Grace Anne - By Kathi S. Barton Page 0,2

could probably get a job anywhere no matter what he did to fuck up this one. He was just too good-looking, and sexy as hell. She stood there until he rolled first the left, then the right sleeve up without taking his eyes from her face. She never blinked an eye when she unbelted her robe.

“Gracie, there’s a call for you. It’s that ditzy sister…the one…fuck, what’s her name? She wants to tell you something,” Becky said from across the room. “Jazzie, the author. That’s it.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back tonight. Unless it’s a matter of life or death.” Becky said that it wasn’t and that she could call Jazzie tonight.

She heard his breath catch when she tossed off the robe. She stood before him in her panties and bra, if that was what you could call a tiny scrap of lace over her nipples and less over her mound. And it was almost an exact match to his tie. She stepped toward him and he reached for her. She put her hand up to stop him.

“You aren’t in charge here, big boy. See the camera over there? That’s Arnold Malone holding it up. Arnold is going to shoot more pictures than I can count and you’re going to stand here like a good model and let him. Understand?”

“Model? I’m not—”

“Okay, so you’re something else. Whatever. Stand there and put your hands where he or I tells you and shut up. Get it?”

He glared, but nodded.

“Good. See the mock ups over there against the wall?”

Again, he nodded.

“That’s what I need to redo. The one where we’re supposed to be turned on by what I’m wearing.” She turned her back to him and waited until he put his hand on her belly just above the panties line and his other hand wrapped around her neck and pulled her back. The moment he touched her she knew this wasn’t going to work. Before she could pull away he tightened his arms around her.

“Easy, princess. This is supposed to be a sensual shot, remember? Relax.” His mouth brushed over the column of her neck before he nipped at her skin. “You taste like warm sunshine and smell like an apple pie.”

“You’re not supposed to do that,” she told him breathlessly. “You’re supposed to be…” She lost her train of thought when he ran his tongue along her spine. “We aren’t making a porn movie.”

“Hummm,” he hummed as he nipped her again. “Maybe we should be. A woman like you, soft and warm, should be making lots of money doing stuff like this.”

She tried to think. And some part of her mind registered that Arnold was saying something, though for the life of her she couldn’t understand what. When her model turned her in his arms, spread his hand over her lower back, and his little finger nudged under the elastic of the panties, she took his tie and yanked his mouth to hers.

The kiss should have been chaste. It should have been a brushing of mouths together. It should have meant nothing. But holy moly, this man could kiss. His tongue speared deep into her mouth and slid along her own. He was hot, heavenly, and oh so delicious. She wrapped the tie tighter in her hand and held on, no longer concerned with the shot, but being consumed by this man. When he lifted her leg and wrapped it over his hip, she moaned and pressed into him. His deep growl had her pussy flood with desire and need. When he broke off the kiss, she whimpered.

“We’re not alone. And I have to meet someone,” he told her as he bit her earlobe. “Tell me where I can find G. A. Waite and I can finish up with him and we can take up where we left off.”

“G. A?” She felt disorientated and dizzy. That’s when she started to hear the things around her. “I don’t…why?”

With another quick nip to her mouth he rocked into. “Because I want to fuck you. But I need to get this Waite person to sell me his fucking building first.”

She took a step back, then another. She was reaching for the robe that Becky was holding out for her when she realized who he was. “Michael Cunningham of Cunningham and Cunningham, I presume?”

“Yes.” He looked around the room before looking back at her. “And you would be?”

“Grace Anne Waite of G. A. Waite, as in Gracie Anne Designs. And I told you before, Mr. Cunningham,