Total Package. Cait London
drank quickly.
“Okay?” Danya asked with concern.
He was such a nice guy, and she was thinking about that mouth and what it could do and what it would taste like—
Sidney reached for the bottle of wine and in passing, scorched her hand on the candle’s flame—“Ouch!”
She started to rub it on her thigh, but Danya’s hand took hers, his head bending.
His lips touched her hand, suckled the small wound slightly, and Sidney held her breath, fighting the sensations wrapping around her, tugging at her. “You can stop that. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered.
“Does it not?”
His voice was deep and intimate, with that bit of accent tugging at her—as if it were meant just for her. It hurt somewhere deep inside her, an unfamiliar sensitive part of her heart that she hadn’t expected.
On the other hand—she wanted to jump him, take him, work up a real heated froth and exorcise that taut ache within her.
But then, she would be taking advantage of a sweet guy. Danya hadn’t a clue, and he was still in love with his wife. Sidney watched him pour another glass of wine and noted that after he finished a sip, his lips were glossy and smooth.
She breathed deeply and quickly drank her wine. Danya leaned back in his chair. “Rough day?”
“I’m not a portrait photographer. It’s tougher than I thought. I’m not used to arranging bodies and waiting for makeup and hair to be corrected. Earl, the makeup guy, got insulted when I asked him to help me with the light meter. The reason they wanted me for this gig was that I’m pretty good at natural settings and using natural light. Freelancing world catastrophes does a lot for picking up the pace and spotting good shots. Once, Ben and I were on the cusp of this volcano and the lava river swerved right toward us—”
“I see. How about having our wine out on the porch? It’s relaxing to listen to the waves after a hard day.”
On the porch step, Sidney sat beside Danya. “I never should have taken this job. I’ll ship the takes to New York and they’ll be processed there. I just didn’t want to meet Ben and he doesn’t do these gigs. It’s more work than I expected—portraiture, I mean. Sometimes people freeze up and won’t let the camera in. Even the models sometimes do that, and they’re pros. I’ll be glad when it’s finished and I can see the finished product. Everything looks different once they do the graphic work and crop it.”
Danya was holding her hand again, resting it on his thigh. He was silent, staring out into the ocean—probably missing his wife again.
He seemed so lonely and Sidney was glad that she was with him. “You’ve got to get out of this funk, guy,” she said softly. “You’ll meet someone and the first thing you know, you’ll be adding cousins to the list already here.”
“I would like children very much. Would you?”
“No. Rather, I never thought about it. Ben—”
“I would rather not hear about Ben, if that is okay with you.”
“Oh, sure. I’ve been talking too much. It’s boring, I know.” Sidney yawned; she had began to feel the effects of the hard day, the good dinner and the wine.
“Tired?”
“Mmm. But I don’t want to move. This is nice—the sound of the ocean, the tinkling of the wind chimes.”
“Then rest here, against me.” His arm came around her, easing her closer.
Just buddies in the night, Sidney thought, as she settled against him. “You’ll get over this,” she whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Danya returned unevenly as she slid into sleep with the ease of an experienced traveler, who took rest when possible.
Sidney awoke in Danya’s big bed to the sound of deep strained breathing. Danya was on the floor, concentrating on push-ups. “It’s still night, isn’t it?” she asked drowsily as she eased to sit upright. “I usually do those in the morning.”
“Morning is not far away. I am just getting a head start.”
Sidney stood, yawned, stretched and shimmied out of her cargo pants. She tossed them over a chair and reached under her T-shirt, unfastening her bra and drawing it out one of her sleeves. She tossed it onto her pants and yawned again. “I’m beat.”
Danya hadn’t said anything, but in the shadows, his stare was hard and narrowed upon her. He returned to his vigorous push-ups.
Sidney took in that long taut length, his bare back, those bulging muscles, that hard backside clad in jeans. “You ought to pace yourself, Danya.”
“I am trying very hard to do just that.”
“I don’t remember getting into your bed, but I’ll move to my sleeping bag. Thanks for letting me sleep a bit.”
“Uh-huh,” he said grimly.
Sidney walked into the bathroom and braced her hands against the closed door. Then she flattened herself against it and breathed hard, trying to understand what was happening to her. Danya, working up a sweat, had caused that quivery something inside her to tighten and hum and ache. She opted for a really cold shower, changed into her comfortable boxer shorts and T-shirt and came out into the room. Danya, probably exhausted, was lying stomach down on the floor, his head resting on his folded arms.
She thought about that nipple to nipple thing and tried to push it away—it wouldn’t go.
Sidney lay down on her sleeping bag and covered up with her sheet. “Want to talk about it?”
He was lying very close on the floor beside her, and turned to stare at her. “With you? No.”
“Why not?”
He jackknifed to his feet, stood over her and slowly took in the length of her body. The hard bulge beneath his jeans told her that he was aroused.
She could make use of that—if he didn’t deserve better—some woman who would take good care of him.
On the other hand, waste not, want not—she thought as she stared up at him. “You’re having a sexual moment, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“I’ve got no objections.” It was the best invitation she could come up with and it had been good enough for Ben in close quarters.
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