Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RHYS
I catch glimpses of the lake that disappear and reappear as the highway curves. It looks timeless and mighty. Familiar too, the deep blue waters unchanged from the time my family drove this highway. I was eight. Me, Sawyer and JC were crammed into the back of our Volvo station wagon, roughhousing like caged animals. Dad barked threats to dump us on the roadside until Mom swooped in, offering bribes of popsicles and donuts if we settled down.
Now I’m driving, and Dani is the person in need of settling. She’s chewing so hard on her bottom lip that I fear she might draw blood.
Heather’s agent offered up jack shit for a solution. Since then, Dani’s left panicked voicemails with multiple modeling agencies who, like me, consider eleven a.m. a perfectly acceptable time to start the day.I’m genuinely worried about her well-being when we reach the outskirts of Kelowna. Her hundred-yard stare out the windshield smacks of defeat.
I'm desperate to help but not really sure how.
“Talk to me,” I say. “Let’s figure this out.”
She blows out a heavy breath. “Without mincing words, we’re fucked.”
“Maybe not. Evelyn seemed keen to have you step in.” She had, in fact, pounced all over my suggestion when Dani called her with an update.
“Keen because there is no other option.”
“What are you worried about?” I ask. “Aside from the publicity? I can guide you through the motions. Happy to let you in on the secret that a monkey could pull off my entire existence.”
Finally, a laugh.
“You were born to be on camera,” she states. “My face is as big as a Buick. No angles. And if the camera adds ten pounds…”
She trails off,her throat bobbing with a swallow. Nerves, I can understand. But has Dani not looked in the mirror lately? If anything, Luca will drool over her untapped potential.
I float the notion a second time. “Let me talk to Luca. He is terrified of lackluster results. You are a coup,” I continue, pumping her up. “A triumph of unheralded casting.”
Dani raises her eyebrows ever so slightly. “Thank you for your delusionally generous view of me.”
Generous? Try selfish. I badly want to understand the curious electric charge that went down between us in her place. Several hours together, in the sun, drinking rosé half-naked? I can’t think of a better first date.
“Oh, shit!” Dani points frantically at the approaching off-ramp. “This is our exit!”
Tires screech on the pavement, my radical swerve just missing the barrier. We killed the GPS while Dani phoned every talent agency on planet Earth, but she navigates us from memory to a winding road littered with lakefront mansions. Yvette's multi-acre spread looms behind a stone wall and gate, the house set back from the road, entry via an intercom camouflaged within the rock. Extending my arm out the window, I press the button, and a disembodied voice—posh, welcoming, slurred—says, “Follow the driveway to the end and park.”
We pass the gate onto a vast estate, the stone facade of the gothic mansion gray and imposing. To the left of a plush manicured lawn, bright green ribbons of grape vines stretch as far as the eye can see.
“Disneyland called and said they want their castle back,” I joke.
Dani suppresses a laugh. “Yvette and her husband, Garth, own fifty percent of the vineyards in the Okanagan,” she informs me. “They run Alameda Hills, one of the biggest producers in Canada.”
“What’s she like?”
Dani thinks about that. “‘The Anna Wintour of Wine Country’ is the nicest thing people say about her. Runner-up is ‘Former model turned social climber .’ ”
I park in front of a five-car garage, cut the engine then turn to face her. “And your take?”
“The finest collection of filler and Chanel?”
“Ah, got it.” Even if you don’t specifically know a woman like Yvette, you know the type.
“I mean, honestly, she’s cool,” Dani repositions, perhaps feeling like she overstepped a mark. “A little high-strung, but what do I know about life as a millionaire?”
“Hello, hello!”
Our mutual gazes drift to the enthusiastic energy ball known as Evelyn marching toward us with frightening efficiency. Straight nitro.
Dani and I slide out of the truck to greet her, but I think I know what’s coming based on how Evelyn sizes Dani up.
“Luca and I hashed it out,” she says, confirming my speculation. “If Rhys approves and you’re okay with it, let’s proceed with the two of you.”
“I’m down,” I say without hesitation. “We talked about that possibility on the drive.”
Dani shoots me a nervous look. Has she U-turned on the idea?
Evelyn quickly adds, “And whatever collective fees the model would’ve earned, consider them tripled.”
Worldwide residuals for a print campaign can easily top ten grand. Triple that and her day rate? From Dani’s expression, I can tell she’s doing the math.
“If you’ll be my Claudia, I promise not to murder you,” I joke, even though the whole Nero-killed-his-wife thing might not be the best vibe right now. Dani looks spooked.
A dry wind whips around us as Evelyn links her arms with ours, roping us together to march across the trimmed lawn to set.
“I think this is the cat’s meow,” she says. “Don’t you?”
Her wink is unmissable, meant only for me. This particular scheme qualifies as a win in my books, but maybe, just maybe, I’m a tiny bit nervous.
“Holy shit,” Dani mutters, eyes ballooning at the display.
I know what to expect with a Luca shoot.
Dani, not so much.
Arranged in perfect rows the length of the Olympic-sized pool, a small army of wardrobe racks sprawls across the stone patio. Display tables groan under the weight of enough sandals and golden accessories to outfit the entire city ofRome. Vigo, Luca’s lover, assistant, and glam squad of one, has commandeered the last of the space. Beneath a large pop-up tent, his hair and make-up emporium is open and ready for business.
“And we’ll end up using, like, three things,” I tell Dani. “It’s crazy.”
Evelyn excuses herself to round up Yvette, and part one of the Spanish Armada strides over barefoot. Dressed in skin-tight leather pants and nothing else, Luca is skinny as a coat hanger and channeling Jesus with long, loose hair.
“Ah, my Reese’s Pieces!” he says in that famous bellowing baritone that switches from friendly to nasty in a snap if you dare balk at any of his batshit ideas. “Cómo estás, amigo?”
We man-hug, and I introduce him to Dani, whom he squints at, his dark eyes calculating something.
“Vigo!” he barks over his shoulder. “Vete aqui!”
Vigo, bald and bearded, hustles over. He’s a small bulldog of a man, with an apron neatly tied and covering his usual shoot day ensemble: gold sparkle hotpants.
Also shoeless.
“Hola, Rhys,” he lisps, batting his fake eyelashes. “And you,” he clucks at Dani. “Bonita! But you are wearing far too much.”
Amongst these creative freakshows, Dani sticks out like a sore thumb in her office pumps and shift dress. Hot as hell, but the more Vigo fusses around her, the less confident she looks.
Luca knits his shaggy brows together. “Will anything fit her?”
“No hay problema!” Vigo exclaims. “Everything stretches. Come, come.” He tugs a wide-eyed Dani toward the collection of fabric scraps. “Vigo te hace hermosa.”
When they are safely out of earshot shot, Luca asks, “You think she can handle this?”
“I’ll help her out. And after a couple of glasses of wine, you know how it goes.”
A Luca shoot without wine is like a company without a CEO—questionable direction. He creates his best work half-plastered. It always helps if the models are too.
He squares a makeshift frame around my face using his fingers. “I think the light and dark contrast between you will be fantastico!”
Out of the corner of my eye, Evelyn emerges from the house with whom I assume is Yvette. A skinny, angular diva with blonde hair perfectly styled and three pounds of makeup on tight, unwrinkled skin. She clearly works like hell at maintenance.
“This is Yvette Van Ness,” Evelyn cheerily announces. “Hostess with the mostest.”
I raise a hand in hello. “Thanks for offering up your place.”
Yvette weaves slightly in her stilettos. A cigarette hangs out the side of her mouth, one eye squinting in the smoke.Already toasted at nine in the morning.
“You must be Rhys,” she purrs. “Enchanté.”
After a beat, I realize she expects me to kiss and not shake her outstretched hand. She certainly takes a page out of the Anna Wintour book, although I doubt Anna attends photo shoots in capri yoga pants and Canucks hockey jerseys.
“What are you drinking?” she asks me.
“Ah, nothing, yet.”
Yvette drops the still-smoldering cigarette onto the patio, pulverizing it under the ball of her studded Valentino. “We start in on the wine early at Chateau Van Ness. Evie, darling,” she coos, draping a hand onto her BFF’s shoulder. “What is your famous saying?”
Evelyn flashes a grin and sweeps her hand theatrically from left to right. “I’d rather die drunk and defiled than sober and safe.”
“Quintessential Evie,” Yvette pronounces, her voice honey and smoke. “You should make that into a bumper sticker. But for now, can you check on Martha? We need refreshments pronto. With such an eventful morning ahead…” She lets the silence stretch, eyeing me with a not-so-subtle once-over.“We need all the fortification we can get.”
While Vigo goes wild with Dani, Luca and I sift through my various wardrobe selects. With only so many variations of a toga with sandals, I’m dressed and ready to go in a flash, lounging poolside with Yvette and Evelyn when Vigo drags Dani out of his tent.
My brain deconstructs into a million tiny shattered pieces.
Fucking hell.
Even Luca, who’s seen the hottest women on the planet half-naked, catches flies, mouth hanging open.
The safe way to describe it is that the bikini is wearing her.
Dani squirms under our collective gazes and says what we’re all thinking, “It’s way too small.”
“What are you talking about?” Evelyn chides. “You look incredible. Doesn’t she, Yvette?”
Lighting up her third cigarette, Yvette blows a stream of smoke into the endless sky. “Very vixen. Cleopatra , X-rated version.”
Evelyn turns to me. “Do you approve? It is your shoot.”
Dani flicks a nervous look in my direction. At this point, I’m not sure my heart can beat any faster and not qualify as a medical event. She is a mythical goddess, eyes huge and haunted, ringed with winged eyeliner.
And all that skin?
“I’m good if Luca is,” I manage.
Luca circles Dani, humming small sounds of approval.“Drape her with that sheer toga,” he instructs Vigo. “The one with the golden tassels. Add the cuffs to either arm and muss her hair. Bigger. Wilder. Sexier!" He gestures wildly, spinning around to address us in the viewing gallery. “How is everyone’s wine doing?”
“I need a refill,” Dani pipes up. And then, under her breath so that only I can hear: “Or an entire case.”
The concept of two young, lusty Romans bonding over Pink Pearl probably sounded great in her air-conditioned office. Half-naked in the unforgiving sunlight of a morning tapped to be the hottest day of the year?
It feels like more than our acting skills are about to be tested.
A European and a stickler for authenticity, Luca insists we keep drinking wine as he shoots. After two hours, Dani and I are sheened with sweat. Tipsy and touching. Her nearly transparent dress clings to her curves, and maybe it’s that or the wine or the exhaustion from the jet lag, but so many feelings come out in this moment.
The heat amplifies everything.
Evelyn claps enthusiastically from the pool deck. “Bravo, you two. Love, love, love!” She unfolds herself from her sunbed and swans over to confer with Luca. “I just had a crazy idea. The invites for our gala haven’t gone out yet. How do you feel about capturing something a little wilder to grace the front of them? A scandalous affair playing out amongst the grapes?”
A low sound of concern hums in Dani’s throat. We’re sitting on a bench, clocking time out in the shade of a willow tree. “What is she talking about?”
Luca scratches his beard with the studious expression of avision forming. “I can shoot it long lens. Voyeuristic. Roman paparazzi style.”
“Careful,” Yvette warns, fanning herself under the covered daybed where she has permanently set up camp. “If this shoot gets any hotter, we will all go up in flames.”
Luca strides over to huddle with us. Intense. Moody. “I want the energy to feel forbidden,” he explains. “You believe you are alone, lost in time in the vineyard. Rhys, we have you sitting on a chair. Dani straddles you, a temptress with a cluster of grapes. Lust crackles. At any moment, you will rip clothes off each other. Think Romeo and Juliet. You must fuck or die.”
I burst out laughing while Dani asks in a stricken voice, “Fuck or die?”
“You know the feeling, darling.” Luca smiles encouragingly. “Dark magic. When the sexual tension is about to explode!”
His arms fling skyward, mimicking said explosion. Dani rises to her feet, swaying before I steady her.She looks very uncertain. And so incredibly beautiful.
“I don’t know if I can fake that,” she says as if talking to herself.
Me? This guy will not have to fake anything. If Luca wants sexual tension, I’ve got that in spades. My dick twitched earlier when Luca told us to embrace, and with resolve stronger than my lifetime of abandoned New Year’s resolutions combined, I gritted my teeth and hung in there.
I was this close to dying.
Luca squeezes her shoulder, doing what he does best: getting his way. But I can tell Dani impressed him by rolling with the punches. And for all her earlier protests, she owned it in front of the camera.
In a no-turning-back tone, Luca says, “Rhys is a pro. Use him as your guide.”
Dani and I drain a third bottle of rosé before Luca summons us to the vineyard. He fusses over the setup: me, ass on the chair Vigo dragged over from the pool deck. Dani, legs spread wide to straddle me.
Handing her a cluster of fat grapes, Luca reiterates the vision,“Dangle them over his mouth but deny him. You have all the power. Rhys, you strain to reach them. The grapes are a metaphor for her. You want to devour them!”
“Devour. Got it.” I swipe the sweat off my forehead. “Am I touching her?”
Luca strikes a thinking pose. “Maybe your hand on her ass to start, no?”
Dani makes a small scared sound. The peace that had settled over her during the first part of the shoot has come and gone. I can smell her sweet fragrance, the coconut scent of sunscreen, and a hint of my vanilla musk woven into both. My face feels like it's on fire, flushed from the heat.
“I’m cool if you’re cool,” I say, lying through my teeth.
Luca struts off to get into position. Dani arranges herself over me, painstakingly careful not to press against too much flesh. Her eyes find mine, jaw set as her brows knit together.
“Do you feel self-conscious at all?” she whispers. “This is like shooting a Playboy centerfold.”
At a less intense time, I’d tell her she makes a fine Miss August. For now, I shrug it off like this is not borderline uncensored.
“Dani!” Luca shouts from afar. “Hold the grapes higher. Use your thumb and forefinger. Dangle them like your endless charm. You hold all the power. Make him desire you!”
“Oh my god,” she mumbles. “He is out of control.”
He and me both. With Dani so close, I can see droplets of sweat between her cleavage, the slick dampness above her glossy lips. Her entire body glistens from the shimmer cream Vigo slathered on, and it’s not even right how aroused I am. Luca takes forever, endlessly snapping, extending more than my torture.
“Yes!” Luca shouts. “You are in the throes of ecstasy. Arch into him, Dani. Use your power!”
Dani presses against me, stiff and awkward, erasing all the space. It takes one second of body contact before her eyes pop wide. A sharp intake of breath follows.She looks down at me, blinking fast, as if every flutter of her lashes can will my warmth and hardness away.
Full and vital, she was not expecting.
“Are you...?”
“Sorry.” I swallow hard and manage a smile. “Workplace hazard.”
“Don’t move,” Luca yells. “Tempt him, Dani. Seduce the helpless Rhys.”
My god. The right thing, the only thing to do, is ease up. Let me and the volatile situation become flaccid. Save our dignities. And, yes, I could shrivel myself farther away, but the pleasure is immense. Her body, her hair, and her allure rivet into my soul.
“Pretend you’re enjoying it.”
“Are you pretending?” she whispers back.
Yeah, right. I'm glowing with heat and embarrassment and something else, something new and pulsating and unfamiliar. My eyes trace the whisper of a white cloud high in the brilliant sky.
The sun feels hotter. I feel drunker.
And Dani? She stares down at me, and I can’t explain it, but something shifts in that moment. Instead of rocking her hips away from the hot wall of my dick, she starts to grind back and forth, slow and steady, like a rolling pin trying to flatten a pie crust. I can feel the pearls, the hard steel barbell raking over my flesh. Blistering white panic explodes in my chest.
“What are you doing?” I choke out the question.
Something hovers in the depths of her eyes.
Something off-limits and dark.
Blacker than this depravity.
“Nothing,” she replies, an eerie confidence in her voice. Her movements.
What happened to the doubt? The hesitation? What the hell is happening?
“Bravo!” Luca calls out. “Excellent, excellent. Arch into him one more time, Dani! Bigger! Tease the grapes. Tease, tease, tease!”
She does more than tease. Dani hypnotizes me, swirling the fruit just out of reach as I strain to bite. My heart beats fast and hard. Now we’re moving in unison, a slow, terrifying rhythm like I’m inside her. Her dirty grinding gets me there so fast, it becomes a hot blur. I can feel my balls tighten, the urgent need clawing into my throat. My fingers clamp onto the edge of the chair, gripping so hard they turn white.
“Is this the throes of ecstasy?” she grits out, her voice tight, on the verge.
I should have expected it. A pencil skirt or not, no woman can rock a pierced clit, bow down to Joey Ramone and drink roadside coffee while claiming to be a prude.
“The grapes,” I plead, my voice a pathetic rasp. “Don't hang me out to dry.”
The taut grape flesh finally skims my lips. With a vicious bite, I rupture the skin, juice squirting over my face as stars burst behind my eyes and liquid warmth erupts under my toga. A guttural cry buried deep in my chest aches for release, but I'm a shell of a man whimpering through the hot, agonized pulses.
And dammit, how is Dani still holding on?
Not fair.
Not when she fucking ruins me.