“Excuse me?” the photographer bites out. “This is part of the contract.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I’m still going to do it. Besides, who is King to decide what I can and cannot do? I am not his to own or command.
“Everything is fine,” I say with a tight smile. “Let’s continue.”
“Sounds good,” the photographer says pointedly at King before raising his camera back up to his face. I really should have bothered to learn his name. Oh well, after today, I won’t ever see him again. “So after, a bunch of us are going out for drinks. I’d love it if you come with me.”
It takes a minute for my brain to register he’s talking to me. I’m not self-centered, but I do know I’m pretty. My mom is a retired model, but even before she retired, she had a long career. My dad is nothing to sneeze at either, and they passed those genes on to me. But still. I’ve never been asked out on a date while undressing in front of a roomful of people, where one of the occupants is a past lover.
It’s kind of a lot for a girl to take in.
One could even argue it’s too much.
“Oh, I have an early time at the track tomorrow morning,” I sort of lie. I do have to be at the track, but not that early. “But thank you.”
“I’ll get your number before you leave,” he says to me. “And we can hookup sometime.”
“Uhh…”
“Now, the bra,” he cuts in, suddenly all back to business.
I hear another low growl from the back of the room and narrow my eyes in his direction. He does not get to decide my life. I straighten my shoulders and arch my back, letting my breasts lift up, and I slowly raise my arms behind me to grab the small hook that is holding the two sides of the band together. I see King watching me over everyone else. His eyes hold a warning not to do it. But then again, so do mine. He doesn’t run my show. So I pop the hook, and the material slingshots around me. I let my hands fall to hold the material to my breasts. Slowly, oh so slowly, I slide one strap down, and then the other. The shutter on the camera snaps all over the place.
I close my eyes and let the cups fall.
And then I’m no longer in the room at all. King rushed through all of the bodies and tackled me, dipping low so his shoulder was at my belly, and then I was up, up, up—and he was carrying me from the room. The ridiculous heels fell off my feet along the way.
“King!” I snap when the door to the dressing room closes behind us.
“Do not fucking start with me, Adrienne,” he growls. “I warned you.”
“Oh yeah?” I snap back. “And who are you to decide?” I regret the harsh tone of my words but not the intent behind them immediately when he stalks toward me. I step back. And then I do it again like a scared little rabbit until I have nowhere to go with my back up against the wall, and I feel the sharp bursts of his breath on my face.
“Is it my body you want in your bed at night?” he snarls as he flattens his palm to my belly and slides his hand down the front of my very tiny shorts. His fingers find my center instantly, and as I watch his eyes flare, I know exactly what secret he has found there. “Is it my dick that fills your cunt in your dreams?”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper. My voice sounds shaky to my own ears and is coming out in breathy pants. He toys with me, teasing my flesh to a heightened state. How can one person be so angry and yet so turned on at the same time? I hate him as much as I want him.
“Yes it fucking well is,” he bites out as he abruptly pulls his hand away. “No get your shit or leave it. I don’t fucking care, but we’re out of here in five.”
“King—” I start. I don’t know whether I want to beg him to finish what he started or tell him to fuck off. When he turns to give me the full weight of his stare, I bite my lip, and the words freeze on my tongue. I’ve never seen fury like this. Not on a man like him. And I can’t help but come to the realization that I made a mistake. I played with fire; now I can’t be surprised when it burns me.
I nod once. He tosses my discarded jacket toward me, and I watch it sail through the air, wondering absently if it’s going to hit me, but I never should have doubted the absolute accuracy in everything King does, because it lands in a puddle at my feet.
And then he’s gone.
I try to pull in a deep breath, but my lungs aren’t working like they should, and it shudders back out of my body. I feel like I could cry. Hot tears sting my sinuses, but I will them back. I can’t cry. Not now, not in front of King.Not ever.
I quickly change out of the outfit from the photoshoot and into my jeggings and tank top. I slide my feet into my Chucks and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail with my fingers. I carefully hang up the outfit. It’s not mine to keep. I sling my leather hobo bag over my shoulder. My leather jacket is in my hand by the time the door swings back open again.
“Time’s up.”
And isn’t that just ironic? I almost feel as if my time really is up. Like I’m walking toward the hangman, ready to have my sentence met out. How ridiculous is that?
I just nod and follow him out. The set is being quickly broken down. The whole atmosphere is completely different now. I’m not sure what happened while I was changing, but I have my suspicions that King laid down his version of the law.
“Thank you, everyone,” I say softly before following King out to the car.
He beeps the locks and holds my door open for me, and I find it funny that in some ways he is the consummate gentleman, and in others, he’s not even close, not at all. I climb into the seat and fold my jacket and bag into my lap, and I sit quietly while he rounds the car and climbs into the driver seat.
