He’d never felt that pow of instant connection before, but he sure as hell felt it now. It was as if lightning had struck the center of his universe, and every part of him felt it.
Katrina blinked a few times, then frowned.
“Something wrong?”
“The angle. Give me a second,” she said. He’d expected some type of Russian accent, but there was none, just the smoky hot darkness of her voice spilling from her lips. It was like drinking whiskey on a cold night. The sound of her voice heated him from the inside out. He’d never been slammed so hard like this before.
Katrina adjusted, her fingers tangling in his hair, giving him a bit of a tug.
His lips curved. “So, you like that?” he asked.
“Just a job,” she responded, then gave him a smoldering look, tilted her head toward him, and jutted her hips out enough to hit him right in the crotch.
Goddammit. She’d done that on purpose.
He could do it as well. He raised his hand and laid it above her hip, knowing he couldn’t obscure the swimwear. After all, that’s what they were advertising. His fingers bit into her skin, enough that he caught the flash of awareness in her eyes.
“Yes, that’s perfect,” the director said. “Hold it there.”
Grant heard the click of the camera several times.
“Now move. Get into each other. Lean in, touch. Be mindful of your angles, Katrina. And Grant, follow her lead.”
“Yes, Grant,” Katrina said, shifting a little, then picking up his hand and placing it on her butt. “Follow my lead.”
It wasn’t like he hadn’t had to pose for a photo session before. He wasn’t a rookie here. He knew what he was doing, how to move and react to the camera, and when to be still.
Katrina might be the pro here, but he could play the game, too. He cupped her butt, making sure he didn’t squeeze. He slid his fingers lightly over her skin, tucking his fingertips slightly inside the edge of her suit.
He heard each breath she took, saw the smoldering look in her eyes, and his body reacted.
So did hers, as her nipples pebbled, brushing against his chest.
His lips curved.
Just a job his ass.
He moved with every few clicks of the camera, turned his head, shifted his body against hers, making sure their clothes remained the focus while keeping his gaze intently on hers. When he drew a strand of her hair between his fingers, letting his knuckles brush the swell of her breasts, he heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Just a job, right?” he asked, turning her around so her back was to him. That way he could skim his hand down her arm, letting his fingers rest at her hip.
“This is perfect,” the director said. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
He listened to the sound of Katrina’s breaths, got comfortable with her ass nestled into his crotch.
They fit damned perfect together. She was tall—taller than the average woman. He didn’t have to crouch down to fit her to him. She had long legs. Really nice legs, too. He’d noticed … everything about her.
“Okay, let’s break for a few,” the director said. “You both need an outfit change. Then we’ll resume.”
Before he had a chance to say anything, Katrina pushed off and walked away, heading into the cabana. Her assistant, or whoever, handed her a bottle of water, and she disappeared without a word to him.
Friendly, wasn’t she?
He wandered off at the direction of the staff to change his board shorts and to have his hair and makeup adjusted. When he came back out, Katrina was in a short robe.
He was called out toward a tree facing the sun.
“Ready for you, Katrina,” the director said.
She dropped the robe, and Grant blinked. Katrina wore only a thong bottom. She stood still while they arranged her hair to partially cover her breasts.
And what fantastic breasts they were, too. He decided to look elsewhere, like out on the water, until she showed up in front of him. In this game they were playing, it was best for him not to show a physical reaction.
“Katrina, you against the tree. Grant, you plant one hand above her head to start, lean into her body.”
Some of the assistants positioned them while Grant and Katrina made eye contact.
She met his gaze with a cool one of her own, a challenge to him, as if she’d done this a million times, as if rubbing her breasts against his chest wasn’t a big deal. To her, it probably wasn’t. She wanted to know if he’d react.
To him, he had a gorgeous, half-naked woman pressed up against him, and his dick was trying very hard to respond to that, while he was trying equally as hard to convince his dick nothing was going to happen out here on the beach with twenty other people watching.