Page 52 of The Leaving Kind
Why had he agreed to this modeling thing?
He flicked his fingers in Victor’s direction. “C’mon. Clock’s ticking. What’s next, Leonardo?”
Victor glanced down at the dog. “I thought we might take a break. In case Honey needed to go out.”
Cam pressed his lips together against the laugh fighting up his throat. Then he let it go because why not?
Victor laughed with him while he picked up his sketch pad. “I suppose I should get my money’s worth before you get totally pissed off and leave. Would you be comfortable removing your shirt?”
Cam put his hands to the hem of his T-shirt and stopped. Eyed Victor. “Ah, fuck it.” He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the easel closest to him. “How do you want me to stand.”
“That’s great.”
Cam glanced down at his pose. He had his legs slightly apart, hips square to Victor, one hand tucked against his hip, the other dangling. Huh. Weird.
“Chin up?” Victor made an upward motion with his free hand.
Cam lifted his chin.
“Look at me.”
“Not a good idea.”
Victor’s grin was sly. “I know.”
The push-pull of attraction between them only intensified as Cam met Victor’s gaze. Breathing became a conscious effort, and Cam could feel every heartbeat. Then not as he once again imagined the feel of Victor’s mouth.
Victor’s gaze flipped away, to his sketch. Up, then back down.
Cam thought about what he’d taste like—beer or wine or the salad stuff he’d put together for their dinner. Peppers, tomatoes... Did they have a flavor that lingered? Beets. Who the hell put beets in salad? They’d been good, though. White beans, pecans, lettuce, shredded purple cabbage, and spinach. It’d been the healthiest damn meal Cam had eaten in a month.
No wonder Victor seemed effortlessly lithe. Not skinny, not exercised to a scrawny leanness. But slender. Toned. When not taking a week’s vacation inside a wine bottle, Victor obviously looked after himself.
With an odd flash of something, Cam decided he admired that.
“Turn your head to the left?”
Cam turned. When his shoulders moved to follow him around, he asked, “Like this?”
“I want to see the movement on your right side. Over your ribs. Can you lift your arm forward a little? Perfect, thank you.”
Victor had him adjust his stance a few more times before he folded the top of the sketch pad back over and set it down. “Okay, I’m done. For now.”
Cam relaxed. Rolled his shoulders. “For now?”
“I’d like to do this again.”
“Uh-huh.” Once more, Cam fought his attraction to this man. Why did he want to flirt so badly? They weren’t ... they couldn’t ...
They shouldn’t. Enough said.
“But we could,” Victor said quietly.
Cam shook his head. “Don’t do that. It’s creepy.”
“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about pushing me up against a wall since you got in here and I’ll say I haven’t been imagining it either. Or what you taste like. The sounds you might make.”
“Fuck.”