3 MONTHS LATER
JAXSON
A THICK GOLD BRACELET SPARKLED and the smaller disk-like medallions twinkled against the turquoise-blue water.
The perfect costume.
One arm was up, holding her messy hair in place, the other was covering her naked breasts just enough so as to not get censored.
A flawless body and an ideal pose.
A hot chick, for sure, and I was certain all the men would be gawking at this image every time they passed by a newsstand.
To me though, it was the Egyptian necklace that stole the show. The one Sadie had found and assured me it was going to light up the sky. She was right.
This was the perfect picture.
My best work.
I clutched my fingers tighter around the glossy paper as I pushed through the squeaky door to the beach bungalow we now called home.
We’d done a shit ton of work to it and it needed a shit ton of more work. All in good time.
It was a Saturday, and Sadie was up on a ladder with a paintbrush in her hand. My eyes glided up, piercing her, taking her in, demanding her attention. I cleared my throat.
“Jaxson,” she grinned. “Hi. I thought you weren’t coming home until later.”
I licked my lips, offering a lazy smile. “Plans changed.”
“Oh, good. Grab a brush.”
I frowned. Not what I had in mind, at all.
“What? You don’t like the color?” she asked, her voice raspy and paint covering her hot little body. She was sexy as hell in those overalls and my dick saluted the good work, and her.
I tucked the magazine in my back pocket and folded my arms over my chest, very aware of what this stance would do to her. “It looks great,” I answered, not really caring if the walls were Sunshine Yellow, Vibrant Yellow, or Martha Stewart Yellow. “And so do you.”
Blowing a piece of stray hair from her eyes, she glanced down at herself. “I’m a mess.”
Shaking my head, I quirked a finger, beckoning her to come a little closer. Telling her I wanted her naked. Letting her know she was mine—mess and all.
Her mouth opened in a perfect O and she set her paintbrush aside.
Jesus fucking Christ, I loved her.
In this moment, I was a lion poised to pounce. “On second thought,” I offered, swiping my tongue along my bottom lip, “stay put.”
I’d go to her.
Nice guys didn’t always finish last—in fact, sometimes they finished first, and sometimes they even won.
I climbed the ladder as she twisted and sat on the top. “What’s going on?” she asked, her breaths heavy with desire.
When we were eye-to-eye, I pulled the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition from my back pocket and presented it to her like a kid who’d just got an A on a paper.
She snatched it from my hand and stared in awe for the longest time. “Oh, my God. I love it. And you’re name, it’s so big.”
I grinned and looked down toward my raging erection. “Yeah, like me.”
She swatted my shoulder. “Seriously, this picture is beautiful.”
I caged her in, gripping the sides of the ladder and staring into her eyes. “Like you, Sadie Cassidy.”
“You’re prejudiced,” she smirked.
“Maybe.”
She kissed me softly.
“By the way,” I said. “How about you show me how perfect you are and hurry your sweet ass to get packed?”
She blinked. “For what?”
“Well,” I cleared my throat, “Travel and Leisure just called me and asked if I’d be interested in shooting an upcoming feature on Tikehau Island.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you even serious right now?”
“Pink sands, baby,” I taunted. “All the way.”
She looked around at the mess and bit her lip. We were knee-deep in remodeling, but it had been that way for months. Then she sighed, “I should probably stay here. We’re so close to being finished.”
“Did you hear me?” I asked in astonishment. “Travel and Leisure called.”
Working for Elise was working out great. Small jaunts a few weekends every month to locations close enough to drive. Low budget stuff that neither of us complained about.
Working remotely, Sadie was also writing a weekly feature for Elise that raised awareness to the needs of Atlanta. Schools. Playgrounds. Local shelters. Humanitarianism, that Sadie relished in. She called it penance for her bad choice. I called it giving back for her good work.
For me, I didn’t want to shoot for any one publication; I wanted to shoot for them all.
National Geographic.
Reader’s Digest.
Men’s Health.
In Style.
Even fucking Better Homes & Gardens.
“I heard you,” she said, almost unaffected, actually bored.
“And,” I replied, my brow furrowing in surprise. “I thought you’d be fucking thrilled to visit one of the most amazing beaches in the world.”
The laughter that burst from her lips took me by surprise, and then she screeched and threw her arms around me. “Oh, my God, I’m kidding. Of course I’ll go. I can’t believe they called you. You are huge, Jaxson Cassidy. Huge.”
I wanted to swat her on the ass, but instead, I grabbed her by the waist and took a single step down. “How about I show you just how huge I am, my little thief.”
She bit my lip hard in retaliation for my choice of word.
Thief.
She hated when I called her that.
Personally, I loved it.
I would always call her my little thief because she’d done more than steal my camera; she’d stolen my heart.
And I never wanted it back.
The end!