33. Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Rayne
I startle awake, my eyes flying open as something cold and wet presses against my cheek. A loud, insistent meow pierces the fog of sleep, and I find myself staring into Luna's amber eyes, mere inches from my face. Her whiskers twitch as she lets out another plaintive cry, clearly displeased.
"Alright, alright," I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. "I'm up."
Sunlight streams through the gap in my curtains, painting golden stripes across my rumpled bed sheets and the air conditioning is already struggling against the heat again. The light seems unusually bright, and I squint against its intensity as I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. Luna takes this opportunity to headbutt my hand, demanding attention. With a sigh, I oblige, scratching behind her ears as I finally manage to grab my phone.
I blink blearily at the screen, waiting for my eyes to focus on the numbers displayed there. When they do, a jolt of adrenaline surges through me, instantly banishing any lingering drowsiness.
"Shit!" I bolt upright in bed, nearly dislodging Luna from her perch beside me. The cat lets out an indignant meow, jumping gracefully to the floor. "No, no, no. This can't be right."
But the glowing numbers on my phone screen don't lie. It's well past 10 a.m, hours later than I'd planned to wake up. My mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. I could have sworn I set my alarm for 6 a.m last night when I came to bed.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Luna, why didn't you wake me earlier?"
The cat, now sitting primly on the floor, merely blinks at me, as if to say, "Not my job, human."
I throw off the sheet, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The cool hardwood floor beneath my feet sends a shiver up my spine, but I barely notice as I tap frantically through my phone. There it is—my usual 6 AM alarm, clearly switched off. But I don't remember doing that. Did I disable it in my sleep? It wouldn't be the first time my subconscious decided I needed more rest.
A frustrated groan escapes me as I realize how this throws off my entire day. I had a whole list of errands I wanted to run before diving into work—a package to drop off, dry cleaning to pick up, getting groceries in the daylight instead of night for once. Now, with client inquiries to respond to and a mountain of editing waiting for me, there's no time for any of it.
"Don't look at me like that," I grumble at her, shooting Luna a glare. "This is your fault. You're supposed to be my backup alarm."
Luna blinks slowly at me, utterly unimpressed by my accusation. She yawns widely, showing off her tiny pink tongue and sharp teeth, before sauntering out of the room. Clearly, she considers her duties fulfilled.
With a resigned sigh, I head for the bathroom. I remind myself of one of the perks of being my own boss—I don't have to rush. Sure, I've overslept, but there's no angry supervisor waiting to reprimand me, no time clock to punch. I can still take a moment to breathe, to center myself before diving into the day.
The bathroom mirror reflects a slightly disheveled version of myself—hair mussed from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded. I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up and steam begins to fill the small space, fogging the mirror and wrapping around me like a warm embrace.
I step under the spray, letting out a contented sigh as the hot water cascades over my body. The steady drumming of droplets against my skin helps to wash away the last remnants of sleep, invigorating me for the day ahead. I quickly work shampoo through my long dark hair, but nothing can compare now to how it felt when River did it.
I grab my favorite lavender-scented body wash, lathering it between my hands before smoothing it over my skin. The familiar scent fills the steamy air, soothing my frazzled nerves. As I work the suds across my body, my mind drifts to the events of yesterday and a shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the water temperature.
Shaking off those distracting thoughts, I quickly finish washing up, regretfully cutting my shower shorter than I'd like. While I may not have a traditional boss, I do have responsibilities, and a growing list of tasks won't complete themselves.
I dress quickly, pulling on simple black lace lingerie before slipping into one of the loose, flowing dresses I prefer. As a boudoir photographer I know the power of lingerie, including on the person wearing it simply for themselves. The soft fabric of my dress caresses my skin as I move, the hem swishing around my calves. The deep blue color brings out the sapphire tones in my eyes, and the loose fit skims over my curves without clinging. I relish the feel of the cool fabric against my skin. It's perfect for the sweltering heat outside, allowing air to circulate while still looking put-together enough for any impromptu client meetings.
As I make my way to the kitchen, the hardwood floor cool beneath my bare feet, Luna appears as if summoned. She weaves between my legs, nearly tripping me, her meows growing more insistent with each step. "Yes, yes, I know," I mutter, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. "Breakfast time for the queen, right?"
I open the fridge, the cool air washing over me as I reach for one of the cans of gourmet cat food River had left. My hand pauses as I grab it, a small frown creasing my brow. I could have sworn there were only three cans left yesterday after I'd used one, but now there are four sitting neatly in a row.
For a moment, I stand there, staring at the cans as if they might offer an explanation. Had I miscounted yesterday? Or perhaps I'm more sleep-deprived than I thought. Luna's impatient meow breaks me from my reverie, and I shake off the odd feeling. Whatever the explanation, it's hardly the strangest thing to happen lately.
I quickly blend up a smoothie while Luna eagerly devours her breakfast. The whir of the blender fills the kitchen as I toss in a mix of frozen berries, banana, spinach, and almond milk. The vibrant purple concoction swirls hypnotically, tiny flecks of green from the spinach dancing through the vortex.
As Luna licks her bowl clean, I transfer the smoothie to a glass and rinse the blender, the cool water sluicing over my hands. Droplets cling to my fingers, catching the morning light streaming through the window and scattering tiny rainbows across the sink.
With a final scratch behind Luna's ears, I grab my smoothie and head for the door. The lock clicks softly behind me as I step into the stairwell.
At the bottom, I pause, my free hand resting on the banister. My eyes scan the studio, drinking in every detail. Sunlight streams through the high windows, dust specks dancing lazily in the golden beams. The polished hardwood gleams, reflecting the light. My gaze is drawn to the floor near the entrance. I hold my breath, scrutinizing every inch. But there's nothing there—no envelopes, no roses, no ominous packages, no signs of disturbance. Just a clean, empty floor.
I release the breath I'd been holding, my shoulders relaxing slightly. Maybe I am being paranoid. Maybe it's a good thing I slept in, I hadn’t thought about my unwanted stalker when I planned my errands.
Shaking off the lingering unease, I make my way to my desk. The familiar space welcomes me, my computer humming softly as it wakes from sleep mode. I settle into my chair, the leather creaking slightly as it molds to my body.
As I take a sip of my smoothie, the sweet-tart flavor bursting across my tongue, I try to focus on the day ahead. There's work to be done, clients to contact, images to edit. No time for paranoid thoughts or mysterious stalkers.
But even as I immerse myself in my tasks, a small part of my mind remains alert, watchful. Just in case.
As my computer screen flickers to life, I'm instantly reminded of exactly what I was doing the night before. The folder of Knox and River's session is still open, dominating my display. My breath catches as I'm confronted with a sea of thumbnails, each one a snapshot of raw passion and desire.
I shift in my chair, uncomfortably aware of the warmth pooling low in my belly. This is precisely why I shouldn't be looking at these images right now. How can I possibly maintain any semblance of professional objectivity when just looking at the thumbnails has me ready to combust?
For a wild moment, I consider giving Knox a refund and moving all the files to another drive–a personal one, for my own private use. The thought of having these images, this record of our passion, all to myself is tempting. I could revisit that night whenever I wanted, could lose myself in the memories without the pressure of delivering a final product.
But no. That wouldn't be right. As much as I might want to keep these images for myself, they don't belong to me alone. They belong to Knox and River too, and they trusted me to capture this intimate moment for them. I can't betray that trust, no matter how much I might want to.
With a deep breath, I force myself to navigate out of the folder. The thumbnails disappear, taking with them the temptation to lose myself in those heated memories. Instead, I open my administration console, determined to focus on more mundane tasks.
As I scan through my emails and messages, a small smile tugs at my lips. Breanna has already made her final image selections from her recent session. I open Breanna's selections, my smile widening as I see which images she's chosen. They're all stunning shots, capturing her journey from hesitant to empowered. I make a mental note to reach out to her later, to check in and see how she's feeling now that she's had time to really look at the photos.
I dive into editing Breanna's photos, grateful for the distraction from my more complicated thoughts and feelings. As I work, I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of adjusting colors, smoothing skin, enhancing the natural beauty of my client. It's meditative, allowing my mind to quiet and focus solely on the task at hand.
Hours slip by unnoticed as I work my way through Breanna's selections. The world outside my studio fades away as I focus intently on bringing out the best in each image.
A sudden knock at the door startles me from my focused state. I blink, realizing how stiff my body has become after hunching over my computer. Stretching languidly, I feel my muscles protest, joints popping as I extend my arms overhead. The early afternoon sun slants through the windows at a different angle now.
I stand, wincing slightly as blood flow returns to my legs. My bare feet pad silently across the cool floor as I make my way to the entrance. As I approach the door, a flicker of unease ripples through me. My hand hovers over the doorknob, fingers trembling slightly. For a wild moment, I wish I had a weapon. But of course, I don't. I'm in my own studio, a place that's always felt safe. Until recently.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and open the door. The first thing I see is a large travel coffee cup from my favorite local bakery. The familiar logo brings an involuntary smile to my face. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts towards me, making my mouth water. As my eyes travel up from the large travel cup, they meet a pair of striking Caribbean blue eyes, twinkling with mischief. River stands before me, his trademark wicked grin spreading across his face.
The sight of him sends a jolt through my system more potent than any caffeine could provide.
He's leaning casually against the doorframe, one hand holding out the coffee while the other is tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks. His crisp white shirt is rolled up to the elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms and swirls and lines of the tattoos that wind their way up his skin. A loosened tie hangs around his neck, the deep blue silk complementing his eyes perfectly.
As my gaze drifts past River, I notice Knox standing just behind him. My breath catches in my throat. Knox is dressed similarly to River, in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks that hug his powerful thighs in all the right ways. His sleeves are also rolled up, revealing the intricate tattoos that wind their way up his forearms. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, offering a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin and the edges of his intricate tattoos.
Knox's dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he's been running his hands through it all day. The hint of stubble along his strong jawline makes me ache to reach out and touch him, to feel the rough texture against my palm. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, meet mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
I find myself lost in the sight of them, drinking in every detail. The way River's golden hair catches the afternoon sunlight, creating a halo effect around his head. The subtle shift of muscles beneath Knox's shirt as he adjusts his stance. The contrast between River's easy, wicked grin and Knox's smoldering gaze. They're a study in opposites that somehow fit together perfectly–light and dark, mischief and intensity, playfulness and control.
A low chuckle breaks me from my reverie. I blink, realizing I've been staring openly at them for far too long.
River waves the coffee at me again, the rich aroma wafting towards me. "We come bearing sustenance," he says, his voice a sexy purr that sends shivers down my spine.
I blink, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Since when do either of you knock?" I manage to ask, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.
Knox's eyes darken at my tone, but it's River who answers. "Since someone else is stalking you and could be watching," he says, his cheerful tone at odds with the serious nature of his words.
The reminder of my stalker is like a bucket of ice water, dousing the warmth that had been building in my core. I feel my shoulders tense, my eyes darting past them to scan the street behind them.
"Step back and let us in," Knox orders, his voice low and commanding. There's an edge to his tone.
I comply without hesitation, retreating into the safety of my studio. River follows close behind, his presence warm at my back. As Knox enters, he turns to lock the door. The soft click of it sliding into place echoes in the sudden silence.