Page 18 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

The man in front of me isn’t even trying to conceal what’s beneath the surface. He’s a shallow stream on a pleasant day. Cool, clear water over shining, colorful river rocks. Tiny minnows poking and prodding, dashing scales reflecting the sun.

Simple. Transparent. Beautiful.

Somehow, nothing like Travis.

“Oh,” he says, blinking just after I’ve brought my camera up and taken a photo of him. His smile widens as I check the product. “Wow, okay—should I be flattered?”

And, finally, I have the good sense to be embarrassed. “Shit, sorry. I’m, uh, I’m a photographer?—”

“—that much is clear,” he laughs.

“—so I’m supposed to capture theenergy,the people here tonight and you were, uh?—”

I don’t usually stumble over words like this.

Grasping at the curtains of my tough facade, I desperately draw them back over the bumbling mess I’ve just become. How is it that I was able to stand toe-to-toe with Travis Oakley himself, and yetthisman is making me a muttering mess?

“Nice to meet you.” His voice is warm, low, meant for only me. He doesn’t offer me his hand, but leans his body toward mine like a physical indication of interest. “I’m Ryan Hudson.”

I hesitate for only a moment. “Serena MacKenzie. Sorry for, uh, shoving my lens in your face.”

His smile grows, “Can I see it?”

“Oh.” I’m already shaking my head before he’s halfway through the question. “Oh,no. No, I’ll have to edit the photos and give them to?—”

I cut myself off, instantly feeling the attention of the man I’ll be giving these photos to tonight. Glancing over Ryan’s shoulder, I find Travis in conversation with an older woman, his gaze flitting to mine, unreadable as always.

Unreadable, but intense.

“Hey, uh, Ryan,” I let my gaze slide back to Ryan, that familiar urge to be reckless popping up again. His grin gets even wider when I say, “Would you mind if I used you?”

“I would like nothing more. What for?”

“Just to… gauge someone’s interest?”

“Ah.” If he’s disappointed to hear this, it doesn’t show. In fact, if anything, he looks thrilled to be included. “Another photographer?”

I glance again at Travis. “Not quite. I’ve had the sense that this person might be interested, but he hasn’t really… made a move.”

Ryan leans in, tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. I blink at him, momentarily stunned, and he whispers, “Well, let’s force his hand, shall we?”

“You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at a lot of things. Hopefully you’ll be tempted by how useful I am and give me your number.”

“Even when I’m gauging the interest of someone else?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Especiallythen.”

This time, when I glance up from Ryan, I realize how close I am to him. I can practically feel his heat through the light-blue dress shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. And then I register the moving shadow in my peripheral. It’s Travis from across the room, making his way to me.

“Ah, so he’s interested, huh?” Ryan asks, and I feel my cheeks heat.

“Looks like it,” I choke out. Ryan may have messed with my speech, but watching Travis make his way in my direction is messing with my autonomic functions. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he grins and takes a sip of champagne, and without thinking about the job I came here to do, I turn and hurry out of the ballroom.

Chapter 9