Big City Cowboy. Julie Benson
you mind putting down the saddle and taking off your shirt?”
“Yes, I’d mind.”
Elizabeth couldn’t have heard him. Either that or he misunderstood her question. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mind putting the saddle down, but I’m not taking off my shirt.”
She stood there for a moment trying to regroup.
She was in charge. She told everyone what to do and they did as requested. No one at a photo shoot questioned her decision. Not even Chloe.
This cowboy so pushed her buttons.
For a minute she considered ordering Rory to take off his shirt, but the glint in his eyes stopped her. He flashed her a look similar to her first boss’s I’m-not-discussing-this expression. Sure, she was in charge, but her job hinged on two men’s whims right now, Micah Devlin and Rory McAlister. She couldn’t risk angering Rory enough that he hopped on the next plane to Colorado.
She could do this. Finesse and charm time. “Everyone take five.”
The crew scooted away, though not far, in case she and Rory put on a show.
She walked to where he stood beside the hay, wanting to make their conversation as private as possible. “Rory, what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem, because I’m keeping my shirt on.”
She stared at him, trying to fathom what the hang-up could be. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to pose for a pinup poster. Granted, she hoped this shot would have the same effect and drive women wild for him and the jeans, but they were primarily selling the product.
Maybe he was embarrassed about his chest? It couldn’t be because he wasn’t in shape. No way could he be hiding a beer belly under that form-fitting shirt. Okay, so what else could it be? He was a cowboy. They got thrown from horses. “Do you have some kind of injury or scar that’s making this uncomfortable for you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“You told me I’d be modeling jeans, not posing for beefcake shots.”
“Shots of you without your shirt will highlight the jeans, and it’s what the client wants.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. The guy was one huge piece of granite, hard and unmoving. Needing a chance to cool off, she walked to the table with bottled water by the dressing room. She grabbed one, surprised that the top didn’t pop off the way she squeezed the thing, and stormed back to Rory.
“Here, have some water.” She shoved the bottle into his hands. Hopefully, the water would cool him off, too. “I need a minute.”
Then she walked to the opposite side of the studio to talk to Chloe.
“I gather he’s still refusing to take off his shirt?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I think he’s just being stubborn.”
“We’ve got to get the shots of him in just the jeans.”
What about Rory made her want to dig in her heels? She felt as if she were six years old again, fighting with Angela Simmons. I dare you. No, I double dare you, and the next thing she knew, they were both sitting in Principal Mathews’s office.
“You may have to pull rank.” Chloe glanced toward Rory. “Look at him. How else do you think you’re going to get him to cooperate?”
She followed her friend’s gaze. The cowboy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his strong chest. His lips formed a thin line. Nope, he hadn’t let go of his anger, either.
His gaze locked with hers again. Then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and he smiled.
No way was he backing down.
She’d never been a gambler, especially when the costs were so high, and not just for her, but those who worked with her. So much rode on the campaign’s success, and she needed those shots of Rory in just the jeans.
If he wanted to lock horns about this issue, he’d chosen the wrong person to mess with, because she couldn’t afford to lose.
She stalked across the floor and stopped in front of Rory. She looked into his chiseled features, unmoved by his gorgeous face or his angry scowl. “I need shots of you with your shirt off. You either do as requested or you’re fired.”
Chapter Four
Rory, a damned good poker player, could bluff with the best of ’em, but Lizzie won this hand fair and square. Not that he would let her see how much the fact bothered him.
He unscrewed the plastic cap off his water bottle, kept his gaze focused on her and took a long drink. Then he set the bottle on the nearby table and tugged the shirttails out of his jeans. He grabbed one side in each hand and pulled. The snaps popping as they came loose broke the silence. Next, he peeled off his shirt and tossed the garment on the table.
His gaze still locked with Lizzie’s, he leaned back, crossed his arms over his bare chest and said, “How’s this work for you, sweetheart? Does what you see get your engine racing?”
Her cheeks immediately turned the same shade of pink as his mother’s favorite roses. Lizzie blinked and swallowed.
Point to him.
“Let’s get this done,” he said as he walked away.
Her high heels clicked on the wood floor as she scrambled to catch up with him. “Break over, everyone.”
He stopped beside the hay bales and turned toward her, deciding to have a bit more fun teasing her. “How do you want me positioned? I’m all yours.”
The pulse in her neck throbbed wildly. Her eyes dilated. He smiled, knowing he’d chipped a piece out of her in-control businesswoman facade. What would Lizzie be like if she loosened up a bit? She’d be a handful who could give a man a wild ride. Now that he’d like to see.
“I’m not quite sure.” After clearing her throat, she faced the photographer. “What do you think, Chloe? How should we position Rory?”
“Yes, ladies, by all means—what do you think would be my best position?”
Lizzie choked on the water she’d been about to swallow. He thumped her on the back. “You okay?”
She nodded, and he sank onto a hay bale.
“What you’re doing looks amazing, Rory,” Chloe said, the camera held to her eye. “Hold that pose.”
As the photographer swarmed around him, clicking, his gaze never wavered from Lizzie. For all her confidence, put things on a man-woman level and she apparently didn’t know what to do.
“Now cross your arms,” Chloe said.
Rory started fantasizing, imagining taking Lizzie’s hair out of the tight ponytail and running his fingers through the blond, curly strands. His imagination wandered further. Would the texture be as silky as he suspected? He pictured her golden hair falling around her face as she leaned over him in bed.
“Pick up the saddle.” Her voice cut through his fantasy.
He stood and did as requested, but pretended he was lifting her instead. Heck, she probably weighed less than the saddle. Then an image of them flashed in his mind: of her sliding down his body and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her beautiful hair spilled down her back as she tilted her face upward, exposing her graceful neck. What kind of sounds would she make when he explored her skin with his lips?
He lowered the saddle a little to cover his rising excitement.
How long had it been since he’d had a date? Over six months. Talk