The photographer groaned. “Let’s move on to the Strip.”
“What?” both of them cried in unison.
“We’re going to take some shots on the Vegas Strip.”
“How many?” Rocco demanded.
The photographer was gritting his teeth. “As many as it takes.”
CHAPTER TEN
ROCCO
Rocco stood alongside Dario in front of the car. They were on the Strip with the Bellagio fountains in the background. He slipped his fingers under the collar of his racing suit and plucked it away from his damp skin.
“What the hell are we waiting for?”
Dario shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Rocco tapped the shoulder of a passing crew member. “Do you know what’s going on? Why are we waiting?”
“Nico’s changing in the trailer.”
He stared at Dario. “Why does she get to change?”
Shaking his head, Dario raised his shoulders. “Maybe after she’s done, then you’ll change.”
Rocco tapped the shoulder of another crew member. “How long’s she going to be in there? You don’t have another trailer for me to change?”
“I think the photographer wants you to stay in your racing suit. Originally, he’d planned to have you in a tailored suit, but I guess he changed his mind.”
Rocco stared at his cousin.
“Or had his mind changed by one Celeste Bellerose.”
Dario frowned. “Why Celeste?”
“Because she’s trying to get back at me for deciding last minute to do this photoshoot. So, she’s more than happy to see me sweat.”
As he said the word, it was as if he’d signaled his body to send a river of it down the middle of his back.
“God, I want out of this damn racing suit! If she’d stayed in hers, we could have been finished by now.”
Just then he heard the trailer door bang open and shut.
“It’s about time,” Rocco huffed, lifting himself from the car and turning around.
The photographer was coming this way. He was followed by Celeste. And Celeste was followed by her.
Now she looked. Really. Different.
She was wearing a dress like the one Marilyn Monroe wore in that famous photo where she stood over the subway grate. She turned, and he could see the dress was a halter, which left her entire upper back bare, exposing olive skin that glistened in the sun.
He stared at her collarbone. It was stunning, an elegant line rippling beneath the surface of her flesh, hinting at its presence as it emerged and then quickly disappeared behind the white silk only to resurface as it met up with her delicate shoulders.
They’d piled her hair on top of her head into some kind of messy bun. A few strands fell loose across her cheeks. Her neck was.
Bare.
