Only when he continued across the room did she turn around, inhaling a gulp of air, her lungs on fire from the breath she’d been holding. Her heart thudded against her rib cage, a primal rhythm that echoed in her head, drowning out the conversation between Cain and the tall, thin man who entered the office. They shook hands, and when Laurence Reese glanced in her direction, she forced a smile to her lips. Though it felt brittle and phony, the gesture must’ve passed muster because the photographer returned her smile, his brown eyes warm.
Behind him, a crew poured into the office toting equipment. Devon hung back as the photographer and his assistants worked. In short order, they had cameras, tripods and reflective umbrellas set up. Cables snaked across the floor and Laurence even had his people set up a green screen on one side of the room. They performed in a well-organized unit, and it wasn’t long before the photographer, camera hanging around his neck, directed them to stand in front of the window.
With Cain’s permission, several people had moved his massive desk out of the way, and Devon could imagine the picture would reflect a power couple with all of Boston stretched behind them like their kingdom.
And they said a picture was worth a thousand words. Right.
All of theirs would be lies.
“How about we start with you, Mr. Farrell, behind Ms. Cole. If you’ll wrap your arms around her...” Laurence instructed, lifting his camera over his head.
Damn.Damndamndamn.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Cain. With his arms wrapped around her. She stiffened, tension starting at her toes and racing like a lightning bolt up her body until she stood so tight, one tap would probably send her tumbling forward. And shattering into pieces.
It occurred to her that the first time Cain embraced her would be just for the sake of the camera and public consumption. There was something seedy about it. And yet, a secret part of her that she’d buried so deep she barely acknowledged it hungered to be held by this man. Yearned to know how his body would cover her—shelter her. Protect her. And that part, which had been wounded by rejection, by deceit, by blows to its self-esteem, wasn’t picky about how it happened.
A hard wall of expensive wool and muscle pressed to her back. She gasped, that initial contact smashing her paralysis. An electrical current zigzagged through her, making her body jerk. But strong, toned arms slid under hers and circled her waist, controlling the involuntary motion.
“Shh, easy,” Cain rumbled in her ear, his head lowered over hers. To the photographer, it probably appeared as if he were affectionately nuzzling her. “You love my arms around you, remember? Want my hands on your body.”
Oh God.
Her lashes fluttered, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, trapping the moan that crawled up her throat. His words elicited hot, erotic images of his arms holding her close in another setting. One with a wide bed, twisted sheets, air thick with the musky scent of sex. One where those big long-fingered hands swept over her bare skin, cupped her heavy breasts, pinched her beaded nipples...dipped between her trembling thighs...
“Yes, perfect,” Laurence praised, his camera snapping away in rapid-fire succession. Startled, Devon lifted her hands, cupping them over Cain’s. He immediately intertwined their fingers, and she couldn’t help but look down. Their fingers looked like puzzle pieces finding homes; it struck her as beautiful. And for a stupid, nonsensical moment, tears stung her eyes. “Beautiful,” the photographer murmured, edging closer to them, camera whirring and clicking. “Now look at me.”
They followed his instructions for the next thirty minutes, and the half hour flew by in a haze of simmering desire and embarrassment. She tried to pretend it didn’t faze her every time Cain cupped her elbow or pressed his chest to hers or curved an arm around her waist. Tried to act as if this was business as usual for a woman in love. And all the while she secretly prayed that the invasive and all-too-perceptive camera lens didn’t capture the dueling emotions waging an epic battle inside her—uncertainty, lust, vulnerability, a ravenous hunger that surpassed the physical, a hunger for the closeness they were making a sham of.
A hunger for pretense to be reality.
Oh God, she needed this to be done. And not just the shoot, but this mess her father had dropped her into. She was a motherless child, a neglected daughter, a rejected woman. In other words, so starved for love that she’d easily—willingly—turn to this man for affection. For scraps of kindness, even knowing they were faked for the eyes of others...
A sob clawed at her throat, desperation squeezing her, trapping her like the restricting sleeves of a straitjacket—
Cain strode over to the photographer to view some of the pictures on the digital screen, and she took advantage of the reprieve. Whirling around, she bolted back to the window. She stared sightlessly out, gulping in huge breaths and shoving back the edges of panic.
No. No, dammit.
The admonishment rang in her head, bringing her back from the emotional edge.
She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t fragile or damaged. Donald hadn’t broken her; she’d come out stronger for that. Smarter and not so naive. And Cain wouldn’t finish what Donald had started.
She wouldn’t allow him to.
“One more pose, if you don’t mind,” Laurence said, switching out cameras with one of his assistants. “How do you feel about a shot with a kiss?” He smiled. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, though.”
She turned from the window to find Cain’s hooded, blue-gray gaze on her. Her breath snagged in her throat and inside her head, the “hell no” bounced around, deafening. But she remained silent, returning that stare, certain he would decline. He didn’t want to kiss her. Hell, he’d pretty much told her their marriage, if they progressed that far, would be a cold one and she would have to find pleasure in someone else’s bed—as he planned to do. So, surely he would shoot down this suggestion.
Any minute now.
“Where do you want us?” Cain asked Laurence, not removing his scrutiny from her.
That wasnota refusal.
“In front of the green screen,” he instructed them.
Cain slowly stretched his arm toward her, palm up. She stared at it, unmoving. But realizing everyone waited on her, she forced her feet forward...and slid her hand across his. Inexplicably, the nerves battering her calmed. Which made zero sense because hewasthe cause of those nerves.
