Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,49

up a hand. ‘It’s fine. I’m pretty sure I won’t die from going without,’ he said drily.

She took another step, appalled at leaving him hanging. And also feeling the heat starting to stir again as she wondered what he could possibly do with other parts of his anatomy if he could do what he’d done with his mouth. ‘Oh, but—’

Kent stepped back, shaking his head. ‘No, wait. I’d rather just...look at you. Can I?’

Sadie glanced at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d like to look at you,’ he said throatily. ‘At the firelight on your skin.’

Sadie tightened her hold on the shirt. Night had well and truly fallen around them now and the glow of the campfire was the only light. The road was silent. It was just them and the stars.

Kent held out his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. Sadie had been hiding her body because a few lousy men didn’t know how to treat a woman. He wanted to show her she had nothing to be ashamed of and there was one way he knew how to do that better than any other.

Sadie swallowed. He looked so serious, but her insides had turn to mush at his husky request and whilst he was looking at her as if she were the only woman in existence she’d probably do just about anything he wanted.

She took his hand and let him pull her down to the groundsheet until they were sitting cross-legged opposite each other, close but not touching.

‘Do you mind?’ he asked as he reached over for his camera bag.

Sadie felt everything deep down inside her squeeze. He wanted to photograph her?

Posing, she knew.

Posing, she could do.

But in this medium? With this man? Who’d known her for five days but had still managed to give her the most intense sexual experience of her life?

It was equal parts titillating and scary.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Kent dipped in and pulled the camera out. He looked through the lens at her face as he made some adjustments, knowing without a doubt as he studied her features that he had his mojo back.

Her eyes were cast downwards and her hair had fallen forward. She made no attempt to push it back, as if she was deliberately trying to hide.

Suddenly she looked right at him, her knuckles white as they gripped his shirt tight across her chest at the lapels. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Whatever you want,’ he murmured as he snapped off the first shot.

He watched as she sat awkwardly beneath the eye of the all-seeing lens, snapping away. The fire glowed on one side of her face, throwing the other side into relief. He concentrated on the shadows, how they shaded her profile, her eyelashes, her cheekbones, the pout of her mouth, the jut of her chin.

Sadie tossed her head and looked right in the lens finally. A little frown knitted her brows together.

‘You’ll get wrinkles,’ he murmured.

Sadie poked her tongue out at him and said, ‘Hey,’ when he captured it in a split second.

He chuckled and she smiled. Suddenly self-conscious, she scrunched her hair, fluffed it a bit. ‘This is what I used to look like,’ she said, forming a little moue with her mouth and sucking in her cheeks as Kent clicked.

Kent shuddered at the image from Leo’s studio wall. ‘You looked terrible.’

Sadie scrunched her face. ‘Gee, thanks.’

Kent caught the scrunch with a quick press of a button. ‘I mean it, Sadie, you looked like you had a terminal illness.’

Sadie looked at him through his camera, a little frown between her brows. She’d held Leo’s images of her up in her mind for so many years as the idyll of feminine lure, had lived in its shadow, it was surprising to realise it wasn’t actually true.

‘So...the painting...’ she hesitated ‘...didn’t work for you?’

Kent dropped the camera to look at her. ‘You want to know what works for me? Let your shirt go, Sadie. I’ll show you.’

Sadie’s breath stuttered to a halt in her throat for a few seconds. Things shifted deep inside her and she was suddenly incredibly nervous. Portraits took weeks, months. Film was instant. There was something about the immediacy of a camera, the up-close intrusion of the lens, that made her want to run for the hills.

She tossed her head. ‘So you’re not really any different from Leo, then? You also want me to strip off my clothes for your art?’

Kent could hear the quiver in her voice and see the resentment