Wild Temptation (Wild #1)(20)
Author: Emma Hart

She laughs as I wave goodbye to Aaron, ignoring Tyler completely.

“Tyler!” Dayton snaps as I step outside. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing she didn’t give back in bloody spades,” he says briskly.

My eyes meet his briefly, and I flag down a cab and get in with him still watching me.

I think over what he said as we drive. He’s right—I know he is—and it bugs the shit out of me. We’ve never had a real conversation that hasn’t ended either physically or with me walking away because he’s pissed me off. The fact he can see right through me unnerves me.

I am so safe, so careful, not to push my own buttons. I take every precaution so that I’m not tipped into the addictive part of my brain. So that I don’t end up in a downward spiral when everything inevitably goes wrong and recreate my past mistake.

But he tears it all apart. With his constant appearing from nowhere, his smooth touches, and his blunt dirty talk, he rips into my safety wall and tugs at my addiction. With his unexplainable knowledge of my body and what I need, he unravels me.

Because he’s so f**king right.

I do crave danger. I love the thrill of a risk. I adore the wild abandon that comes with them both, the freeing feeling of having no restraints, even if just for a minute.

I knew the second I laid eyes on Tyler Stone that he was a risk—he was a dangerous risk. He has all the makings of the perfect person for me to get addicted to. And my body, however stupidly, craves him. It wants him and it needs him and it desires every little thing he can give to me. Every ounce of pleasure, it wants it. If offered, my body will accept it and be consumed by it before I’ve had a chance to argue against it.

My body doesn’t know addiction. It doesn’t understand the dangerous pull. But it wants it.

Crave.

Want.

Need.

The three things I can’t feel… The three things that are dangerous to me… The three things Tyler embodies.

The three things I feel myself being swamped with in a way I’m not so sure I can fight anymore.

8

My feet pound against the sidewalk as I jog toward Stone Advertising Headquarters for my meeting with my agent. The wind is biting but welcome. Each breeze smacks me in the face as I run into it as if it can knock sense into me.

I fight against the urge to take a deep breath as I round the corner and the imposing building comes into view. Since Aaron moved here to be with Dayton, the Seattle office has taken over the New York one as the lead one. It’s always crazy busy with people constantly running in and out, dashing to elevators, and speaking into cellphones.

Again, I find myself thankful for the chill outside. It means I’m not sweaty as I work my way through the busy lobby in my yoga pants and new Nikes.

I take the elevator to the third floor, and the receptionist smiles at me.

“Take a seat, Miss Warren. I’ll let Sheila know you’re here.”

“Thanks.” That girl has an incredible memory. I swear I’ve never heard her call anyone by anything other than their name.

I flick through a Vogue magazine as I wait. Unfortunately, it’s last month’s, so the content isn’t all that interesting. I’ve read it every time I’ve been here in the last three or so weeks. I put it back on the table next to my chair just as Clara steps out.

“Liv, Sheila will see you now.” Her voice is cold and clinical, and I wonder why she’s not in New York instead of Seattle. She has a little too much bitch for our smaller fashion industry.

I shoot her a sickly sweet smile that reeks of falseness and pass her.

Sheila’s office is warm and comforting but staunchly professional at the same time. There are photos of her family on her desk, but the walls are lined with photos of her models on their best campaigns. There’s one of me in the far corner from the swimwear shoot I did last summer.

I have to admit, it’s one of my favorites, too. The swimsuit made my boobs look really, really good.

“Liv! Come in. Take a seat. Would you like a coffee?” Sheila looks up and sets her glasses on top of her head, carefully avoiding her bangs.

“A bottle of water would be great, thanks. I ran here,” I explain unnecessarily.

“Of course, hon.” She picks up her phone and asks Clara for a coffee and a bottled water. “First, we’ll go over your pictures from your latest shoot. Then we’ll discuss the possibility of the new one. Okay with you?”

“Sure.” I wait as she pulls out a file and lays the photos out on her desk.

Clara comes in with our drinks and leaves without saying a word. Moody bitch.

We flick through the pictures one by one, creating three piles. Yes. No. Maybe. Looking at them this way, I almost believe Tyler when he said that he’d never be able to choose his favorites. It’s hard enough for me and Sheila to do it.

Because, damn. Tyler Stone is a f**king good photographer.

I don’t like many pictures of myself, but I like these. Somehow, through the awkwardness of seeing each other again and that raging sexual tension that basically had me wet the whole shoot, we somehow managed to get some incredible pictures.

After flicking through the ‘maybe’ pile, we pick four photos and add them to the ‘yes’ one. Satisfied, I take a long drink from my water while Sheila organizes the pictures.

“Right, this shoot. It’s for Balfour, a new swimwear company. This is their first major campaign and they’re using the advertising department to make a few waves. Now, if they select you and the first shoot goes well, there’s the potential to become the face of the company.”

My head spins—in a good way. “Okay. Where will the shoot be?”

“The first shoot, the test shoot, will be in a studio here in Seattle. Probably one of ours. If they like the test, then you’ll go to California for the real one.” She shuffles some papers and turns to her laptop. “Are you interested?”

Am I interested? Hell yes. “Absolutely. Will you send them images from last summer’s shoot?”

Sheila nods once. “Yes, and a few studio lingerie shots. All your swimwear shoots are on location, so they need a feel for you in a studio. I’ll put together a portfolio this week and mail you a copy at the weekend so you can look through it before I send it.”

“Great.”

We say our goodbyes and I leave her office, ignoring Clara on my way out. The chilly breeze is now a biting cold as clouds roll overhead, and the temperature seems even lower after coming out from the warmth of the building. Still, I pause just outside and whip my phone from my bra. The security guard gives me a funny look. I grin.