Mateo gets ushered behind a curtain to get ready while I’m given my “beachy” outfit, if you can call it that. The top is basically two pasties connected by glittery strings, and the bottom is the equivalent of expensive dental floss. The wickedness of my smile shocks me as I assess myself in the mirror. My smoky eyes, my dark lips, the bronzer shimmering on my cheeks.
Oh, Luka. You messed with me one time too many.
I’m shown to the set by the assistant. We’re shooting on a flight of marble stairs that I suppose are meant to look like the ones you’d see in a lavish hotel lobby. Mateo and I will be photographed in a variety of positions, as if we’re rushing back to our luxury suite from the beach because we can’t keep our hands off each other any longer.
“The company’s goal is to market themselves to couples looking for a high-end vacation experience that caters to their every need,” Cyrus explains. “I’m sure that much is obvious.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
He goes on, “So all I need you two to do here is act like you don’t have a care in the world beyond your own pleasure. Think you can project that?”
“Piece of cake,” I say, already grinning wickedly.
Just then, Mateo comes out in a very tiny pair of black swimming briefs—basically a Speedo. His body has been oiled, which shows off every mound and curve of muscle.
He stands by me and gets a recap of what Cyrus just told me, nodding along. We wait a few more minutes for the lighting tech to finish setting up the lamps to perfectly highlight Mateo and me. Once Cyrus approves the lights, he claps his hands a few times.
“Okay, let’s get started. The first layout will be black and white. Mateo, we really need your physique to pop in this first shot. Brooklyn, if you could drape yourself over his shoulder, maybe a palm on his chest, look up at him, and yes—that’s great.”
This is barely work, as far as I’m concerned. The hardest part is not cracking a smile at the way Mateo keeps gazing down at me with his signature “sultry” face. In fact, I have to bite my lip and lower my eyelids to keep a serious expression—but Cyrus likes my look so much that he makes me do it again and again as he snaps away with the camera.
Next, Cyrus has Mateo push me up against the wall, directing me to reach down the back of Mat’s briefs like I’m trying to get a handful of his ass. As the photog moves to get a better angle, Mateo looks down at me with hunger in his eyes. It’s so potent, I almost think it’s real.
It’s the same way Luka looked at me when we made love the other night.
My stomach flips.
“Good, good. Now if you could slide your hand up the side of her breast and slip a finger under her swimsuit strap—great, perfect. You’ve been lying on the beach all day watching each other tan, and now you’re desperate to get back to your room and rip those suits off. Show me.”
Mateo smiles and lifts a brow as he cups the side of my breast. I lean into him and look toward the camera, my lips parted seductively. My pelvis crushes against Mateo’s and I feel the bulge of his cock press against me. I have a flicker of guilt. It’s a quick flash and then it’s gone.
Did Luka feel guilty while he was superglued to Monica’s tits? Didn’t look like it to me.
I put my hand on Mateo’s thigh, squeezing as I thrust my breast harder into his palm. He gives me a shocked look but quickly recovers as Cyrus kneels in front of us for a new angle. We’re arranged multiple ways, each time bringing our body parts intimately closer. I can’t help feeling relieved that I’m doing this with Mateo, not some random other model. But more than that, I wish it were my husband that I was wrapping myself around.
In fact, pretending I’m doing this with Luka is the only thing that gets me through the rest of the shoot.
Luka
Chapter 19
Things had been going so well between us.
And then, inevitably, I fucked it all up.
As I sit in my office reviewing a fat stack of portfolio shots for models seeking to audition with Danica Rose, I can’t help replaying that ugly scene on Saturday with Brooklyn and Monica in my head, over and over again. It’s making it impossible for me to concentrate.
With a sigh, I toss the photos aside, get up from my desk, and make myself a coffee. Then I stride over to the window to look out at the city view.
I’ll never forget the look in Brooklyn’s eyes as she stood there on the sidewalk staring me down. She was so pissed, I barely saw her for the rest of the weekend. It’s probably for the best, though. The worst thing I could do is start falling for my fake wife. Especially considering the fact that I’ll never be able to put my faith in her again.
She did a shady thing by making that deal with Elite Image. Planning to completely sell me out, along with my whole family and the company we’ve worked so hard to build, and for what? Fame. Fortune. A guarantee that she’d score the Maxilene job.
Brooklyn Moss is only out for herself.
Admittedly, I’ve had no indication of further backstabbing beyond Monica texting me that picture of Brooklyn’s Elite contract back in Paris…but that doesn’t mean my wife isn’t sneaking around behind my back finding other ways to betray my trust.
Just like my father always said, the people who see you weak and vulnerable are the ones who have the power to hurt you. And that makes Brooklyn very, very dangerous.
