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WREN
I was beat. Physically and mentally exhausted. After spending the entire day in Giovanni’s studio being waxed bare from head to toe, not to mention the makeup and hairstyle changes; my scalp hurt, my face burned. All I wanted to do was sleep for a week, but we still had to get back to our hotel.
The photoshoot was long and stressful. My art looked beautiful on display in the background, though. Giovanni had it set up to look like an art gallery. Tate looked like a god modeling the suits. He looked every bit the art connoisseur posing in the mock gallery.
My heart beat out of my chest, and I could envision my art on display in my own gallery one day.
The shoot itself was harder than it looked. The clothing changes, the ridiculous poses. Tate was a pro, though. He didn’t complain once. He twisted and turned and contorted his body any way Giovanni asked him to. He smiled. He scowled. He smoldered.
Holy cow did he smolder.
It was a look I’d never get out of my head. The photographer had told him to make love to the camera. I snorted at the incredibly cliché line, but Tate’s eye locked onto mine, and I just about burst into flames. There was no making love to the camera, but I felt it in his gaze.
He was making love to me with his eyes.
And the photographer and Giovanni loved it.
That was the moment they decided to shoot me with Tate.
I was nervous enough just putting on Giovanni’s gorgeous designs, let alone attempting to pose and look sexy. I couldn’t smolder or make love to the camera like Tate could.
I just looked constipated.
Having Tate there helped, though. He eased my fears, talked me through it, had fun with me, and before I knew it, we were laughing and joking and not at all paying attention to the photographer’s request, but Giovanni ate it up.
“Pure gold,” he said as he walked us out to the driver who was waiting for us. “You two are magic together.” Then he shook Tate’s hand and whispered in his ear.
Tate nodded and smiled. “I will,” he said and stood back for Giovanni to kiss my cheeks.
“You are an angel.” He released me and opened the door for me to slide into the car.
Once I was in, I slumped back in my seat and waited for Tate to climb in next to me. I yawned and rested my head on Tate’s shoulder.
“So, no exploring tonight?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?”
He lifted his shoulder. “No.”
“I want to sleep for eternity after that. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Used to it I guess.”
I stifled another yawn.
“Get some sleep,” he said, and he didn’t need to tell me twice. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep before we’d even left Giovanni’s incredibly long driveway with Tate’s fingers tracing circles on my knee.
I woke to darkness. Sitting up, I felt around me for Tate. I was no longer resting on his shoulder. Nor was I being jostled around in a moving vehicle. I was in a bed. Reaching over, I fumbled around until I found the light switch.
I was in my room.
When did that happen? How did that happen? I didn’t remember getting out of the car or walking through the lobby.
Had Tate carried me?
I located my phone and checked the time. Two a.m. It was too late to call him now, wasn’t it?
Yes. It was definitely too late.
As I placed my phone down on the nightstand, I saw the notification for a text message. Pulling it open, I read the message from Tate.
Tate: Text me when you wake up
I couldn’t text now. I didn’t want to wake him.
I stared at my phone. Chewed my lip.
Got up and grabbed a glass of water.
Walked out onto the balcony and looked up at the stars in the cloudless sky.
It was a beautiful, clear night. Still warm.
“You didn’t text.” I jumped out of my skin at the sound of Tate’s voice.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” I turned and walked over to the barrier between us.
He was sitting there, shirtless again, in nothing but gray sweatpants and a whiskey glass on the table beside him.
“I’m awake.”
“I can see that.”
“You should have messaged.”
I rolled my eyes and walked back inside. If he wanted a message so bad, I’d give him one.
Me: I’m awake.
Tate: Thank you.
Me: Happy now?
Tate: Yes.
I grabbed my pizza t-shirt and got changed.
Tate: How was your sleep?
I poured myself a wine and settled back onto my bed to respond.
Me: Wonderful. Did you carry me to my room?
Tate: Yes.
Me: Why didn’t you wake me?
Tate: You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.
Me: Thank you, and thanks for today. I appreciate it. And I’ll never be able to repay you.
Tate: I can think of a few things.
Me: Like what?
Tate: Why don’t you come over and find out.
Were we flirting? This felt a lot like flirting.
Tate: 😉
Me: Are you flirting with me, Tate Montgomery?
Tate: Do you want me to be?
Me: Yes.
Tate: Then I am.
Me: Okay.
Tate: Okay. That’s it? That’s your response?
Me: Fine...
I thought about it for a few seconds before typing something out.
Me: What are you wearing?
Tate: Ha Ha Ha. Nothing but a towel.
I knew that was a lie.
Me: Prove it.
I sipped my wine and stared at the screen. The three dots bounced around then stopped. I waited. Crap. Maybe I pushed things too far. The three dots bounced around again, and I sucked in a breath.
Tate: (download image)
I bit my lip and tapped the screen to open the image.
There was Tate laying on his bed, wearing...
Nothing.
But.
A.
Towel.
Holy smokes. He was all firm abs and large... Was he naked under that towel?
Like a creeper, I zoomed in.
He was.
He was naked.
At least it looked like that.
I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry and the wine wasn’t enough.
Tate: Your turn?
Me: My turn for what?
Tate: What are you wearing?
I glanced down at my pizza t-shirt and smirked.
Me: Nothing but a t-shirt.
Tate: Prove it.