When I'd shot to my heart's content and was readyto put the camera down, I realized Alexander was leaning against the study doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an amused expression.
My heart jumped. I walked toward him somewhat shyly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have been taking pictures everywhere. It's just... I wanted to capture all this. It's so beautiful here, like something from a fairy tale."
"This is your home," he approached, his voice low and gentle. "Shoot whatever you want."
Hearing him say "your home" sent warmth flooding through my chest.
"But," he stopped in front of me, mischief flickering in his eyes, "that's it?"
I looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "What about me? Don't you want to photograph me?"
I froze, then couldn't help laughing. This usually imposing Pakhan was actually asking me to take his picture. The contrast was both adorable and amusing.
I laughed. "Then you have to cooperate."
I raised the camera toward him. Alexander moved to the window, sunlight streaming through the blinds, casting dappled shadows across his face. He leaned casually against the frame, one hand in his pocket, the pose relaxed yet elegant.
Click.
When I lowered the camera to check the shot, I suddenly froze.
Through the camera's LCD screen, I stared at the photo I'd just taken—sunlight and shadow playing across his face, his profile perfect and mysterious, that mature masculine charm and allure...
This angle, this lighting, this expression...
Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind—five years ago that night, in the bar's dim lighting, a stranger leaning against the bar, the same profile, the same light and shadow effect, the same heart-stopping appeal.
"What's wrong?" Alexander noticed my reaction and came over.
I showed him the photo on the camera screen: "You know, fiveyears ago in that bar, when I first noticed you, this was exactly the angle."
He looked at the photo, his gaze growing intense: "You remember that clearly?"
"How could I forget?" I said softly. "That was the first time I saw you. You were leaning against the bar with whiskey in your hand, looking so... mysterious and dangerous."
"Dangerous?" He raised an eyebrow, slowly moving closer.
"Yeah." I nodded. "Just like now."
He was right in front of me now, his hand gently stroking my cheek. "Do you know what I was thinking that night?"
"What?"
"I was thinking, 'why does this beautiful photographer keep stealing glances at me?'" His thumb brushed my lips. "I was thinking how I could walk over and talk to her."
"You were so confident then," I recalled. "You came right over and asked if I was photographing you."
"Because your staring was so obvious," he chuckled softly. "Just like now, always stealing looks at me through that lens."
My face flushed. "I wasn't staring..."
"Really?" His voice dropped lower. "Then why were you just staring at my lips?"
Being called out so directly made me more flustered, but I couldn't look away. His lips were right there, perfectly shaped, impossibly sexy...
"Anna..." He whispered my name, his voice pure temptation.
