When I arrived, I didn’t recognize anyone except the photographer Ricardo and Delamonte’s fashion director Emmanuelle, who greeted me with a flurry of cheek kisses. “Stella! How was your flight? You look lovely. We are so excited for the shoot…let’s get you into hair and makeup though, yes? We’re a little behind…” The ensuing whirlwind of activity was so chaotic it drove all thoughts of Christian out of my head. They shuffled me from hair and makeup to my fitting to my test shots, and by the time the real photoshoot was ready to begin, I couldn’t focus on anything except not screwing up so badly that Delamonte fired me on the spot. I’m fine. I can do this. We were shooting a different line every day—resort wear today, shoes and accessories tomorrow, and jewelry the day after that. I was grateful for the breezy silhouettes because if I had to squeeze myself into anything more fitted, I might pass out right there on the beach. “Angle your
head toward the sun…yes, just like that!” Ricardo shouted. “Perfect!” Maybe it was the sun and sea breeze or my high from being in Hawaii for the first time. Or maybe it was because I’d shot with Ricardo before and was more comfortable working with him. Whatever it was, it melted my nerves until I finally relaxed enough to push the ugly, self-doubting voices out of my head. For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, I turned and posed at Ricardo’s direction. We stopped every now and then for an outfit change, but otherwise, the shoot was seamless.
Emmanuelle was ecstatic. “You’re doing wonderful!” she gushed during one of our breaks. “Wait till I show Luisa the proofs. She’ll be thrilled…” I smiled and nodded, but my eyes were busy searching the beach for a flash of dark hair and tanned skin. Nothing. Christian had said he couldn’t make it, but I’d hoped… It doesn’t matter. I’d see him later. We were sharing a room, for Pete’s sake, and while I wanted him here, I didn’t need him here. I could do this on my own. The realization struck me right as Emmanuelle finished talking. “Don’t you agree?” she stared at me expectantly. “Yes.” I had no idea what she talking about. “You’re right.” “Exactly! Plaids for fall are overdone. I’m thinking brushed knitwear…” I can do this on my own. I repeated the words in my head. I’d spent years building my brand by myself, but ever since the Delamonte deal and my stalker’s reappearance, I’d been off balance. Unsure of myself. I’d relied on Christian for confidence and a small part of me was convinced I would’ve bombed the New York shoot if it hadn’t been for him. But I’d completed the shoot this morning by myself, and I’d done a damn good job. A smile bloomed on my lips. “Stella, we need you back here!” Ricardo called from his position near the water. “Are you ready?” I was still wearing my smile when I returned to my designated spot, my steps lighter than they’d been all day. “I’m ready.”
*
CHRISTIAN
Work kept me preoccupied for most of the Hawaii trip. As much as I wanted to accompany Stella to her photoshoots, I had contracts to negotiate, virtual meetings to attend, and a fucking traitor to catch. But when our last day on the island dawned, I couldn’t stay away any longer. I rescheduled my meetings and took the hotel’s boat to the Nā Pali Coast, where her last shoot was taking place. The silky white sand shifted beneath my bare feet as I walked toward the private beach where Delamonte had set up camp. I’d visited hundreds of locations over the years, but the rugged coastline remained one of the most stunning places I’d ever seen.
Dramatic emerald cliffs towered thousands of feet above the Pacific, their steep ridges and narrow valleys curling around pristine beaches at their feet in a protective embrace. White-plumed waterfalls cascaded past sea caves carved into the cliffs, their soft roar mingling with the lap of waves against sandy shores. The coast was a work of art forged by nature’s most talented artisans, the closest to Shangri-La in the modern world, but it wasn’t the most beautiful thing present. Not by a long shot. I stopped at the edge of the set. Stella stood in the shallows, her arms covering her bare chest and her curls a wild cloud around her face. Her simple white bikini bottom offset the extravagant emerald necklace around her neck. She was too focused on the camera to notice me yet, so I soaked her in at my leisure. The late afternoon sun gilded her skin and formed a halo around her gentle curves. Her face appeared almost naked of
adornment. No obvious makeup, just huge green eyes, lush lips, and skin that had deepened into a warm brown after days in the sun. She looked like Venus emerging from the deep blue sea, only a thousand times more spectacular. My heart slowed to match the sensual ebb and flow of the water as she turned and posed according to the photographer’s instructions. Unlike at the first photoshoot, she appeared at ease here, with the wind rustling her hair and the waves lapping at her thighs. A goddess in her natural element. “And that’s a wrap!” Ricardo shouted after a short while. “You are gorgeous, darling. Absolute perfection.” Stella responded with a shy smile. She dropped her arms an inch—not low enough to bare herself to the crew, but enough that the swells of her breasts peeked over her embrace. A lethal spike of possessiveness surged through my blood.
I allowed my eyes to linger on her for a second longer before I dragged them away to assess Ricardo with a cold stare. Half-naked models were de rigueur in the fashion world, but that didn’t stop me from suddenly wanting to gouge out the eyes of the only male member of the crew—one who was staring a bit too appreciatively at Stella. Ricardo Frenelli, age forty-six, twice divorced with one daughter who had a bad cocaine habit, employed at Delamonte for the past eight years. Well-respected in the fashion industry, but he had a secret gambling problem and owed a shit ton of money to people you didn’t want to owe a penny to. I’d done my research after the first photoshoot. “Mr. Harper!” Emmanuelle finally noticed me. Her greeting attracted the attention of everyone on the beach, including Ricardo, whose head whipped around to me.
His tan blanched white at my smile. People scared so easily these days. A flutter of movement shifted my attention back to the ocean. Stella hadn’t moved from her spot in the water, but she’d turned to face me. Surprise, pleasure, and a hint of something unidentifiable passed through her eyes when they caught mine. My ire toward Ricardo fell to the wayside, drowned out by the electric hum in the air. I've met plenty of beautiful women in my life. Women with perfect hair, perfect skin, and perfect bodies. Supermodels and movie stars and heiresses molded by the best money could buy. None of them held a candle to Stella. She glowed in a way that had nothing to do with her outer beauty. Darkness was always drawn to light, but I wasn’t just drawn to her; I was fucking obsessed. I would throw myself into her flame and let it burn me alive if it meant her warmth was the last thing I felt before I died. Her lips parted on a sharp exhale, like the force of my need was so great it pulled a physical reaction out of her. “…didn’t realize you were coming.” Emmanuelle’s sycophantic voice buzzed like an irritating gnat in my ear. “You should’ve told us. We would’ve—” “Leave.” I didn’t take my eyes off Stella, who stood so still she resembled a carved statue in the ocean. Emmanuelle faltered. “Excuse me?”