“It’s hard to admit, but my first photography show didn’t go well. The general consensus was that my portraits were…nice. Imagine my horror.”
“Nice is bad?”
“Nice is a bland word people use when they want to be polite. They weren’t wrong. I was trying too hard to fit in with my contemporaries. The photographs were technically sound, but they were a poor mimicry of what has already been done. What’s worse, they lacked heart.”
“Ah. And this leads to your secret…how?”
“The lackluster reception meant I had to experiment. Take some risks. I…I sold a self-portrait to a shop near Pioneer Square.”
He spread his hands out. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
She leaned in and whispered, “By society’s standards, it’s…indecent.”
A dozen images flashed through his mind, each more lascivious than the last. He was familiar with the kind of art that could be found in some of those shops. Art that wouldn’t be sold in the galleries of Capitol Hill. He had bought several interesting prints over the years for his personal collection. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Specifics, please.”
“I am nude.” Her chin lifted. “Are you shocked?”
“A little,” he admitted. “I had no idea you were interested in pushing boundaries in such a way.”
“Some of the finest art features the nude form. From sculpture to painting, the female form is adored, celebrated. Why shouldn’t photography do the same?”
“It’s a sound argument. How was the photograph received?”
“That leads me to the second part of the secret. I don’t know.” She twisted her hands together. “I fled town after I sold it. The shop proprietor said it wasn’t the usual stuff he showed and he had low expectations. I couldn’t bear to wait around and find out if he was right. That I’d failed. Again.”
His heart squeezed at the despair in her voice. His poor Genie wasn’t herself. She’d been rejected so much recently she’d lost all confidence in herself. “There’s no sense in jumping to conclusions without all the facts. I’ve been to several of the shops you mention, so you could describe your photograph to me. Perhaps I’ve already seen it.”
“I could,” she said slowly. “Or I could show you.”
His mouth went dry. “You have a copy?”
“Yes. And I’ll show you, for a small price.”
“Paid. Done.”
“Don’t you want to know what the price is before you agree?”
“Don’t care.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across her cheeks, giving him the first inkling that he had made a very bad decision. “There’s one more photograph I want to take. Remove your clothes.”
Chapter 9
“There is no longer any debate. You are officially the scoundrel.”
Tommy’s tone was dry, but Imogen noticed he didn’t hesitate to start undoing the buttons at his collar.
“Then you do not object?”
“Are we talking this side—” he waved a hand over his general front bits, “—or my back side?”
She tapped her chin and hummed as if in deep thought. “My self-portrait is from behind, so we can do the same for yours.”
“A sound plan. Truthfully, I’m not prepared to immortalize my cock on sepia paper.”
Laughter bubbled forth again, and a fluttering warmth danced through her veins. Only Tommy would be so candid with her. She adored their ease with one another, how they made each other laugh. She was used to either blank stares or censure when she made an off-hand joke, but not from Tommy. He either appreciated her jokes or made fun of her in return. It was refreshing.
On impulse, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Have I told you yet today that you’re the absolute sweetest?”
