“Yes, this is what I’m talking about!” Jacob says, buzzing around us with excitement. “This is exactly the kind of chemistry you need with Willow.”
I let out a shaky breath, attempting to play off the tension as a laugh. But it’s hard to ignore the fact that there’s araging erection pressing into my stomach. “Jesus, I feel like a professional fluffer getting you ready for the big show.”
“Keep moving like that against me and you might just become the star of the show,” Connor growls in my ear, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cool breeze from the river.
“I’m ready now,” Willow announces sharply from behind us. Whiplashed, I jerk back from Connor as her tone slices through the haze. “That’s enoughtesting.”
Oh boy. I’m stumbling over my own feet trying to create some space between Connor and me, my face burning up.
He doesn’t seem thrilled either, jamming his hands in his pockets and grumbling under his breath with words that definitely wouldn’t fly in polite conversation.
“Great,” I shriek, sounding like I’ve taken a leaf out of Jacob’s book of hysteria. “Let’s resume the shoot.”
Connor coughs, and now he’s the one looking all embarrassed. My eyes widen as I catch a glimpse of the bulge outlined in his slacks. Surely Willow and Jacob have noticed too.
“Give me a minute,” Connor mutters. He turns toward the Hudson and pretends to text while my pulse stays at unhealthy levels.
He finally returns to Willow’s side, who gives him a suspicious glance before taking her place against him.
I can’t escape fast enough, ducking behind Jacob, my heart pounding. Christ, what just happened?
Jacob dives back into photographer mode, snapping away.
Clickclickclick.
The question lingers in my mind: does he still have a massive hard-on?
“No, no, no!” Hands fly up in exasperation. “You had it before. Mr. Quinn, be like you were with Lexi.”
Connor’s jaw is so tight I’m bracing myself to hear it crack. He shoots me a foul glare, like this is all my doing.
I watch him and Willow striking their perfect couple poses and feel about as comfortable as the time Deano texted saying Connor was the target.
I don’t know why it’s so unsettling seeing them mimic the exact poses I did with Connor just moments ago. That’s the whole point of the shoot, for god’s sake.
But internally, I’m throwing every curse I know, desperate for it to end so I can escape and clear my messed-up head. Maybe a freezing shower will help me forget how it felt with his hands on me. If I stand under that cold water long enough, maybe it’ll wash away this . . . thing . . . I definitely shouldn’t be feeling.
My prayers are answered. As if choreographed by the gods themselves, the skies open up with a torrential downpour just as Willow unleashes a piercing shriek. So much for a smooth photoshoot.
“It’s all good,” Jacob shouts above the din of raindrops. “Rain’s romantic. ThinkThe Notebook.”
Miraculously, Willow seems to buy into the idea. Her crew jumps to action, keeping her dry with umbrellas and wrapping her in a big coat.
Connor and I, though, we’re getting drenched. I hug myself, shivering from the cold.
Connor’s sharp eyes scan my drenched state with evident annoyance. “Where the hell is your coat?” he demands.
“I didn’t have time to grab it,” I call back defensively.
Before I can react, he’s striding over, peeling off his suit jacket and firmly wrapping it around my shoulders.
“Hold on, I can’t take your jacket!” I try to argue, but it’s weak.
The rain’s now a downpour, and I yelp as more cold water hits me.
“It’s not up for debate,” Connor says, his strong hands maintaining a firm grip on the jacket until I relent and slip my arms into the oversized sleeves.
“I feel like a kid playing dress-up,” I joke lamely.
