Julian laughed and shook his head.
“Uh, yeah, Jo, don’t hire a photographer off Craigslist.”
Clearly he didn’t understand how hard it was to find a photographer who would take photos for free.
“I just need to find someone better than my landlady. She takes the blurriest photos and I basically have to bribe her into taking them. Last week she made me listen to like two hours of her stories ‘from the homeland’ before she finally agreed. After thirty minutes, I ended up with three photos of my blurry face and about thirty photos of her thumb covering the lens.”
Julian laughed, his deep dimples driving me as insane as ever. He snapped a few more photos while I tried to focus on anything but his appearance. His face was already hard to behold, but somehow the baseball cap brought out a new layer of appeal.
“I can always help you, y’know,” he offered as he held his phone up for me to inspect the photos he’d just taken. I stepped closer and watched him scroll through them, ignoring the exhilarating feeling of being close to him.
“You say that now,” I joked, “but you’ll realize soon that this volunteer job has very few benefits. You just have to follow me around and snap as many photos as you can.”
“I can think of a few benefits,” he offered, with unmistakable lust in his tone.
I stared at his mouth, at the lips that had just formed those seductive words. They were right there, so close that I could reach out and steal a kiss. I inhaled once, slowly, and then convinced myself I’d read too much into his statement.
“Julian, less play-flirting. More snapping,” I said, helpless to prevent the smile spreading across my face as I stepped back toward the railing.
I peered over at him from beneath my lashes and waited for him to start taking photos. He didn’t. He stared straight at me with his eyes full of questions and his lips full of unspoken desire.
“Who said anything about play?” he finally asked.
It was his dark brow, subtly raised beneath the brim of his baseball cap that made my stomach dip low.
We were entering dangerous territory.
Chapter Eighteen
Julian
For the past few weeks, I’d done my best to give Josephine her space. Every urge that wasn’t strictly wholesome, I’d ignored. Mostly. We danced around each other, flirting and teasing, assuming it was all in good fun. Now, as I watched her accept a margarita from Dean and laugh at whatever babble he was throwing her way, I fought the desire to walk closer and slip my hand beneath her cover-up. I’d run my hand along the curve of her ass and up over her hip. The bikini offered up no shortage of soft skin, ready for exploration.
Once she had her drink, she glanced over her shoulder and found me sitting against the edge of the boat. I didn’t look away and she tilted her head in question. I held my beer up and smiled. She laughed and followed suit, holding her margarita up in a long-distance salute.
My gaze traveled over her as she took the first sip of her drink. The sun shined through the thin cotton and for once I was graced with every inch of her hourglass figure. Had she worn that outfit knowing full well it would drive me insane? Had she tied that string around her neck considering the fact that I’d be the one untying it at the end of the day?
I gulped down another sip of her beer and stared out at the horizon, trying to subdue the caveman part of my brain. The beer did little to soothe the ache caused by Josephine.
Fuck.
As much as I wanted Josephine, I had to remember that she was my employee.
I needed to get laid. I needed one night with someone less vulnerable, less employed by me. Josephine had moved to New York a month ago. She had no friends, no connections. If something happened, I’d most likely be her emergency contact. That knowledge came with certain responsibilities. Sinking my dick into her would be an amateur move, something I would have gladly done in my twenties, too preoccupied with the ache in my pants to worry about the consequences of my actions. I could only imagine the conversation she’d have with her parents. “Yeah, my job is good. My boss tried to fuck me on a boat yesterday.”
“How ya holdin’ up, champ? You look like you’re about to crush that beer bottle in your hand,” Dean said, patting my shoulder as he took the seat beside me.
“Great,” I muttered, squinting out toward the ocean.
“Are you pissed I invited Jo?” he asked, leaning back against the cushion.
I thought of how to answer and then I caught the tail end of her laugh. Fuck me. Fuck me.
“I think I’m in trouble with that situation,” I offered, not bothering to turn his way.
Dean was the gloating type. There was no need to feed his ego.
He laughed and hung his head. “Took you three weeks to realize something I saw the first five minutes I was around you two.”
“Maybe you’re a fucking psychic,” I muttered sarcastically, angry at the wrong person.
He patted my shoulder.
“You need to relax. We’re on a boat, my friend. Not to mention, we have a dozen ladies onboard who would be more than willing to deal with that little problem Jo has caused in your pants.”
“What did I cause?” Jo asked, a few feet back.
I squeezed my eyes closed and willed her to walk away.
“Julian?” she asked.
I ignored her.
Dean shook his head and moved away. “C’mon, Jo. I’ll make you another margarita. Julian is having a little temper tantrum.”
I gripped my beer and stared down at the label with every ounce of willpower I had.