Lying for the Camera: chapter 5

Chapter Five

Of all the ridiculous things Tom had made her do, this was the one she felt self-conscious about? Hattie knew she was being ridiculous. All he’d asked her to do was straddle a chair backwards and lean on her arms.

“Relax,” he said.

“Can’t,” she told him.

He stood up and looked at her directly. “Is your shoulder hurting?” There was concern in his voice, but mostly guilt. Hattie was getting a bit fed up with the guilt, to be honest. He was in charge of the shoot, so technically it was his responsibility. But if she could recognise that it had been an accident, why couldn’t he just let it go?

“No.” It was, a bit, but that wasn’t why she was tense.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“This.” Hattie stood up and gestured at the studio he’d rigged together. “It’s not me. It’s not what I wanted.”

“Studio shots, you said. For your portfolio. This is what we agreed.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want pictures that try to make me look like every other model in town.”

“Hattie.” He took hold of her elbows and gazed down at her. “You could never look like every other model.”

“Well, that’s true, I suppose.” She was three times the size of most of them, for a start.

“But you need head shots. Front and profiles. Full body. Standing, walking, posing. Agents need to see the range.”

He was right. He knew the industry inside out and that was exactly what bookers wanted. She’d had no success with her current portfolio, but it wasn’t just the photos that were the problem. “Maybe I should just admit that this isn’t going to work after all. No one’s going to book me unless I lose a ton of weight, are they?”

“I did,” he reminded her softly.

She met his gaze, remembering that first day in his studio. The heat which had sizzled that day flared between them again. “You said I was your muse.”

“Yes.”

“Am I still?” The shoot hadn’t been successful. Even before the accident, he’d been disappointed. Maybe he’d made a mistake with her.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed on her face. Hattie held still while he examined her with emotionless detachment.

Then he sighed. “Damn it, but you are.”

“Right. So be inspired. And don’t ask me to sit on the stupid chair again.”

They got on much better after that. He chucked the chair away and got Hattie to curl up on one of the ancient sofas with a book while he distracted her from reading it by telling silly jokes. She giggled and grinned and glanced over her shoulder to catch his eye, and all the time his finger was on the shutter, snapping everything.

Eventually he announced, “We’re done.”

Hattie stretched, careful of her injured shoulder. “Can I see them?”

“I need to sort through, pick the useable ones, and edit them first.”

“Now?”

“Now I need dinner.”

“You sent the chef away,” she said with accusation in her voice. “And you know I can’t cook.”

“Actually, I don’t know that. You make excellent shepherd’s pie, for a start.”

“I’m not cooking tonight.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you. I’m taking you out.”

“Are you taking me on a date?” She already knew exactly what she planned to wear. The polka dot blouse which gave every impression of being modest and sensible. Until she leaned forward and her entire cleavage was on view. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“I’m feeding you dinner.”

“And then you’re bringing me back here for hot sex.” She winked.

He scowled. “Hattie…”

“We had an agreement, remember?”

“As I recall, our agreement was for careful sex.”

She laughed. “I’m hoping for both.”

“Go and get changed, Hattie. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. It’s only the pub down the road. Nothing fancy.”

Jeans ought to be outlawed. Well, maybe not all jeans. But the kind that moulded themselves around a woman’s backside so that you could see every curve definitely ought to be illegal. The kind where you couldn’t help wonder if her legs would look as amazing without the denim as they did with it. And then you remembered exactly what her legs looked like without anything on them and forgot everything else in the world.

“Tom?”

“Sorry. Miles away. Are you ready?”

Her lips curved into a smile that told him she knew just where his mind had been. “Yes, I’m famished.”

“Good. It’s the sort of place where they think they’ve failed if you clear the plate.” He held the door for her and locked up behind them.

“That’s my favourite sort of place. I can’t bear those restaurants where they serve a spoonful of food on half an acre of white china, and charge you a fortune for it.”

“The kind where you have to stop for pizza on the way home because you’re still hungry?” He pressed the car remote and walked round to the driver’s side.

“With anchovies?” Hattie suggested as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Not a chance. Pepperoni and extra cheese.”

She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. “So conventional.”

“There’s nothing revolutionary about anchovies.”

“There is if you have them with pineapple.”

He swung round to look at her in horror. “You don’t?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Want to find out?”

“I’ll order it one night and make you eat it.”

“Great. A second date.”

He winced. He’d walked straight into that one. It was just so easy to imagine hanging out with Hattie, ordering pizza, laughing over her ridiculous topping combinations. Insisting she cleaned her teeth before he kissed her so that she wouldn’t taste of anchovies. Kissing her. Kissing her a lot.

“This isn’t a date, Hattie.”

“Okay. But you’re paying, right?”

“The only reason you’re here is because I was careless yesterday. So yes, I’m paying.”

“Cool. I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu, then. That should help to get rid of some of your guilt. And then you can tell me why you have such a hang up about sex. That’ll be fun.”

He pressed his lips tightly together. He did not have a hang up about sex. He had a perfectly valid reason not to have sex with models, based on previous experience. But he had no intention of discussing it with Hattie over dinner.

The doctor had told her no alcohol while she was still on the high dosage painkillers, so Hattie regretfully ordered a coke.

“I should have driven,” she said. “Then you could have had a drink, at least.”

He frowned at her. “You are in no state to drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Do you want a packet of crisps while we order?”

“Cheese and onion.”

She found a table near the log fire. If they were going to freeze back at the house tonight, she might as well get warm now. Tom brought their drinks over and a large packet of crisps, with a couple of menus under his arm. He ripped the bag open so that they could share.

“Beef and stilton pie with chips.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were going to choose the most expensive thing on the menu.”

She shrugged, then winced as a flash of pain shot through her. Best not do that again. “I decided I’d rather pick what I actually want to eat.”

He nodded. “Very sensible.”

“You’ll have to get over the guilt on your own.”

“Hattie.”

“Tom. It was an accident. I’m fine. It’s really not the big deal you seem to think.”

“I’m going to order the food.”

Running away. She watched him lean against the bar while he waited to be served. Tension simmered in every line of his body. He really needed to get laid. To kick back and just enjoy the moment. Hattie tugged her blouse down and slipped the top button undone. He was toast.

If he’d thought the jeans were bad, that top was positively wicked. Surely she hadn’t been so… on show before? She was leaning over to pick up a crisp, taking her time, and he… God, he wasn’t actually drooling, was he? She had the most fantastic breasts. He’d known that for weeks. He’d imagined holding them. Stroking them…

Stop. Now.

He cleared his throat. “They said it would be about twenty minutes.”

“Fine.”

“The food here has a good reputation.”

“You said that earlier. Quantity as well as quality.”

“Right.” Twenty minutes was plenty of time. He could drag her into the ladies loos. Or out to the car. She’d be ready and willing.

“So, what on earth will we do to pass the time?” Her lips pouted suggestively.

Tom pushed his chair back and dragged his mind away from the vision of Hattie squirming naked beneath him. Or on top. Or anywhere she damned well pleased.

“Talk,” he managed. Talking was good. Talking was not ravishing a woman in a public place.

“Excellent. Tell me about your hang ups. You said it hadn’t gone well when you’d had relationships with your models before. Several models or one in particular?”

She had him well and truly cornered. He didn’t have enough control of his mind left to divert her. And he couldn’t jump her in the middle of a pub. Before their meals had arrived.

“One. Just one.”

“What happened?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, giving him some semblance of privacy.

Tom reached for his glass and wished it contained something stronger than ginger ale. “It didn’t work out.”

“Okay. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work with someone else.”

He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t like that. It was my fault.”

She took hold of his hand. “Do you always blame yourself?”

“Only when it’s my fault.” He pulled his hand away and took another drink.

“So what did you do to her that was so awful?”

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch while she heard him. “I killed her.”

He heard the intake of breath. Felt her move away. Knew he’d done the right thing, even if it had killed him to say it.

“What happened?” The same soft voice, but without the trust he’d come to expect from her.

“She died.” He could still see Lianne’s body. So frail that he’d hardly dared breathe near her, for fear of breaking her. “She died and I couldn’t stop her.”

“What did she die of?”

What did it matter? Why did she keep asking? Why hadn’t she run away already? “She had anorexia. She starved herself to death.”

A long pause. “Oh, Tom.” Hattie’s hand took hold of his again, with a firmer grip.

“I didn’t even know. I should have seen. Should have stopped her.”

“It’s an illness, Tom. You couldn’t have stopped her.”

He opened his eyes and looked into Hattie’s blue ones. “Oh, but I could.”

“Tell me.”

It was years since he’d talked to anyone about Lianne. Even then, the only person he’d confessed the whole, horrible truth to was his counsellor. She’d nodded and listened and all the while the guilt had been congealing into a hard, dark mess within him.

“She was just starting out. I took some photos for a teen magazine. She was cute. Full of ambition.” Beautiful. Slim but curved. The kind of perky breasts that only teenagers had. He’d fallen for her straight away.

“What was her name?”

“Lianne. Lianne Price.”

“Was she successful?”

He sighed. “Not at first. She did catalogue shoots. A few magazines, but nothing spectacular. She wanted runway work but they never booked her. And one day she asked me if I knew why.”

Hattie didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand gently.

“I told her. They wanted the Kate Moss look. Hollow-cheeked, bones showing.”

“Oh, Tom.”

“I thought she was still growing up. She was only eighteen. Of course her body was changing. A couple of months later she got booked for Paris Fashion Week. She was so excited. I was excited for her. It was what she’d always wanted.”

A waiter brought two plates of food. Hattie let go of his hand and he bit his lip to stop himself asking for it back. She picked up a chip and ate it with her fingers.

“Go on,” she said.

He stuck his fork into the pie he’d ordered and pretended to concentrate on that.

“She was away a lot after that. New York, Paris, Milan, fashion shoots all over the place. My career was just taking off and I travelled a fair bit too. We didn’t get to see each other very often.”

“I see.”

“I should have made more of an effort. Worked my schedule to fit in with hers. Been there so I could have noticed. Helped. Done something.”

“When did you notice?”

“After she collapsed in the middle of the runway at London Fashion Week and was rushed to hospital. I’d been on a shoot in Egypt and by the time I got back she was conscious and hooked up to a dozen drips and machines. But she looked like a skeleton in the middle of it all.”

“Poor girl.”

“Yes.” He took a mouthful of food. Chew. Swallow. Try not to remember how it felt when Lianne had smiled at him.

“She was proud.”

“Proud?” Hattie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Proud of what?”

“That she’d lost so much weight. The designers had all been happy to book her because she fitted into their smallest samples.” He laid his fork down. He hadn’t any appetite for food. “I took her home. Tried to feed her. Tried to tell her she would be more beautiful if she weren’t so skinny.”

“It’s a disease, Tom. She wasn’t thinking rationally. There’s nothing you could have said.”

He shook his head. No. He’d loved Lianne. She’d loved him. He should have been able to make her understand. “A month later, I found her unconscious in the bathroom. She’d eaten the dinner I made for her, then gone upstairs to vomit.”

Hattie looked down at her plate, then set her knife and fork neatly together.

“I took her to a clinic. She agreed to the treatment. But…”

“It was too late?”

He nodded. “Two weeks later, she died. She weighed four and a half stone.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “So you see, I killed her.”

“The disease killed her.”

“I told her she needed to be hollow-cheeked to get her dream job.”

“You weren’t the one booking skeletally thin girls, were you? Did you make the tiny samples they had to squeeze into? Maybe you gave her the ambition to do something she didn’t have the figure for? No, I didn’t think so.”

“I didn’t notice when she was putting herself at risk. I could have stopped her earlier.”

“She was an adult, Tom. She made her own choices. You didn’t take food away from her.”

“I loved her and I didn’t protect her.”

Hattie slid out of her chair and came to kneel in front of him. She laid one hand on his knee and the other cupped his cheek. “You did everything you could. It was not your fault.”

He wished he could believe her.

“You were her lover, Tom, not her doctor. Not even her parent. Or her agent. What the hell were they doing while this was going on?”

He shrugged. He’d never thought about it much.

“There were a whole lot of people who had a duty of care to Lianne. A whole industry that had a duty of care to a generation of vulnerable girls. She was a victim, Tom, but it wasn’t your fault, do you hear me?”

Tears slid down his cheeks but he shook his head again. “I can’t risk it, Hattie. You’ve already been hurt because of me. I daren’t let it happen again.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“You think I’m going to starve myself because of you?”

“I think you’re more vulnerable than you realise, Hattie.” He’d thought that from the beginning, though he still hadn’t broken through to the source of her fragility.

She stood up and glared down at him. “That is the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me. I can take care of myself, Tom Metcalfe. And don’t you think you can hurt me, because I promise you, I’m stronger than you think.”

He was silent throughout the journey back to the house. Hattie slid a sideways glance at him. Mouth tight, shoulders tense, eyes cold. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He had years of misplaced guilt to get rid of and this was as good a way as any to kickstart the process.

The car skidded to a halt in the gravel driveway. Tom slammed the car door shut and was halfway to the house while Hattie was still picking up her handbag. She slid out of the car and followed him. He pointed the remote backwards, without so much as a glance over his shoulder. But he had to pause to unlock the heavy door and Hattie caught him up as he stalked into the grand entrance hall. Since the rest of the crew had left, the house was even colder and utterly silent. She automatically stayed close to Tom as he walked towards the staircase.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, without bothering to look at her.

“Me too.” His bed, though he didn’t know it yet.

“Huh.”

She paused at the top of the stairs to let him get a headstart down the corridor towards his room. Her bedroom was in a different wing from Tom’s, so hopefully he’d think she’d given up. Not a chance. Counting to a hundred, she waited until the footsteps had died down, then trod softly after him.

She didn’t knock. She wasn’t giving him the chance to shut her out. Hattie simply turned the handle and went in. Tom was standing by the window, gazing out into the impenetrable blackness of the night. He turned at the click of the door when she pushed it shut.

“Is there something wrong? Do you need help with your shoulder?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine. Look.” She began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

“Hattie,” he said in a warning tone.

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.” The front of her blouse flapped open and she slipped it off carefully. She reached behind for the fastening of her bra but pain lanced through her shoulder. Better leave that till later, then. Jeans were easier. And stripping down to her underwear would be an equally clear sign of intent.

She kicked off her shoes and pushed the denim down. If she’d been able to choose, she’d have picked sexier lingerie but she’d been limited by what was in the bag Tom had brought her in hospital. Still, at least the black bra was trimmed with pretty lace, and it almost matched the black and pink silk knickers he’d packed.

“You should go back to your bedroom.” He’d turned away again, but she could see his hands clenched into fists. He wanted this every bit as much as she did.

“Can’t. I need you to help.”

He let out an audible breath. “What sort of help?”

She grinned. “I can’t undo my bra.”

“You…” He bit off his words. “I thought you said you were fine.”

“Fine for most things.”

“Right.”

“You’ll have to come over here.” She leaned against the door and tilted her head up. Tom stalked towards her and stopped at arms length.

“Turn round,” he ordered.

She pursed her lips at him in a mock kiss, then did as he asked, giving a little shimmy as she turned. He unhooked the fastening efficiently and slid the straps down over her shoulders. Even that brief touch of his fingers sent a delicious sizzle through her. This was going to be worth all the effort.

“Done.”

Hattie let the bra fall to the floor and resumed her position against the door. She lifted her good arm slowly above her head and raised the other so that her hand just cupped one breast.

“We’re not nearly done,” she breathed.

“Of course we are. You know that. You know why.”

“I’m not your model any more. It doesn’t break any rules.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “You break every rule, Hattie.”

“I try.” She winked at him.

He stepped forward. “You’d try the patience of a saint.”

“Tom.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just kiss me already.”

He pressed his lips together and looked her up and down. She held her breath. If he turned her down again she wasn’t sure she could push him any further.

He took another step towards her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her temple. He pressed his hand over hers, trapping her against the door. With his free hand, he traced the line of her jaw, tilting her face towards his.

“I should have run a mile the first time I saw you,” he muttered.

“You can’t run away from your muse.”

He laughed. “I’m rethinking that position. Muses aren’t supposed to cause so much trouble.”

“Do you have a rule about sleeping with your muse?”

“No rule.”

“Shame.” Hattie slid her arm around his waist. “I would have enjoyed breaking that rule.”

His grip tightened on her chin. “Are you sure about this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you not notice me seducing you? Of course I’m sure.”

He bent his forehead to touch hers. “Good point. Well, then.”

His lips were warm and soft, his kiss far too brief. Hattie whimpered.

“Shh. You’ll get plenty more kissses,” he whispered. “But if we’re going to do this, we’re damned well going to take our time about it and enjoy it.”

Her knees wobbled under the intensity of his gaze. She could feel him taking note of every tiny response on her face, while his fingers traced delicate lines down her body, around her breasts, along the top of her knickers. He’d seen her naked a dozen times before. He’d looked at her through a camera lens hundreds of times. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how she looked. But this was different. There was no camera to hide behind now – for him or for her. He wasn’t watching her as a photographer examines his model or his muse. He was just watching her. Hattie. She bit her lip. She was not going to blush. She wasn’t the blushing sort. Only she’d never known a man who saw so much of her.

His thumb was rubbing little circles around her hip bone. Her jaw slackened, her mouth parted, her eyes lost focus, and he noticed it all, she knew he did. She couldn’t bear any more of it and then, just as she was about to beg, he moved on to discover the next unexpectedly sensitive point on her body. He skimmed the bruises at her shoulder, so gently she could feel the hairs rise to his touch.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered.

“Not there.”

“Turn round.”

His hands rested lightly on her hips while she did as he asked. He leaned forward, his breath warm against her skin.

“Here?”

She shivered. “A little.”

The lightest of kisses, so brief she wondered if she had imagined it. “Here?”

“N…not now.” He had her stammering now?

He curled his hand around her arm. “What about these scratches?”

“What scratches?”

Tom laughed. “Indomitable Hattie Bell. You should have been on the Titanic.”

“The unsinkable Molly Brown?”

“You’d knock her out of the water.” He nuzzled ino her neck, on the good side. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever known.”

She grinned. “Finally he sees sense.”

He pinched her bum. “You are the least modest woman I’ve ever known.”

“I’ve never seen the point of being modest. Isn’t it just another way to make women keep their talents hidden?”

“Your talents…” His hands slid round to cup her breasts, “are wonderfully on display.”

“Tom.”

He paused. “What’s the matter?”

“I have more talents than just a pair of, admittedly fantastic, breasts.”

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “I know that, Hattie. You’re my muse, remember?”

That hadn’t exactly gone to plan, though. She grimaced. “Is the exhibition ruined?”

“I don’t want to talk about that now.”

Hattie turned around to face him. “Why are we talking at all?”

He smiled down at her. “Good point. Come here.”

Christ, she was glorious. He slid his hand into her fiery red hair and held her in place while he teased the corners of her luscious lips with kisses that were never designed to satisfy. There was tension in her jaw and softness in her cheeks and the juxtaposition was intoxicating. She was panting and whimpering and he was tempted to see how far he could push her. Except his own need was mounting and her mouth was just there. There was only so much temptation a man could resist. And he’d been resisting Hattie for far too long.

Her lips opened beneath his and she pulled him firmly down against her. She kissed him as urgently as if she were breathing. He kissed her back as though he could give her all the oxygen she needed. Together, they could go on forever, holding, touching, kissing, loving. With Hattie in his arms and her lips against his, there was nothing more in the world to desire.

She slid her hand down to his arse and pulled him closer. He shifted slightly so that he could touch her breast without breaking the kiss. Soft, wonderful breasts that filled his hand and spilled over. He stroked and caressed and finally brushed his thumb across her nipple. The gasp she gave was the sweetest thing he could remember. He couldn’t help but reach across to tweak the other nipple. This time Hattie moaned.

Eventually, she pulled away from him. Just a few inches, but too far. He pulled her back but she managed to hold him off long enough to speak.

“Clothes,” she panted.

“Huh?” He had his lips on her neck, licking until he found the spot that made her knees tremble.

“You’re still wearing…” She tugged at his shirt when he cut off her sentence with his kiss.

“Can’t stop.” There was no way to remove his clothes while Hattie was in his arms and he was kissing her.

She cupped his jaw with her hands. “Pause.”

She backed away then and again he stepped towards her. She shook her head and winked. “Uh uh.”

He groaned.

“Shirt. Now.” She sat on his bed and slid back to lean against the headboard. Tom gave up on struggling with buttons and simply pulled the shirt over his head.

“Jeans.” Her eyes were sparkling and she’d begun to play with her own breasts. He was going to kill her if he didn’t die first.

Finally his belt gave way. He pushed the denim down and kicked it out of the way. Socks were easily dealt with.

Her lips twitched into a smile. “And the rest.” Boxers slid to the floor. “Now get over here and make love to me.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” he growled. He dropped onto the bed and crawled towards her, pushing her legs apart. When he got near enough, he pulled her hands from her breasts. “Gorgeous.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

It was too long since he’d kissed her. Time to remedy that. But her lips were no longer enough. He needed everything she could give. He reached down to slide a finger inside her. Wet and hot and enough to send his need skyrocketing.

“Now,” she urged him. “I need…”

“I know.” Her need couldn’t be greater than his.

Only… damn. Damn, damn, damn. He rolled off her and put his arm over his forehead. “I haven’t got any condoms.”

Her breathing was audible. Then he realised that his was no quieter. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning to do this when I packed for the week.”

Hattie sighed. “We agreed yesterday.”

He’d agreed, but he hadn’t thought it through. Idiot.

“I don’t suppose you have any?”

“No. But I’m on the pill.”

“Right. Well.” That was something.

“I’m clean. Are you?”

“Yes.”

She turned slightly and reached out her hand. Oh. Oh, Christ.

“I won’t last,” he warned.

“Make your mind up, then. In me or on you?”

He closed his eyes. Sometimes her bluntness was overwhelming.

“Tom?”

“In you. But I think you should be on top. And be careful, Hattie. You remember what happened last time you went riding.” He helped her up, to straddle him. “Take your time,” he challenged.

“Bet I can last longer than you.”

“No bet.” He’d be lucky if he lasted another thirty seconds.

Waking up warm for the first time in a week was the best thing ever. Waking up warm and lying next to a gorgeous guy was off the scale. Hattie couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across her face as she remembered the night before. She snuggled closer to Tom. The shoot was cancelled but the house was booked for another night and she had the time off work. What better way to spend an unexpected holiday than in bed?

He rolled over and dropped his arm on her waist, holding her against him.

“Morning.”

“Morning yourself.” She winked at him and pressed her body against his to check. Oh yes, it was definitely a good morning.

“You are insatiable.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can work with it.” He pushed her onto her back.

“Ow!”

“Hattie? Is it your shoulder?”

She gritted her teeth. “Painkillers have worn off.”

He clambered carefully off her. “Where are they?”

“Handbag. Downstairs.”

“Back in a second.” He didn’t bother to pull any clothes on, she noticed. Those painkillers had better kick in quickly. Now that she’d got Tom Metcalfe in bed, she didn’t plan on letting him out of it any time soon.