Page 11 of No More Bad Boys
He hooks a thumb toward his chest and raises a suggestive eyebrow.
“Besides, they don’t like thebig fish.They mainly eat small fish and shrimp—their favorite is lobsters.”
“I recommend a hat then,” I gesture to his red hair.
He nods with a half-grin. “Touche.”
“Lighting’s going to be a challenge,” I warn Luce. “You can’t use the stand lights while he’s underwater—they’ll reflect off the glass and give you nothing but glare, but you’ll need light when he surfaces. It’s dark in there.”
She glances up from the editing console, her face twisted in dismay.
“You’re right. I’ll shoot him through the tank window with no additional lighting and leave the stand light up at the top of the stairs, so it’s on him when he comes up for air. I’ll just have to put it in the right place so I don’t hit it or cast a shadow when I’m climbing the stairs during the shot with my camera on my shoulder. And Blake, you’re gonna have to keep your eye on me so our paces are even and we both reach the top at about the same time.”
“AssumingJaws doesn’t get him first and he makes it at all,” I mutter, twisting to check the time on the dashboard clock. “Twenty minutes till air. I need to raise the mast soon and see if we can even get a shot out of this canyon between the building and the parking garage. And you two should probably practice a couple of times. Y’all almost done?”
“Almost,” Luce says.
At the same time Blake says, “Twenty minutes? Shit.”
Hearing the sound of rustling, I turn back around and see Blake stripping. Yes, literally stripping off his clothes right there in the live truck.
He lifts his shirt over his head in one swift move, revealing an unexpected and rather delicious set of defined abs and a nice, wide chest to go with them.
On the left side over his heart there’s a large, dark, circular tattoo—a Celtic or Chinese symbol, I think.
His arms are long and well-muscled, and his lean waist is punctuated at either side by those Appollo’s belt indentations that disappear under the waistline of his pants and make it impossible to stop imagining where they might lead.
Luce’s gaze is lasered in on the monitors—either she’s so focused on getting the story done by deadline that she doesn’t notice the Chippendale’s show behind her, or maybe this tempting sight is something she’s already seen before?
Could they be… but no, he just started here.
“Please. Feel free to watch,” Blake’s voice is teasing and seductively low as he reaches for the top button of his jeans.
I whip around to face the windshield. My face is mid-summer-in-central-Georgia-hot, and my voice sounds a little shaky when I speak.
“Whatare you doing?”
“Well I can’t put the wetsuit onovermy clothes. I figured I’d better get started—don’t know if you’ve ever worn one before, but these things aren’t exactly easy to get on.”
The chime of a text message interrupts him. There’s movement in the rearview mirror as he reaches for his phone.
Oh God.The mirror.
“Oh—my dive escort is already in the water waiting for me. I’ve got to get a move on,” Blake says.
My mind barely registers his words, because now that I’ve caught sight of him in the mirror, I can’t look away.
I should.
I have to.
But I just can’t.
I can’t see his eyes, (so I know he can’t see mine) but I’ve got a great shot of him from the jaw down.
He’s managed to get the tight wetsuit up over his slim hips—thank God because it would be hard for him to do a live shot with a passed-out live truck operator.
The suit clings to every hard-carved muscle of his thighs as well as the impressive topography between them.
