Picture Perfect (4 page)

I hadn’t been to LA since my senior year in high school when my parents surprised me with a graduation trip to see Metallica.  I loved it then, and I love it now.  It was as beautiful as ever, and I was soaking up the atmosphere like a sponge.  I could definitely see myself living here someday, and it was possible that after I photographed the Renegade Saints tour that I would be able to do so sooner rather than later. 

Already the difference between working with unsigned
acts and a worldwide sensation was hugely apparent.  My flight in was first class, and they’d put me up in a one-bedroom suite at The Mondrian.  Talk about beautiful!  After arriving late last night, the suite was like a warm hug.

The group
“All-Hands On” meeting wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but tonight there was an informal “meet and greet” for all the people involved in the tour at some house up in the hills.  I’m to be ready to go by six-thirty, and a town car is picking me up.  The packet I’d received with all of the travel instructions had advised me to wear something sophisticated.

Jess and I spent an entire day shopping before findi
ng an absolutely perfect red sheath dress that falls an inch or two above my knees and leaves one shoulder bared.  I’m pairing a drop dead sexy pair of strappy silver stilettos that wrap around my ankles with it, and I thought the look was going to be just right. 

Since I had free time, I decided to make good use of it down at the hotel pool.
When in LA do as the natives do, and soak up the sun.  I lucked out and got a lounger right near the edge of the pool.  After applying sunscreen, I put my sunglasses on and settled in with a good book.

About twenty minutes after I’d gotten comfortable, someone came to the edge of my chair and stood over me.  “Oh hey, you’re the photographer!”

Pushing my sunglasses up on my head, I raised my eyes to find a really hot guy standing over me.  Tall, blonde, buff and beautiful, he was hotter than any Abercrombie model I’d ever seen.  I could do so many things with a camera and his face.  Nodding my head, I stared at him.  “Yes, I’m the photographer… and you are?”

Smacking his
forehead, the cutie dropped down on the chair beside me.  “Ack! Sorry.  I’m Ian Monroe, the bands biographer.”

We shook hands before he continued.  “I saw your website.  Everyone was abuzz about the photos of you with that band that the boys
just signed.  I have to tell you, as hot as you were in those pictures, you look even better now, and you’re not even wearing any make-up!  If I didn't already have my eye on someone… honey, you’d be beating me back with a stick.”

I immediately
liked Ian.  He was sweet and funny, and he didn’t seem to have any filters.  Just the type I like to hang around with.  We were going to get along great. 

We wound up spending the rest of the afternoon together shamelessly sunning ourselves and talking about the tour.  Through Ian I found out that we would also be trave
lling with a film crew and a recording crew.  This tour was going to be a huge blow out, and I was quite excited.

I asked what the guys were like to work for, and was happy when Ian said that they were all very cool and down to earth.  “Of course, they’re totally letting me see where all the skeletons are buried for the purposes of the bio.  Normally I have to push people to open up, but they were totally ready for it.  Between you and me, I think this might wind up being the best thing I’ve ever written.  It has best-seller written all over it.”

It seemed like this tour was going to open a lot of doors for a lot of people, myself included.  Thinking back to what their manager said, I understood that the guys really did think that it was important to farm good talent. 

I felt
comfortable with Ian, and I really enjoyed spending the day with him.  I was relieved to know that I'd have cool people to hang with while we were all on the road.

We parted ways just after four
-thirty, and after eating an early dinner, I set to getting ready.  After showering and blowing my hair out, I styled it in loose waves.  I kept my make-up simple, light eye shadow, mascara, and the barest hint of blush. I finished the look with a red lip-gloss that matched the dress.  Once I was satisfied with my face and hair, I put on my red strapless bra and matching thong before slipping into my sheath dress.  After putting on the silver stilettos, I stepped back to survey myself in the mirror.  Smiling, I turn this way and that as I took in the full effect.  I thought I looked the part, and I was very happy with my choice of dress.  I tried not to focus too hard on the fact that I kept wondering what Flynn would think of my outfit.  He probably wouldn’t even notice what I was wearing.

Looking over at the clock, I saw that I had a few minutes to spare before I needed to head down to the lobby for my ride.  Sitt
ing down on the loveseat, I began taking a few deep cleansing breaths.  So far I’d been remarkably calm, but now that I was about to meet Flynn for the first time, I needed to get my game face in place.  It would be beyond embarrassing to stammer and genuflect like some groupie freak, and I had no intention of doing so.  I was also mentally preparing myself for him to be a disappointment.  Nothing ever lives up to the fantasies that are created in the mind, and nothing was ever going to be as intense as the night of the concert when he sang to me.  I started laughing as I reminded myself that he totally
had
to be stuffing his pants with tube socks when he was on stage.

After checking myself over one more time, I grabbed my clutch and headed to the lobby to wait for the town car.  I didn’t have t
o wait at all, because as I exited the elevator I saw a driver holding a tablet with my name on it.  Making my way over to him, I introduced myself.  He introduced himself to me as well, telling me his name was Frank and that he would be my driver for the next few days. 

The drive to the house passed quickly, and before I knew it, I’d arrived at my destination.  Taking one more deep breath, I centered myself before stepping out of the car.  I couldn’t
help the little grimace that flickered over my face when I saw the house.  It was one of those giant ostentatious glass boxes, all sharp corners and steel.  I knew it was some architect’s version of clean lines and beauty, but it was very sterile and cold.  I’m guessing it cost more than I’ll make in my entire life, but I couldn’t live in something like that if you paid me.

A woman
who identified herself as “Pam; the party planner” opened the door to the glass palace.  She handed my clutch off to a waiting assistant, and then escorted me into what I’d assume would be called a living room, even though the term would be
very
generous.  Just like the outside of the house, it was extremely uninviting.  Oh, sure, it was probably a designer’s wet dream, but it was so damn unwelcoming that I shuddered.  Everything in the room had hard lines and edges.  The chairs and sofas were steel colored rectangles and squares with not a throw pillow in site.  You had to love this part of the LA scene, all about the aesthetics, never about the comfort level.

There were several people already in the room, and I was relieved to see Ian
.  He was standing with a beautiful girl in a black bodysuit.  She had an exotic look that paired well with Ian’s California boy appearance.  I couldn’t help but see them through my camera lens.  It’s a professional hazard.  As I was heading over to where they were, Ian saw me and held out his hand to pull me into their space.  “Tessa, this is Devon Bannister.  Devon is directing the documentary that’s being filmed of the tour.  Devon, this is Tessa Hamilton.  Tessa is…”

Waving him off, Devon smiled and held her hand out to me.  “I know who just who you are! Flynn showed me your webs
ite.  Your pictures are amazing. The one of you with the band was unreal.  I’ve been so anxious to meet you to discuss your vision for photos and mine for the film so that we can work it all out together.  Once the tour starts there will be some days that you’re shooting where I’ll have my crew there to interview the guys and capture everything that happens.  I also have an idea of what I want to movie poster to look like, and I’m hoping you’ll love the idea as much as I do.”

I could
n’t help but smile at what a whirling dervish Devon was.  We were going to get along great.  I relaxed a bit more, happy that I’d really liked both of the people that I’d met today who were going to be sharing the road experience with me for the next several months.

Accepting a glass of champagne from a server carrying a silver tray, I started to get into a conversation with Devon about her idea for the movie poster.  Before she could share her vision, I felt the air in the room shift.  Nothing about Ian
or Devon changed, but I could feel the difference in a big way.  Smiling over my shoulder Ian said, “Hey Flynn! You haven’t met Tessa in person yet, have you?”

Reminding myself to breathe,
I held it together beautifully when Flynn stepped next to me for Ian to introduce us.  At least I did until Flynn met my eyes for the first time in six years and then took my hand in his. 

For a moment time stood still and
there wasn’t anything or anyone else in the room.  Hell, there wasn’t even a room.  It was just Flynn and I.  Not Flynn Rand, hotter than hell singer, but Flynn Rand, the man.   And what a man he was. I had a hard time remembering that I’d seen his face, looked into his eyes and heard his voice before, and I was alarmed that in seconds I was wet. 

No, not just wet, drenched.

The sound of Devon’s throaty laugh pulled me back from wherever it was that I’d gone, and I smiled up at Flynn with what I hoped was a normal expression as opposed to an,
“I’m so hot right now that I’d like you to take me into another room, bend me over and take me as hard as humanly possible”
look. 

He smiled back at me as his hand continued to hold onto mine, and while his
face looked calm, the eyes looking back into mine were anything but.  They were full of pure unadulterated,
“I want to fucking pound you”
lust, and I clenched my inner muscles so hard in response to that look that I almost came on the spot.

Jesus Christ, I was
a groupie cliché. 

What.

The. 

Fuck
?

Even with only the benefit of a rear view, I knew without a doubt that it was Tessa. I could feel it.  I could see that she was in conversation with Ian and Devon, but fuck if I cared.  Now that I had her in my sights, I needed to meet her.  If the front was as alluring as the back, I was going to need to work hard to keep myself in check for the rest of the night.  She was wearing some sexy as hell red number, and I’d already decided she had the most delicious looking ass and legs that I’d ever laid eyes on.  The strappy little fuck me heels that she was wearing started a cascade of images in my head, all involving hammering into her while she wore them, and nothing else.

When Ian saw me, he gave
me a smile and a head gesture to make my way over.  As if I could stop from going! I was drawn to Tessa Hamilton as though she was an industrial strength magnet.  Coming up directly behind her, I took in her clean fresh scent. 

Ian wasted
no time in starting the introductions.  “Hey Flynn! You haven’t met Tessa in person yet, have you?”

I had
n’t, unless you counted the dozens of five alarm fantasies and dreams I’d had about her since the night I saw that picture.  Taking a step closer, I stopped when I was standing at her side, holding my breath as she turned to face me for the first time.

Fuck.

ME.

As amazing as the photos I saw of her
were, the in-the-flesh version was a million times better.  My brain catalogued a hundred different facts in less than ten seconds.  She was probably five foot four without the shoes, she was a full B cup, and she wore a size three/four.  I’d definitely earned my doctorate studying and examining the female form over the last decade, but for the first time it shamed me that I’d done all that without even thinking about it. 

When our eyes me
t for the first time, I lost time for a moment.  What the fuck was it about her that was so familiar? I was positive now that I’d never seen or met her previously, because my reaction to her was so extreme that it was something I would remember had it ever happened before.

I
very seriously wondered if there was any scenario available that would make throwing her over my shoulder caveman style and running off with her to the closest bed for the next seven to ten days acceptable.  Decorum prevailed and I reached my hand out to clasp hers. 

With that first touch I. Was
. DONE. 

Ring the bell, sound the alarm, turn off the lights and lock the doors. 

Done. 

I’d easily had hundreds of
women underneath me over the last decade, but never once did I struggle to continue breathing when I touched them.  I was touching Tessa’s hand, not her body, and I shouldn't have been as affected as I was just from a simple touch. 

What the hell?