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As she watched Rory’s biceps flex under his shirt, heat coursed through her. Then she glanced at his thighs. No doubt about his strength there, and his butt did amazing things for those jeans.
Oh, yeah, this shot was more than perfect.
If Micah Devlin didn’t like this picture and believe the campaign would sell jeans, then there was no pleasing him.
Remembering the campaign put things back into perspective for Elizabeth. She appreciated the sight of an attractive man as much as the next woman, but this was business. She couldn’t let irrational pheromones on overdrive interfere with her work.
“Angle behind him,” she whispered to Chloe. No way did she want Rory hearing this conversation. “I want shots from behind.”
“Butt shots coming up.”
She blushed, surprised at her reaction, since she and Chloe discussed models’ body parts all the time in shoots. “We’re selling jeans. The client will want to see how they look on our model from every angle.”
“No need to get defensive,” Chloe said as she moved to get the shots.
Elizabeth remained rooted in place, staring at Rory. The cowboy was absolutely mesmerizing. Stalwart. Confident. Any girl’s best dream. Elizabeth could barely breathe. Now if Chloe could get the heat radiating from him on film…
“Rory, would you mind putting down the saddle and taking off your shirt?”
“Yes, I’d mind.”
Elizabeth couldn’t have heard him. Either that or he misunderstood her question. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mind putting the saddle down, but I’m not taking off my shirt.”
She stood there for a moment trying to regroup.
She was in charge. She told everyone what to do and they did as requested. No one at a photo shoot questioned her decision. Not even Chloe.
This cowboy so pushed her buttons.
For a minute she considered ordering Rory to take off his shirt, but the glint in his eyes stopped her. He flashed her a look similar to her first boss’s I’m-not-discussing-this expression. Sure, she was in charge, but her job hinged on two men’s whims right now, Micah Devlin and Rory McAlister. She couldn’t risk angering Rory enough that he hopped on the next plane to Colorado.
She could do this. Finesse and charm time. “Everyone take five.”
The crew scooted away, though not far, in case she and Rory put on a show.
She walked to where he stood beside the hay, wanting to make their conversation as private as possible. “Rory, what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem, because I’m keeping my shirt on.”
She stared at him, trying to fathom what the hang-up could be. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to pose for a pinup poster. Granted, she hoped this shot would have the same effect and drive women wild for him and the jeans, but they were primarily selling the product.
Maybe he was embarrassed about his chest? It couldn’t be because he wasn’t in shape. No way could he be hiding a beer belly under that formfitting shirt. Okay, so what else could it be? He was a cowboy. They got thrown from horses. “Do you have some kind of injury or scar that’s making this uncomfortable for you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“You told me I’d be modeling jeans, not posing for beefcake shots.”
“Shots of you without your shirt will highlight the jeans, and it’s what the client wants.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. The guy was one huge piece of granite, hard and unmoving. Needing a chance to cool off, she walked to the table with bottled water by the dressing room. She grabbed one, surprised that the top didn’t pop off the way she squeezed the thing, and stormed back to Rory.
“Here, have some water.” She shoved the bottle into his hands. Hopefully, the water would cool him off, too. “I need a minute.”
Then she walked to the opposite side of the studio to talk to Chloe.
“I gather he’s still refusing to take off his shirt?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I think he’s just being stubborn.”
“We’ve got to get the shots of him in just the jeans.”
What about Rory made her want to dig in her heels? She felt as if she were six years old again, fighting with Angela Simmons. I dare you. No, I double dare you, and the next thing she knew, they were both sitting in Principal Mathews’s office.
“You may have to pull rank.” Chloe glanced toward Rory. “Look at him. How else do you think you’re going to get him to cooperate?”
She followed her friend’s gaze. The cowboy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his strong chest. His lips formed a thin line. Nope, he hadn’t let go of his anger, either.
His gaze locked with hers again. Then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and he smiled.
No way was he backing down.
She’d never been a gambler, especially when the costs were so high, and not just for her, but those who worked with her. So much rode on the campaign’s success, and she needed those shots of Rory in just the jeans.
If he wanted to lock horns about this issue, he’d chosen the wrong person to mess with, because she couldn’t afford to lose.
She stalked across the floor and stopped in front of Rory. She looked into his chiseled features, unmoved by his gorgeous face or his angry scowl. “I need shots of you with your shirt off. You either do as requested or you’re fired.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RORY, A DAMNED GOOD poker player, could bluff with the best of ’em, but Lizzie won this hand fair and square. Not that he would let her see how much the fact bothered him.
He unscrewed the plastic cap off his water bottle, kept his gaze focused on her and took a long drink. Then he set the bottle on the nearby table and tugged the shirttails out of his jeans. He grabbed one side in each hand and pulled. The snaps popping as they came loose broke the silence. Next, he peeled off his shirt and tossed the garment on the table.
His gaze still locked with Lizzie’s, he leaned back, crossed his arms over his bare chest and said, “How’s this work for you, sweetheart? Does what you see get your engine racing?”
Her cheeks immediately turned the same shade of pink as his mother’s favorite roses. Lizzie blinked and swallowed.
Point to him.
“Let’s get this done,” he said as he walked away.
Her high heels clicked on the wood floor as she scrambled to catch up with him. “Break over, everyone.”
He stopped beside the hay bales and turned toward her, deciding to have a bit more fun teasing her. “How do you want me positioned? I’m all yours.”
The pulse in her neck throbbed wildly. Her eyes dilated. He smiled, knowing he’d chipped a piece out of her in-control businesswoman facade. What would Lizzie be like if she loosened up a bit? She’d be a handful who could give a man a wild ride. Now that he’d like to see.
“I’m not quite sure.” After clearing her throat, she faced the photographer. “What do you think, Chloe? How should we position Rory?”
“Yes, ladies, by all means—what do you think would be my best position?”
Lizzie choked on the water she’d been about to swallow. He thumped her on the back. “You okay?”
She nodded, and he sank onto a hay bale.
“What you’re doing looks amazing, Rory,” Chloe said, the camera held to her eye. “Hold that pose.”
As the photographer swarmed around him, clicking, his gaze never wavered from Lizzie. For all her confidence, put things on a man-woman level and she apparently didn’t know what to do.
“Now cross your arms,” Chloe said.
Rory started fantasizing, imagining taking Lizzie’s hair out of the tight ponytail and running his fingers through the blond, curly strands. His imagination wandered further. Would the texture be as silky as he suspected? He pictured her golden hair falling around her face as she leaned over him in bed.
“Pick up the saddle.” Her voice cut through his fantasy.
He stood and did as requested, but pretended he was lifting her instead. Heck, she probably weighed less than the saddle. Then an image of them flashed in his mind: of her sliding down his body and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her beautiful hair spilled down her back as she tilted her face upward, exposing her graceful neck. What kind of sounds would she make when he explored her skin with his lips?
He lowered the saddle a little to cover his rising excitement.
How long had it been since he’d had a date? Over six months. Talk about the date from hell. Their dinner conversation had consisted of her telling him all about her last boyfriend, who she’d dated for five years, and how he’d dumped her. Rory’s previous relationship had been over a year ago, and since he wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy, that was the last time he’d been intimate.
He stared long and hard at Lizzie. Something about her reached out to him. Danged if he knew what, because a lot of women were prettier.
“Stephanie, mist Rory.” Lizzie tossed the request over her shoulder. “I want him to look like he’s been working up a sweat.”
Confidence. She had an air about her. Maybe that was what appealed to him. Such a tiny woman and yet she looked as if she’d stand up to a grizzly. Had to be either her assurance or his dry spell that accounted for his body’s unusual reaction.
The stylist popped up in front of him with a water bottle. The moisture sprayed on his chest instantly reminded him that he stood half-naked in front of a group of people, and that Lizzie had threatened to fire him unless he agreed to comply. His daydreams burned like dry kindling tossed on a campfire.
“You’re doing a fantastic job.” Stephanie batted her long eyelashes. “Once this campaign hits the street, Devlin jeans are going to fly off the shelf.”
He didn’t care whether or not the jeans sold well. All that mattered was that he earned thirty grand. Then he’d kiss this big city and modeling goodbye.
“Rory, set down the saddle and put on your hat,” Chloe said.
Bossy city women. Rory, do this. Rory, turn and look at me. Rory, you need to focus. He felt like an elementary schoolkid having a bad day.
“Push your hat back a little. We need to see more of your face.” This order came from Lizzie. “Cross your arms over your chest,” she called out next.
Good thing, because he was about to put his hands around her pretty little throat.
“I think we have everything we need,” she finally said. “Let’s call it a day, everyone.”
He walked past her to where he’d left his shirt, slipped the garment on and returned to her. He leaned down, not wanting anyone to overhear. “Next time we have a disagreement—” and based on today’s events, future disagreements were a sure thing “—we work them out in private. Don’t ever pull rank on me again. I don’t perform on command.”
“Neither do I,” she called out to his back.
Damned if the little minx wasn’t a spitfire, and damned if he didn’t admire her for that.
* * *
RORY’S WORDS HAMMERED in Elizabeth’s head as she walked to her office. How dare he speak to her like that? Then to top things off, he’d walked away without allowing her to say anything but the lamest of comebacks.
She’d definitely needed to set ground rules with the cowboy. He wasn’t in Colorado anymore, and the New York business world ran differently than a horse ranch. His open defiance of her authority had to stop. Otherwise, they’d butt heads constantly and make everyone miserable. An uncomfortable environment bred negativity, which led to poor work performance and an unhappy client.
When she arrived in her office, she found Chloe at her desk, downloading photos. Her friend glanced upward. “I don’t know how you work in this office. It’s too ordered. Doesn’t that stifle your creativity?”
“An orderly work space leads to an orderly mind.” Her grandmother’s pet phrase popped out before Elizabeth could stop it. She slid the chair from in front of her desk to the other side, close to the computer, and threw herself into the seat. “Sleep deprivation’s warping my mind, and turning me into my grandmother.”
“It could be worse.”
“How?”
Chloe shrugged. “I’m not sure. That just sounded like the thing to say. Wait a minute, I’ve got it. The good news is getting sleep will fix the problem.”
“I wish that would work on my problem with Rory. I hope he’s not going to continue to be so difficult.”
“What was with you two, anyway?” Chloe asked. “Playing referee is not in my job description, and if it’s going to be in the future, I want more money.”
“He pushed every one of my buttons today. The man could write a book on how to become the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”
“Apparently the sparks are still flying.”
“Can you believe he refused to take off his shirt? I don’t get what the big deal was. It wasn’t like I was asking him to pose in his underwear.”
“If I could figure guys out, do you think I’d be here?” Chloe pulled up the first set of photos onto the computer screen, the ones of Rory sitting on the hay bale. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d be in the Caribbean living off the money I made from my New York Times bestseller on how to understand men.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Chloe pointed to the monitor. “Check these out.”
Elizabeth stared at the photos. Rory had a presence. Incredible, steamy, make-a-woman’s-insides-tingle-with-a-look presence. “The shots are fantastic, but they don’t showcase the jeans.”
“I agree, but do you want to put one of these in a portfolio to show Devlin how well Rory photographs?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Chloe clicked computer keys and a second later the printer hummed to life. “Now, about you and Rory, I wasn’t talking about the arguing type of sparks. I was talking about the making-you-all-hot-and-bothered ones.”
Elizabeth stood and retrieved the photo from the printer. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Good comeback. That’ll make her drop the subject.
She laughed. “You never were a good liar.”
“So, I admit it. The guy drives me crazy.”
Chloe flashed her an annoying best-friend, know-it-all smile.
“I didn’t mean that in a good way,” Elizabeth stated. “He’s stubborn, inflexible, and refuses to take directions or criticism well.”
“One person’s fighting is another person’s dancing.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.” After tossing the photo onto the desk blotter, Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “If you’re trying to say I enjoyed arguing with him today, you’re way off base.”
“You may not have had fun, but he was having a blast seeing your temper flare. Think about what it would be like making up with him. Oooh!”
“You think Rory was being difficult on purpose? Why would he do that?”
Chloe shrugged and pulled up more photos on the computer screen. These of Rory holding the saddle.
“If he was, he has a sick sense of humor,” Elizabeth declared. “A man with self-respect and a decent work ethic wouldn’t enjoy making his boss uncomfortable.” She tapped the monitor. “Print out that one.”
Chloe nodded. “Think about it from his point of view. He’s a strong, assertive man, a lone cowboy. I’m guessing Rory doesn’t take orders from too many people.”
“Then he’s going to have to start learning who’s at the top of the food chain.”
“When Devlin signs the contract and you center the jeans campaign on Rory, you’re going to have to find a way to coexist.”
“It’ll be easy. I plan for this campaign to do major things for my career.” That is, if Rory didn’t drive her completely insane first. Elizabeth paced the length of her office, stopping at her credenza to straighten the silver Effie Award she’d received for the Tug-Ups training pants ad she’d created last year.
Courage and self-esteem bolstered, she reasoned she could work with Rory. After all, she worked with Micah Devlin.
“Saving the Devlin account and creating a nationwide campaign can turn management supervisors into vice presidents. When Rory’s driving me insane, I’ll visualize my new, spacious, vice-presidential office.”
“Ah, yes. Your ten-year plan.”
Elizabeth ignored her friend’s sarcasm. Chloe wasn’t a big believer in planning, preferring to remain open to life’s opportunities because goals stifled her. Elizabeth believed that to achieve what she wanted took goal setting, strategic planning and a lot of visualization.
Chloe leaned forward in her chair and whistled. “Look at these photos. Cowboy here just might take both our careers places.”
Elizabeth gazed at the pictures. Rory stared back at her, his boots firmly planted on the ground, the white shirt pulled taut across his pecs, his biceps bulging as he held the saddle. The man would become the stuff women dreamed of. “Print that one.”
Chloe nodded, and scrolled through more photos. A few seconds later, she clicked on an image to enlarge it, then leaned back in her chair and sighed dreamily. “One of the perks of my job, butt shots of gorgeous men.” She tapped the computer screen with her dark purple nail. “And that man has one fine butt.”
Glancing at the photo, Elizabeth kept her lips pinned together for fear she’d start drooling. Once she had her emotions well under control, she said, “Remember the focus of our campaign is the jeans, not on how good the model’s butt is.”
“Are you saying you disagree with my assessment?”
She’d have to be blind to disagree. Not that she’d admit the fact to Chloe, for fear of eternal taunting. “My job is to focus on how the jeans look.”
“Which is pretty damn good on his butt.”
“Print the first one and the shot where he’s looking over his shoulder at us.”
“You mean the one where he looks like he’s ready to carry you off into the sunset?”
“If that’s the third shot, then yes. We’ll add that to the portfolio.” Elizabeth stared at the photo. Rory’s eyes had darkened to a deep walnut color, and he had the slightest smile on his face. “What makes you say he was thinking of me? Maybe he was thinking about you.”
“Don’t I wish.” Chloe sighed again. “But alas, his gaze followed you around the room.”
That information should’ve made Elizabeth warm in all kinds of places, but instead the fact worried her. She couldn’t afford having Rory see her as anything but his boss. “He can’t be interested in me. Can he?”
“Why’s that so unbelievable?”
“We’re ill-suited.”
“Opposites attract.”
“You’re full of clichés today.”
“You’re just ticked because I’m right, and don’t try to change the subject. It’s true. Opposites do attract.”
“They may have instant chemistry, but those relationships don’t last. The ones that do are based on things like similar values and interests.” Needing something to busy her hands and control her nervousness, Elizabeth grabbed a pen and fiddled with it. “Pull up the shots of him shirtless.”
“You’d give a guy up because you worked together? Even if you thought he was your soul mate?”
“There’s no such thing. In a world of over six billion people, there has to be more than one man I could have a lasting relationship with.”
Chloe shook her head. “If I thought a guy was the one, I wouldn’t let anything get in the way.”
The last shots of Rory popped onto the screen. Chloe whistled through her teeth. “Be still my heart. These are the best yet. Look at those six-pack abs.”
Elizabeth stared at the photo, speechless. Rory could make a nun think twice about her vow of chastity. Hell, think three times about it. “Make that one poster-size. I’ll put it on an easel. Put the rest in a portfolio. I’m off to make sure the mock-ups are ready for tomorrow.”
Pointing at the picture displayed on the computer monitor, Chloe said, “That’s all you’ve got to say about this?”
“I think it’s excellent. It should accomplish exactly what we need it to.”
Her friend flopped back in her chair and threw her hands in the air. “And that’s why you don’t date much.”
“Can we stick to the job here, and stay off the topic of my love life?”
“What love life?”
Elizabeth pointedly ignored her jibe, mainly because she lacked a good comeback. Tough to argue with the truth.
Her dating had been a little sparse lately, but that was because she had standards. If she let her friends set her up she could have three dates a week, but what was the point of dating if the candidates fell below par? On top of that, her job’s long hours left little time for a social life. But more importantly, she had no intention of letting dating sidetrack her from what mattered—saving Devlin’s accounts and advancing her career. That required work and sacrifice. Everything worthwhile did.
“How can looking at this gorgeous guy, one you’ll be working in close contact with, not make your body sing?”
“I’m tone-deaf.”
Listening to her body, being ruled by her hormones, led down a scary path. Going against common sense led to caring, wanting, expectations and possibly loving. All of those things, in her experience, led to heartbreak. No, thanks. Been there, done that. Gave away the T-shirt.
“I don’t have time for anything except getting ready for tomorrow’s meeting.” Elizabeth glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock. The night was zooming by at warp speed. “I still have to come up with a slogan before the morning meeting.”
“Got any ideas?”
“I have a bunch written down, but now that we’ve got Rory’s pictures they don’t seem right.” She rubbed her throbbing temples. “I want something memorable, like the Calvin Klein ad with Brooke Shields. ‘Nothing gets between me and my Calvins.’”
“Think about Rory’s qualities.”
“He’s stubborn to the point of pigheadedness.”
“His good qualities.”
She thought for a minute. “He’s strong. He’s authentic.”
“He sure is a real man, and very delectable.”
Rory’s comment that no real man would wear designer jeans popped into Elizabeth’s head. She grabbed a Post-it note and scribbled out a line as adrenaline gushed through her system, invigorating her. “I’ve got the slogan, Chloe, and it’s perfect.”
* * *
BY THE MORNING MEETING in the agency’s conference room, Elizabeth was running on stress and caffeine. The stuff that fueled corporate America. Once she presented a hopefully coherent campaign to Micah Devlin and answered his questions, which if past meetings were any indication would be many, she planned on collapsing and sleeping for two days straight.
When she escorted Devlin, dressed in a pair of his own jeans and a pin-striped button-down shirt, into the conference room, he sat at the long mahogany table and pulled out his iPad.
She smoothed the skirt of her charcoal-gray Ellen Tracy suit and glanced down at her red stiletto pumps. Chloe called them her ruby slippers, because Elizabeth felt invincible when she wore then.
Ruby slippers, do your magic. “We believe Rory McAlister is the perfect person to represent Devlin Designs’ men’s jeans.”
Elizabeth pulled the cover off the poster on the easel, revealing Rory—naked from the waist up, his arms crossed over his wide chest, his biceps bulging, his skin slick with sweat—wearing the company’s jeans and his cowboy hat. Below the picture ran the words Devlin men’s jeans. Strong enough to stand up to a real man.
Her breath stuck in her throat as she waited for her client to respond. When she’d first met Micah Devlin she’d been attracted to him. In his mid to late thirties, he was approximately five or so years older than her, and she liked that. He had an MBA from Harvard Business School. Was the CEO of the family business—a Fortune 500 company, no less. He was tall, in shape without being overly muscular. His company contributed to numerous charities. He’d seemed like her dream man. At least on paper.
Then she’d gotten to know him. His controlling personality and micromanaging had effectively incinerated her attraction.
No worries about mixing business and pleasure there.