at him. How else do you think you’re going to get him to cooperate?”
She followed her friend’s gaze. The cowboy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his strong chest. His lips formed a thin line. Nope, he hadn’t let go of his anger, either.
His gaze locked with hers again. Then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and he smiled.
No way was he backing down.
She’d never been a gambler, especially when the costs were so high, and not just for her, but those who worked with her. So much rode on the campaign’s success, and she needed those shots of Rory in just the jeans.
If he wanted to lock horns about this issue, he’d chosen the wrong person to mess with, because she couldn’t afford to lose.
She stalked across the floor and stopped in front of Rory. She looked into his chiseled features, unmoved by his gorgeous face or his angry scowl. “I need shots of you with your shirt off. You either do as requested or you’re fired.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RORY, A DAMNED GOOD poker player, could bluff with the best of ’em, but Lizzie won this hand fair and square. Not that he would let her see how much the fact bothered him.
He unscrewed the plastic cap off his water bottle, kept his gaze focused on her and took a long drink. Then he set the bottle on the nearby table and tugged the shirttails out of his jeans. He grabbed one side in each hand and pulled. The snaps popping as they came loose broke the silence. Next, he peeled off his shirt and tossed the garment on the table.
His gaze still locked with Lizzie’s, he leaned back, crossed his arms over his bare chest and said, “How’s this work for you, sweetheart? Does what you see get your engine racing?”
Her cheeks immediately turned the same shade of pink as his mother’s favorite roses. Lizzie blinked and swallowed.
Point to him.
“Let’s get this done,” he said as he walked away.
Her high heels clicked on the wood floor as she scrambled to catch up with him. “Break over, everyone.”
He stopped beside the hay bales and turned toward her, deciding to have a bit more fun teasing her. “How do you want me positioned? I’m all yours.”
The pulse in her neck throbbed wildly. Her eyes dilated. He smiled, knowing he’d chipped a piece out of her in-control businesswoman facade. What would Lizzie be like if she loosened up a bit? She’d be a handful who could give a man a wild ride. Now that he’d like to see.
“I’m not quite sure.” After clearing her throat, she faced the photographer. “What do you think, Chloe? How should we position Rory?”
“Yes, ladies, by all means—what do you think would be my best position?”
Lizzie choked on the water she’d been about to swallow. He thumped her on the back. “You okay?”
She nodded, and he sank onto a hay bale.
“What you’re doing looks amazing, Rory,” Chloe said, the camera held to her eye. “Hold that pose.”
As the photographer swarmed around him, clicking, his gaze never wavered from Lizzie. For all her confidence, put things on a man-woman level and she apparently didn’t know what to do.
“Now cross your arms,” Chloe said.
Rory started fantasizing, imagining taking Lizzie’s hair out of the tight ponytail and running his fingers through the blond, curly strands. His imagination wandered further. Would the texture be as silky as he suspected? He pictured her golden hair falling around her face as she leaned over him in bed.
“Pick up the saddle.” Her voice cut through his fantasy.
He stood and did as requested, but pretended he was lifting her instead. Heck, she probably weighed less than the saddle. Then an image of them flashed in his mind: of her sliding down his body and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her beautiful hair spilled down her back as she tilted her face upward, exposing her graceful neck. What kind of sounds would she make when he explored her skin with his lips?
He lowered the saddle a little to cover his rising excitement.
How long had it been since he’d had a date? Over six months. Talk about the date from hell. Their dinner conversation had consisted of her telling him all about her last boyfriend, who she’d dated for five years, and how he’d dumped her. Rory’s previous relationship had been over a year ago, and since he wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy, that was the last time he’d been intimate.
He stared long and hard at Lizzie. Something about her reached out to him. Danged if he knew what, because a lot of women were prettier.
“Stephanie, mist Rory.” Lizzie tossed the request over her shoulder. “I want him to look like he’s been working up a sweat.”
Confidence. She had an air about her. Maybe that was what appealed to him. Such a tiny woman and yet she looked as if she’d stand up to a grizzly. Had to be either her assurance or his dry spell that accounted for his body’s unusual reaction.
The stylist popped up in front of him with a water bottle. The moisture sprayed on his chest instantly reminded him that he stood half-naked in front of a group of people, and that Lizzie had threatened to fire him unless he agreed to comply. His daydreams burned like dry kindling tossed on a campfire.
“You’re doing a fantastic job.” Stephanie batted her long eyelashes. “Once this campaign hits the street, Devlin jeans are going to fly off the shelf.”
He didn’t care whether or not the jeans sold well. All that mattered was that he earned thirty grand. Then he’d kiss this big city and modeling goodbye.
“Rory, set down the saddle and put on your hat,” Chloe said.
Bossy city women. Rory, do this. Rory, turn and look at me. Rory, you need to focus. He felt like an elementary schoolkid having a bad day.
“Push your hat back a little. We need to see more of your face.” This order came from Lizzie. “Cross your arms over your chest,” she called out next.
Good thing, because he was about to put his hands around her pretty little throat.
“I think we have everything we need,” she finally said. “Let’s call it a day, everyone.”
He walked past her to where he’d left his shirt, slipped the garment on and returned to her. He leaned down, not wanting anyone to overhear. “Next time we have a disagreement—” and based on today’s events, future disagreements were a sure thing “—we work them out in private. Don’t ever pull rank on me again. I don’t perform on command.”
“Neither do I,” she called out to his back.
Damned if the little minx wasn’t a spitfire, and damned if he didn’t admire her for that.
* * *
RORY’S
