How to Love by Kelly Jamieson Page A

ocean nearby, they strolled down the sidewalk to where Mike had parked his car. He opened the passenger door first and handed her in, then crossed around the hood of the car.
    “What did I say that pissed you off?” she asked him coolly a few minutes later when he’d turned onto Shore Drive.
    He sighed, his mouth tight. “It’s not what you said. It’s what you don’t say.”
    She frowned at him. “What does that mean?”
    “I mean, I ask you questions about yourself and you change the subject or turn it into another question or basically avoid answering.”
    She slumped a little in her seat, thinking about that. “Well. Um. What did you want to know?”
    “I want to know why it’s so important that you take nude pictures of me. And don’t turn it into a joke or tell me how hot I am. I know that’s not why.”
    She nibbled her bottom lip. It took a lot of effort not to say, well, you are hot . Or, once again deny that it was important. But telling him the truth wasn’t that easy either. She swallowed, her throat tight and dry. The lights of passing cars and streetlights flared in and out as they drove. Mike cast one glance toward her and she realized it had been several minutes since his last comment.
    “Well,” she said. She licked her lips.
    “Never mind.”
    San Amaro wasn’t that big and it only took a few minutes to reach their street. Mike parked in the driveway of his place. She opened the door and climbed out before he could get there, and he firmly led her to her front door. Once more, they stood beneath the overhead light she’d left on while she unlocked the door.
    She stepped inside. “Coming in?” she asked over her shoulder.
    “Uh. No. Thanks.”
    She stopped, her heart pitching into hard knocks against her ribs. “No?” She tried for a sultry look, laying one hand on his chest. “After that kiss earlier? You don’t want to…” She went up on her toes to brush her lips over his jaw. “Finish?”
    He grabbed her hand. Hard. He stared down at her, his gaze unyielding. “You want to fuck?”
    Mike’s crude words made Jules blink, but also made her stomach do a flip of excitement. This was what she was used to hearing from guys.
    “Yeah,” she purred. “I do. And you do too.”
    His fingers tightened on hers. “Yeah. I want to fuck your brains out. But not if you won’t even talk to me.”
    She gazed up at him for a long moment. Her body tingled everywhere, heat sliding down into a hot pool of lust between her legs, but it was more than excitement that had her heart racing. It was fear. She felt her bottom lip quiver and worked to stop it.
    “I’m worried about my photography.” The words slipped out.
    He held her gaze steadily. “What do you mean? Why are you worried?”
    “I…I…lately I’ve just felt so…frustrated.”
    “You’ve been taking lots of pictures. Are they no good?” His voice was gentle and his grip on her hand eased a little.
    “They’re okay. They’re not great.” She admitted it out loud, unable to look away from his intent eyes. “I feel like…I’m afraid I’m never going to be able to take anything great again.”
    She waited for the platitudes, like “don’t be silly”, or “of course you will”. But he didn’t say that. Instead he continued to study her face. “Why do you feel that way?” he asked.
    She drew in a long, slow breath. “I’m not sure. I just don’t have the motivation I used to. Everything seems hard. Nothing excites me.”
    “Do you think taking pictures of me will help that?”
    She closed her eyes against the genuine interest and compassion in his. There was a power in his gentle focus that she may have underestimated. She felt her heart beat in every pulse point, her lungs expanding as she breathed.
    “Yes,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and met his. Her insides knotted at the realization that she’d confessed something so personal, so fucking scary, to him. To anyone, really.
    He gave a short nod.