Behind His Lens

  We sit in silence until the jet taxis down the runway and takes off. She’s leaning on the palm of her hand and focusing on the expanse of pre-dawn darkness outside her window when I lean over.

  “It’s always darkest just before the dawn,” I offer quietly, knowing a girl like her would appreciate the imagery in the proverb.

  After a long pause, she asks, “How long until I see the light?”

  “Sooner than everyone back on the ground. The plane is taking us to a higher perspective, so we’ll rise to meet the sun.”

  “So we’re literally ‘rising and shining’?” she asks with a sly smile, sliding her gaze toward me to see if I appreciate the nuances of her humor.

  I can’t help the overwhelming smile that grips my features.

  “Was I right to think that you prefer the window seat?”

  She nods.

  “I’m a daydreamer,” she murmurs.

  I mull over her revelation. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. Were you always like that?”

  She chews on her lip in thought, angling toward me slightly. “More so in the past few years. I think that’s why I like to run and paint. I run to get a break from my overactive imagination, and I paint so that I can use that same imagination. I don’t think I’d be able to function without a combination of the two.”

  I can see the beautiful heaviness of her soul when she explains things like that. “I know what you mean. I’m a runner as well.

  She smiles. “I kind of guessed from the soccer game,” her eyes linger over my chest and abs, “and other things.”

  My hands grip the seat beneath her blatant appraisal of my body. Does she realize how obvious she is? How much she’s turning me on?

  “Have you ever done a marathon?” I ask, trying to ignore our volatile chemistry.

  “No, but I’ve been thinking about it lately. Maybe I’ll work my way up to one.”

  I slip my leather coat off. The cabin is much warmer than the hanger was. “You should. It’s an amazing feeling when you cross that finish line.”

  “Have you done the New York Marathon?”

  “And Boston. I’m not sure which I prefer.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

  I nod, wanting to turn the conversation away from me.

  “Bennett told me you guys got dinner last night?”

  “Yeah.” She drags her hand through her hair and twists it into a little ballerina bun, highlighting her elegant cheekbones and neck. “I’ve been nervous about the shoot, so I was happy for the escape.”

  Why was she nervous?

  “Since it’s your first cover?” I ask.

  She bites her lip. “Yeah. I’m just not sure what to expect.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, but everyone’s immersed in their own conversations, so she shouldn’t be overheard. “I honestly feel a little out of my league,” she says, turning back to the window. My stomach sinks. She’s the most beautiful thing in the world and I hate that she can’t see that at times. She knows she’s pretty, but she shouldn’t be intimidated by the models on this plane; they don’t hold a candle to her beauty.

  I turn my body toward her so that my knees hit the side of her chair.

  “On my first shoot for a fashion magazine, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. They hired me because of work I’d done for National Geographic and Time Magazine, but when I got to the set, I almost turned around on the spot. I wasn’t ready to enter this world. Models are an interesting subject to photograph, and I’ve worked with my fair share of crazy ones,” I lean in closer, “some of which are on this plane with us.”

  She laughs and then curves her body toward me, bringing her knees to her chest and leaning her head back against the leather seat so that I have her full attention.

  I continue, “But I just focused on doing my job and it worked out.”

  “That sounds easy enough.” She nods, but her eyes still shine a dark, murky blue, and I know she’s wrestling with another thought.

  A moment later, she explains, “I’m also nervous about the fame. I almost wish I could just be in the background of the shots.”

  Wanting a private life isn’t peculiar, but for some reason I don’t think Charley’s hiding from the spot light for reasons quite so transparent.

  “You don’t have to do the cover if you don’t want to,” I offer. “Hell, you don’t have to do the photo shoot if you don’t want to. You can be my assistant.” I wink at her and am rewarded with one of her heart stopping grins.

  “It’s okay. My agent, Janet, put it in perspective for me. The money I’ll be making will allow me to paint uninterrupted for a while, and that’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

  Smart girl. “Would you ever want to exhibit your work?”

  She mulls over the thought. “I’m not sure. When I first started, it was a deeply personal process. I never dreamed of sharing my work with anyone. But what’s funny is that to an outsider they’re just abstract paintings. They have no clue what I was experiencing while I was working on them.” She draws soft circles on the arm of the chair. “It’s not as if I painted a self portrait or anything.”

  A few moments pass as I chew on her words. “I think it could be a good step. Sometimes sharing things with the world can feel… freeing.”

  She soaks in my words as she studies the tan leather seat. The cabin’s quieter now as conversations dwindle. It’s still only half past six in the morning and everyone starts turning off their overhead lights and reclining their chairs in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep.

  “I’m too wired to sleep just yet,” Charley whispers, scooting closer to me so that her voice doesn’t carry across the quiet cabin.

  “I brought a mystery book with me if you want to read it?”

  Her eyes light up. “Yes!” She leans forward under her chair, reaching to pull a book out of her bag.

  “Here, we can swap for the flight. I’ve read this before.” I glance down to see Jonathan Safran Foer printed on the spine.

  “Are you Jewish?” I ask, glancing up to her.

  Her eyes brows furrow. “What? No?”

  I smile, pointing down to the sticker placed on the top corner of the book: National Jewish Book Award.

  She half smiles, “Oh, I hadn’t noticed that. A lot of the story focuses on a holocaust survivor,” she pauses, “but I’m not really… anything. Are you religious?”

  I mull over her question, contemplating the cruelties of life that I’ve seen firsthand. “No. But I grew up Catholic. My parents and brother still practice.” I draw a line around my neck. “My dad has worn a heavy gold Crucifixion necklace since before I can remember.”

  She smiles at the idea. “How very Boston of him.”

  I laugh, a little too loud, and people turn to glare back at us.

  “It’s only funny because it’s true,” I admit. “What about your dad, is he religious?” I purposely glaze over her mom; I don’t want to upset her.

  Her face falls so suddenly and harshly that she takes my heart with it. “He’s dead. But he used to take me to church when I was younger.”

  I’m beginning to understand that being around Charley is like walking on a minefield, but it’s worth the fight. It’s worth treading lightly to unveil the girl behind those blue eyes.

  “My mom never came because he insisted on taking us to the one of the nondenominational community churches. Let’s just say she did not approve. On any given Sunday, we’d sit crammed between a single mom of five and a homeless person. But it was a humbling experience, and I’m grateful he took me. Even if the religion itself didn’t stick, the lessons did.”

  “He sounds like a great dad,” I murmur.

  Turning back to look out through the window, she mumbles, “I thought so too.”

  “When did he pass away?”

  She pauses a beat too long before answering, and I realize I’m once again treading on thin ice with her.

  “Four years ago,” she says finally
before turning toward me. “Could I read that book now?”

  …

  We end up reclining our chairs and reading in silence for a while. Every now and then she gasps quietly, completely lost in her own world, and I can’t help but watch her. Does she always get carried away in the books she reads, or only in thrillers? Either way, it’s adorable. When her eyes grow wide and she mumbles “no way” under her breath, I can’t resist the urge to make her show me what part she’s on. Every time she angles the book toward me and points her finger to the sentence. I read the passage and give her a knowing glance before letting her get back to it.

  Eventually, we sleep on and off for a few hours. Every time I wake up, Charley is sleeping soundlessly. She’s wrapped in the blanket and pillow that the airline supplied us, but her blonde hair shimmers on top of the drab, gray wool. When we first went to sleep she was leaning away, toward the window, but I guess she had moved closer while I napped because her sweet face angles toward me now.

  Bright sunlight streams through the window covers, highlighting a piece of wavy blonde hair that lies across her eyelid. I reach over to push it away, watching her peaceful inhales and exhales. When my hand touches her, I expect her to stir, but she hums and pushes her cheek against my palm affectionately. The act is so innocent and I momentarily lose myself in her. Instead of pulling away, I leave my hand there— cupping her cheek and running my thumb gently along the soft skin of her cheekbone. The movements lull me back to sleep.

  When I wake an hour later, my hand has fallen down to cup her neck. A small smile forms on my lips even before I blink to find her blue eyes staring back at me in amusement.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  I smile lazily, blinking my eyelids open.

  “I thought your hand was part of my dream.” Her words hold so much promise.

  “Were you dreaming about me, Charley?” I ask with a dark tone.

  She sucks in her bottom lip coyly and nods but never looks away. Maybe she’s slowly beginning to trust me?

  I lean forward until my lips brush her earlobe. “You were cuddled against the seat facing me; I thought you wanted me to touch you.”

  She blushes and laces her fingers with mine over her neck. We sit frozen, drowning in one another, and enjoying the moment until her breathing changes and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my hand.

  “I was mad at you,” she pauses. “I’m still mad at you, for interfering with my career.”

  “I’ll never do it again. I honestly didn’t think about it from your perspective. I thought you’d be happy about it.”

  She nods and her chin brushes against my hand. “I am. I’m confused, yes, but overall, I’m happy about being here.”

  “With me?”

  Her breath hits the side of my face as I listen to her ragged inhales.

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Charley

  The hotel is beyond my wildest expectations. Although, you can hardly even refer to it as a hotel— that insinuates a multistory building with hundreds of rooms. The Kaunaou is an intimate resort, boasting fewer than fifty guests at a time, with a staff member dedicated to every suite. Our crew makes up more than half of the rooms, but the other patrons look like well-to-do families from all around the world. I wonder if they knew a swimsuit photo shoot would infiltrate their vacation?

  I wasn’t sure what to expect for the room situations, but it turns out that while some of the crew is sharing rooms, the models and important staff members get to enjoy the luxury of having their own suite. I’m smiling at the thought of how good it’ll feel to sleep in a luxurious bed later when Jude strolls over to me with two room keys in hand. They aren’t the standard electronic cards; they’re intricate gold keys attached to a sand dollar key chain. Immediately, I wonder how long it’ll be before I lose mine.

  “Suites 11 and 12,” he gloats, holding out one of the keys to our adjacent rooms.

  “Coincidence?” I ask with a wink.

  His delectable lips twist up into a smirk. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  I laugh, “Ah, is it one of the perks of being friends with the director?”

  “Something like that. Let me get your bags.” He reaches down and grabs my suitcase, but I keep my carry-on wrapped around my body.

  “I got this,” I smile, and he doesn’t fight me on it as we start to wander toward our rooms. The journey takes us much longer than it should have because we keep stopping to marvel at the absolute beauty that is Hawaii. We saw an aerial view of the islands from the airplane, but standing in paradise feels completely different. The resort is open and airy. There’s no clear delineation between the outdoors and the interior of the building, just sloped roof structures and pillars every now and then. The crystal clear water practically laps up into the hotel and a rush of excitement passes through me at the idea of getting to swim in it tomorrow.

  I wish we had the time today, after all, it’s only three in the afternoon, but I have a few fittings and makeup tests before the shoot tomorrow morning. Those are the last things I want to be doing after traveling over ten hours, but it shouldn’t take all night.

  I pull my gaze from the beach and glance down the corridor. We pass room 15 then room 14, and I realize we’re getting closer.

  “Do you have a preference of rooms?”

  I slide my eyes over to him, and with a smile, I ask, “Am I allowed to pick after we see the views?”

  “What!” His eyes dance with humor and he narrows them as a grin spreads across his lips. Suddenly the air between us sparks and the game is on.

  In a flash, he drops my bags and takes off down the hallway with me at his heels. Sliding the key into the lock on room 12, he pushes the door open and I duck under his arm and inspect the room. It’s completely breathtaking and without a doubt it has the same exact view as room 11, but it doesn’t matter. We have to look at them both. I reach up and tug room 11’s key out his hand and dart out into the hall to unlock the next door. He’s yelling behind me, but I heave the door open and smile when I see that there’s no palm tree obstructing the view of the ocean from this room.

  “Mine!” I yell, right as Jude screams, “This one’s mine!”

  We erupt in laughter, but I can’t let him win. I run over and jump up onto the bed like a ten-year-old. “Sorry, Jude, but the room has been claimed!”

  He waggles his eyebrows seductively and throws his leather jacket onto one of the nearby desk chairs. “Oh, really? Cause it looks like I’ve already put my jacket down.” He shrugs his arms and cocks his brow, as if to say ‘tough luck, kid’.

  My arms cross over my chest and I stand a little taller. “Don’t worry, I’ll call room service and explain the situation. I’m sure they can hang up your jacket in room 12 because that’s your room.”

  “Is that so, Whitlock?” His sharp blue eyes dare me to keep playing the game, and it’s an offer I can’t refuse.

  My hip juts out to the side. “Looks like it, Anderson,” I spit with all of the sass I wish I actually possessed.

  He takes a predatory step forward and my body starts to tremble. All at once the memories from the dance floor flood my brain and I know I’m in over my head. This is Jude’s game and his rules. He takes another step and then another, and already my heart is beating a wild rhythm.

  “Sir. Sir?” A voice calls from the hallway. A moment later, a young bellboy arrives outside of the door holding our bags and eyeing us suspiciously. Our race down the hallway surely caused a commotion.

  Jude turns around with a frustrated sigh, not happy about being interrupted, but when he sees the bell boy holding our bags, his demeanor relaxes. He walks with confident strides to retrieve our luggage and tip the boy.

  As he slips his wallet out of his back pocket, he shakes his head regretfully, but I can tell he’s still being playful.

  “Sorry about that.” He angles his head back to me, “my friend and I were racing to see who could get to our rooms first
. She’s a bad influence on me.” A loud chuckle escapes me and I clap my hands over my mouth. As Jude hands over some cash, the bellboy glances fleetingly up at me standing on the bed and his face reddens. Jude follows his glance with a wicked grin.

  He tisks, shaking his head admonishingly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll punish her for hopping up on the bed like that.” I think the bell boy’s eyes almost bulge out of his head at Jude’s joke, but then he turns on his heels and hurries down the hall before Jude can assure him that he’s kidding. Poor kid.

  A soft chuckle sounds from Jude as he closes the door and turns back to me with a hungry gaze.

  “You can punish me all you want, but the rooms mine,” I smirk.

  Quicker than I could have imagined, Jude’s across the room and pulling my feet out from under me so that I fall back onto the bed with a loud thud. I gasp in surprise as the pillows catch my head, but before I can even think to react, he drags me down by my boots so that my legs hang off the bed.

  My heart is practically in my throat as he bends down to hover over me, placing each of his hands on either side of my head. I have no clue what we’re doing, but I don’t want him to stop. I feel like I’ll spontaneously combust if he walks away now.

  He holds his gaze steady with mine as I watch him bend down to tug the bottom of my sweater up. He gently nips my stomach with his teeth.

  “Jude,” I moan, scared of the power he has over me.

  His teeth keep gently nipping higher and higher until he reaches my neck and then he nips my earlobe. The sensation of his lips against that skin is so erotic that my eyes roll back into my head and my back arches.

  His husky words break through my cloud of pleasure, “I think I should get some kind of compensation if you’re getting the room with the better view.”

  My chest quivers as my lungs try desperately to expand fully. I have two options, I can give in and offer something or I can keep playing his game. I choose option two.