“Ready?” the director asked.
Katrina tilted her head back toward the sun. “Yes.”
Grant gave a quick nod, hoping like hell this wouldn’t take long, especially since every time Katrina moved, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. And because she was topless, they had to take special care that no nipple was visible. They took every shot carefully, stopping to rearrange her hair or strategically place his arm or hand.
It was interminable. Katrina was patient through every shot, but to Grant, it was like a goddamned eternity.
“Is it always like this?” Grant asked Katrina during one of the many breaks.
Clearly comfortable standing around having her hair and makeup retouched, Katrina cocked her head to the side. “Like what?”
“Hours of this. Click and change positions. Click and redo the hair. Click and clothing changes.”
“Oh. Yes. Always like this. Why? Are you bored?”
His lips curved and he took a glance downward where her hair barely covered her generous breasts. “Hardly.”
She rolled her eyes. “I doubt these are the first set of breasts you’ve seen. Not from what I’ve read about you.”
“And here I thought you had no idea who I was.”
“Oh, I know who you are, Grant. You’ve dated a few of my friends.”
He wondered which ones. None of them were on location with him, and he’d always remained friends with the women he dated, so he doubted they had anything bad to say about him. “Is that right. And did you get a full report?”
“Yes.”
“So that means you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”
She laughed, and he liked the sound of it.
“I don’t think so.”
He wasn’t insulted, and he liked her confidence. They finished the shoot for the day since, according to the director, the light was leaving them. Katrina grabbed her robe and wandered off, and Grant went back to his bungalow to shower off the makeup and hair gunk. He checked his phone and answered a few e-mails and text messages.
Trevor had sent him a text stating he was going to set up a face-to-face call with Haven, so he was staying in his room.
That meant Grant was on his own tonight, which was fine with him. He returned a few calls, one to his agent, Liz Riley. She talked to him about finalizing his contract since the season would be starting soon. He told her he’d come in and see her as soon as he got back to town.
Football season was gearing up, and he was due to the practice facility in St. Louis in two weeks.
He was ready. He’d been in training and was in shape, and was more than ready for the season to start. This was a nice mini vacation prior to getting back to work, though. Soon enough he’d have his head in the game, and it would be all he thought about.
After getting dressed in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, he made his way to the main bar at the hotel and ordered a beer. He grabbed a seat at one of the tables outside, content to sip his beer and people watch, one of his favorite pastimes.
He saw a few of the models come outside. They sat at a table not too far from where he was, all of them talking and laughing.
They were all beautiful women. Tall and slender, with great hair, pretty smiles, and amazing bodies. But he found himself searching for only one woman.
He had no idea why, when she’d clearly blown him off. She was probably out on a date tonight with some hot male model. He’d seen a few of those guys today as well.
But then he caught sight of Katrina coming through the bar. She was by herself, carrying a tote bag. She stopped to talk to the bartender, who nodded. Then she walked past Grant without saying a word, and pulled up a chair at a table by herself.
Not with the other models, who seemingly ignored her as much as she was ignoring them.
She pulled out a book and a pair of glasses, and one of the waitresses brought her a tall glass of what looked like iced tea with lemon. She opened the book and started to read, oblivious to everything—and everyone—around her.
Huh. Not at all what he’d expected.
He watched her for a while, waiting to see if she was meeting someone. After about thirty minutes, he realized no one was going to show up. He stood, grabbed his beer, and went over to her table and pulled out a chair to take a seat.
She lifted her gaze from her book and settled it on him. She didn’t offer a smile.
“Did you get lost on your way to some other table?” she asked.
“No. But you were alone.”
“Precisely. On purpose.”
She waited, as if she expected him to leave. He didn’t take a brush-off all that easily. “I thought you might want some company.”