Page 26 of Falling into Place
He swung open the door and halted in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The feminine appreciation in her gaze nearly stopped him from complaining further, but then he felt the draft of the air conditioning all the way up his legs. “They’re, like, midthigh!”
Her eyes tracked back and forth between his for a moment, as if trying to assess how distressed he really was. “Hey. I know this isn’t what you’re used to, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But I dressa lot of men, and I promise they’re not too short. This is very much the style right now. I’m picturing close-up photos for the post anyway, so you don’t have to show any leg if you don’t want to.” She beckoned him forward so she could circle him once more. “This is good. You have great arms. Those forearms could bring in a lot of attention.”
They could?
“We need to unbutton these two, though.” She reached up to slip the top two buttons out. “There.”
A whiff of vanilla and the coffee she’d made flooded his senses as she moved. He stood like a statue, feeling like a Ken doll with the way she poked and smoothed and tugged at his shirt.
“Let’s try a French tuck.”
“A what?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tuck in just the front.”
“Shouldn’t I put the belt back on?”
“No.”
Man, his instincts were pure shit.
The front door opened and Sasha’s voice floated in from the entryway.
“You know what,” Carly said quickly, “Never mind, I like it like that.” She whipped around and grabbed a pair of white sneakers. “Put these on.”
He opened his mouth, but she quickly added, “No socks,” and he snapped it shut.
In less than thirty minutes he believed everything his sisters had said. He knew nothing about fashion. No undershirt, no socks, more fitted, shorter. Sweaters in summer and whatever the fuck a seersucker was.
“Brooks?”
“Back here,” Carly called at the same time Sasha entered his bedroom with a small woman carrying a massive camera.
Oreo, who he’d forgotten about once they started with the clothes, shot across the room and leaped into Carly’s arms.
“Whoa,” she said, barely getting ahold of him.
He eyed his cat curiously. “Nice catch.”
Sasha approached him with a smile. “Wow, brother. You look great.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Carly was talking softly to his cat. “Nice job.”
“Why are you so sure I didn’t pick this out?” he asked.
His sister just laughed. “The clothes are great, but what’s going on with your hair?”
He blinked and reached up to slide his fingers through it. He hadn’t even looked at it since he got out of the shower before heading to work early this morning.
“I say we leave it as is,” Carly said. “It’s kind of messy but in that casual, tousled way. Some men spend a lot of time trying to make their hair behave like that.”
Sasha squinted and looked again, then nodded. “Yes. Good. Brooks, this is Cam, the photographer. Cam, this is your handsome subject.”
Cam, a woman with long dark hair and blue glasses, stepped forward, and Brooks held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She met his gaze with a huge smile and shook his hand. “Likewise.”
Sasha had suggested they do the photos at his home, either in the sparsely furnished living room or in the backyard, which boasted several large oaks like the one in the front.
“So where do you want me?” he asked.
