Chapter 5 #2
“It was usually a combination of self-tying and me helping them finish. The ropes,” he added helpfully, as my mind jumped to dirtier places. “Do you want to see Nina? The project that will never be?”
The tune of “Happy Birthday” drifted from the front of the diner in three different drunken keys. A waiter burst through the curtained kitchen door, carrying the Uncle Charlie Mammoth Delight — a silver tureen piled with scoops of every ice cream flavor, a sparkler fizzing on top.
“Show me,” I told Gavin.
He took his phone, tapped the screen, and handed it back.
I gasped.
A stunning nude woman hung suspended from the ceiling, wrapped in a complicated web of ropes. In the next shot, she curled into a ball on a ripple of red satin, encased in knots and twists.
The rope was cocoon and decoration, shelter and art. The restraints gave her power. All her potential was tightly leashed, waiting to surge free.
Nina didn’t look helpless. She was a goddess, even while curled into the most submissive poses.
“Wow. Everything about this is gorgeous, and…and the lighting and angles…” The sheer drama of the photos left me tongue-tied, knowing Gavin was behind it all. “You’re a genius.”
Red crept up his cheeks. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks. Means a lot.”
“So Nina was going to model for a book you’re making?”
“Yep. A big, coffee-table book, telling a story in pictures. I’ve dreamed about it for a long time. Finally got a deal with a publisher.” He swigged his coffee. “Nina was my last hope after two years of setbacks. She called to cancel.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.” He stared into the mug, as if its dark, bitter depths would provide an answer. “I won’t go into details. She just couldn’t do it.”
“Here.” I pushed my milkshake an inch closer to him. “I mean it, have some. Join in the joy that’s Uncle Charlie’s.”
“Why not,” he muttered. His lips closed around the straw, and his eyes widened.
“Right?” I grinned. “So delicious.”
He took another sip, then leaned back. “It’s over, Jordana. This project doesn’t have a chance. The photos are due to my publisher next Monday. That’s in nine days. There isn’t enough time to find a model who’s willing to do this work, let alone someone who’s the right fit.”
“I know someone who can do it.”
Gavin’s brows shot up. “Really?”
“Someone who’s willing. Who can work with you. Who can be discreet.”
“Go on.” He picked up the coffee mug and drank, as if to compensate for the temptation of the milkshake.
I pointed to my chest. “Me.”
Gavin choked on his coffee. Coughing, he slammed the mug down. A passing waiter turned to stare, and I waved him on.
“You?” Gavin sputtered.
He looked so stunned, my confidence faltered. I pushed for brazenness to backtrack. Leaning flirtatiously across the table, I twirled my hair.
“What? You think the camera won’t love me?”
“Brat,” he grumbled. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it.”
Oh my God. Gavin just called me a brat. What was I even supposed to do with that? A fizzle of excitement shot through me.
The “gorgeous” part didn’t hurt either.
“So what’s the problem?” I murmured, still leaning close to him.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “You were nervous when you saw my portfolio. You’ve never done anything like this before. You have a show this week. You’re a student. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”
“That’s not enough of a reason.”
He pushed the milkshake back to me. “Do you want to be a professional actress?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know you need to cultivate an image. This book? It would be an image. A very specific one. Do you want that?”
“Go on.” I beckoned. “There are more reasons you’re not jumping on this. Lay them all on me.”
“We…” He gestured between us. “There’s tension.”
“You mean, we want each other.”
His throat bobbed. “That’s not part of my work with models. It’s professional.”
“But it’s all about sex!”
“It’s art,” Gavin insisted. “It’s about tension and release. Freedom through submission. I learned the hard way not to work with someone who I—” He exhaled. “The answer’s no.”
“What are you afraid of? Seeing me naked?”
“What are you afraid of?” His voice dropped. “Being tied up. You made that clear. My vision for this book is what you saw in the photos. It’s a hell of a lot more than furry handcuffs or having your wrists bound to the bed.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I’m an actress. It’s my job to run toward the things that scare me.”
“That’s the thing, Jordana. I wouldn’t want you to act.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“I’d want you to be yourself.”
Suddenly, his eye contact felt too intense, his amber gaze searing me. I glanced away, across the diner to the long counter where a server wiped down glasses with a white towel.
“I don’t see why,” I muttered. “Characters are much better.”
“Why are you offering to help?” Gavin’s question was so pointed, it yanked my attention back to him. “The pay’s only five hundred dollars for the week. Why give up your nights — after rehearsal, when you’ll be exhausted — for this?”
Because of you, Gavin.
Because you take me places I’ve only been able to go in someone else’s skin.
Because I know what it’s like to lose something you love.
Because maybe, you need saving too.
I dragged a French fry through the puddle of ketchup on my plate, considering how much to reveal. “Because of Corey.”
“Him? What about him?”
“I want to forget him. After tonight, I can’t ever go back. But I know myself. I need a distraction, a reason to stay away. Something outside of theater to focus on.”
You. I want to focus on you.
A gust of cold air blew into the diner. The party was leaving, taking the balloon with them, leaving the tureen of melted ice cream behind.
“Let me work with you on this project,” I pleaded. “I promise I’ll give it my all. I’ll have the energy after rehearsal, because acting pumps me up. It’s my fuel. I’ve got stamina for days.”
Finally, he smiled. “You’re a handful, you know that?”
“I’m a professional. I’ll do everything you want for these photos. I know how to work.”
“Then let’s take some pictures.”
I bounced in my seat, ready to celebrate, but Gavin held up a hand.
“Right here, right now.”
“In the diner?”
“Why not? This is an audition, Jordana. Let’s see how you do on camera. Fully clothed. No bondage. Just you and me, in this booth. Are you up for it?”
Discomfited, I checked our surroundings.
The diner had fallen into a midnight lull, the birthday celebration over, the red booths and chrome barstools waiting for the Saturday night post-party rush.
Most of the students had left. A few older regulars nursed coffee and late-night pancake specials, but the tables closest to us sat unoccupied.
I was sweating, but I didn’t dare lose the protection of my cheetah coat. I straightened the collar. “Ready for anything.”
“Good.” He picked up his phone.
“Will you use an actual camera for the shoot?” I asked, suddenly eager to delay, to prepare.
His jaw twitched. “Of course.”
“You okay?”
“It’s been a while since I picked up a camera, that’s all.” His tone shut down any questions.
I took a deep breath, stepping into the part of model.
Striking a pose, I fluffed my hair, smiling broadly at his raised phone. “I’m ready!”
“Uh-uh.” Gavin shook his head. “This isn’t musical theater. You’re not making everything big so you can reach the people in the nosebleed seats. The camera’s intimate. You’re not aware of it.”
“I’m not?”
“Relax.” His voice lowered, soothing. “Forget I’m here. Breathe in…out. Let that gaze drift. Soften those shoulders…that’s it.”
It was impossible to forget Gavin was here, but I did my best to obey. My shoulders dropped, my gaze wandering to the diners lost in thought, absorbed in their pancakes. They had no idea what Gavin and I were doing back here.
“Good,” he murmured. “Very good.”
My stomach flipped. I would do anything for more of that praise. For Gavin to call me good.
“Feel whatever comes up and let it pass. Move around on that bench. Stretch those arms up… That’s it. Let them go.”
My eyelids fluttered as I obeyed.
“Mmm, that’s right.” Approval warmed his tone. “You’ve got a secret, don’t you? Anyone who wants to know has to come very, very close.”
That you jostled me. He was addressing me as myself. Not a character. I tensed, grasping for a role to hide behind, hoping the other diners would notice us so I could have an audience.
“Come back.” Gavin’s whisper was inviting. “You went away and that’s okay. Now, come back.”
I exhaled. I tried to let go. I tipped my head back, letting my lashes graze my cheeks, settling into my body.
“Perfect,” he crooned. “Good girl.”
Hungry for his approval, I ran my fingers over my hair. But as he took pictures, I noticed the springiness of my curls, the tugs on my scalp. The pleasure in my own touch.
“I wonder how far you’re willing to go.” His voice was soft, seductive. “In this diner.”
Holy shit. Did he mean that? He was the one who’d wanted to shoot in a public place. How far did he mean?
I unbuttoned my coat, lingering for his gaze, arching my throat to the brush of fake fur.
“You’re a kitten, aren’t you?” came Gavin’s rough whisper. “A cute, curious little kitten. A kitten in cheetah’s clothing.”
Kitten? I shivered.
Running my finger around my lips, I flicked my tongue out to lick it. I dared to glance at him, his phone.
When he didn’t react, I pawed at my collarbone. Curved my back like a cat. I tried a low purr, because why the hell not? I’d done crazier things onstage.
A slight smile tugged at his lips.
Emboldened, I slid my hand under my collar, down my chest. I wasn’t looking at Gavin now, but I heard his grunt of surprise.
My fingers slipped over my sweater to stroke my breast. He couldn’t see my hand under the coat, but he had to know what I was doing.
When my gaze moved to him, he gave a brusque nod.
“Go on,” he said gruffly.