Chapter 6
Bailey
Silas was perfect for this—right up until he wasn’t.
The moment I dropped the robe he was professional, talking to me through the lens of his camera instead of directly.
The nervous flutters dissipated the longer we went on, reminding me that while he’s the photographer I’ve hired for my boudoir shoot, he’s also a friend.
A funny one, who, for as long as I’ve known him, has made me laugh.
Now, though, with Silas on his knees beside me, shirtless and touching my ass, it morphs into something else. Something I shouldn’t be doing.
Something we shouldn’t be doing.
Because never in a million years would I have expected this to lead to Silas stroking the skin just below the line of my lacy panties.
His gaze is on the loose thread, and he’s pinching it, holding it up so he can cut it. The heel of his hand rests on my butt cheek, and I watch as he carefully maneuvers the scissors out of my view.
Snip.
There’s a slide, his finger gently smoothing the cut end, the whisper of his touch against skin that’s never been touched by him before, and I break out in goose bumps. My breath catches.
Then he glances up at me.
Behind his glasses I see wide eyes. Eyes that aren’t professional or friendly, but filled with heat.
I hear Silas swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his lips part. “Got it.” The words are barely a whisper.
“Okay,” I whisper back. My brain is screaming at me to say something sarcastic, to break this tension before it breaks me, but for once in my life, I have nothing.
We’re suspended in this moment until the camera, which Silas had placed on the bed, whirs, going into sleep mode. Silas blinks and drops his hand.
“Right—” He clears his throat and then glances out the window. “The lighting is getting pretty good. Let’s wrap this up and do the outside shoots.”
Silas swaps the scissors for his camera and puts some space between us. The part of me that’s always crushed on Silas heaves a sigh of frustration and sulks back into the deep dark corner of me.
We continue the shoot. This pose is one taking advantage of the standing mirror I brought, and I perch on the corner of the bed, Silas taking pictures of me from behind, while still catching my reflection in the mirror, showing the powder-blue thong and my breasts barely covered by the lace.
In the mirror, I can see him too. The way his jaw tightens. The way he shifts his weight.
I’m not the only one affected here, and there’s something satisfying about that.
He tells me to put my hand on my chest, and as I let my palm glide over the top of one breast, my fingernails drag up my sternum, and I tilt my head back as I cup my own throat.
I got mani-pedis yesterday in preparation, so my nails feel strong and the white french tips feel like an indulgence. The Brazilian wax was a few days ago to ensure the itchiness and irritation would go away before the big day.
I felt like a bride being polished and buffed to perfection.
Then Silas tells me to look at him through the mirror.
I stare at him. He works quickly, snapping away. “That’s—that’s perfect,” he finally says.
Then we’re down to the last shot—the outdoor one. I change again into a black lace teddy and a sheer robe, but layer Silas’s pink banana bathrobe over it.
When I come out, Silas is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed while he looks out the sliding glass door.
“Ready?” he asks. “I want to be fast once we get out there.”
“My toes appreciate that.” Silas also swept off all the snow from his porch and the railing.
It’s got a beautiful dark stain on the wood, and I’m thankful he doesn’t have a metal railing.
My nervous sweat might make me stick to the railing if it was, like that kid who licked the flagpole in the Christmas movie.
I’m nervous because, technically, there are other houses around. The backyard isn’t fenced in, and I can’t see anyone, but hypothetically someone could come walking around the corner of the house.
Silas and I had debated about what to wear.
My idea board had pictures of winter outdoor sessions, most of them with a cozy vibe, using faux-fur blankets, cheeky flannel onesies, or red velvet bodysuits.
But we’d agreed that since this was the money shot, I should wear whatever made me most comfortable, and I really like the sheer robe.
Butterflies swirl in my stomach as I linger by the window. “Are you ready?” I ask.
“Yes, whenever you are.”
I slide the door open and Silas follows me out and to the left.
My heels softly tap on the wood. I take off the robe, tossing it on the railing to the side, and look at the mountain.
I rest my hip against the railing. In front of me, Silas should be able to see the sky, the snowy woods, and the mountain with ski runs cutting white lines through it.
The camera shutter clicks away behind me.
And I realize—I’m not nervous anymore. I’m in control.
“Look back at me,” Silas says.
I turn my head, just barely looking at him through the curtain of my hair. He’s full of movement, trying to find the best angle to get the shot.
And then Silas lets out a groan. I’m not entirely sure he knows he did it—either that or he’s pretending it didn’t happen.
I think of the way he immediately said that my ass was his favorite part. The teddy is cut high on my hips, the lace in the back a thong.
“Can you . . .” Silas starts, and then he clears his throat. “Do you want to lean forward a little?”
The rasp in his voice encourages me, and I step back just enough to rest my elbows on the railing.
“Wow,” Silas says.
The woods behind the house are thick with that cold quiet. The trees are pines, fluffy with snow. Over the tops of the trees is the mountain, and if I squint really hard, I can see the chairlift moving and tiny skiers on the slopes.
Feeling brave, I cock a hip and lean further, arching my back. I almost miss Silas’s sharp inhale over the clicking of the shutter, over the pounding of my own heart. I’ve never done anything this wild, never felt like such a siren before.
I move one foot just an inch or two further from the other.
Click. Click-click-click.
And then there’s silence, and when I straighten and turn back, Silas is kneeling, knees spread wide. His hair’s a mess, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and he looks wrecked, like maybe I’ve ruined him.
A shiver runs through me, goose bumps breaking out across my skin.
“Are we done?” I ask, ready to step away from this porch and closer to him, closer to the warmth.
Silas tilts his head, and to my dismay, he smooths down his hair, stands up, and turns back into the room. He’s tucking away his thoughts, putting everything back into the professional box. “Yeah, that’s probably enough.”
“Yeah,” I echo. I throw the bathrobe back on and follow him into the room. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll reach for me, but the box is closed, and he doesn’t look at me.
“Go change,” he tells me as he puts his camera away. “I’ll pack up.”
I want to snap back something sarcastic—Yes, sir or Thanks for the permission—but the dismissal stings too much for me to manage humor right now.
So I just go.
In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my hair not as orderly as it was before, but I feel sexy as hell. I can’t imagine that Silas took a bad photo of me. I feel like I’ve seen myself differently, which is exactly what I wanted.
My outfits for the day were laid out on the counter and there’s one left—jeans, a blouse, and a more comfortable set of bra and panties—but I don’t want to give up this lingerie. I’m not ready for this feeling to go away.
So I slide my jeans on over the teddy and slip the black, flowing blouse over my head, thankful that the lace doesn’t show.
My cheeks are hot and my lipstick mostly bitten off, despite the mid-shoot applications. I wash my face and reapply, keeping it lighter this time.
The photo shoot was everything I wanted it to be. But it also feels like something has changed. Silas was on the job, true, but there was a shift between us. When did it start? When we were laughing? When he took his shirt off? When he cupped my ass in his hand?
I shake my head, trying to knock the thoughts out. I’ve never seen a sliver of interest from Silas in all the years I’ve known him. If there was something there, I would have noticed it. Right?
But that groan. The way he looked at me on the porch. The way his hand lingered on my thigh.
Maybe I haven’t been paying attention. Or maybe I’m seeing what I want to see.
I shake my head again, trying to knock the thoughts out.
Get it together, Bailey. You’re reading into things. He groaned once. So what? Probably indigestion. That hand on your thigh? Professional positioning. The way he looked at you? Photographer checking the light.
Stop making this into something it’s not.
I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and open the door.
When I exit the bathroom, he’s still packing his gear away.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Nah, I just have the stands to do, and they come down quick. I did start the transfer to back up the photos from the SD card.” His chin tips toward a laptop on the desk.
“Yeah?” My stomach flutters in excitement. “When will I get to see them?”
“Depends,” he says, scratching his chin. “I want to have a chance to edit them.” He diverts his attention back to collapsing one of the stands that held a light. “I took a lot of photos,” he says, and it sounds like an admission of guilt.
“Good,” I say. “It’s okay if you don’t get to them for a few days. I know you’ve got other obligations.”
He nods, then lifts his chin toward the closed door down the hall. “Wanna let Echo out?”
“Oh! Sure,” I say, and whirl around, eager to meet Silas’s sweet cat.
The moment I open the door Echo meows at me and runs up. She talks while she twines herself around my ankles, and I bend down and pet her back. Her fur is such a beautiful smoky gray and it’s so damn soft, the same as Raven’s.
A few minutes later, Silas comes to the doorway, and I look up from where I’ve sat on the floor, Echo curled up in my lap.
He’s finally put his shirt back on. A wave of disappointment rolls over me.
I want to trace those words on his chest, I want to count the feathers on that owl, follow the trail of hair down . . .
“What are you doing for dinner?”
I blink up at Silas, having to process the words for a moment. Enough lusting over someone I can’t have. “Hadn’t really thought about it,” I say, which is a lie. I’ve been thinking about avoiding my family and hiding in my motel room with trashy TV all evening.
Not my worst Valentine’s Day ever.
But if Silas is offering . . .
“Want to go to Kinnara? With me, I mean.”
Silas looks down at me, hopeful. Is he asking me on a date? I hesitate. “My family doesn’t know I’m in town. And if we were seen out together . . .”
“Right, it would definitely get around town. What if I picked up a pizza and brought it back here?”
“Parthenope’s Pies?” I ask. I haven’t had one of their pizzas in ages. They have a thick, chewy crust that I love.
He grins at me. “Yeah. What do you want?”
I’m smiling. So is he.
Parthenope’s is known for their creative use of pizza toppings, so I tell Silas to surprise me and he takes off. I lavish Echo with attention until she gets tired of me and wanders off.
I put music on, a favorite playlist, and then try to get comfortable on Silas’s couch in a pose that says “hello, I know you’ve seen me almost naked but we can totally hang out as friends.”
I hear Silas’s truck pull up out front and a few minutes later the door opens.
Echo leaps up onto the back of the couch and howls a greeting.
Silas grins, and even though his hands are full with two pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer, he squats down to greet his cat with a soft “hey baby girl” and a kiss on the top of her head.
Echo rubs her chin against him aggressively, nudging his glasses off-kilter.
He baby-talks to his cat. He kisses her on the head. His glasses get nudged crooked and he doesn’t even care.
I’m doomed. Absolutely doomed.
My panties explode.