She was thinking of her husband, Casey had said, so it was easy to gaze at the lens that way-like she loved him and wanted him at the same d.a.m.n time. Now they were in the last series of shots at the boudoir studio s.p.a.ce. Casey wore an emerald-green satin push-up bra and matching lace panties. "Nate always likes me in this shade of green," she said.

"I suspect your husband likes you in anything, everything, and nothing," Annalise said as she finished shooting.

Casey laughed. "Yes, that does describe him perfectly."

"Then he is going to be one very happy man when he sees these photos. He won't know what to do with himself. His jaw will drop. Guaranteed," Annalise said, as she showed her some of the pictures on the back of the camera.

Casey shrugged into a robe and peered at the images, and she squealed with delight as they flipped through the frames. "These are amazing," she said, then ran her hand over the outline of her belly. "You can't even really tell I had a baby six months ago."

Annalise shook her head. "You look radiant, happy, and beautiful."

Casey blushed and waved a hand in the air. "Stop, you flatter me."

"No. I don't have to. The camera loves you because you're so happy and so in love."

Casey met her eyes. "You can really tell from how I look at the camera?"

"Of course. It's in your eyes. Everything is."

Casey narrowed hers, and studied Annalise. "Hmm. What's in yours, then?" she asked playfully.

A red flush crept across her cheeks.

s.e.x, hot s.e.x, more s.e.x. Dinners, days, sleepless nights. Idle chats, deep conversations, sweet nothings, and so much coming together. The last three days and nights in Manhattan had pa.s.sed in a blissful blur. She'd cancelled her hotel room and stayed with Michael. During the days she'd finished her shoot for Veronica's while Michael had worked with clients, and in the evenings they'd gone to dinner, or to a club, and sometimes they hadn't left the room at all.

New York with Michael was a great escape from the past and the present.

The only trouble was she couldn't rid that nagging guilt that gnawed at her for having such an immeasurably lovely time. As if she shouldn't be allowed to enjoy herself-at least, not this deeply, this quickly, this intensely. Most of the time she turned the volume down on that voice, but still it spoke up, worming its way around her heart like an insidious creature.

"You're happy, too." The declaration came from Casey. Annalise's heart skittered. The woman was so straightforward and so direct.

"Of course I'm happy," she said, in her best cheery tone, keeping things businesslike. "I love what I do."

"But something is holding you back?" Casey pressed on, undeterred.

Annalise knit her brow together. "Hmm?"

"From truly being happy," Casey elaborated. "I can see a sadness in your eyes, too. Barely there, but it comes into focus now and then."

Annalise swallowed and fiddled with her camera. The woman was too astute, too observant. She didn't answer.

"If something holds you back from your happiness, you should try to move through it," Casey said softly.

Annalise looked up, her client's gentle words threading into her. "Spoken from experience?"

"Sort of. I had to get through my fear that my husband and I would lose our friendship if we became long-term lovers."

"And you didn't, clearly."

"We didn't but we had to walk through that fear. Live in it. Roll around in it for a while."

"And you think I need to roll around in something?"

"I think whatever is making you sad, you should face it."

On the cab ride back to the hotel, Annalise lingered on her client's advice. Rubbing her thumb against the outline of the lens in her camera bag, she wondered if Casey was right. She had to face this thing, this voice, this knot in her stomach that stood in the way.

That night she dressed in jeans, heels, and a soft black sweater, and perched on the edge of the bed before they headed out for dinner. She waited for Michael to emerge from the shower, and when he did, her heart thundered. His hair was damp, and a white towel hung on his hips, revealing his flat, toned stomach and the trail of hair that led to her favorite place. G.o.d, she wanted him so badly, in ways that went beyond the physical.

"I feel guilty for enjoying this," she blurted out, ripping off the Band-Aid.

He sat next to her on the bed, gesturing from him to her. "Us?"

She nodded and inhaled deeply. This was the hard part. The deep and dark truth. "Because it's so good with you."

His lips twitched and he looked down, then back up at her, schooling his expression. "The s.e.x, you mean?"

She nodded. "That. Yes. It's amazing. It's better than anything I've ever had."

He nodded, as if she'd said something as simple as "This salmon is delicious." She hadn't expected him to beat his chest at the compliment, or grin with masculine pride, but she was doubly glad for his tact. "That doesn't mean you didn't love him," Michael said, as a droplet of water from his shower slid down his chest. "It just means we have good chemistry."

She shook her head vigorously, strands of her hair slapping her cheek. "It's not just chemistry, Michael. You know that. We have so much more than simple chemistry. We have history, and now we have the present too."

"I know," he whispered.

"That's part of what scares me. The s.e.x is amazing in and of itself, but it's also incredible..." She slowed her words to run her fingers along the back of his neck and into the soft strands of his damp hair. "For other reasons."

A small smile slipped across his lips. "I feel those reasons, too."

"I don't want to be sad about this," she said, keeping her voice strong, as if announcing her intentions to move on would rid her of this hard stone inside her chest.

"There's no shortcut. You just have to let yourself feel," he said, leaning his head back against her hand and closing his eyes, almost as if he were demonstrating how to feel again.

How had he gotten to be so wise? Where was the carefree, easy guy she fell for decades ago? But of course, she knew the answer. He'd had to let go of who he was. He'd had to walk through all his own grief, too.

As her fingers toyed with his hair, she asked, "Is that what you did? For your father?"

"Yes. Most of all, once I stopped feeling so awful every day, I chose not to beat myself up for enjoying being alive. It gets to a point where you can't miss a person every second. Or even every day. And you stop getting mad at yourself if you dare to laugh, or joke, or even just do something mundane, like have fun watching an episode of CSI."

She latched onto that last one. "Are you saying we should watch TV?"

He laughed and opened his eyes, shaking his head. "h.e.l.l no. But I learned to just have a good time hanging out with family. Enjoy work. A good hard run. That's the only way through everything. Keep on living-keep on feeling."

"I want to be there. I want to feel." But as soon as she spoke, she wondered if she was further along than she thought. Hadn't she done all that? Let herself feel everything? She hadn't shied away from grief. She'd faced it head on, experiencing every tear, every ounce of heartbreak, every moment of missing him. She'd gone all in when it came to remembering, and longing. Maybe it was time to do the same for moving on.

Go all in.

So when she went to dinner with him that night, she chose to relish every ounce of the happiness, to lose herself in the joy of being with this man she cared for so deeply. When they returned to his room for their last night together, she knew there was one more thing to do. One more way to give her whole heart to moving on.

"Take my picture," she said. He scrunched up his brow as she handed him her camera. "I'm always the one behind the camera. I'm always the one with something in front of my eyes. I want to be the subject, and I want you to photograph me getting naked for you. That's what I want to feel tonight. What it's like to give myself to you."

His eyes blazed darkly, shining with desire, and something else-something she'd wanted desperately when she was younger. Something that scared the h.e.l.l out of her now. But maybe if she was on the other side of the camera, she could handle everything she saw in him, and let him see the parts of her no one else was privy to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

He wasn't a photographer, but he didn't need to be to know she was a breathtaking subject. Gorgeous, real, and heartbreaking. Written in her eyes was a mix of emotions-trepidation, courage, excitement, determination.... He tried to capture them all as she tugged her black sweater over her head, then unb.u.t.toned her jeans.

She didn't pose or mug for the camera. She simply did, and he simply shot.

She reached for the zipper of her jeans and worked it open.

"Mmm. It's getting harder to concentrate," he murmured as he snapped a shot of her undressing.

She laughed, and he caught that on film, too. "Harder. Ha ha," she said with a flirty smile. That was captured for posterity, also-her playful side shining through. He caught every moment of her getting ready for him.

Her eyes met the lens, as if she were able to peer behind it to see him. Even though he was the one with the camera, somehow he felt studied at the same d.a.m.n time. She was so f.u.c.king knowing, observant through her bones, down to her marrow, even when being photographed. Those green irises held him captive as she gazed at him, taking her time undressing, pushing the denim of her jeans down one hip, then the other, giving him a strip show.

She wiggled her eyebrows. Licked her lips.

His chest rumbled as his d.i.c.k hardened. "That's what I was talking about earlier. You enjoying yourself."

"I am."

"I want you to enjoy yourself with me."

"I do." She let her jeans fall to the floor. She stood in her black bra and panties, and he snapped an image of that, too, as his skin grew hotter and desire flashed inside him.

"You like it when I take your picture?"

She nodded.

"Then lie back on the bed. Hair on the pillow. That's one of my favorite looks of yours. All those crazy red strands spilling across the white pillowcase."

"Tell me why you like that," she said, scooting back on the bed, a.s.suming the pose.

"Because you're vulnerable and raw. Because you look real, and s.e.xy, and you look like you want me."

She swallowed, and he snapped quickly, cataloguing her reactions. "I do want you."

"Let yourself want me," he said quietly, capturing more as she reached to unhook her bra, then more as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilled free.

"f.u.c.k," he muttered, his erection straining against his jeans. "So f.u.c.king turned on. Can't concentrate on the picture."

"Don't concentrate. Just shoot," she said, as she tucked her thumbs into her underwear, and he hit the b.u.t.ton again, his length thickening as a heavy need thrummed in him. The need to have her. To take her.

She pushed down her panties, revealing the soft auburn landing strip. His mouth watered. He wanted to rub his face against it, to feel her slickness on his jaw. To taste her heat on his tongue. He groaned but somehow managed to click again and again, as she skimmed off her panties and lay naked on a hotel bed.

"Open your legs," he instructed.

She raised her knees, and let them fall open.

Gripping the camera harder, he swallowed thickly. Her p.u.s.s.y was so f.u.c.king pretty, so G.o.dd.a.m.n ready for him. "Don't let anyone else ever take your picture like this," he said, as possessiveness stormed through him. He hated the thought of anyone ever seeing these photos, let alone seeing her naked. Thank G.o.d the pictures were on her camera, which meant they'd be safe where they belonged.

"Never," she said in a heated whisper. "No one ever has," she added. "This is only for you."

He inhaled sharply, her meaning registering. She was giving him something her husband had never had. Something that was a first.

Now.

f.u.c.king now.

He couldn't take it anymore.

In a flash, he set the camera on the bureau, and unb.u.t.toned his shirt.

With her index finger, she beckoned him. He recorded that image in his mind-her calling him to her side. Him heeding her wish. He'd play those few seconds over and over again. The story of his heart, given long ago, only to her. "Come to me," she said. "Join me. f.u.c.k me like you wanted to when you were taking the pictures."

He shoved off his jeans. "On your stomach then," he said, and didn't take his eyes off her as she flipped to her belly. With her cheek pressed to the pillow, she watched him. Watched him as he stripped off his boxers and as he reached to stroke his c.o.c.k, hissing in a breath because it felt so f.u.c.king good to touch himself as she stared, her eyes flaming with l.u.s.t. But something else, too. Longing, desire, and also a new kind of freedom, it seemed. Like she was finally letting herself feel everything.

She lifted her rear, inviting him home.

"You," he gritted out as he climbed on the bed and brought his d.i.c.k to her a.s.s, rubbing it against the soft flesh of her rear. She moaned, rising up into him as his hard length slid between her cheeks, like a filthy tease of what he wanted to do to her someday. She pushed back, and he filed that reaction away in the dirty vault to bring out again when they were both ready. For now, he moved lower, gliding the head of his d.i.c.k against her heat. f.u.c.k, she was slick and wet, and so d.a.m.n ready for him. Her soft velvet folds were like a beacon, and his d.i.c.k pointed its way home.

"I want you so much. I love wanting you. It feels so good," she said, her eyes on his, and he fell even harder for her as she let herself open up to him, and to pleasure, and to this chance to feel again, to live again, and h.e.l.l, he hoped maybe, just maybe, to love again. He covered her with his body, and she let out the s.e.xiest purr, then the most intoxicating moan as he pushed the head of his d.i.c.k into her slippery sweet entrance. He sank inside in one slow, deep, decadent move. So snug-so f.u.c.king perfect for him. They moaned in unison. She fit him deliciously, and he couldn't imagine not having her like this.

"Did you like it when I took your picture?" he asked once he was fully nestled in her.

"G.o.d, yes," she panted.

He pushed deeper. "Why? Why did you like it so much?"

She moaned. "Because I love being naked with you. I love being with you. You make me feel so good."

"Just let me make you feel this way. Let me."

"I will. I am. Oh G.o.d, please."

As he f.u.c.ked her like that, slow and unhurried, she moved with him, shifting her hips, aligning her body, sliding against him. He cupped her t.i.ts, squeezing, then pinched the nipples.

She gasped as he tugged at them, and that drove him. Burying himself deeper in her, he gripped her hair in his hand.