“Gwen, amouré, iz everything bon?”
Startled, Gwenyth’s head shot up. She’d forgotten about Etienne for a moment. “Oui. Yes.”
Etienne didn’t look as though he believed her. He searched her reddened face, wondering what it was that had upset her so. “You are certain, chere?”
Gwenyth threw the wadded up piece of paper into her duffel bag and zipped it shut. She would turn the note over to the Tampa Police Department when she returned home. For now, there was no more time to waste on angering herself over the actions of the sniveling senator. “I’m certain,” she assured Etienne with a smile. Changing the subject she gestured toward the speedo he was wearing. “Let’s take a few shots of you in this one, then I want to see you in the wetsuit. Okay?”
Etienne grinned. “D’accord.” He winked at Gwenyth, a gesture that could send most women into a heart-stopping swoon. “Let us begin, ma chere.”
* * * * *
“D’accord. Let us begin, ma chere.” Sam mimicked Etienne like a mad parrot as he glowered at the too good-looking Frenchman from the shadows of the terrace. Certain that he’d lose his breakfast if he had to listen to the model utter any more suave French words to his woman, he turned sharply on his heel and stomped off. “She wants to see him in a damn wetsuit,” he muttered to no one in particular as he threw open the doors to the terrace and headed for the elevators. “Like oh sure, he would look better in a wetsuit than I would.”
That Gwenyth was only doing her job played a minor role in his jealous musings. Uppermost in Sam’s mind was the fact that Gwen was being nicer to Frenchy than she was to him. Of course, Sam morosely considered, Etienne was also behaving a lot more accommodating than he had been these past few days.
Sam growled a goodbye to Julie, a woman of extremely refined tastes seeing as how she obviously had the hots for him and not Etienne, then stalked in between the closing elevator doors and pounded on the button for the lobby floor. All Sam wanted to do was go back to the hotel and release a little penned up energy. Maybe a good swim. Or a jog around the grounds. What was the difference so long as it took his mind off of one infuriating female?
Perhaps, Sam reflected as he alighted from the elevator and strode toward the exit of Vantry Sportswear, perhaps it was just possible that he’d gone a wee bit overboard these past few days. Perhaps he’d taken the need to assuage his male ego to profoundly asinine heights. But what in the hell did Gwen expect? He hadn’t had sex since the night he got here!
Sam still couldn’t believe it. Oh Gwen had said she wanted time to figure out how she felt about him, to understand what it was she was wanting—he rolled his eyes—but he certainly hadn’t taken her promise to cut off all intimate relations as a serious one. Never in a million years had he believed she’d have the fortitude to see it through. After all, he wouldn’t have. It depressed him like all hell to think that she could so easily withstand all of his best attempts at seduction, but withstand them she had.
And Sam had tried—really tried. He had even quoted some dumb-ass line from Shakespeare over dinner one night because he’d read somewhere that chicks dig that shit. Apparently Gwenyth wasn’t like the rest of her kind. She was unnatural, Gwenyth. Or so it made him feel better to believe.
So in retaliation, Sam had taken to acting like a spoiled little boy. A Prima Don, Gwenyth had called him. Harrumph, as Willy would say. What exactly did the woman expect? Was he to fawn over her every word, acting as though it was gospel from heaven, as Etienne did? Sam balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth as he considered the possibility that she just might get off on that.
Well too damn bad. Sam wasn’t changing and he damn sure wasn’t giving up Gwen to any candy-ass Frenchman. The way he saw it, if Etienne knew what was best for him and his pretty face, he would take his caviar and his beret and hop on the first plane headed back to Paris. Otherwise, Sam just might be obliged to put him on the plane his self. And that sight wouldn’t be pretty—he snorted incredulously—no sir, not pretty at all. Twenty minutes later, Sam dove into the hotel’s Olympic sized pool and swam a full length before resurfacing. And in that brief thirty second span in time, he also arrived at a decision.
Legally, he might not be able to get away with kidnapping Cupcake and secreting her away to the nearest dungeon without going to jail. And jail wouldn’t do at all. So if Sam couldn’t lock his woman away, he was going to do the next best thing. Damn it anyway, he was going to marry hernow.
Chapter 11
“Work it, baby. Work it! Oh my—goodness gracious—you’ve got it!”
Sam glowered over his shoulder at Big Ed, Gwenyth’s blatantly homosexual assistant photographer and the man all his foolish tantrums and demands had finally resigned him to being photographed by for the remainder of the shoot. That Big Ed was five-foot-five and a hundred pounds soaking wet gave his name an ironic ring to it. When Sam had mentioned that fact to Gwenyth after being introduced to the guy yesterday, she had casually informed him of the fact that Big Ed hadn’t earned his nickname from his height. Sam resolutely refused to consider just how he had earned that title.
Big Ed clapped his hands together gleefully, inspiration having obviously struck. “Time to oil him down, boys!”
Sam grimaced. He had always thought of himself as a liberated, tolerant kind of guy. And he was. To a point. When it was someone else. But the thought of three men feeling him up and down as they slathered oil all over his body was sure enough the point at which his tolerance became tried. “Is the oil really necessary?”
Big Ed looked at Sam as if he’d sprouted hooves and a tail. “Of course. Have you posed for a poolside scene yet where you haven’t had that delectable bod of yours oiled down?”
Sam winced. Sweet Jesus, how had he ever gotten himself into this mess? A frown marred his features as he remembered the answer to his own question. Gwen, that’s how. His goddamned future wife!
That he wouldn’t be in this situation—faced with the prospect of being rubbed down by three overly zealous gay men—if he’d been less a Prima Donna to Gwen, took firm root in his mind. Sam should never have made up all those ridiculous attempts at stalling the progress of the shoot. His only thought had been to irritate her, and boy was he paying for it now. She adamantly refused to photograph him further.
What exactly were his options? The way it looked, there were but two. He could walk away here and now, refusing to finish out his contract. Sam shook his head mentally. Yeah, and then he could get sued in the process and end up paying the Vantrys millions of his hard won dollars. No, that simply wouldn’t do at all.
Unfortunately, the only other option was to grin and bear it. That was about as appealing as paying the Vantrys off, but at least he wouldn’t look like a coward in the process. Sam sighed. No matter which way he turned it, the only real option was to put up with Big Ed and his henchmen.
Besides, Sam didn’t want to embarrass the guy or make him feel bad. After all, Sam had let those three fine as hell looking girls rub him down in front of Gwenyth two days ago. He’d even made a big production out of it for his future wife’s benefit, telling the college girls how good their hands felt on him, asking them to take their time. He’d winked and grinned, even patted one bikini-clad girl sporting a g-string on her delectably rounded bottom.
So what would he look like now if he refused to allow himself to get oiled up for Big Ed’s shoot? And unlike those three college girls that had somehow gotten into Vantry Sportswear and volunteered for the duty, Sam realized that Big Ed’s team would at least be professional about it.
Sam sighed as he grimly considered the fact that he was good and stuck. “Oh alright,” he grunted, “just hurry up about it.”
Big Ed clapped his hands together excitedly as he gestured for his assistants to begin. “You heard him, boys!” He clicked his fingers together in a series of three fast snaps. “Time to slather him up!”
Sam shook his head. This entire situation was trying to his nerves, but what was he to do? Hell, at least he’d talked Big Ed out of his nipple ring idea.
