Manipulated: a Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 3) (5 page)

As if I could. I was as hard as the stone I was sitting on.

She ran back to the bag she’d set to the side and came back. She unzipped the huge orange padded case, and rifled through it. “No. Dammit, where is it?”

I peered down at her and tried really hard not to notice the curve of her breast. Unfortunately, I was just a man, and a weak one at that. There was a freckle right under the string between her tits. My tongue itched to taste it.

Yeah, definitely not moving. I shifted in the chair.

“Just another second.”

“Right.” My coat was not cut to be useful. I might as well have a glowing arrow aimed right at my manhood.

At least the illumination wouldn't reveal anything I was ashamed of. My dick and I were on good terms as a whole. Except when he waved hi when I would've preferred to pick my moment.

Guess my moment was right now.

She flipped a heavy black curl over her shoulder. “There you are.” She pulled out a lens that might be as long as my cock just then. With a few deft moves, she unlocked one lens, swapping it out for the other.

“Are ya trying to get all my nose hairs then?”

Her crimson lips peeled back into a full blown smile. Now my heart was beating in time with my dick.
Focus, man.
“You should do that more.”

The smile faded. “What?”

“Smile.”

“Pose for me and I’ll keep smiling.”

It wouldn't even have to be naked. Yet.

“Deal.”

She lowered the camera and her artfully lined blue eyes snapped to mine. Gone was the cool detached work Bettie. She quickly averted her gaze. “Thanks.”

I cleared my throat “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Can you do that sprawl thing again?”

“For a picture of my ring?”

“I’m going to focus on your ring and deemphasize your costume and body.”

Hopefully that meant she’d focus on my ring instead of my bulge. Or maybe she’d shift her focus there for a little fun later. It would depend on if I could get her out of work mode.

Sad that I wasn't as interesting to her as her photos, but I admired that sort of dedication. I was much the same. Usually. I had a feeling this woman could shatter my attention span with little more than a thought.

I dropped my boot to the stone and shifted down in the chair. I pulled the coat a little tighter, hoping the shadows of the night hid most of my problem.

“No, push that back. I want the purple brocade to hit the light.” She leaned forward and fussed with my shirt.

My breath stalled as she closed a button on my shirt, then reopened it. Her touch was clinical, but it sure as hell didn’t feel that way in my head. Her short nails teased my skin as she twisted one of my necklaces to her satisfaction.

Suddenly, she curled her fingers into her palm and met my gaze. Her jewel-like blue eyes widened. “Sorry.”

I grinned at her. “By all means, do what you want to me. I am your clay.”

She scrubbed her palm on her thigh as she backed up. “Can you fix your cross? I want the glint.”

“Aren’t I going to be all blurry, or whatever?”

“Light and shadow, Blackbeard.”

I growled.

A small smile returned. “Okay, there we go. Now just drape your hand on your—like that. There we go.” She took a bunch of pictures then paused to review the little screen. She frowned. “Dammit.” She nibbled on her thumb as she forwarded through the shots. “I don’t have time to put up lights and stuff.”

“Didn’t come out?”

“Not like I wanted,” she muttered. She twisted on her heel and looked around the area.

She stood and I had no choice but to stare at her perfect ass. Truly perfect. What I wouldn't give to reach out and cup it my hands—

Get a hold of yourself.

I shifted in the chair again, then stood up. Where was a towel when you needed one? Maybe two or three? I was in fine form tonight apparently, and mere terrycloth was no match for my penis on a rampage.

She pushed me out of the way and dragged the chair closer to the water. The pool was rimmed with purple lights under the surface and a few scattered spotlights. “Sit there.”

“Bettie, we’re getting a little too close to that edge. Unless you want to…okay, then.” My eyebrows shot up as she unzipped a hidden zipper at the side of her pants. Not buttons after all.

She pushed her camera into my hands. “Let me get in the water. If you drop that camera anywhere near liquid, I’ll make sure you have to use a hook for real. Feel me?”

Oh, how I would enjoy feeling her. Too bad that thought sent me bobbing against my leathers. “Ah, there’s that violence again.”

The spit in my mouth went from drool to sahara as her pants pooled around her ankles. Instead of wearing a string bikini bottom, she wore the old school boy shorts of the pinup era. Which was actually hotter.

How did that even happen?

The red material hugged her, showing off her tiny, tight waist and the generous curve of her hip. Fucking perfect. Lush in all the ways that counted.

I curled my fingers a little tighter around the camera.

She waded into the pool with a quick huff of breath. Instead of being all dainty about it, she submerged herself to her shoulders with a sigh. Her dark curls trailed behind her as she stretched out a little before coming back to the edge. She reached up. “Okay. Give me that and get in the chair.”

I handed over her camera. “Anything for a shot?”

She shrugged. “I do boudoir photography. You should see some of the poses I get into.”

I swallowed. No way could I think about that and not be as hard as a pike. “Is that right? And is that what I think it is?”

“I don’t do porn, perv.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She pointed at me. “You were thinking it.”

I shrugged and grinned. “So what is it then?”

“Sit and I’ll tell you.”

I sighed and dropped into my chair as she told me where she wanted to sit, shift and put my arms.

“Talk, Bettie.”

“Sorry.” She glided in the water down a few inches and snapped a few pictures. “I do engagement photos. Some for women after they’ve had a baby to make them feel sexy again. Fun pictures with girlfriends. Sometimes a woman wants to offer their significant other something seductive for a special occasion. Anything that helps make a woman feel beautiful.” She kept clicking pictures. “Every woman should feel beautiful.”

“Aye. It’s a man’s job to make sure his woman feels that way every day. Even if her hair’s a mess, or she has baby drool on her shoulder.”

She lowered her camera. “A woman doesn’t need a man to make her feel beautiful. Only herself.”

I tipped my head. “That’s very true, but you say that so vehemently that I’m thinking a man forgot to do his job.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“His loss. Truly.”

“Yes, well, I like to make sure that women remember that on their own.”

“A noble cause.”

She motioned me closer and handed me the camera. “Don’t—”

“Death and dismemberment, yes, I know.”

She waded over to the edge of the pool to the stairs. “But I took a significant break, and it's not an easy career to jump back into. So I take other pictures to get me through.”

Immediately I wanted to ask questions, the probing sort that didn't fit this kind of atmosphere or situation. Instead I settled for the light and easy. “Like this party?”

“Right.” She rose out of the water and I had to swallow down a groan as the water sparkled on her skin.

She looked around, suddenly conscious of her state again. I held up a finger.

“My camera, Blackbeard.”

“Owen.”

She shook out her damp hands and chewed on her lip, so obviously ill at ease that I had to alleviate it.

“Just a second.” I backed up to a little basket near a bench. Sure enough there were white fluffy towels stacked inside. I snapped one out for her.

She dried off and immediately reached for the extension of her hands.

I shook my head. “I swear I won’t drop it.”

“I want to see the pictures.”

“Right." I handed it over. "Of course.” She toweled off her neck as she scanned through with her thumb.

A moment later, I eased the camera out of her hand. “Dry off, love.”

She frowned and blinked, clearly coming back to the present. Her photos took her somewhere else, a place I longed to get to know.

She looked down at herself and a flush crept up her neck. Hurriedly, she covered herself.

I set her camera down gingerly. Her eyes didn’t leave the equipment. “I didn't ask you to dry off on my account. I hope you know that.”

She cinched the towel tighter around her chest. “It’s fine. You don’t need to stroke my ego.”

“I don’t
need
to stroke anything.” I kept my eyes on hers as I loosened the towel. Her eyes got really big, but she didn’t bolt. And even more importantly, she didn’t look afraid. Wary, but not afraid.

I slid my hands under her arms and changed the towel from her tucked style to draped like a cape over her shoulders. I blotted the wetness at her neck and shoulders. “You’re ridiculously beautiful, but you didn’t need to drip all over your equipment.”

She tried to back up a step. “But I’m dripping on you.”

I shrugged. “The costume is mine. In fact, these are my leathers from the tour.” I tugged the ends of the terrycloth together when she shivered. Her lips trembled lightly as I drew her closer. “Cold?”

She pressed her lips together and shrugged.

“Do you want me to back up?”

No answer. No reaction at all. At least at first.

Finally, her gaze lowered, and she jutted out her chest. Just a fraction. If I hadn't been watching her so fixedly, learning all her little tells, I might not have even noticed.

I loosened the towel a little, until it fell to her elbows. I dragged her toward me as I shrugged out of my jacket. Goosebumps flared over her skin.

“I’m wet.”

“Is that so?" I let the question hover between us for an instant before I eased her discomfort. "I thought I was drying you off.” Her flush returned as I tucked my hook into my back pocket, then draped my jacket over her shoulders. “Of course now you have to keep me warm.”

“Is that right?”

“Aye.”

Her lips twitched up in one corner as I drew her farther into my space. She laid her hand on my chest. I waited her out. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I wanted her closer. I’d wanted her closer since the first time I’d seen her in the crowd of people.

I just didn’t actually think it would happen. Not with how cagey she’d been all night. But she’d initiated the touch, even if it had been perfectly innocent. I was nothing if not industrious.

Her hand slid down along the buttons of my vest, her fingers slipping over the brocade to the silk of my shirt.

Tactile.

I forced myself to quiet the raging need to push her for more, pull her in closer. There was nothing I wanted more than to plaster her to the front of me.

“Do I get a real name?” I asked softly.

She peered at me through her lashes. “Bettie is good.”

I drew the towel down over her hips, drawing her ever closer. “You do Bettie Page justice with the outfit.”

“You're just male. Woman in a bikini is pretty much all you need.”

“I’m not just any male, love.”

“What they all say.”

“I’m not going to lie. I’d like to shake the hand of the man who dumped that punch down your white shirt.”

The twitch turned into a grin. “Figures.”

My laugh morphed into a groan as she slid her knee between my legs. “If I’d been more proactive, I’d have tripped him earlier.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is that right?”

“Alas, how was I to know such a delightful ensemble was hiding beneath your costume?” I slid my hand along her back. Her skin was a little clammy, but was warming nicely under my heavy coat. She smelled of me and chlorine. And something a little sweeter.

Something tropical.

Her thighs bumped mine and that hint of watermelon wafted my way. Our lips were close enough that tasting her overrode all other higher brain function. Her breath hiccupped as we hovered in that almost space between now...and
then
.

Breath mingling, scents blending, air heating. Chlorine and ah, there it was. Pineapples. Sweet and tangy.

So very Bettie.

Would her tongue have that flashpoint tang as an aftershock?

Fuck, I wanted to find out.

Her nails pinched at the top of my belt. The silk of my shirt shifted. Her towel slapped to the stone and my hand drifted lower. I didn’t intend to.

I was a gentleman.

Until the moments when I wasn’t.

The wet bathing suit material melted under my palm. It hugged her waist and clung to her her spectacular ass. Extremely
un
gentlemanly behavior was imminent if I didn’t collect myself. But when she twisted the material of my shirt and slipped under the little gape in my leathers that she’d created, it was on.

I filled my hand with her cheek and her breath puffed out a little faster. She felt firm and giving at the same time. A woman’s body. Not the too-skinny types who littered LA. Ones that didn’t eat, but didn’t work out either.

No, she was the kind that could curl around me in the night and never make me feel like I was banging a bag of bones.

I dragged her against me. I couldn’t hide my reaction.

I didn’t really want to.

It had been a damn long time since I’d touched anyone who made me forget myself. Forget my surroundings. Even more importantly, forget that there could be a million cameras. For fuck’s sake,
she
was the camera.

I wanted to taste her more than I cared about any self-preservation instinct.

I touched the tip of my tongue to her lower lip. Watermelon gloss infused my taste buds, flooding my mouth in reaction. I swallowed hard.

She didn’t move.

Her fingers dug into my side, but still she didn’t initiate or reciprocate. I practically bore holes into her lower lip with the force of my stare. I brushed my lower lip against hers.

Again, no reaction.

I glanced up to meet her wide blue eyes. She was frozen.