“Okay.”
“Where is that fucker?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because I’m going to kill him.”
I can’t believe he just said that! I chuckle softly. “No need. I’m sure he’s a miserable man, Luke.”
“He should be in hell.”
“He will be.” I grasp his hand tighter with mine. “Trust me, he’s not an issue anymore. My dad saved me.”
“Thank God.” He kisses my knuckles, and I feel him start to relax beside me.
Wow, I told him the worst, and he still wants to see me? How did I get so lucky?
Luke pulls up in front of my house and turns off the car. He opens my door for me, and lifts my camera bag out of the back, following me to the house. I unlock the door and motion for him to come inside.
“Jules!” I call out for my roommate, but the house feels empty.
“I don’t think she’s here.” I smile at him and take my bag from him, setting it on the floor and my purse on the table. I take his keys from him and lay them on the table as well.
“Can I show you around?” I suddenly feel shy.
“Sure, after you.”
I grasp his hand in mine. “Thank you for joining our tour today, Mr. Williams, we’re delighted to have you with us.”
Luke laughs, a full-on belly laugh, and I feel my shyness melt away. “Oh, I do love your sense of humor, Natalie.”
I pick my camera bag back up off the floor and he raises a brow. “I’ll show you the studio and put this away too.”
He nods and I lead him through my house.
“I see you have a great view too,” he motions to the floor to ceiling windows off the great room and I smile.
“I do. This is obviously the living, dining and kitchen.” I glance at the reds and browns of our couches, dark wood dining furniture, and the simple elegance of the kitchen.
“Great kitchen.” He winks down at me.
“Yes,” I reply and he chuckles. “But I don’t cook much. Jules does a lot of the cooking.”
“I’d love to cook for you here.” His gaze is bright.
“I’d like that.” I feel my cheeks heat.
“Okay, let’s go out to the studio, then I’ll show you around upstairs.”
“Out?”
“Yeah, I converted the guest house into a studio. It’s my favorite part of the house. Come on.”
I lead him out the sliding glass doors, across the back yard to the studio. I pause at the door and look up at him speculatively.
“What is it?” he asks, curiosity written across his face.
“Don’t freak out on me, okay?”
“Why would I freak out?”
“Well, I told you I don’t do traditional portraiture.” I bite my lip.
“Baby, after our conversation earlier, and the way I feel about you right now, I guarantee I will not freak out.”
I watch his face, and see that he means it and turn to unlock the door.
Here goes nothing.
I walk in ahead of him and put my bag on the floor. I switch on the lights and Luke follows me inside. He stops just inside the threshold; his jaw dropped, his eyes wide, taking in my studio.
I turn and look with him. There is a king sized bed in one corner with white sheets draped over the canopy, ready for tomorrow’s session. There are more floor to ceiling windows – perfect lighting! – across the room. I have racks of lingerie, corsets, boas, shoes, and other props. But what he seems to be focused on are the canvass photos hanging around the room.
He walks over to one and gazes at the couple in the throes of passion. It’s in black and white; a side view of a couple laying on my king sized bed, the man is on top, braced over her, his mouth on her br eas t. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open, her leg wrapped around his hip and her foot resting on the back of his thigh.
It’s an erotic, intimate photo, and one of my favorites.
Luke turns in a circle, taking in all of the art on my walls; some of women or men in provocative poses, most of couples in different sexual positions.
Finally his eyes find mine.
“This is what I do.” I whisper.
“Natalie,” he swallows and looks at my favorite photo again. “This is incredible.”
“Really?”
He nods, his eyes wide. “Yeah, it’s amazing. Sexy as hell. How did you get into this?”
I can’t stop the smile on my face. “In college. Girls wanted me to take boudoir photos of them for their boyfriends, so I set up a makeshift studio in my apartment and started the business there.”
“And the couples?”
“That sort of evolved. Most of them are return customers, the boyfriends or husbands loved the photos of their girls, and they wanted intimate photos of them as a couple.”
“It’s not porn.” I just want that clarified, and watch his face.
He frowns. “Baby, this is art. It’s definitely not porn.”
I smile, relieved. “There’s a bedroom that I use to store props and furniture in for various shoots, and I use the kitchen to store refreshments for the clients.
Sometimes the girls like to have photos taken in there too. It’s fun.”
He walks over to me, cups my cheek in his palm and kisses me softly.
“You’re amazingly talented.”
Wow.
“Thank you. And for the record, I don’t ever have sex in here. Ever.” His eyes dance with mischief.