Grace Holloway looked up from the bridal bouquet she was making as her little sister entered her flower shop, Petals and Peonies. Concern washed over her as she took in Ginger’s bleary countenance, starting from her red-rimmed eyes down to the dirty, oversized gray hoodie she was wearing. Her face was pale and her long blonde hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days.
Something was wrong.
Walking around the counter, Grace pulled her sister to a nearby chair and placed a cool palm on her forehead. “Are you all right, Ginger? You’re burning up.”
Ginger coughed into her sleeve, her voice sounding like crushed, dry leaves. “I think I have the flu.”
“Then what are you doing here? You should be in bed,” Grace admonished.
“I need to ask you for a favor first.”
“What is it?”
“I have a photo shoot tomorrow and I won’t be able to make it.”
“That’s obvious.”
“I… uh, I need you to take my place.”
Grace blinked, unsure if she heard her sister correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I said, I need you to take my place—”
“I heard what you said. I just wasn’t sure if I heard you right.”
Ginger reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, blowing loudly into it. When she looked up at Grace again, her eyes were pleading. “I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important. I just… I really need this gig right now. You know I’ve been struggling to find work this past year, and this photo shoot is a pretty big deal. It’ll give me the exposure I need to jumpstart my modeling career again.”
Grace frowned at her sister, anger stirring inside. Ginger had started modeling for the last two years of her twenty-six-year-old life, but it had gotten her nowhere so far. It had all started when her boyfriend, Brett, had told her she was too beautiful to be working behind a desk, and that she would make a lot more money modeling than working as an accountant for some boring financial firm. Ginger, being head over heels in love with Brett, had taken his suggestion seriously. Even though Grace had thought it was a bad idea, she didn't have the heart to crush her sister's dream, so she had kept her mouth shut and played the part of the supportive sister. To Grace’s utter surprise, Ginger had a great start—with her stunning looks, she was able to book a consistent flow of commercial gigs.
Then Brett had quit his job to help “manage” her budding career, and it all went downhill from there. He started spending their money frivolously, and the drinking, gambling, and late-night partying took a toll on Ginger. She started showing up late and hungover to work, and eventually the tardiness, no-shows, and lack of professionalism had gotten her fired from many of her modeling jobs. Word got around, and it seemed like no one had wanted to hire an aspiring model with Ginger’s messy reputation. Now she was working as a waitress at some nightclub, waiting for her next big break and barely making enough money to afford the lifestyle that she and Brett once had.
Grace had tried to stay supportive of her sister over the past two years, but it was getting difficult to ignore Ginger's dead-end career at this point.
“Grace?” Ginger croaked when Grace didn’t immediately answer her.
Grace walked back behind the counter and resumed making her bridal bouquet, effectively dismissing her sister and the asinine scheme she was trying to propose. She couldn’t believe that Ginger would even ask her for this ridiculous favor in the first place! She had a 500-guest wedding on Saturday and two funerals on Sunday she had to prepare floral arrangements for, and she didn’t have any time to waste on Ginger’s problems. Grace loved her sister more than anything in the world, and there wasn’t much she wouldn't do for her Ginger, but she had to draw the line somewhere. Supporting her sister emotionally was one thing… but lying for her was another. She wasn’t willing to stoop that low.
“Grace?” Ginger asked again.
“The answer is no,” Grace replied calmly.
“Grace, please!”
Grace shook her head.
Ginger walked up to the counter and grabbed Grace’s hand, halting her work. “I’m begging you, Grace. This is probably my last chance to salvage whatever is left of my career. If I don’t show up to this photo shoot, I’ll never work in this city again.”
“Good. Maybe you should start thinking about doing something else, or go back to accounting—”
“I don’t want to do anything else!”
Grace remained silent.
“Please, Grace! I’m desperate here,” Ginger implored, her voice turning watery. “Will you please help me? Just this once?”
Grace threw down the Baby’s Breaths she was holding and gave her sister an exasperated look. “What do you want me to do, Ginger? Even if I were to agree to your crazy scheme, which I’m not, think of the logistics.” She waved a hand between the two of them. “How am I going to pretend to be you? We’re not twins.”
“Yes, but we’re sisters, and we definitely look alike. You’re only two years older than me. Don’t you remember how Grandma couldn’t tell us apart when we were little?”
“We’re not six anymore.”
“Yes, but we have the same features. We’re the same size and we have the same coloring—”
Grace let out a huff of laughter. “Are you blind? We are not the same size.”
Ginger shrugged like that minor detail wasn’t a deal-breaker. “Close enough. I admit, I’m a bit bigger in the bust and ass, but that’s an easy fix. The outfits can be taken in quickly. The photographer and crew tomorrow are new too—they haven’t worked with me before, so no one will know that you’re replacing me. All you have to do is sign in, get your measurements taken by wardrobe, then go straight to hair and makeup and don’t talk to anyone.”
“Aren’t you forgetting the most important part?”
“What?”
“I’ve never modeled before in my life. They’ll know I’m a fraud for sure.”
“I can show you.”
Grace looked at her skeptically. “How can I learn to be a model that quickly?”
“YouTube.”
Grace laughed out loud, mostly in disbelief. “You've got to be kidding me.”
The expression on Ginger's face said she wasn't at all. “You can learn anything on YouTube these days, and the best part is, it's free. That's how I got started.”
Grace rubbed a hand against her temple, feeling a headache coming on. “And when is this photo shoot?”
“This Friday.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t learn to be a model in two days!”
“Yes, you can! It’s not like you’re doing a spread for Vogue. It’s a pretty basic campaign shoot for Obsidian’s rebranding—”
Grace held up a hand and looked at her sister incredulously. “Whoa. Stop. Backtrack… did you just say Obsidian? As in the nightclub Obsidian?”
Ginger nodded.
“Owned by Max Blackburn?”
Ginger eyed her quizzically. “Why do you sound so surprised? I've been waitressing there for six months now—”
“So you've been working for our enemy behind my back all this time?”
“He’s not our enemy. He’s just yours. Seriously, Grace, if you just spend five minutes with him, you’ll see that he’s not that bad.”
“There’s no need to spend five minutes with that asshole! Five seconds in his company would have any sane woman running in the opposite direction.”
“He’s actually a pretty decent guy.”
“A decent guy wouldn’t go to the bank behind my back and try to buy out my flower shop.”
“He did offer you a much bigger, better space downtown—”
“Only after he found out Petals and Peonies wasn’t financed, and I owned it outright!” Grace gaped at her sister. “Whose side are you on, Ginger?”
“Yours, of course. Always. It’s just… it's just, you weren’t exactly nice to him either, you know.”
“I have every right not to be! Especially since the jerk has been trying to buy out my store for over a year, and he hasn’t been nice about it either. As if I would ever sell our family business to him just so he can tear it down and build another unnecessary nightclub in this city.”
Ginger let out a long sigh, as if Grace was the one being unreasonable.
“I see his assistant in here at least once a week ordering breakup flowers for whichever woman he’s done screwing for the moment,” Grace continued heatedly. “He goes through women like an alcoholic goes through whiskey. I can guarantee you he treats people in his personal life the same way he treats them in his professional life—they're just meaningless conquests to him, fleeting and unimportant.”
“You got all that from the breakup flowers he orders here?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you disliked him so much…”
“Dislike is a pretty generous term. I detest the man. He’s like… he’s like the human version of period cramps.”
“You detest the man or men in general?”
“What?” Grace stuttered, completely taken aback by her sister’s comment.
Ginger looked down at her feet nervously, unable to look Grace in the eyes, probably sensing that she had hit a nerve. “Ever since… ever since Eric and the divorce, you haven't been the same, Gracie. And that's completely understandable, considering everything he's put you through. I mean, who can come out of that experience the same, you know? But I—I just feel like you had let Eric ruin you for other men—”
At the mention of her ex-husband, Grace instantly shut down. Nothing good came from bringing up her past. Years of therapy had taught her to avoid triggers, and the word “Eric” in any conversation was definitely a trigger. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Ginger dropped the subject immediately, her tone becoming apologetic. “Of course. I’m sorry for bringing him up.”
Grace didn't reply and instead went back to what she was doing, picking angrily at the bundle of Baby’s Breaths.
They both became quiet, seemingly lost in their own thoughts.
“You need to stop working for Blackburn, Ginger,” Grace said at last. “You’re not getting anywhere in life waitressing at his nightclub.”
Ginger continued to rub her nose with a tissue, looking like a lost puppy. “I know, I know,” she mumbled. “It’s just… he’s a big deal in the entertainment industry. And having my name connected to his would open a lot of doors for me. If only you could put aside your animosity for him and help me out, just this once.”
Grace sighed and stared at her sister for a long moment, indecision warring inside her. “Even if I wanted to help you, the animosity between me and Blackburn is a two-way street. The man hates me just as much as I hate him, especially after that incident at Tryst.”
“I thought you were already over that.”
“I am. But I’m not sure he is.”
“How do you know?”
“We work a block from each other. I run into him occasionally and the man treats me like I’m gum beneath his Prada loafers.”
“Maybe… maybe you should apologize to him then,” Ginger suggested.
“For what?”
“For kneeing him in the balls at Tryst.”
“I will not! It was reflex, and he deserved it.”
“Seriously, Grace, you're being too dramatic. You got hit on by one of the hottest guys in the country, and that offended you? How do we share the same DNA?”
Grace stared at her sister in astonishment. “I’m beginning to question that myself. You think I should be flattered that he attacked me?”
“He didn’t attack you.”
“He grabbed my ass and asked if I wanted to have a quick fuck against the bar.”
“The club was dark, everyone was drunk—”
“I was sober.”
“—and he mistook you for his girlfriend.”
“He didn’t even apologize afterward!”
“Only because you brought him to his knees and humiliated him in front of the entire club. So call it even.”
Grace let out a frustrated breath. “I also have a job, Ginger. I run this shop seven days a week. When would I have the time to sub in for you?”
“You work seven days a week because you’re a workaholic who refuses to take any days off.”
“Your point?”
“Stephanie is a great store manager. Just have her fill in for you for three days. She needs the overtime—”
Grace's jaw drop. “Three days?”
“Yes, the campaign is shot in three different locations.”
Grace shook her head adamantly. “No. Absolutely not. You’re out of your mind! I can't take three days off!”
Ginger made a pleading noise in her throat. “Grace, please! I’ll do anything you want. Anything. You know I would do the same for you if you were in my shoes.”
The last statement gave Grace a pause. Looking into her little sister's pale, desperate face, Grace felt herself softening. Sometimes she forgot Ginger had been the one who had rescued her from her disastrous marriage, the one who had taken care of her and helped her get back on her feet when her world fell apart. She loved Ginger, and she owed her little sister a lot.
“All right… fine,” she grumbled after a few minutes, already regretting her decision as soon as she said it. “But don't get your hopes up,” she warned. “If Blackburn recognizes me, he's going to kick me out on my ass and then fire you.”
Ginger let out a squeal of excitement. “He won’t be there. He’s in New York for business and won’t be back until next month.” Ginger threw her arms around Grace and kissed her on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Grace! You don’t know what this means to me. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I owe you big—”
Grace returned her little sister's hug. “You don’t owe me anything, Ginnie. Not after everything you’ve done for me after Eric.”
“You’re the best! I love you, Gracie.”
“I love you, too. Now go home and get some rest before you get me sick too.”
Giving Grace another squeeze, Ginger literally skipped out of the shop and promised to text her the addresses and schedule for the upcoming shoot.
***
After a crash course in modeling from her sister, which consisted of Ginger sending her a couple of YouTube videos on “How to Become a Model”, Grace walked into Obsidian nightclub at seven a.m. the following Friday and was once again mesmerized, just like she had been the first time, at how magnificent it looked.
Decorated in rich hues of gold, bronze, and blue, the obscenely elegant nightclub was filled with thousands of individual light sources and a huge, opulent LED chandelier in the middle of the dance floor. The 75,000 square feet, two-level venue featured sparkling decor, luxurious leather seats, and a bar at every corner of the room. The second floor of the club was even more spectacular, featuring a rooftop lounge, canopy-draped cabanas, and a breathtaking view of the city.
Walking slowly across the club, Grace followed the signs and made her way down a series of hallways that led to the employee's area in the back. A blonde man holding a clipboard, dressed casually in a black T-shirt and jeans, greeted her. “You here for the photo shoot?” he asked, his eyes an intense gray as he raked her from head to toe.
Grace nodded, too nervous to speak.
“Continue down this hallway, then make a right past the restrooms. You have half an hour for hair and make-up and half an hour to get yourself fitted in wardrobe. Shoot starts promptly at eight and ends at noon. Don’t be late—we have a full morning of principal photography to get through.”
Grace nodded again, then hurried down the hall without another word. She entered the dressing room and immediately had a deer-in-headlights moment, watching with mounting anxiety as a flurry of half-naked women ran back and forth in the crowded space, dodging and bumping into each other as they tried to get themselves ready. She was so overwhelmed by the scene that it took her a while to notice the plump, stern-looking woman standing in front of her. The woman's name tag said she was Magda.
“Name?” Magda asked tersely.
“Gr—Ginger Holloway.”
“Bust and cup size?”
“34C.”
Magda flicked a glance at Grace’s chest, as if to make sure she was telling the truth, then went back to her clipboard.
“Height?”
“Five-six.”
“Waist size?”
Grace looked nervously down at herself. “I—uh—I don’t know. I’ve never measured my waist before—”
Tucking the clipboard underneath her arm, Magda pulled out a measuring tape and wrapped it around Grace's waist, then her hips.
“25 waist, 36 hip,” Magda said evenly. “I take it from your tone that this is your first photo shoot. I would recommend you remember those numbers. They'll be useful when you get fitted for any future work.”
Grace let out the breath she was holding and nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Shoe size?”
“Seven.”
Magda waved her hand to someone over Grace’s shoulder. “Justin will be doing your hair and makeup this morning. Any allergies we should know about?”
“Allergies?”
“Beauty products have common allergens in them, like fragrances, preservatives, dyes, metals, etcetera. Do you have any allergies?”
Grace shook her head.
“Good.” Magda turned to Justin. “She has a lot of hair, so I want it down and curled. Dark eyes, nude lips. She has a good complexion, so keep the foundation to a minimum—I want natural, dewy fresh skin. You can use station six.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Justin said.
Without another word, Magda stalked away to greet the next girl behind her.
“I love your hair, honey,” Justin said as he ushered Grace to a small vanity area with a large number six on top of the mirror. Settling her into the seat, he pulled out a paddle brush and started brushing her hair.
Grace gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Natural or bottle?”
“Natural.”
Justin made a humming noise in his throat. “It's a gorgeous color. You don't see this shade of blonde every day. Women spend hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, just to have your hair color. Trust me, I know. A couple of years back I tried getting this exact shade you have—pearly, cool-tone, champagne blonde—but I ended up with ashy, platinum locks instead.” He made a disgusted face as he reached for the curler and started twisting large sections of her hair between the smoking barrels. “It wasn't a good color on me. You know what they say, ashy is trashy.”
Grace let out a small laugh and felt the tension ease from her body as Justin continued his friendly chatter.
Thirty minutes later, with her hair styled in thick curls and her face freshly made-up, she was ushered to wardrobe and instructed to try on three outfits ranging from a simple long sleeve black mini dress with the logo of the nightclub on it, to a gorgeous mermaid ball gown, and lastly, a string bikini. She was informed that today's shoot would only feature the ball gown. She and four other girls were fitted into the slinky, backless sequined dress and were told to walk to the main bar, which was turned into a glamorous set with a huge crystal chandelier hung low, and an array of the club’s most expensive champagne and liquor bottles strategically placed around the area.
To Grace’s surprise, the blonde man she had met earlier at the employee’s entrance turned out to be their photographer. He introduced himself as Cameron Mitchell, and much to her relief, Cam turned out to be a friendly and communicative photographer. He knew exactly how to interact with everyone to draw out the right emotions, make them feel at ease, and get them to work harmoniously together.
All in all, the shoot went extremely well for Grace, and she was able to breeze through the entire morning with no hiccups.
Promptly at noon, Cam dismissed all the models for the day, but told Grace to stay behind. As soon as everyone left, he took his camera off the tripod and approached her.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked anxiously, licking her lips.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Nah, you're perfect. I just want to do a couple shots of you alone.”
Grace was so stunned by the statement that she could only manage a small, “Oh, okay,” in response.
Cam raised the camera to his face and angled the lens toward her. “You seem surprised.”
“I am.”
“Why? You must know you’re beautiful. Have none of the photographers you’ve worked with ever told you that?”
“I'm new at this,” she murmured, flattered and a bit flustered by his compliment. “You're the first photographer I've worked with.”
“And I’m sure I won’t be your last. You have a face made for the camera, darling. The soft lines and angles, the symmetry of your face—you’re stunning.” His voice was low and soothing as he moved closer to her on the settee. “I want you to lie back down and raise your arms above your head. Yes, like that. Now tip your head back slightly and smile. Smile like you have a secret you want to share with me.” She heard the shutters going off as he spoke and began to relax, basking in his words of encouragement.
She was so focused on Cam and getting her poses right that she lost all track of time. It wasn’t until a big, imposing shadow fell over her that all hell broke loose.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
Jerking from her reclined position, Grace swung her gaze toward the menacing voice, her inside filling with dread as she stared into the blistering gaze of the devil himself, Maxwell Blackburn.
Max couldn’t believe his eyes.
Grace Holloway.
Here.
On his set.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with the world today? Couldn’t he catch a break? He had spent the last forty-eight hours with barely a wink of sleep flying from New York to Florida, then Texas, then back to California again, trying to get his investors to sign off on the Briar and Main Street project. He had ended up getting only half of the investors to sign and decided to cut his trip short before he wasted any more time. The last thing he had expected to see was the Holloway woman reclining on one of his settees, looking like a goddamn wet dream.
Hungry, annoyed, and tired as hell, he uttered the first thing that came to his mind. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
He heard Cam mutter a curse and turned to glare at him. “Jesus, Max, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a session here?”
“The photo shoot should’ve ended hours ago.”
“I asked Ginger to stay. I wanted to do a couple of personal shots with just her—”
“That's not Ginger,” he growled, pointing an accusing finger at the blasted woman. “Her name is Grace. Her little sister, Ginger, is supposed to be modeling for this campaign, not her.”
Cam turned back to Grace and raised a brow. “Is that true?”
Grace slowly lifted herself off the settee and returned his surly expression with one of her own, defiance clear in her eyes. “That’s correct. Ginger is sick and asked me to step in for her. We’re the same size and we have the same features, so I didn't see any harm in helping my sister out.”
“Any harm? Pretending to be your sister is considered fraud, lady. I can sue your ass, and your sister, for breach of contract—”
“Dude, relax,” Cam said in an even tone, apparently seeing nothing wrong with her explanation. “It’s not a crime to help her sister.”
Max glared at his best friend, feeling betrayed. “Are you saying what she did is right?”
“I’m not saying that at all. I admit she should've been honest from the very beginning, but if she hadn't shown up, we would've been one model short and the whole shoot would’ve been delayed. Besides, her replacing her sister is a blessing in disguise. She’s a natural at this—just look at the photos later and tell me if she isn’t phenomenal in it.”
“I don't fucking care if she’s the new Kate Moss. I don’t want this woman working for me.”
Cam ran a hand through his hand, looking angry now. At him. As if he was the one in the wrong.
Unloyal bastard.
“We can’t redo the shoot, Max. I don’t have time to go to HR and find another model to replace her, and I doubt you want to spend extra money bringing the other models back for a reshoot.”
Max ground his teeth together, hating to admit that Cam was right. Goddamn the bastard, but he was always the logical one.
Cam narrowed his eyes, suspicion apparent in his flinty gaze now. “I’ve never seen you this worked up over a woman before. What the hell is your problem with her, anyway?”
“He hates me because I won’t sell him my flower shop.”
Both men turned to see Grace standing right beside them, arms folded over her chest, her full lips pinched and her eyes blazing green fire. “His lawyers have been hounding me for over a year to sell my store to him, just so he can tear it down and build another nightclub on top of it. God forbid we need another nightclub since there are so few of them in the city as it is.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
Max didn't bother to deny it, since everything she said was true.
“Well, regardless of whatever business war you two have going on, I can’t press pause on the campaign right now to find new talent,” Cam said calmly. “I’m on a deadline and we’re behind schedule as it is.”
Max scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. “Cam’s right. We wasted almost a full day on you already. You can finish out your sister’s contract and then get the hell out of my sight.”
“Gladly,” she fired back. “Trust me, the farther I am away from you, the better.”
“That makes two of us,” he snapped, then turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit. He made it a couple of steps to the door when her next words rang out loud and clear, stopping him in his tracks.
“That’s funny… that was the opposite of what you wanted from me at Obsidian’s grand opening last year.” Her tone was deliberate. Almost taunting.
Max whirled around just in time to see Cam’s brows shoot up to the top of his hairline. He stalked back to where she was standing and intentionally used his six-foot-three frame to tower over her. Even in her high heels, he was still taller than her by half a foot. They stood facing each other, squaring off like two adversaries.
“What did you say?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice.
She didn’t seem the least intimidated as she craned her neck up to glare at him. “I said that’s not what you wanted from me at Obsidian last year. Don’t you remember that night? Or should I refresh your memory?”
“What happened at Obsidian?” Cam asked, his eyes flicking curiously back and forth between them.
“I kneed him in the balls.” She made the comment with a smirk on her face, as if she had relished the act… and reminding him of it.
“Oh, Jesus,” Cam muttered. “Forget I asked—”
“It was in self-defense,” she continued in a cool tone. “After he groped me, then propositioned me.”
Max felt his temper flare. “There are two sides to every story.”
“Does it matter?” she countered. “You were an asshole in both of them.”
“All you had to do was tell me no. There was no need for violence.”
“Like that would have stopped you.”
“I have never forced a woman before in my life,” he snarled. “I don’t need to.” He knew he sounded arrogant, but it was true. His love life was easy—he could have anyone he wanted. He didn’t need to resort to force or aggression to get a woman to go home with him.
He could tell by the look on her face that she thought differently. “What was your excuse for assaulting me, then?”
“It wasn’t assault, damn you! I was drunk and thought you were my girlfriend.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “You didn’t have one. A girlfriend would signify monogamy, something you're incapable of.”
“My girlfriend for the night.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re a rude, judgmental bit—”
“Whoa, enough!” came Cam’s thunderous voice from behind them. “Enough with the insults.”
“I’m not insulting her, I’m describing her. There’s a difference,” Max said snidely.
“Max…” Cam warned.
Grace continued to glare at him with pure contempt in her eyes. “It's okay, Cam. I'm used to dealing with men like him. Some just have more dick in their personality than in their pants.”
“Maybe if you had more dicks in your pants, you wouldn’t come off as an uptight, frigid, man-eating shrew.”
The corner of her lips turned up slightly, seemingly unoffended by his acrid remarks. “I would take that as an insult, Blackburn, if I valued your opinion at all.”
She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t even scared of him, and despite his icy rage, Max felt his stomach muscles knot in admiration. His first few impressions of her weren’t favorable, to put it mildly, but being this close and staring into her rich, sea-foam green eyes, the kind of eyes a man could get lost in, he grudgingly admitted that he still wanted her. There was something undeniably striking about her, a fiery mystique that he couldn’t quite read or grasp. His inexplicable attraction to her was irritating as hell, and it only fueled his already short temper.
Turning, he shot Cam a threatening look. “Just keep her the hell away from me and we won’t have a problem,” he snapped, then stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
***
Grace showed up Sunday afternoon for the last day of the photo shoot, eager to wrap up the campaign and return to normal life again. The space they were using was a luxury mansion located on a cliff with a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean.
Despite his words about staying the hell away from her, Blackburn had shown up to the photo shoot. Grace tried hard not to let his presence affect her, but whenever she sneaked a glance at him, she would find his eyes on her. Wary and disconcerted by his attention, she did her best to ignore him, even though he wasn’t a man you could easily ignore—he was too big, too intense, too extreme in both personality and presence.
Luckily for her, the afternoon passed by quickly, with no signs of Blackburn in sight. Throwing a robe over the tiny bikini she was wearing, Grace belted it and then headed out to the pool area, preparing for her last scene of the day. She seriously did not know that modeling could be such hard work, but after the last three days, she definitely had more respect for the profession now. The constant hours of bending your body in awkward and sometimes ridiculous poses, the absolute upper and lower body strength it took to hold your body still for endless amounts of time, and the strain of trying to convey emotions through your eyes while the photographer is shouting at you to “do better” was freaking exhausting. It was a neat experience, one that had forced her to step out of her comfort zone, but it wasn't something she was ever going to do again. She was looking forward to finally wrapping up this campaign and returning to her regularly scheduled program.
Stepping out of the changing room, she spotted Cam standing under the pergola and made her way toward him. She noticed he was talking to a tall, muscular man and surmised that it was the male model she was photographing with. The model had his back to her, and Grace couldn't help but admire the man’s backside.
He was definitely a very fit man.
His shoulders were wide, his arms roped with layers of muscle. His back was thick and sinewy, and tapered down to a narrow waist, an amazing ass, and long legs.
Cam saw her from over the model's shoulder and motioned with his hand for her to join them, looking irritable. At Cam’s gesture, the model turned to look over his shoulder at her, and her smile slipped.
No.
Way.
In.
Hell.
Stumbling to a halt at the edge of the pool, Grace stared dumbfounded into Blackburn’s moody face, hating the fact that he looked just as good from the front as he did from the back. Too bad his beautiful exterior didn’t reflect the soulless black heart he had inside, she thought acidly.
“Hey Grace,” Cam called out. “Come closer so we can talk. There’s been a change of plan.”
Grace walked to where Cam was and put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously, her eyes darting between the two men. She could tell by the grim cast on Blackburn’s face that she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear.
“Stephen, the male model you’re shooting with today, just got into a car accident while driving up here. Fucking construction,” Cam muttered, the stress of the day clearly evident on his face. “Since we’re running out of time, I’m having Max step in to replace him.”
Grace couldn’t contain her reaction as she let out an involuntary curse and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to reach for calm. God, could this day get any worse? There was no way she could work with him—she wouldn't last a minute. Manners and civility go out the door whenever they were in each other's company. “Can we reschedule?” she suggested, trying to hide the panic in her voice. “I don’t mind coming back another day. In fact, you and Stephen can pick any day to reshoot at your convenience, and I’ll be here.”
“I don’t want to waste any more money on a reshoot,” Blackburn piped in. “This campaign is already bleeding my budget dry.” He was frowning at her as he said the words, his expression resembling that of a bad-tempered child, as if she were somehow the cause of all these problems.
Grace opened her mouth to blast him with a scorching reply, but Cam placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “He’s right, Grace. Time is money, and right now neither of us has any to spare. Besides, I think Max being in the campaign is a great idea. It’s his club so his face should be on it.” He paused and looked down at her, as if sensing her discomfort with the whole situation. “Will you be okay working with Max? If not, I can ask one of the other models to take your place. The choice is yours.”
Blackburn scoffed. “Why wouldn’t she be okay? Unless she’s scared of me?”
Grace glared up at his mocking face, her initial reluctance to work with him gone. “Nothing about you scares me,” she bit out. Then, just to prove her point, she stalked to the steps of the pool and threw open her robe, revealing the white bikini underneath. Feeling both of the men's gazes on her, she stepped into the pool until she was waist-deep.
“How long is this going to take, Cam?” the jerk asked as he got into the pool beside her.
“Depends on the two of you. If you can both put your childish tantrums aside and act like adults, we should be out of here in two hours or so.”
Blackburn nodded curtly. “Let's get this over with.”
Max leaned back against the steps of the pool and watched Grace in brooding silence. They had spent the last two hours wrapped around each other, and even though he despised the woman, he couldn’t help but admire her strength and tenacity. He and Cam had both knew that it was going to be tough to ask her to shoot the scene with him, considering their acrimonious history. Hell, even he had doubts when he found out that they would be photographing together—the hostility between them ran so thick you could cut a knife through it. Yet, despite his misgivings, he was actually glad that she didn't back down from the challenge because, honestly; she was the best model out of the group. For a woman who had never modeled before, she was a goddamn natural, just like Cam had said. He had taunted her before, asking if she was afraid of him, but they both knew she wasn't scared of him one damn bit. Grudgingly, he admitted that if he had met her at another time and place, if they didn't have her damn flower shop between them, he would have pursued her relentlessly until he had her. They could've spent the last year fucking instead of fighting.
He watched with ill-tempered yearning as Cam instructed her to lie down at the edge of the glittering pool, her arms thrown over her head and one tanned leg bent. She had her head tilted toward the sun, her back arched and her hand running down her body in a slow glide, her full breasts thrusted into the air. The thin fabric of her bikini clung to her skin, outlining her tempting body provocatively… and dirty, unseemly thoughts filled his head.
Highly sexual ones.
Unable to avert his gaze, he surveyed her body with leisure, feeling his arousal spike as he focused on every dip and curve. He'd been with beautiful women before, had slept with more of them than he could count, but the women in his circle were noisy and brainless. Grace, on the other hand, radiated a potent sensuality that he couldn't resist. She had a heart-shaped face framed by thick, platinum blonde locks, the strands glinting like drops of champagne in the sunlight. High cheekbones, full lips, and perfect brows were arched over the most expressive moss-green eyes he'd ever seen. Every time he looked into those eyes, all he could think about was filling that smart-ass mouth with his tongue and having her naked and arching wildly beneath him as he pushed deep inside.
“Max!”
Max jolted from his lust-filled thoughts to find Cam standing above him at the edge of the pool. “What?” he growled.
“What the hell is the matter with you? I’ve asked you to move over to the jacuzzi a dozen times already.”
“There’s no need to bark at me.”
“How the hell else am I supposed to get your attention when you're zoning out into la-la land?” Cam looked at him impatiently. “Hurry and meet us by the jacuzzi. The sun is about to set and I want to get the last shot with the sunset before we lose it.”
Muttering under his breath, Max hoisted himself out of the pool, then stalked over to where Grace and Cam were standing.
“Okay, this is the last scene. If we could all be nice to each other and keep the bickering to a minimum, we should be done quickly. There’s only about 3 minutes of good sunset, so let's not waste it. Max, I need you to get into the jacuzzi and sit down with your back to the sun.”
Max did as Cam asked, avoiding Grace's gaze. Stepping into the scorching water, he sat back against the side of the jacuzzi and stretched out his long legs. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes for a moment and let the hot jets ease the tension from his body. He heard Cam in the background talking to Grace softly, directing her on what to do.
“Okay, Grace, I need you to get into the water with him,” Cam said. “Stand between his legs… wait, no, never mind. That’s awkward.” There was a pause. “I want you on his lap, straddling him.”
Max jerked forward and stared straight into equally shocked green eyes. A high flush fanned across Grace’s face, either from the heated water or from Cam’s direction, he wasn’t sure. She stood between his legs in nothing but that damn bikini, her nipples hard and peaking out from the thin material and right at face-level with him. All he had to do was lean in another inch, and he could take that tempting nipple into his mouth.
“I’m sorry?” he heard her squeak. “What did you say, Cam?”
“I said, climb onto his lap and straddle him. I want you facing each other.”
“Is that really necessary?” Max demanded.
“No,” Cam snapped, looking beyond incensed. “It's not necessary at all. I just like to make you both uncomfortable, prolong this miserable day, and waste everyone's time for shits and giggles.”
Max gave him a baleful look. “Jesus, it was just a question, Cam. When did you turn into such a snowflake?”
Cam gave him the finger.
“You need to relax, man.”
“I am relaxed,” Cam growled, not sounding relaxed at all. “Now shut the hell up and do as I say.”
Max heard a soft, melodic sound to his right and turned to see Grace laughing at them, her eyes twinkling with mirth. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh, and he found he liked the sound a lot. He felt soft hands on his thighs as she gracefully leaned forward and positioned herself over him. “I’ve never seen Cam so worked up before,” she murmured, a light blush still staining her cheeks.
“I push his buttons a lot,” he said gruffly, trying to ignore the way her crotch was perfectly aligned with his manhood.
“You push everyone’s button.” Her tone wasn’t angry or recriminating, and the small smile on her lips remained in place.
Damn, she was something when she smiled. He couldn’t stop staring at her, could barely form the words to answer her.
“Closer, Grace,” Cam muttered, clicking away at his camera.
Clasping both of her hands behind his neck, she pulled herself further onto his lap until her breasts were pressed against his chest. Her touch was impersonal, but that didn’t matter to his traitorous body. Heat coiled low in his belly and shot straight through his nerve endings like wildfire. He couldn’t control his train of thought as he imagined what it would be like to be inside her, of slipping into her wet sheath, of filling his hands with her delicious bottom and his mouth with her breast while she rode him. He shuddered as he felt himself get hard, his dick straining the fabric of his trunks. She must have felt his erection because her lips parted in shock, her eyes turning wide. Against his better judgment, he moved his hands over her ass and slipped them under her bikini bottom, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He heard her gasp, but she didn't push away; instead, her thighs tightened around his hips reflexively. Unable to stop himself, he gripped both cheeks and started moving her over his cock, sliding back and forth ever so slightly, causing enough friction for both of them to shudder. Grace dropped her forehead against his, her breath coming in short pants now. Their lips were scant centimeters apart. He lifted his mouth to hers, desperate to know how she would taste—
“Annndddd that’s a wrap!”
They jerked apart at Cam’s voice.
Grace pushed herself away and fell back against the bubbling water, all the while staring at him in horror.
“That was excellent, you two! That last shot… phew, I think it’s going to be gold.”
Cam’s voice droned out as Max watched Grace all but sprint from the pool. He let out a small groan and slid deeper into the swirling water, waiting for his blood and erection to cool down.
“Want to meet me at Riley's after this and celebrate? Grab a beer before I fly out?” Cam asked as he put his camera away, oblivious to the tension.
“Yeah,” Max said absently, still frowning at the spot where Grace had been, his mind reeling from what had just happened. From what had almost happened. “I’ll meet you there.”
***
Grace was dripping wet and trembling when she reached the changing room.
Ignoring all the models milling around, she grabbed a towel and headed upstairs to one of the smaller guest bathrooms, desperately needing the privacy to collect her thoughts. Taking off her bikini, she turned on the spray and let the cold water sluiced over her heated skin.
Humiliation burned on her face. God, what an idiot she was! She didn’t know what the hell had gotten into her. For a few insane minutes, with her thighs clasping his hips and her core nestled against the hard ridge in his trunks, she had let her guard down and gave in to her overwhelming desire for him. She obviously despised the man, but her body didn’t seem to get the message. She had no idea why he has affecting her this way, how a simple touch from him could obliterate all of her self-control.
There was simply no excuse for what had just happened.
It was madness.
Pure stupidity.
The only thing that had kept her from being completely disgusted with herself was the fact that he wanted her, too. Maybe if he hadn’t shown any response, if the desire had been one-sided, she could have chalked it up to hormones, or her lack of a sex life, and forget all about it.
But he hadn’t been unaffected.
Instead, he had been hard as a rock and pretty blatant about it. He had wanted her to feel him, had deliberately pulled her closer and grounded her onto his erection. And even if his physical reaction wasn't apparent enough, she only had to look at his face to see the lust mirrored there. It was in his eyes, in the grim way he was clenching his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils.
Realizing that the cold shower wasn't going to help, and she was still turned on, Grace got out and quickly wrapped a towel around herself. Heading back to the main changing room, she grabbed her duffel bag and shifted through the spare clothes until she found a pair of new panties. She slipped them on and was just about to put on her bra when she heard her name being called.
“Hey, Grace!”
She turned to see her hairdresser, Justin, and a couple of the models standing near the door. “We’re going to the bar down the street for drinks. Want to join us?”
“Yes, come with us!” one of the models exclaimed.
Grace gave them a friendly smile and sadly shook her head no. This photo shoot had already taken up a lot of her time. It was wedding season and a busy time for Petals and Peonies, and three days was a long time to be away. She needed to return to the store and check up on things.
“I’m sorry,” she told the group. “I would love to, but I actually have to head back to the shop now.”
“No worries, baby girl,” Justin replied. “Another time, then. You have my number, and I just followed you on Instagram. Call, text, tweet, or DM me, and we'll catch up. I'm dying to know how your shoot with our hunky boss went.”
Grace let out a strained laugh at the mention of their “hunky boss” and waved goodbye to the group.
Turning back to her duffel, she took out her phone and noticed five unread text messages from her store manager, Stephanie. The messages were urgent, letting her know that the flowers for the Montgomery wedding on Saturday had arrived, but they had no room in any of their refrigerated coolers to store them. Frowning at the dilemma, Grace tucked her towel more securely around herself and sat down on the chair, her mind whirling to find a solution. The Montgomery were wealthy and well-known socialites in the Bay Area, and their daughter's wedding was a monumental event in the making. It had taken Grace months of constant wooing and persuasion to finally land them as clients. The flowers for their daughter’s special day were custom ordered from France and extremely expensive, so it was imperative that they were stored correctly and retained their freshness until the day of.
Grace checked the time on her phone: it was almost seven o’clock. It would take at least an hour to drive through traffic, but if she hurried, she could make it to downtown in forty-five minutes and arrive at the supply store before they closed at eight. She could then buy five additional coolers and drop them off at Petals before Stephanie closed the shop for the night. Five coolers would be more than enough to store the floral arrangements until the wedding next Saturday.
With no time to waste, Grace texted Stephanie her plan, then hastily grabbed a sweater from her bag, just as the recessed lighting on top of the ceiling started to flicker. Frowning, she looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the flicker… and realized that she was the only one left in the room. Everyone had left for the day.
Seconds later, the ground started to shake, jostling her off balance. Grace fell onto the marbled floor with a soft grunt, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Inhuman noises filled the air: rumbles and groans, the screeching of metal. Around her, bags and toiletries tumbled onto the floor. Scrambling onto her hands and knees, Grace dove for her bag—
And the lights went out, plunging her into complete darkness.
“Shit!” she cursed, panic rising like bile in her throat. Swinging her hands out blindly, she tried to find her phone, then gasped as something crashed and shattered behind her. Quickly abandoning her search, she shot to her feet and lurched around in the dark, trying to find the door. Screw the phone. She needed to get out of here before something fell on her.
“Grace!”
Relief flooded through her at the sound of his voice.
“Grace, are you in here? Answer me!”
“Max!” she shouted, “I’m here!” She ran toward the sound of his voice and tripped over something that felt like a metal bar. Letting out a cry, she landed on her hands and knees again. This time, she felt the sting of her skin scraping against the marble and knew there would be blood later. The towel around her body became undone, but she was too overcome with pain and adrenaline to notice. Seconds later, she felt big, rough hands on her arms, dragging her upright. She wrapped her arm around Max’s middle and held him tight, fear making her body shake uncontrollably. She had never been so happy to see him in her life.
“Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly.
“Just some scratches on my hands and knees. How did you know I was still in here?”
“Justin told me. Everyone’s been evacuated outside.”
“You came back for me?”
He didn’t answer, but grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. He must have a great sense of direction because the room was pitch black, and she had no idea where they were going. “The door is a few yards in front of me. Hold onto me tight and stay close to the wall. I think the roof just collapsed.”
They made it to the exit just as the ground stopped shaking. Grace pressed herself against his back and watched as he slowly opened the door. It was eerily quiet now, the halls dark and musty, illuminated only by the dim glow of the moon piercing through the windows. Peaking around his shoulder, she saw chunks of plaster hanging from the ceiling, broken light fixtures, and wires dangling dangerously around them. White dust clouded the air, and the floor was littered with debris and unidentifiable objects. A table lamp was flickering on and off, casting the hallway in grim shadows as they made their way across it.
Max turned around to say something, then abruptly shut his mouth. His eyes widened as he gaped at her.
“What?” she asked. She looked down at herself to see what he was staring at, then let out a horrified squeak when she realized she was naked except for a pair of panties.
“Where the hell are your clothes?” he demanded.
She crossed her arms over her bare breasts, heat exploding in her cheeks. “I just got out of the shower—I didn't have time to change—my towel must've fallen off when I fell—”
A sudden surge rocked the mansion again, cutting her off mid-sentence. Hurled off-balance, Max crashed into her, knocking them both off their feet. She heard him curse before he twisted his body in midair to cushion the impact of her fall.
She landed on top of him with a grunt.
“Aftershock,” he growled in her ear. He rolled them under a large console table and settled her beneath him, one brawny arm around her waist and the other one under her head, protecting it from the hard floor. She felt his muscles tense under her fingers as the entire house continued to rock and creak around them. Burying her face in his chest, she squeezed her eyes shut and silently prayed for the shaking to stop.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably less than a minute, silence descended on them again.
Max exhaled loudly as he pulled up onto his elbows and stared down at her. “I think it’s over. You okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, licking her dry lips and trying to calm her racing heart. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I don't know what I would have done without you.”
He said nothing, but continued to gaze down at her. He had put on a collared shirt since the jacuzzi but had left it unbuttoned. She lay sprawled beneath him, her naked breasts smashed against his rock-hard chest, the heat of his body penetrating through her skin. She was paralyzed with a strange combination of fear and pleasure—fear from being caught in the middle of a high magnitude earthquake, and pleasure from once again being in his arms. God, he was big. And hard. She had never been with a man as powerfully built as him before, and it had been way too long since she’d been held like this. She subtly arched her back and rubbed against him, unable to control the movement, and saw his eyes dilate in response. Something unmistakably hard prodded her in the belly, and a familiar ache began to unfurl between her legs.
“You should probably get off me now,” she whispered thickly.
“I will.” But he didn't move. Instead, his hand fisted in her hair and the arm around her waist tightened. “Once you thank me properly.”
“I just thanked you a minute ago.”
“I know. But that wasn’t a proper thank you.”
She sputtered. “But—I—What do you mean—”
Her words were silenced as he fastened his mouth over hers, his tongue going deep, filling her with his heady taste. Surprise rippled through her before she let out a soft moan and gave in to his demand, her body relaxing against his much harder one. Maybe it was the suddenness of it, or the darkness surrounding them that made the elusive kiss okay. Whatever the case, Grace found herself accepting the kiss with wild abandon. Her arms lifted to twine around his neck as her fingers clenched into the inky strands of his hair, pulling his head down to deepen the kiss, their mouths greedy and clinging. He let out a growl and covered her bare breasts with his hands, squeezing the soft flesh roughly before lowering his head and closing his mouth over a painfully sensitive nipple, suckling at it with vigor.
“Max,” she whimpered, her hips undulating underneath his as electric sensation spread from her nipples straight down to her core.
“Fuck, your tits are gorgeous,” he muttered fiercely around a wet nipple. His voice was deeper than normal and laced with pure lust. He continued to suckle one breast while playing with the other in his big hand, squeezing and kneading it, his thumb stroking her nipple back and forth. “I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll feel in my hands, how you’ll taste on my tongue, the sounds you make when you come. Do you want to come?” As he spoke, he moved one hand from her breast and slipped it into her panties.
“Yes,” she moaned. She’d never had anyone talk to her that way before, had never imagined she’d be so turned on by it. She parted her thighs eagerly for him, her entire body shaking with small tremors, inundated by pleasure. He gently stroked the soft, closed folds of her pussy with light, teasing strokes, then opened her and eased two long fingers inside. She stiffened at the intrusion, her thighs locking together against the slow probing of his fingers. She felt stretched and invaded, her body suffused with heat.
“You're so tight, so wet,” he crooned, his lips moving from her breasts up to her neck. Her inner muscles contracted around his fingers, and he let out a hoarse groan as he sucked on the tender skin of her neck. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, unable to answer as she concentrated on the rapid motions of his fingers thrusting in and out, reaching deep inside, making her delirious with shock and pleasure. She clutched at his back with damp hands, her fingers digging into his flesh beneath the shirt. Then his thumb pressed roughly against the small nub at the top of her sex at the same time he crushed his lips over hers, and pure fire exploded through her nerves. She screamed into his mouth as he continued to circle and rub on her clit, her entire body surging wildly, her climax barreling through her with the force of a storm. She shook in uncontrollable spasms, the sensation coiling tighter and tighter until it became too much to bear. “M-Max!” she wailed into his mouth, and he continued to hold her close, kissing her until her tempest subsided and she went limp.
“Max! Grace! Are you guys all right?”
At the sound of Cam’s voice downstairs, Max rolled himself off her and sat up. “Fuck,” he growled, staring at her with lust-crazed eyes.
“Max! Grace!”
“Yes, we’re fine!” she shouted down to Cam, still dazed from her orgasm and unable to move.
“Oh, thank God,” she heard Cam say.
She turned to see Max getting to his feet in one smooth movement. Avoiding eye contact with her, he took off his shirt and placed it over her. “Cover yourself,” he said gruffly, then turned and stalked down the stairs.