Camera Shy

Simone dropped into the chair in Anne-Marie's cabin, staring at the clothes she'd spread all over the bed. She was supposed to meet Jason in less than two hours, but she hadn't packed for a date. She had nothing—nothing—to wear.

She didn't pack for a date because she wasn't supposed to be going on any dates. Rubbing her eyes, she groaned.

So much for Anne-Marie's rules. She'd already blown the "no alcohol" rule. A shudder ran through her as she remembered yesterday's skull-splitting hangover. A hell of a morning following a night she couldn't remember.

No alcohol. Whoops.

No men. Shit.

She'd sworn she was here to relax, to think about her life, to get back on track. She really had every intention of doing just that. And Anne-Marie was absolutely right: The last thing Simone needed was a man—even just a fling—complicating things. There was simply too much at stake to risk on a quick lay.

Against her will, though, her mind drifted back to the night before. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine as she remembered Jason's touch, his kiss. She wanted to know what it was like to spend an entire night at the mercy of Jason's sizzling touch. If the hunger in his lingering kiss in the Jeep was to be believed, he was more than willing to oblige. Just thinking about what he'd look like naked, what he'd feel like, what he'd taste like, made her mouth water. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together as another shiver rippled through her.

No men. No men. No. Men.

She glanced at the clock. Five fifteen. Two more hours. She still had time to cancel.

It wasn't too late.

She looked at the scrap of paper beside her purse, the one on which he'd written his address and his phone number. All she had to do was call.

But really, what harm could one little dinner date do? Even if it led to more. They both knew she was leaving in a few days, so it would be, at most, just a fling. A short, fun, harmless fling. Probably no more than a one night stand. Goosebumps prickled her skin as her mind again wandered back to the previous night, when she let herself get lost in his kiss, kissing him like nothing else in the world mattered because, at that moment, nothing else in the world did matter. His kiss alone did more for her than most men had ever done in the bedroom.

He was precisely what she needed to satisfy her. If his kiss was any indication, Jason Connor was scorching hot in bed.

But if her past was any indication, her newfound friendship with Jason would end just as badly as every other relationship she'd ever had. There was no such thing as a harmless fling that involved Simone Farrell. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Call and cancel. This is a mistake. A huge mistake.

No good could come of this. More distraction. Another heartache to give her a reason to dive into the bottle again. More ammunition for the paparazzi to tear her apart.

The paparazzi weren't here, though, she reminded herself. She hadn't seen a single one; the only camera she had seen in three days, besides some random, oblivious tourists' was Jason's.

She winced at the memory of what happened on the dock, when he tried to take her picture. Christ, he must think I'm an idiot. Who could imagine? A camera shy movie star. And how could she explain it to him? "Look, I work in front of a movie camera all day long, but cameras like that have damn near destroyed my life, so would you please put it away and take me to bed?"

This was definitely a bad idea.

She looked at his phone number again.

There was just one problem: she really liked him, and not just because of the magic he worked on her body. He talked to her like a human being, not a movie star. He wasn't trying to rub elbows with her. His face was nothing if not sincere and his mere presence put her at ease. It had been so long since she'd been with someone so genuine. Even after she freaked out about the camera, he'd still asked her to come over to his place. He'd still kissed her like he couldn't get enough of her.

She swallowed.

Maybe he genuinely liked her. Or maybe he was just a sleazeball looking for another notch in his bedpost. Her thoughts drifted to the tattoos sneaking out from beneath his taut shirt, the way his fingers nimbly manipulated the camera lens, the ripple up his arm, the casual way he touched his tongue to his lips when he was thinking. His soft, tantalizing touch. The way his kiss sent tremors up and down her spine.

After what he did to her on the pier, she'd carve the notch in his bedpost herself if it meant getting to see what else his fingers could do, and what his tongue would feel like—

"Simone!" She scolded herself. Her face must have been cherry red, judging by the way it burned just then. But that wasn't the only place feeling some heat. She couldn't help but wonder what his tattoos looked like, how their edges would feel against her tongue.

No men! Anne-Marie's voice echoed in her head.

But the more she thought about Jason, about the way his mouth tasted and his fingertips brushed her skin, Simone realized that "no men" was an entirely different proposition than "don't fuck Jason Connor"

"If you saw him, you'd understand, Anne-Marie," she said aloud. She pushed herself out of the chair and snatched a halfway decent blouse and pair of jeans off the bed. Whatever happened . . . happened. She wouldn't let it consume her. She could control herself, just have some fun, and go back to L.A.

"What happens in Tofino," she said, pulling her T-shirt over her head, "stays in Tofino."