Small town actress, Nina Carmody, arrives in Los Angeles to break into the movie business. Hotshot professional photographer, Jordan Santini, has more than just a good eye—he’s got good everything. And Nina’s first headshot session turns out to be more than just a photo opportunity.
Los Angeles in May was hot, loud, and incredibly nerve-wracking.
Nina Carmody swung her legs out of her rental car, glad to be out of the city. Driving on the freeway set her teeth on edge. Life in small-town Missouri had not prepared her for the sheer amount of traffic on the L.A. streets. She looked around, glad to have put the worst behind her.
The Pacific Palisades overlooked the gleaming blue ocean to the west of the city. Beautiful, expensive houses abounded, dotting the shoreline. Each building would have cost ten times more than her birth home in High Ridge, MI, especially the one sprawled out in front of her now.
Through the wrought iron bars of the main gate, she stared at the white frame and glass building peeking through the palm trees, reflecting the bright California sun and blinding her.
She hadn’t been able to reach the buzzer through her car window, so she’d had to get out to press the button. The heat beat down. Beads of sweat pooled in her cleavage, dampening her new Victoria’s Secret bra. She was going to look a mess for her photo session. She waited for an answer and tried to quell her nerves.
Jordan Santini was one of the most renowned photographers in L.A. Her cousin, Lacey, who had achieved some small fame as a television star, had given her a birthday gift of a headshot session with Santini. She would have an edge over the many other wannabe actors flocking to the city—a set of five thousand dollar photos to show off to potential managers and agents.
She sighed and fanned herself again. Santini was taking his sweet time answering his intercom.
“Who is it?” a gruff, impatient voice finally asked.
“Nina Carmody? I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Santini.”
She heard a woman’s seductive laugh crackle through the connection. Another female voice joined in.
“You’re early,” the voice replied, followed by a murmured something she couldn’t make out. The women laughed again.
Nina looked at her watch. She was indeed ten minutes early. The hair on the back of her neck stood up for some reason. Was it his low voice, or the fact that they might be laughing at her?
“Come on in.”
There was a click as the gates swung slowly inward.
Hopping back in the car, she turned the AC up full blast, hoping the short journey up the driveway would be enough to cool her down.
Her fingers tapped fidgety on the wheel. She had no experience. What did one think about during a photo shoot? Was she supposed to smile all the time? What if those women stayed in the room? Could she relax with an audience?
She must have taken a wrong turn on the circular driveway, because she came to a side entrance first, spying the front door in the distance. As she pulled closer, two women emerged from a patio door.
Her jaw dropped. They wore bikinis that barely covered anything and high heels. As she watched, they turned to someone just inside, out of her sight, and laughed. One of them had long, dark hair, and she shook it back, sticking out her huge breasts.
Nina couldn’t help but stare. Two triangles of turquoise fabric barely concealed the woman’s chest. The mounds beneath were hard and perfectly shaped. The other woman, a blonde, even more scantily clad, said something to the person inside the doorway, then reached a well-manicured finger out and touched the other woman’s left nipple through the turquoise.
Nina stalled the engine. Unaccountably, heat pooled between her legs. Even from this distance, she could see the effect the blonde’s touch had on the brunette. Both peaks hardened, stretching the fabric taut. The dark-haired woman grabbed her playmate by the hair and pulled her mouth toward hers for a wet kiss.
The blonde dropped a hand to her partner’s perfect bottom. The thong was practically non-existent, exposing her well-shaped, inviting buttocks. Nina had never touched a woman there, but for the first time, she wanted to.
The man in the doorway stepped outside. He had dark hair that curled slightly around his jaw. He wore a white shirt, open to expose his darkly tanned and toned chest, his jeans were low slung and hip hugging and underneath, he was hard.
Nina swallowed. As though reading her mind, the man—surely, this was Santini—put his hand on the brunette’s ass and moved it in a circular caress. The women broke their kiss and leaned into him. In turn, they moved their lips to his. The blonde then dropped to her knees in front of him and made a move to open his fly.
Santini’s eyes shot open, and Nina realized he’d spotted her and caught her watching. Her cheeks heated with flames of embarrassment. She hoped the sun was reflecting off her windshield, offering her some cover, but he smiled a knowing smile, and it was obvious she was in full view.
He let the blonde open his jeans.
