Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
As soon as I step foot into the large, sun-filled space, everything changes. Steele is mid-conversation with Cam about the hockey season. The second his gaze lands on me, he stops talking.
And moving.
And breathing.
His gaze rakes over me in an unhurried fashion, as if he’s memorizing every inch, before releasing a long, low whistle.
“Damn, lucky charm,” he murmurs. “You look like a million bucks. Maybe you’re the one who should be wearing the watch.”
Even though my stomach is in free fall, I laugh.
“Actually,” Cam muses, studying me with an assessing gaze, “that’s not a bad idea. I think the company sent over a smaller version.”
An assistant appears, draping an elegant timepiece around my wrist. The weight of it feels significant. Steele looks on as the clasp is locked into place, and his jaw tics ever so slightly.
Cam lifts his camera. “All right, Lilah, I want you standing in front of Steele. Close, but not touching yet. This is all about seduction.”
I exhale sharply and follow the direction, moving hesitantly into place. Steele stands behind me, radiating warmth and an intensity I’m reluctant to analyze.
How can I when his presence is everywhere, surrounding me?
Especially when I can feel the heat of his gaze burning into the back of my neck.
“Good,” Cam calls out. “Steele, rest your hands lightly on her arms, like you’re about to pull her in.”
My belly clenches as Steele’s large hands trail up my bare skin, fingertips brushing over me like a whisper. Even though I try to suppress a shiver, it’s no use. There’s no way he doesn’t realize exactly how he’s affecting me.
“Perfect,” Cam murmurs. “Lilah, tilt your chin up slightly.”
I obey, but the movement brings my profile directly into Steele’s line of sight, and something flashes across his face.
Or is that my imagination?
“Now,” Cam instructs, “Steele, I want you to pull her closer. Like you’re about to whisper something in her ear.”
Steele’s hands slide down to my waist, gripping just enough to send a ripple of heat through my entire body. He leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
And then, in a voice so low I barely catch it, he murmurs, “You’re killing me, lucky charm.”
I close my eyes for half a second and swallow hard.
What the hell is happening?
The camera flashes.
“Beautiful,” Cam says. “Now, I want you to turn toward him, Lilah. And Steele—this time, I want you to hold her like she belongs to you.”
Everything inside me flips.
I turn, and the second my hands press against Steele’s chest, his grip tightens around my waist. It’s both firm and possessive. Something stutters inside me as I glance up, only to find him already watching me.
Gone is the teasing smirk he wears like armor. There’s no trace of mischief in his expression, no hint of the charming playboy everyone thinks they know.
What’s left is raw.
Focused.
Hungry.
That look alone nearly buckles my knees.
The heat rolling off his body seeps into mine, searing through the flimsy material of my dress. His hands are steady, but there’s power simmering beneath the surface, as if he’s barely holding himself back.
He shifts beneath my palms, every movement precise and deliberate.
But his heartbeat is hammering just like mine.
I should say something.
Move.
Blink.
But I’m frozen in place by the invisible electric pull that’s always been there between us.
Everything else falls away.
The lights.
The studio.
The noise.
Even the people.
It’s just me and him.
And this thing between us that I can’t name but that feels dangerous in all the best ways.
“Wow,” Cam murmurs from somewhere behind the lens. “That’s perfect.”
Another flash goes off, but I don’t flinch.
Don’t move.
I’m too caught up in Steele.
In the way his thumb drifts along the curve of my waist.
In the way his attention drops to my mouth.
I remain frozen until the photographer finally lowers his camera, and the moment unravels.
“All right,” he announces. “That’s a wrap.”
But Steele doesn’t step back.
And neither do I.
His fingers flex against me. Just once. It’s a subtle squeeze, as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally sets me free, it feels as if a cord has been cut, and I inhale sharply.
My muscles slacken, and I almost stumble from the sudden loss of contact.
I force myself to retreat a single step.
Then another.
I need to put space between us, and hope it’ll help to settle the chaos he’s unwittingly stoked to life inside me.
“I should get changed,” I mutter.
I don’t wait for his response.
If I look at him again, I might just do something reckless.
Something I never thought I would.
Instead, I turn and make a beeline for the dressing room, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his stare trailing after me. My heels click against the floor, fast and uneven, as if it’s possible to outrun the way my pulse is slamming or the way my skin tingles where he touched me.
Inside the dressing room, I shut the door and lean against it.