Heart of Stone

Chapter Thirty: The Bigger Picture

*

Berlin was our last stop on the tour. To commemorate it, Ed proved that the bedroom in his jet did actually exist and that he wasn't bluffing about taking my Mile High virginity. And Mark didn't disturb us, so that was a bonus.

Helen read me the riot act, though, as we travelled together to the photoshoot. Even without Mark's habit of interrupting us in compromising positions, Ed and I hadn't exactly tried to hide that we were no longer just friends. I had no doubt that he'd received the same lecture from Helen, but as he was in a different car, I got the full force of her warnings without him there for protection.

I understood her concern. After all, I hadn't signed that NDA, and she knew how hard Ed had fought for that. In her eyes, I was a bad influence. A commoner seducing the king into making poor choices. First the night in the club with Lacey, then the cock-up in Amsterdam, and now a saucy photoshoot together.

By the time we arrived at the studio, I was sick of the sound of her voice. The woman clearly had a lot of pent-up feelings about me. And the worst part? Her instincts about not trusting me were right, so I couldn't even take the moral high ground.

Luckily, the assistant who helped me to get ready for the photoshoot was much friendlier. She talked me through the process, reassuring me I was more likely to feel bored than embarrassed. To her knowledge, I was a random member of Teddy Stone's team, stepping in to help him out after his first-choice model had bailed.

"I see why he picked you, though," she said, admiring my tattoo. "It's beautiful. And what a thing to put on your CV, huh? Modelled alongside Teddy Stone? Wow."

I tossed her a polite smile. "I guess."

I had every intention of keeping this anonymous. As much as I understood her point, the harsh reality was that anything positive to come out of this photoshoot would be overshadowed by the sexuality of the photo—no matter how tasteful.

The assistant was right about one thing, though. What a long and tedious process. Ed knelt in front of me, topless, with one hand pushing up my top to reveal the tattoo, and the other hand curled around my ribcage so that his bracelet was on full show.

It probably looked great on camera, but the angles required were awkward and unnatural—so much so that I didn't feel even the slightest bit turned on when Ed's mouth rested below the tattoo.

"You doing okay up there?" he asked during a brief pause.

"Fine," I said.

"Not too horny at the sight of me on my knees in front of you?"

I chuckled. "Sorry, but not at all."

The photographer experimented with different approaches, and I changed my top a couple of times when he decided that a black and white picture would work well. Considering I'd done nothing but stand still, my body ached when we finally finished. It was all worth it when we caught a glimpse of the raw files, though.

Nothing about the photo looked awkward or unnatural. The muscles in Ed's back rippled as he knelt in front of me, his bicep huge as his arm bent to hold up my top. That famous bracelet lay flat next to my tattoo, centimetres away from the full lips that rested beneath the cursive font. Although my face was out of the frame—I'd remained adamant about that—my fingers were nestled in his hair to give the illusion of intimacy.

Knowing what I knew now about the logistics of creating the end photo, I wouldn't have had a reason to be jealous of Ed enacting it with a random model. But if I hadn't experienced the process first-hand, and I'd only seen the finished result, then I would have definitely been rattled. Not that I'd admit it to him—he didn't need his ego stroking—but without the guilt of Becca looming over me, I could at least admit it to myself.