Chapter 3 The shoot

There was no going back now, Hazel exhaled deeply as the elevator arrived at Damiete's penthouse. She'd miss Pearl, who was now staying with Beatrice. It had taken everything not to cry when she left her behind.

Hazel let herself in with the key card that had been given to hrt, dragging her suitcases across the sleek marble floor. As per his terms, they'd be sharing the master bedroom. Something that greatly displeased her.

The only sign that someone was in the room was the crumpled sheets on the king-sized bed. Where was he?

The bathroom door creaked open, and he came out. A gasp escaped her lips, Good heavens! Her eyes took him whole in one glance, even though she told them not to.

Shirtless, hair tousled, grey joggers hanging dangerously low on his hips-and that bulge......She swallowed hard.

Damiete smirked, clearly catching her reaction. "Good morning, Mrs. Torres."

Hazel puckered her face in disgust and hissed. Even six months wouldn't be enough to get used to that name.

"You're here early." He yawned, stretching with a lazy confidence that made her insides twist.

"Punctuality is a habit of mine. You wouldn't understand."

He pointed toward the walk-in closet. "You can put your stuff in there."

"Okay." Hazel unzipped her bags and began placing her clothes in drawers while Damiete casually dropped into push-ups like it was nothing.

She tried to ignore him, hut occasionally her eyes betrayed her, watching the muscles on his back move, the tattoo that sprawled across his back, and the sweat that glistened on his back which made him look like a forbidden sin carved in stone.

What is wrong with you? Hazel mentally slapped herself.

"We have a shoot today," he said, standing to reach for his dumbbells.

"What shoot?"

"A cover for NUDE magazine," he replied without looking at her.

Hazel's eyes widened. NUDE?

It was one of the hottest magazines in the industry. She'd spent nights dreaming of being one of those daring women on its glossy pages.

"What?" he asked, catching her expression. "If you don't want-"

"I'll do it," Hazel cut in quickly, flattening her tone.

He grinned. "It's going to be fun."

THE SHOOT

The master bedroom had been transformed into a professional photo set. Lights, backdrops, and props filled the space. Hazel sat in the corner with a makeup artist, getting ready.

The stylist approached, flipping through photos of her outfits. Hazel blinked as she caught a glimpse of them-Red and black lingerie. Sultry, Bold and Dangerous. Her throat dried.

The first setup had Damiete handcuffed to a chair-shirtless, looking dangerous and sexy. Hazel was in red lace, holding a whip.

"One, two, action!" the director called.

Hazel walked toward him slowly, letting her silk robe slide off her shoulders. The red lingerie clung to her curves, every step drawing in the camera-and Damiete's gaze. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes devoured her.

She ran the whip slowly down his chest. The camera clicked, taking the first picture.

In the next pose, she cradled his face while they stared into each other's eyes. Her breath hitched.

"You're enjoying this more than I am," he said, voice low and teasing.

"No, I'm not," she replied quickly, trying to sound unaffected.

But her hardened nipples brushing against his chest betrayed her. She could the heat rising up her cheeks.

"Now," the director clapped, "let's make it spicier. You need to kiss, to put the icing on the cake. "

Hazel stiffened. Kiss? That was not in the plan, and it was the last thing she wanted.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Torres?" the director asked.

Hazel shook her head. "No."

"I see you're shy," the director teased. "Just pretend we're not here. Imagine it's just the two of you." she winked.

"Yes, Mrs. Torres," Damiete smirked. "Just the two of us."

Hazel wanted to strangle him, then she remembered the money. But instead, she leaned in, heart pounding, and pressed her lips against his.

Damiete didn't hesitate-he kissed her like he meant it.

"You're a good kisser," he murmured against her mouth. "And your lips..."

"I'm just doing what the director asked," she snapped, pulling away.

The next scene was a bed shot.

Hazel changed into black lingerie. Damiete wasn't handcuffed again-he was very happy.

She straddled him, her hands on the red silk tie around his neck. His hands gripped her ass, his breath hot against her skin.

"I preferred the red," he whispered in her ear. "Black's still sexy though."

"No one asked for your opinion." She smiled for the camera, but her voice was sharp.

"You're one feisty woman," he growled, pulling her closer. "That's what makes you unforgettable... even after five years."

Her blood boiled. That did it. Any sensual thoughts she'd been having evaporated. She glared at him.

The director clapped. "Perfect look, Hazel. Hold that expression."

The cameras clicked taking more photos.

When it finally ended, the director promised to reach out to her with a copy of the magazine before launch. The team packed up and left.

An hour later, the door shut behind the last members of the crew. The penthouse was shrouded in a defeaning silence, heavy and electric.

Hazel exhaled. Her skin still tingled where his hands had been, her lips still burned from the kiss she wasn't supposed to enjoy.

"I'm taking a bath." she wrapped her robe tightly around her.

"Already running from me?" he asked, his voice calm and amused.

Hazel turned to face him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," he got off the bed, stretching his arms lazily above his head. "you're in a hurry to escape."

"I was half-naked in front of people for half an hour, I need a bath."

"Strangers," he chuckled. "You kissed me like there was no one here aside us."

"You kissed me back too," she pointed out, chin raised.

He shrugged. "I never said I didn't want to."

She stepped back. "That wasn't real. We were working."

"Were we?" His tone was dark, playful. "Because your body said otherwise."

Hazel's cheeks burned red with embarrassment. She hated how right he was, and how her body had given her away so many times.

"Ten million dollars, Mr. Torres," she reminded him coldly. "That's what this is. Not a love story." she rolled her eyes.

Damiete moved very quickly, trapping her in between himself and the wall. His palm braced beside her head, his voice dropping.

"Then stop looking at me like I'm the only man who you've ever gone to bed with."

Their eyes locked for what felt like forever-heat, resentment, tension, something unspoken burning in the space between them.

"You're mine, hazel. For this one year, every inch of you belongs to me, and I'll make sure it stays so."

Hazel stepped closer, her eyes burned with hatred. "And I'm going to make sure you suffer just the same way I did."