MrBigStuff-epub by RG Alexander Page B

lip-gloss away with her thumb. “I’m sorry this visit was so short.”
    He waved off her concern. “Go. Sylvie and I have big plans tonight.”
    “We live dangerously.” Sylvie reached for one of the last pieces of cheese. “Though some unimaginative people call it cable television.”
    She watched Jefferson take off his hat, shake her father’s hand and nod to Sylvie with a grin. Then his warm palm was on her lower back and he was leading her through the house and out the front door with his long-legged stride.
    “I’ll put the address into your GPS and you’ll follow me in your car.” There was no pretense of that being a question.
    “Yes, sir,” she sassed, saluting. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than stand around for hours watching you flash those dimples for the camera.”
    He’d opened the driver’s side door for her and his hand slid down from her back to cup one ass cheek. He had to know how sensitive she was. “I thought you had a vivid imagination, Caroline. You can think of one or two things you’d rather be doing with me. That’s why I knew you’d come.”
    Oh, God, could she.
    “I know I can,” he murmured against her temple before he let her go and leaned into her car to type in the address to the studio. “My imagination’s been working overtime since last night. You’d be proud of me. I made a list of positions and everything.”
    She really wished he hadn’t said that. She wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else.
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    The hand Jefferson wasn’t holding was curled, her nails digging into her palm as she resisted the urge to show her claws. He hadn’t told her he wasn’t the only one being photographed. Five women scantily clad in strips of denim pretending to be shorts, cowboy boots and little else were wandering around the studio with matching expressions of bruised, doll-eyed, emaciated boredom.
    If it were any other day, she would have enjoyed the view. There were women exactly like this at her regular club. There were women like this around every corner in Los Angeles. They never bothered her. Even at forty-five she could give the starving eighteen-year-olds a run for their money. She could get the man and the cheeseburger and satisfy all her appetites with no regrets.
    But today they were getting on her nerves. The women looked between her and Jefferson with expressions that did more than border on insulting. If one of them opened a pouty red mouth to ask if she was his mom, she would not be held responsible for what came next.
    Jefferson was frowning. She wondered if he sensed it too.
    “Terry?” he called to the photographer. “I thought we decided on a new direction for the shoot.”
    The short, bald man glanced up from his camera equipment in surprise. “What? Jeff, good, you’re here.” He smiled apologetically as he looked around at the Daisy Duke cheerleading squad and the bales of hay in front of a white screen. “Yes, I remember. I merely thought we’d try out both directions and see which one those people in marketing feel will sell the most pairs of Troublemaker jeans.”
    Troublemaker jeans? Caroline managed to turn her face before rolling her eyes.
    “That’s not what they’re called.” Jefferson must have sensed her reaction. “And my name isn’t Jeff. It’s Jefferson. I appreciate your desire to please the folks in advertising, but my contract is clear. I have artistic authority in how my brand, I believe that’s what they call it, is portrayed. And this version of pornographic Hee-Haw is not my brand.”
    Caroline snorted. Loudly. It was a rare occurrence and wasn’t incredibly dignified, but she couldn’t help herself.
    Terry ran his hand over his smooth head with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. I apologize.”  He tilted his head to study Caroline. “Is this her?”
    “Who?” Caroline took a step back and Jefferson’s hand squeezed hers firmly.
    “Yes. This is Caroline