PHOEBE
There’s nothing I can do about my face blooming. While I might be comfortable in underwear in front of a camera, this is different.
With my hair and make-up done professionally, it’s akin to wearing armor. By comparison, after scooping everything out of my suitcase and into a pile on the bed, I feel raw and exposed. And there’s no missing the hitch in Wyatt’s breathing as he takes in my belongings.
It doesn’t help that thanks to yesterday’s shoot being for a lingerie company, there is a lot of silk and lace on hand. There’s nothingsecretabout this range, with the designs featuring more cutouts than anything I’d buy for myself.
All I can say is thank goodness for breast petals or pasties, as some models call them, because without them, I’d have refused to pose. Without them, someone would have lost an eye.
It was a shame this nod to modesty made no difference to my parents’ attitude toward my chosen career. In my last phone call home, they’d even gone so far as saying they wanted nothing more to do with me until I stopped flaunting myself in public.
I’m hoping they’ll come around; in the meantime there are my fees to consider. My latest—albeit slightly dodgy—shoot would net me enough to extend the lease on my apartment in LA.
It’s also enough to upgrade my sewing machine to the one I’d wanted since my obsession with Project Runway began all those years ago. One of my first sewing projects will be to close up the holes in the samples the X-rated lingerie company said I could keep.
All that aside, I’m still wondering if the shoot was a good idea with Ralph on the loose. Talk about adding gasoline to the fire. While the agency had assured me they’d obscure my face in any ads, there were no guarantees.
Obscured like those in the tunnel leading to the villa?
I’ve barely finished giving thought to the comparison when Wyatt shoves his hand into a pouch on the inside of my suitcase. Sure enough, when he pulls his hand free, he’s got one of my nipple shields from yesterday’s shoot stuck to the end of his finger.
Oh, let me die right now.
There’s no missing the snort when he realizes what it is. After this, he doesn’t even attempt to hide his laughter, and I soon join him.
It’s been so long since I’ve laughed about anything, and especially something as silly as this. It only gets funnier when he flicks his hand to rid himself of the flower-shaped patch.
He does not know how sticky those things are if he thinks that’ll work. It’s something that has me grabbing his hand mid-flick and peeling the offending petal free. Experience tells me that other than folding it in half, it’ll stick to anything and everything for days.
Only after I’ve done so, and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans, do I glance sideways at Wyatt. The flash of arousal in his eyes has me unable to look away. The difference now is I don’t feel vulnerable, anything but.
It must be something that shows, with Wyatt immediately breaking eye contact. The moment, whatever it was, is gone, and my frustration is palpable. This leaves me struggling to get my emotions and body back under my control.
After clearing his throat, Wyatt continues searching the carcass of my suitcase. It’s not until he unzips the liner to access the inner workings of the telescopic handle that he gets lucky.
“Got you, you bastard!” Soon enough, he’s holding up two GPS trackers.
“The pink one’s mine, but I’m not sure about—”
I don’t bother saying anything else, when it’s obvious whom it belongs to. Blast it, all this time I’ve been sneaking around, keeping quiet about where I am, and where I’m going, and all for nothing.
I’m therefore surprised when Wyatt slides both trackers back into the lining of my suitcase.
“Aren’t you going to destroy it?” There’s nothing I can do to hide my glee at thoughts of smashing it with a hammer. It’s what I want to do, to take out my frustrations at Ralph tracking me so easily.
Wyatt shakes his head before speaking. “Are you kidding? And let that low-life know we’re onto him?”
If I could do so without looking like an idiot, I’d smack my forehead. The irony of catching Ralph using his own tracking device is perfect, and I want in on the action.
Next to me, Wyatt falls silent, although not for long. “Are you alright, Ms Jackson? You keep kicking the bedside cabinet and muttering.”
My head snaps up in response. “Sorry, I’m just thinking of what I’ll do to him when we catch him.”
“We?”
I nod emphatically. “He’s made the past six months hell for me. If you think I’m standing back, you are so wrong.”
Wyatt stares at me for longer than I’m comfortable with, his thoughts apparently taking him miles away.
