Dirty Shots Read Free Page A

retrieve her clothes, dressing as quickly and methodically as she had undressed. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her the whole time.
    “So,” she said, pulling her hair from the back of her t-shirt, allowing it to fall in a soft halo around her face. “When do you want me back?”
    His heart sang. She wanted to come back! “Same time tomorrow?”
    She frowned slightly, thinking. “I have to be somewhere until three. Is four okay?”
    Eric smiled. “Perfect.”
    He saw her out and closed the door gently behind her. The room seemed empty without her presence, bereft somehow.
    What would she be doing all afternoon? He knew nothing about her—if she even had a boyfriend. But it was none of his business. She was here to be photographed, that was all.
    Eric attached his camera to his laptop and went through the images. They were as beautiful as he’d hoped. Both the camera and the light seemed to love her. He could hardly wait to apply some filters to the pictures, to put some into monochrome and play with the light.
    Already, he could see the potential promise of perfection.

Chapter Three
Anya
    “M s. Rhinne? Are we boring you?”
    Startled, Anya realized she’d been daydreaming, her gaze locked on the clock positioned above the doors of the lecture hall. Her head snapped back around to the front to discover most of the other students turned in their seats and staring at her.
    She forced a bright smile. “No, of course not, Professor Wright.”
    Her lecturer turned back to his slides, the other students losing interest in her. Anya tried to make herself focus, but her mind kept drifting to thoughts of Eric Rutherford and the session they’d spent together. She pressed her thighs together, a tingling flush of heat racing from between her legs and tightening at her core. Being photographed by Eric Rutherford was the sexiest thing she’d ever done in her life.
    She’d struggled to act as cool as she had. The ad attracted her with the promise of a chance of earning a few extra dollars to help her with tuition fees. Her heart had almost stopped when Eric Rutherford opened the door, all floppy dark hair and brooding eyes, though she’d done her best to conceal her reaction. When he offered her the job, she needed to stop herself hopping up and down and clapping her hands in glee. She’d known who Eric Rutherford was ever since her late teens when he broke into the art world with his black and white portrait photography of old men and women, somehow capturing both their strength and their fragility with his work. He’d been like a young rock star of the art scene, bursting onto it to have every spotlight turned on him, only to fall from grace spectacularly with some kind of breakdown he described in interviews only as his ‘dark days.’
    But she had a feeling Eric wouldn’t have thought much of her if she showed herself to be some kind of pathetic groupie, so she’d played it cool. She kept her mouth shut and literally laid herself bare for him.
    Now she found herself obsessed with thoughts of the photographer. The minutes dragged by, painfully slow, and she wished she could go to sleep to make the time go faster, only to be woken in time to make her next meeting with Eric.
    Anya tried to focus on what Professor Wright, her lecturer of fine art, was saying, but even though she loved her major, she struggled to pick apart his words to make coherent sentences. Everything he said seemed to be a drone.
    Finally, the lecturer closed his laptop and called an end to class. Anya breathed a sigh of relief and began to gather her belongings, shutting down her own laptop and pushing it into her bag. Eric was expecting her in the next hour, and she wanted to make it back to her room and freshen up before heading over to his place.
    She trotted down the steps, toward the stage the lecturer had been speaking from, and headed out into the corridor, joining the river of students which flowed down the hall. Someone stepped into pace