He swivelled the chair to face her. “I’m going to have to rebuild your site, from scratch. It’ll take some time.”
And time, as Carrie knew, meant money. She bit her lip. Grandfather Nate had lent her the start-up funds to get Forever Yours Photography off the ground. She knew she could go to him for another short-term loan, but that would mean explaining what she needed it for. He was already dealing with Jessica; Carrie was supposed to be the granddaughter that didn’t cause trouble. Or embarrassment. Or shame.
“How much will it cost?” she asked.
He crossed his fingers together in his lap. “A lot. But I’m thinking we might be able to work a trade.”
He looked away as if uncomfortable with the suggestion.
“You want me to take pictures of you?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s sort of a… personal request.”
Oh, God. Men were such pigs. She’d heard this before. Take your clothes off once in front of a camera and people made all sorts of assumptions.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said, backing away. “Apparently I was unclear yesterday. Let me correct that. Whatever you think is on offer is not, so you can shut down those dirty thoughts right now, buddy. Just because I took naked pictures of myself doesn’t mean I’m for sale. I’ve never done casual sex and I’ve no intention of starting now, even as a so-called trade. I’m not that kind of girl.”
She stopped to catch her breath and realized that throughout her tirade, Ethan had begun smiling. Now, he was fighting a full-on grin.
It made her want to smack him with a tripod.
“What,” she asked slowly and precisely, “is so funny?”
He turned his face into his shoulder, holding up a finger. But then his shoulders started shaking. A snorting sound came from behind the hand he had pressed against his lips.
“Are you… laughing… at me?”
This time, she walked up to him and shoved him, hard enough to send the chair skidding backward. Unfortunately, it knocked her off balance, taking her upper half along for the ride, while leaving her feet planted on the floor.
The chair banged against the edge of her desk and before she knew it, Carrie lay sprawled across Ethan’s torso, her face against his shoulder, close enough that she could not just hear the regular thud-thud of his heart, but she could feel it, too.
He smelled like spices and heat and sunbaked earth. His firm jaw pressed against her cheek and the bristles on his chin felt, oh heavens, they felt like something she wanted to rub her entire body against, like it might satisfy an itch she hadn’t even been aware of, but now was the single thing occupying her brain.
His legs gripped hers and his hands were on her waist, his palms meeting skin where her t-shirt rode up, the heat of them spreading through her like butter melting over a hot pan. Everything about him was hard and chiselled, like he was made of material that was somehow more than flesh and bone and blood, stronger. Impenetrable.
He was holding her, keeping her from falling further and the word that best described the feeling was… safe.
“Are you okay?” he said, still smiling.
Instantly, the spell was broken. She pushed off him, noting again that her hands barely made an impression against his hard chest. She disentangled her legs from his and stumbled backward, the perfect vision of awkwardness. Her limbs were rubbery and jumbled up. She leaned against the wall, crossed one foot over the other, then uncrossed it. Her face was pulsating with heat.
“Sorry,” she said, then mentally kicked herself for the default reaction. “No. I’m not sorry. You should be sorry, implying-”
“I know you were telling me something important,” he said, mischief dancing in his black eyes, “but then you threw yourself at me and I lost track of the conversation.”
“I did not throw myself at you. That was an accident.”
The nerve of him.
“You made the first move.”
“Because you said… you… said…”
“No,” he interrupted calmly, “I didn’t.”
In fact, now she couldn’t exactly remember what he’d said that had gotten her so enraged. It had been insulting.