Dirty Shots Read online

  But he has your permission, she told herself. You gave it to him when you signed the contract.

  She sighed and headed onto the main road and flagged down a cab. She climbed in the back and gave the driver the address of the bar where she was meeting the men. Eric had offered to come and pick her up, but she hadn’t wanted him or his car anywhere near the university. If someone recognized him after the incident with Gavin Hollis and reported him, he could end up with battery charges. She thought only Gavin’s male pride had prevented him reporting the fight in the first place. She’d caught sight of Gavin from afar that morning, noting the boy’s swollen, bruised face. She ducked away, quickly, desperate not to be seen. The whole day she’d been trying not to be seen.

  Lost in thought, she’d barely noticed the drive through the city. Only the driver leaning back to ask for his fare made her realize he’d pulled up alongside the curb outside the bar. She paid him and climbed from the cab, the nerves returning. Through the big glass windows, she could see people standing in groups or sitting at tables, nursing expensive bottles of beer or large glasses of wine. It was past seven now, so most of the office workers had finished for the day and were rounding the working day off with a cold beverage or two. She wished she’d asked Eric to pick her up now. At least she wouldn’t have to walk into the bar alone.

  She pushed open the door, making way for a young couple, their arms around each other, as they were on their way out. Feeling awkward, she glanced around the bar, trying to spot Eric. For a moment, she thought he’d not arrived yet, but then her eyes locked with his dark stare. Her heart faltered, but a smile broke across his face. He was sitting at a small round table in the corner, already with a beer on the surface in front of him, and he started to get to his feet. Sitting opposite, and still with his back to her, was a blond head of jaw length waves, surfer messy, as if he’d just spent the day on the beach. His shoulders were broad beneath a white t-shirt. He noticed Eric getting to his feet and twisted in his chair. Aqua-green eyes met with hers, his mouth breaking into a smile to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. He had a slight cleft in his clean shaven chin, which gave him a boyish charm.

  Anya’s heart immediately stepped up a notch, her breath catching in her chest. There was no mistaking Logan Blanc.

  She flashed back a small smile as she approached and then turned her attention back to Eric. He’d made his way around the table to greet her.

  “Hey.” He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her full on the mouth. Was that some kind of claim he’d made on her, perhaps knowing the effect seeing Logan had had on her? Not that she minded, of course. She was pleased Eric had kissed her in public. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried you’d change your mind.”

  She flushed. “No, of course not. I told you I’d come.”

  “I got you a drink. Pinot Grigio, I hope that’s okay.”

  “Perfect, thank you.”

  Logan stood and held out his hand to her.

  Suddenly shy, she reached out and shook it. His palm was large, dwarfing hers, his grip warm and strong. A tingle went through her whole body as their skin made contact. She tried not to show her reaction.

  “Logan Blanc,” he introduced himself.

  “Anya Rhinne.”

  He smiled. “I know who you are.”

  She smiled back, her confidence returning. “And I know who you are.”

  “Well, since we all know who each other is,” said Eric, laughter behind his voice, “how about we sit down and enjoy our drinks?”

  There was a shuffle as they took their seats, Anya positioned between Eric and Logan. She was so aware of the presence of both men, and the position of their thighs beneath the table, where their forearms rested in proximity to hers.

  Both these men have seen my pussy.

  She picked up her wine and took a sip, trying to distract herself from the illicit thoughts running through her head.

  Logan sat back in his chair. “So, Eric filled me in on the ... problem the two of you are having about the exhibition.”

  She was embarrassed. She didn’t want to appear like a little girl, worried about what her parents might think, but she couldn’t help that was exactly how she felt. The heat in her already pink cheeks deepened. She hoped the men would assume the flush had been caused by the wine.

  “It’s a difficult situation,” she said. “I understand that. And I’m to blame for hiding who my parents are.”

  “The critics, Trent and Saara Bergman, right?” Logan asked, looking between her and Eric for confirmation.

  “That’s right.”

  “Your parents are art critics, though. Surely they’re able to view art objectively?”

  “Normally, I would say yes. But I’m their only daughter, and they’ve always been overprotective of me, and my father in particular is a strict Catholic. As I told Eric, they don’t even think I would have sex before marriage, never mind let someone photograph me—” She almost said, ‘with a plug in my ass,’ but then remembered where she was and switched to, “like that.”

  “But Anya,” said Eric, “you’re not having sex in those photographs. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to photograph you being penetrated by a cock—”

  Her pussy tightened, sending a pleasurable coiling at her core at his words.

  “But for the moment, we haven’t. And I wouldn’t do so without you first agreeing to it, of course.”

  She hated the possibility that he might find someone else if she didn’t agree to what he wanted. But she had to stay true to herself. Yes, she would regret losing him, would possibly regret it for the rest of her life, but she would regret doing something she was ashamed of even more.

  Logan sat forward, leaning across the table and closing the distance between them. “Anya, I’ve seen your photographs, and they’re art. They’re not pornographic, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She shook her head. “No, I know they’re not. I know Eric would only ever produce tasteful work.”

  “So what are you so worried about?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Letting my parents down. Making them embarrassed of me.”

  “Isn’t it better that you’re upfront with them? Even if Eric decides to only use the photographs that don’t show your face—which, by the way, I think would be a huge mistake, as the images with your face really captured what the whole series is about—they might still recognize you.”

  Anya barked a laugh. “Seriously? You have seen the photographs, right?”

  He shrugged and leaned back again, crossing one leg, so his ankle rested on his thigh. He picked up his beer and took a swig, before placing it back on the table. “No one knows a child better than their parent. It could be a particular mole they recognize, or a birthmark, or something as simple as your hands.”

  Damn it. He was right.

  She took a sip of her own drink, buying herself time, and assessed both men.

  Eric was all serious and intense dark good looks, Logan was the opposite. Charm and self-assurance radiated from him, as though he had a halo surrounding him that you could feel but not see. The pictures in the magazines had not done him justice. While they had captured his appearance, they hadn’t caught his easy smile and confident manner. He was the sort of man people naturally wanted to be around.

  She caught Eric watching her, one eyebrow raised. Her cheeks heated, and she quickly looked away. She didn’t want Eric to think she was checking out another man. It wasn’t like that. But Eric gave a knowing smile. She guessed he was used to Logan having this effect on women—and probably men, too—and he didn’t seem jealous. She hoped Eric understood that it was possible to be physically attracted to someone without actually wanting to do anything about it.

  “And what about your own career?” Logan continued, assessing her with those aqua blue eyes. “Eric tells me you’re studying fine art.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “It’s fairly common for models to be
come professional photographers themselves. If they’ve got a natural instinct about how to move in front of a camera, what’s going to translate well to the image, then they’re often able to create the same instinct on the other end of the camera as well.”

  “And you do have that instinct, Anya,” Eric added softly.

  “I’m hardly a traditional model!”

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s as much about who you are—your talent—as your height or waist measurement.”

  “The point I’m trying to make,” said Logan, “is that if you’re not honest with your parents now, how long are you planning on censoring yourself for them? What if you decide this is a path you want to follow in the long term? How long would you lie to them before they accidently find out, or else you decide to tell them the truth anyway?”

  She glanced down at her glass, staring into the pale liquid. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right about this, too. She’d never imagined herself working with erotic art before, but she couldn’t deny that she loved it. Naturally, having Eric involved was an added incentive, but the idea of being on the other side of the camera gave her a thrill, too. What better way to spend your life than photographing beautiful men and women in erotic situations? Just the thought got her squirming in her seat, her pulse picking up a notch, her breath quickening. Since she’d been involved with Eric’s project, she’d felt herself grow as a person. She’d always been so self-conscious before. Her confidence had skyrocketed. Yes, Eric certainly had something to do with that. After all, the incentive to act more confidently had been to get the job as his model. As people said, ‘fake it till you make it.’ And while she didn’t think she was anywhere near making it yet, she definitely felt more like a grown, confident, sexual woman than she had a week ago. Just imagine what a couple of years creating this kind of art could do.

  Aware of both men’s eyes on her, she inhaled through her nose, centering herself, and then looked up. “Do I have to make my decision now?”

  Eric and Logan exchanged a glance.

  Eric shook his head. “Not right now, but we do need your decision soon.”

  “We’ve only got a matter of days until the exhibition,” said Logan, “and every day counts as far as getting the word out.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  Eric leaned forward, his dark eyes earnest. “I don’t want this to stop our sessions, Anya. I’ve missed photographing you.”

  She gave a sad smile. “I’ve missed it, too. I don’t want to stop either, and I have to admit that Logan has made some valid points about my future career. I have a lot to think about.”

  “We could always do some shots just for fun,” he suggested.

  “Well, if you’re ever looking for that male counterpart,” said Logan, “you can count me in.”

  Her eyes darted to him, and then back to Eric. Was he serious?

  But the smug smirk she’d expected to see on Logan’s face didn’t exist. He was as nonchalant as if he’d just suggested they get take out together. How was Eric taking his suggestion? She’d expect any other man to leap across the table and slug Logan in the face for suggesting he be the erection in erotic photographs with her, but Eric just gave a slight nod.

  “Thanks, Logan. Obviously Anya would need to agree to that, too, but it would make a fantastic shoot.”

  She gulped and resisted the urge to fan herself. Was it getting hot in here? To hide her embarrassment and the fact she was more than slightly turned on, she picked up her glass and took a large gulp. The wine caught in her throat, and she coughed, spraying some of it out before she managed to get a hand over her mouth. She ended up half choking as she stood from the table, and pointed randomly at what she hoped was the ladies’ room. She tried to ignore the matching expressions of bemusement from both men as she staggered from the table.

  Anya managed to cough and choke her way into the bathroom where she stopped in front of the bank of sinks and tried to compose herself. She dropped her head, staring at the bowl of the sink. Had Logan seriously just offered to be her male model while Eric took photographs?

  She couldn’t stop the thrill of excitement racing through her. To have Logan Blanc’s naked body pressed against hers while Eric watched, to perhaps feel his fingers against her clit, maybe even his cock pressed against her back, his lips on her skin. She wanted to do it more than anything anyone had offered her before.

  But what about Eric? Was he really not jealous in any way about the introduction of another man into their shoots? She couldn’t even imagine how she’d feel if he asked her to photograph him with another woman ... actually, yes, she could. She’d be screaming and smashing up things, while sobbing her heart out, and possibly clawing the other woman’s face. Psycho, perhaps? But wasn’t that the sort of reaction most people would have? She couldn’t help but worry if Eric’s lack of reaction was simply because he didn’t care about her. The thing that had always worried her plagued her once again.

  Did Eric see her only as his model? Was she no more than a prop to him?

  She bit down on her emotions.

  After all, didn’t the idea of Logan’s hands and mouth against her body make her hot? Surely that gave her no right to judge Eric, then?

  Her teeth dug into her lower lip. God, why did this have to be so damn complicated?

  Anya washed her hands and patted a little cold water on her cheeks and forehead, careful not to ruin her makeup. She forced a calm smile onto her face, and practiced appearing cool and serene for a moment. Her heart had regained its normal pace, though being away from the company of Eric and Logan had helped that. As long as they didn’t start discussing erotic positions, she would be fine.

  She left the bathroom and walked back out into the bar. Logan and Eric were finishing up their drinks, chatting together and laughing easily, as if the last conversation had never happened.

  Eric turned to her as she approached. “Are you ready to go home yet, Anya?”

  Did he mean her home, or his? “Umm, I guess so.”

  His eyes were focused on her intently. “I’m not talking about your dorm.”

  She couldn’t help the grin that flashed on her face. “Oh, right. Then yes, I am.”

  Perhaps she shouldn’t be going home with him. After all, she had a lot of thinking to do about what she was going to tell her parents—if she was going to tell them at all—and she knew being with Eric would only cloud her judgment.

  You’ve already decided, haven’t you?

  Had she? Was she really going to tell her parents she’d been modeling for Eric Rutherford?

  Anya reached out and lifted her glass from the table, taking a final sip before leaving the rest. Eric placed a protective hand at the base of her spine as they walked from the bar, Logan leading the way. She was more than aware of all the curious and jealous glances she received as they made their way through the crowded bar. A few people whispered behind their hands and nodded in their direction. She doubted many would recognize Eric—he was more of a recluse—but plenty of people, especially women, knew exactly who Logan Blanc was.

  They walked out into the cool evening air. Anya pulled her coat tighter around her body.

  Logan stepped toward her and leaned in, placing a kiss against her cheek. The waft of his aftershave filled her senses, and the smoothness of his skin pressed, cheek to cheek. A fire raced though her at his contact, making every nerve ending zing. Did he linger a moment longer than necessary? She thought so, but perhaps she was imaging things.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Anya. You are everything Eric described and more.”

  She blushed, the heat that had been coursing through her seeming to settle in her cheeks and between her thighs. “You, too, Logan.”

  “I hope you’ll make the right decision. Even if things are hard with your parents initially, I’m sure things will calm down. And Eric and I are here to support you.”

  You are?

  “Thanks,” she said, unsure what else she cou
ld say.

  He turned to Eric and stuck out a hand. “Let me know as soon as you can. We’ve got plenty of things to organize, assuming this all goes ahead.”

  Anya tried not to feel pressured by his words, and failed.

  Eric shook the offered hand. “And I’ll keep in mind your modeling offer,” he said. And Anya did her best not to melt into a puddle and drain through the cracks of the sidewalk.

  Eric slipped his hand into hers, and they stood together as Logan gave them a final half-wave and sauntered off down the street.

  When he was out of view, Eric turned to her, pulled her against him, and kissed her full on the mouth. His arms wrapped around her lower back, his hands fitting into the cleft above her buttocks, to press her hips against him. The sensation caused the already building heat in her loins to pulsate through her, and she had to stifle a moan, remembering where she was. His tongue danced around her mouth, claiming her attention. Her hands found their way around his back, tracing the muscles running along either side of his spine beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

  Eric broke this kiss, but kept his proximity to her, so their mouths were only a whisper apart. “I’ve wanted to do that all evening,” he growled, his breath hot against her lips.

  She smiled and gave him a squeeze. “And I’ve wanted you to do it. Now you’d better get me back to your place before I drag you down an alley again.”

  He lowered his mouth even farther and kissed her neck, sending goose bumps shivering down her skin. “It’s crazy how just being near you makes me want you.”

  “Then stop talking and get me out of here.”

  She could sense his reluctance as he released his hands from her ass and stepped back, allowing space between them. He turned to face the road and quickly waved down a cab. She smiled. In New York, he was able to hail a cab within a minute. How often did that happen? Like Logan, Eric had an aura people couldn’t ignore.