Page 2 of Luca (Big Hot Alphas 3)

I turn back to her. “What?”

“Bothof your sides are equally good.”

“Useful to know, I guess.”

“Yousureyou don’t want to pursue a modeling career? You’d make a lot of money, dude.”

I laugh. “Nah. That’s okay.”

The next thing I know, the photographer is introducing himself to me, talking about the vision for the shoot, asking me if I have any questions.

“Nope,” I say. “I’m all good.”

“Great,” he says. He turns away to project his voice across the room. “Okay! Let’s start shooting, folks!”

Is it awkward lying on a bed in suggestive positions in front of a bunch of strangers? Is it weird having two dozen eyes glued to me while I’m half naked?

Of course it fucking is.

But I signed up for this.

So I act like I do it every day.

“Nice,” the photographer says, the shutter firing rapidly as I lie back against the pillows with my hands clasped behind my head. “Love it. That angle’s perfect, Luca. Now look off into the distance for me.”

I draw my eyes away from the lens and search for something else to focus on. There’s no shortage of options. Countless equipment surrounds the set.

But what grabs my attention is something far more interesting: the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s standing by one of the monitors, bent over slightly as she frowns at the screen, her pretty dark eyes focusing intently on it. If she’s that striking when she’s serious, I can’t even imagine how beautiful she must be when she’s relaxed.

And those curves of hers? Jesus. Sumptuous curves like that should be illegal. She’s not even showing off what she’s got—she’s dressed professionally, wearing dark pants and a simple black top, her hair neatly pulled up—but the way my body’s reacting, it’s like she’s in skimpy lingerie.

The camera’s shutter continues to fire, matching the pounding of my heart.

“Perfect!” the photographer says. “Yeah. Hold that look, Luca. That’s the money shot.”

Fucking hell. If I keep my eyes on that goddess for much longer, I’m going to bust through these luxury pajama pants.

The photographer finally lowers the camera from his face. “Awesome job, man. Let’s move on to the next shot.”

There’s a flurry around me as people rush in to change the set. I step out of the way as they dismantle the fake bedroom. Then Taylor is shepherding me away, pulling me over to a clothing rack, which she pulls a hanger off of.

A hanger that holds nothing but a pair of boxers.

“Next outfit,” she says, shoving them into my hands. She gestures toward a temporary privacy screen set up a few feet away from us. “Change over there.”

I head back behind the screen, yank off the pajama pants, then take off the boxers from home I have on underneath. When I pull on the new boxers, I take one look down at myself and shake my head.

This is what you signed up for, remember, hotshot?

I step out from behind the screen and Taylor waves me over. She looks completely unfazed by the fact that I’m in next to nothing now. But I guess she’s probably used to seeing nearly nude dudes all the time.

“Just gonna oil up your legs and touch up a few spots,” she says, immediately getting to work. She works quickly, then wipes her hands clean and grabs a small stool to climb up onto so she can reach my hair. As she fusses with it, my gaze moves across the set to find my beauty again.

I know it’s a risk. Looking at her again could get my cock riled up, and in these boxers, there’s nowhere for a hard-on to hide. But I can’t fuckingnotlook. I need the sight of her. I’m hungry for her like a starving man.

Finally spotting her, warmth floods my body.

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