. “Prophetic.”

“And now,” she added, her voice growing softer, “it’s like I’m living that dream. Except this time, the kiss isn’t interrupted.”

Her eyes held mine—uncertain, searching, hopeful. The vulnerability in them cut through me, more intimate than anything we’d ever shared.

Slowly, I tilted her chin up with my fingers, brushing my thumb along the curve of her jaw. A shiver coursed through her. The anticipation in her eyes sent a thrill through my veins—the kind that came just before closing a high-stakes deal, before claiming something meant to be mine.

I kissed her—tenderly at first, a lingering brush of lips. She sighed against me, melting into my touch. That sigh undid me. I deepened the kiss, our mouths fitting together like they had always been meant to. The world faded to nothing but her warmth, her taste, her surrender.

When we finally pulled away, we were both breathless. I kept my hands on her waist, unwilling to let her go.