Excerpt

Derek Sloane unfolded himself from his Jeep Cherokee and silently cursed for what had to be the millionth time. He should have refused the job outright instead of playing the game. The last thing he wanted was to be shackled to a prissy model for any period of time. Okay…so he had refused the job. But Alpha Designs kept upping their offer each time he’d said no, until it became a game to see just how much they were willing to pay for his services. It turned out the answer was—a lot.

The culmination of all his bargaining was parked before him this very early morning in the vacant lot at Alpha Designs’ Los Angeles headquarters. The converted bus contained all the comforts of home, complete with separate sleeping quarters at each end for him and his subject. It still wasn’t far enough apart. God, he hated models. Spoiled, egotistical, vacant models. Models who tore your heart out and bit off a chunk, before crushing it beneath their feet on their climb up the ladder of success. Male or female, they were all the same. Derek knew that for a fact because he’d had them both…still paid alimony and child support to one big mistake; still had his heart ache over the other.

And yet the lure of one million dollars, in addition to living in comfort for the duration of this job, made him shove all his convictions aside. So here he was, staring at a gleaming white monstrosity emblazoned with the black-and-red Alpha Designs logo along the sides. It might as well have been a bull’s-eye. Publicity for this photo shoot was already running rampant. That was Derek’s fault—one very major point he’d failed to consider. Now, everywhere he turned, the hype slapped him in the face. Magazines, newspapers, tabloids, and TV shows chattered constantly about Alpha Designs’ coup in teaming “famed photographer” Derek Sloane with “top model” Brad Doyle for an exclusive holiday catalog and subsequent calendar. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate and do quality work if they were being dogged constantly? He had no one to blame but himself.

Derek supposed he couldn’t fault Alpha. After all, they had to pay for this extravagance. God only knew what Brad Doyle’s demands had been. He was the latest buzz topic—a young man who, reportedly, had the charm and intelligence to back up his pretty-boy looks.

A star on the rise. A force that could break into film by merely asking. Derek couldn’t help wondering how many people the man had stepped on in the process.

He hadn’t paid much attention until Alpha Designs had contacted him to do this shoot. But once the carrot started dangling before his eyes, Derek had looked Brad up on the internet, if only to see what it was he’d be working with.

Brad Doyle was a looker, he’d readily admit that. Thick brown hair that bore the barest hint of light turned golden. Deep blue eyes that glowed from within. A smile made more white by his smooth, sun-tanned skin. The camera loved the guy. Yeah…Derek could see the lure. His photos really got the blood pumping…for all sexes. Derek wasn’t immune, just smart enough to know beating off to an image was preferable to full-on involvement.

He smiled. Now that was one way to put an end to all this. He could put the moves on the pretty boy. That should send him packing. Brad would run back to Alpha, hand protecting his cock and balls from violation by “that fag photographer.” The contract would be cancelled and the one mil Derek’s to keep. Even as he thought it, Derek dismissed the idea. He could never play a person like that, could never use his sexuality in that manner.

Sucking in a deep breath, Derek squared his shoulders and walked to the rear of the vehicle to start unloading his equipment. His job—their job—for the next month was to explore California, finding the perfect backdrop to pose Brad wearing Alpha’s clothing. It was going to be a long month.

“I should’ve asked for two million,” he mumbled to himself.

He lifted the rear hatch with one hand and reached for the first black case with the other. The Cherokee was packed to the gills with equipment, all of which would now be shoved into his portion of the bus before the Jeep was hooked up to the tow trailer behind it. Reconverted busses were great for comfort, but they wouldn’t fit in those out of the way places Alpha craved. Their best bet would be setting up, then venturing out in his vehicle. He wasn’t crazy about having to load and unload the Jeep on a daily basis, but he also hated the idea of the stuff being towed in the vehicle behind them. In total, the equipment was worth a hell of a lot more than the Jeep. It needed to be protected as much as possible.

“You must be Derek Sloane.”

He jerked around at the voice, shocked he’d been so deep in thought someone had managed to sneak up on him. Brad Doyle stood there, hand extended, smile bright, dressed in jeans and a University of Southern California T-shirt. Photographs didn’t do the man justice. Derek’s heart thudded against his ribs. He was barely conscious of his mouth gaping as the blood rushed from his head to pool in his crotch. His cock flared to life, hard and demanding.

“I’m Brad Doyle,” he said, still smiling. His eyes looked like sapphires with facets of light cut into their depths. That deserved capturing on film, something none of the other photographs he’d seen had managed to do.

The man matched Derek’s six feet and looked to weigh about the same one-eighty. Their lips would seal with little effort, and Derek wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. If the sculpted muscles he’d seen displayed in pictures would mold to his with perfection. If those arms were as strong as his. If his cock…

Derek snapped his wandering thoughts to attention. “Pleased to meet you.” Very pleased. Too pleased.

He slipped his hand into Brad’s. Fire licked its way up his arm as their fingers curled around each other’s in a firm handshake. Their gazes locked in a mutual understanding that spawned joy and panic in the pit of Derek’s stomach.

He didn’t do models. It only led to heartache. He wasn’t going to put himself out there again. It was a temporary job, albeit one that would put them in very close quarters twenty-four-seven. All those precautions were like pebbles tossed in the ocean when compared to the heat consuming his body and the euphoria of realizing Brad Doyle was also gay.

They released hands at the same time. Still, the spell of lust lingered, tempting him, taunting him, seizing his dick and balls in a vise-like grip of desperate need.

“I’ve been an admirer of your work for as long as I can remember.” Brad’s praise and that megawatt smile wrapped Derek in more heat. “When Alpha Designs approached me about doing the spread and calendar, I took a chance and demanded you as my photographer.” His laugh came from deep within his throat. “I can’t believe they agreed to everything we both asked for.” He waved his hand to the bus. “Of course, it’s a little crowded with all Alpha’s clothing packed in there, but at least we won’t have to worry about any entourage being up our asses. It’ll be a welcome break. Just the two of us.”

“I don’t fuck models.” Panic hurled the words out before he could stop them.

Brad’s smile faltered, but didn’t wane completely. Amusement now flickered in those dark blue eyes. “Too bad. I’ll make sure I keep my hands to myself, though it will be hard.” His smile deepened. “It’ll be hard all the time.”

The double entendre wasn’t lost on Derek. His penis throbbed in response, begging for a violation of his edict on no fucking models.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Brad tilted a nod his way, then turned and walked back to the bus.

Derek’s gaze remained locked to his apple-round ass the whole way.