Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) Read Online Free Page A

than a drummer." A cocky smile spreads over his face as he unzips his hoodie. He raises a brow as if to say do you want me? I know you do.
    My, does he look good on film. Digital, technically. It takes great effort to stay professional. Somehow, I manage. I can't do many things, really. I can swim for hours. I can cook a decent meal. And I can take a fantastic set of photographs.
    Hopefully.
    "Take off your shirt." It comes out more demanding than I mean it to. "Please."
    "You're so polite, Mistress Photographer. Are you trying to butter me up to get me naked?" He winks.
    "Would I have to butter you up?"
    "No. But my ego always enjoys a good stroking."
    "You're trying to make me blush, aren't you?"
    Tom smiles. "I'd never."
    "Right. You're a nice guy."
    He nods. "The nicest."
    He spends ages pulling his shirt up his stomach, revealing inch after inch of defined abs. He has those v-lines. They make it nearly impossible to concentrate.
    Tom doesn't wait for my order. He sits back on the bed and spreads his legs in a position that invites someone between them. Me. Well, the camera.
    Prop. I need to think of him as a prop. Even if my palms are sweating and my mouth is dry.
    Okay. It's way too hot in here. I set the camera down and do away with my sweater.
    "Didn't realize it was that kind of photo shoot." Tom winks and pats the bed next to him. "I won't bite. Unless you want me to."
    "No. It's just—"
    "Where have I seen that before?" His eyes go to my chest. Well, the tattoo just above my chest.
    "Drew has one." It's quite dramatic. A shattered glass heart, broken and bloody. "His is on his shoulder."
    Tom's eyes fix on my chest. "Can't say I find his nearly appealing as yours."
    "Thanks." I try to come up with some way to change the subject. There are way too many memories attached to this thing. Awful memories that will get in the way of getting this done.
    "Does it mean anything special?"
    I swallow hard. "I got it after I broke up with my ex. To remind myself... of something. That I could survive a broken heart, I guess." I can't handle this conversation. It's too revealing. I point to the tattoo on Tom's chest. "What about your lion?"
    "Loved The Lion King when I was a kid."
    "You did not."
    "You're right." He spreads his legs wider. "My mom, adopted mom, is an anthropologist. She always had tribal art on the walls." He points to her chest. "This is one of her favorite paintings."
    "Did you get it for her?" I ask.
    "Not exactly."
    "What about your arm?"
    "Liked the design."
    "That's it?"
    He nods. "Tell you what. I'll think a little harder about my next tat."
    "It's your body. You should do whatever pleases you."
    "Oh, that's what you're after." He reaches for the button of his jeans.
    Oh God. He's about to take them off.
    "No." I bite my lip to keep from blushing. Okay. I need to get back behind my camera. Out of the fray. No chance of getting hurt. I line up another shot of Tom. That's better. "Lie on your back. Please."
    His body stretches long as he leans back. That's yummy. I snap more photos than I could ever use. This angle isn't quite right. I try getting closer but that's not it. The left side. Yes.
    Without instructions, Tom slides his hand down his torso. Like he's going to start touching himself.
    Deep breath. This is normal boudoir stuff. If I can't handle it, then I won't hack it with actual clients.
    God, he's sexy. A natural. Click, click, click . His hand skims the waistband of his jeans. Click, click, click .
    His hand is on the waistband of his jeans. The button.
    I can't take it anymore.
    I clear my throat as I set my camera down. "Maybe try a few sitting up."
    He smirks, his eyes catching mine as he sits up straight. He knows how badly I want him. It's written all over his face.
    Still, he is an accommodating model. He messes around on the bed. Copies half a dozen men's magazine glamour model poses. Kneeling. On all fours. Sticking his ass in the air.
    "That better?" he asks.
    I laugh. "You're better at