Alex had listened patiently the entire time, but his eyes flickered dangerously at my last statement. “Don’t say that.”
“I know. It’s super self-pitying, which is not what I want. But what you said at the gala earlier? About me craving love? You’re right.” My chin wobbled. Call me crazy, but something about being tucked away this corner of a random diner, sitting across from a man who I thought didn’t even like me until a few hours ago, made me voice my most insidious thoughts. “My mom tried to kill me. My dad barely pays attention to me. Parents are supposed to be the most loving forces in their children’s lives, but…” A tear slipped down my cheek, and my voice broke. “I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe if I tried harder to be a good daughter—”
“Stop.” Alex’s hand curled around mine on the table. “Don’t blame yourself for fucked-up things other people do.”
“I try not to, but…” Another shaky breath. “That’s why Liam cheating on me hurt so much. I wasn’t really in love with him, so I wasn’t heartbroken per se, but he’s yet another person who was supposed to love me but didn’t.” My chest ached. If I wasn’t the problem, why did this keep happening to me? I tried to be a good person. A good daughter, good girlfriend…but no matter how hard I tried, I always ended up hurt.
I had Josh and my friends, but there was a difference between platonic love and the deep bonds that bound a person to their parents and significant other. At least, there was supposed to be.
“Liam is an idiot and an asshole,” Alex said flatly. “If you let lesser people determine your self-worth, you’ll never reach higher than their limited imagination.” He leaned forward, his expression intense. “You don’t have to work overtime to get people to love you, Ava. Love isn’t earned, it’s given.”
My heart rattled in my chest. “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
“Personally? No. But love is like money. Its worth is determined by those who believe in it. And you obviously do.”
Such a cynical, Alex way to look at it, but I appreciated his straightforwardness.
“Thank you,” I said. “For listening to me and…everything.”
He released my hand, and I curled it into a light fist, mourning his warmth.
“If you really want to thank me, you’ll take Krav Maga lessons.” Alex arched an eyebrow, and I laughed softly, grateful for the small break. It’d been a heavy night.
“Okay, but you have to sit for a portrait with me.”
The idea came to me on a whim, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d never wanted to photograph someone as much as I wanted to photograph Alex. I wanted to peel back those layers and reveal the fire I knew beat within that cold, beautiful chest.
Alex’s nostrils flared. “You’re negotiating with me.”
“Yes.” I held my breath, hoping, praying…
“Fine. One session.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile.
I was right. Alex Volkov did have a multilayered heart.
15
Ava
I agonized for days over whether to shoot Alex in a studio or outdoors.
I took all of my photoshoots seriously, but this one felt different. More intimate. More…life-changing, like it had the power to make or break me, and not just because I might submit it as part of my portfolio for the WYP fellowship.
I would have Alex Volkov all to myself for two hours, and I wouldn’t squander a single second.
I eventually chose to shoot him in a studio. I booked the space in the university’s photography building and waited, pulse thumping, for him to arrive.
I was more nervous than I should be, but maybe that had something to do with the wildly inappropriate dream I’d had last night. One that featured me, Alex, and positions that would make an acrobat’s jaw drop.
Even now, I flushed at the memory.
To stave off the onslaught of unbidden, erotic images, I fiddled with my camera and stared outside the window, where hints of fall bloomed on the trees and leaves swirled lazily on soft gusts of wind. Red, yellow, orange—fire on air. A physical marker of the transition from the hot, halcyon days of summer to the icy, bone-chilling beauty of winter.
It was September, but a different kind of winter whooshed in on a cloud of delicious spice and cool reserve.
Alex entered the room, cutting a sleek, powerful figure in his all-black outfit—black coat, black pants, black shoes, black leather gloves. A sharp contrast to the pale beauty of his face.
My fingers tightened around my camera. My creative soul salivated, desperate to capture that mystery and lay it bare on the page.
I’ve found that the quietest, most reserved people often make the best portrait subjects because the exercise doesn’t require them to speak; it requires them to feel. Those who bottle up their emotions every day feel the strongest and love the hardest; the best photographers are the ones who can capture each drop of emotion as it spills out and mold it into something visceral, relatable. Universal.
Alex and I didn’t greet each other. No words, not so much as a nod.
Instead, the air hummed with silence as he divested himself of his coat and gloves. It wasn’t overtly sexual, but everything about the man was sexual. The way his strong, deft fingers slid each button from its hole without so much as a pause or stumble; the way his shoulders and arms flexed beneath his shirt as he hung his coat on the hook by the door; the way he moved toward me like a panther stalking its prey, his eyes bright with scorching intensity.
The velvety tips of butterfly wings brushed my heart, and I clutched my camera tighter, willing myself not to step back or tremble. Liquid warmth pooled in my stomach, and every inch of my body became a nerve ending, hypersensitized and throbbing with arousal.
He hadn’t touched me, and I was already so turned on I trembled. I hadn’t thought that was possible outside romance novels and movies.
Those green eyes flared, like he knew exactly what he did to me. How tight my nipples were beneath my thick sweater, how wet I was between my thighs. How much I wanted to devour him, to pour myself into the cracks of his soul so he would never be alone.
“Where do you want me?” Gravel rasped his voice for the first time since I’d met him, turning the clear, authoritative tone into something darker. More sinful.
Where did I want him? Everywhere. Over me. Beneath me. Inside me.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. Alex’s gaze dropped to my mouth, and my entire body pulsed.
No. I wasn’t a schoolgirl on a date. I was a professional. This was professional.
A portrait session with a subject, just like countless other sessions I’d had in the past.
Of course, I hadn’t wanted to throw any of my previous subjects on the floor and ride them until kingdom come, but that was a minor detail.
“Uh, here is fine,” I croaked, gesturing to the stool I’d set up on a plain white background.
I’d kept today’s set up simple. I didn’t want anything to detract from Alex, not that they could. His presence obliterated everything around him until he was the only thing left standing.
He folded himself gracefully on the stool while I checked my settings and snapped a few test shots. Even unposed, his photos jumped off the screen, his gorgeous features and piercing eyes tailor-made for the camera.