Christmas Alpha (4 page)

 
Which was something of a relief; he had thought he would never grow hard again after what Moira had done to him.

 
It was such a relief that Finn wanted to take his cock out and stroke it in celebration of the moment. Or have Eva stroke it for him...

 
“If I could prove to you that the photographs are art,” Finn murmured, speculative, “would you reconsider posing for me?”

 
“Yes. No!” She looked flustered as she realized what she had said. “I know your photographs are art, Mr. Devlin—”

 
“Finn.”

 
“I’ve seen prints of them,” she continued determinedly. “They’re beautiful. It’s just—I have a mother and a father who would mind very much seeing nude photographs of their daughter on display for everyone and the world to see.”

 
“Your face wouldn’t be in any of them. Everything else, but not your face,” he added suggestively.

 
“Oh that makes me feel sooo much better!” She rolled her eyes.

 
Finn chuckled. “Look, why don’t we step into my studio, I’ll take a few photographs for you to look at. With your clothes on,” he drawled mockingly as she looked about to protest again. “If you don’t like what you see then I won’t ask again.”

 
It all sounded so reasonable when he put it like that. And Eva admitted to being tempted. What woman wouldn’t want to be the subject of a Finn Devlin photograph?

 
He was a dangerous man, this wicked Irishman, with his bad-boy good looks, suggestive blue eyes, and that soft Irish brogue that curled itself deep into the pit of her belly and made her ‘cave’ weep with longing.

 
Made Eva long to do anything he asked of her...

 
“Just a couple of photographs,” she conceded firmly. “And I get the memory card from your camera before I leave.”

 
He raised dark eyebrows. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Shaw.”

 
Eva considered for a moment. “How much were you paying the model?”

 
“A lot of money.” He smiled. “But she was taking all her clothes off,” he reminded dryly.

 
“Even a Finn Devlin photograph with my clothes on has to be worth something.”

 
“Maybe.”

 
“Definitely.” Eva stood up, patiently waiting for Finn Devlin to do the same, her eyes widening as he did so and she saw the telling bulge stretching the front of his denims.

 
He shrugged unapologetically. “It’s from looking at your breasts and imagining having those fat and juicy nipples, plump as berries, in my mouth.”

 
“How did you know—” Eva broke off, cheeks fiery hot now.

 
She had always hated the size and shape of her nipples, as deep in color as small ripe strawberries, and just as plump.
 

 
“Sure, an’ just the thought of them is enough to kill a man,” Finn deliberately deepened his brogue at the same time as that bulge in his denims seemed to grow larger, thicker.

 
Determined not to stare, Eva instead kept her gaze on his face. Only for her fingers to then itch with the need to touch and tug on that overlong and tousled dark hair as she pulled Finn Devlin down into a kiss. Not one of those mouth-open-too-wide kisses Tom had liked to give. She had absolutely no doubts that Finn Devlin would know exactly how to kiss a woman. How to kiss
her
.

 
For goodness sake, she had only met the man an hour or so ago!

 
Maybe, but there was something about having the first words out of a man’s mouth—especially a wicked mouth like Finn Devlin’s—asking you to strip naked and wait on the bed. Those words somehow knocked out the first date with a man, the second and third one too, and took you straight to that significant fourth one.
 

 
Except this wasn’t a date, fourth or otherwise, but a world-renowned professional photographer asking to do his job.

 
Even if that impressive bulge in his denims quite clearly had nothing to do with professional interest...

Chapter 4

“This is amazing...” Whatever Eva had been expecting of Finn’s studio, apart from the obvious expensive photographic equipment—a harem-style bed and tacky-colored satin sheets, perhaps—it certainly wasn’t the stark beauty of the huge mahogany four-poster bed covered with ivory silk sheets and a pile of matching pillows.

 
“Thought it might look like a brothel, did you?” Finn drawled knowingly, his cock instantly flexing itself as he watched Eva reach out and lightly stroke the silk sheets.

 
Even that brief touch of her fingers against those sheets was enough for Finn to see that Eva’s skin was going to look amazing against the ivory. Luminescent. That long and straight hair would also look the color of rich sable.

 
He had picked his original model because she was tall and blond, like Moira. But already he knew that Eva had captured his imagination in a way the original model hadn’t. In a way Moira hadn’t.
 

 
For one thing, he had never, not for one moment, contemplated photographing Moira. Whereas with Eva that need was fast becoming a compulsion.
 

 
“So.” Eva looked uncomfortably across the room at Finn Devlin as he stood quietly near the door, just watching her through those narrowed and sleepy—seductive—lids. “How are we going to do this? What position—I mean, how would you like me—no, that’s even worse!” She gave a disgusted shake of her head. “Help me out here, Finn!”

 
“You were doing so well on your own I didn’t like to interrupt,” he came back dryly.

 
Eva turned away from the intensity in those bright blue eyes. “Aren’t you afraid, living all the way out here, that someone might break in and steal all your photographic equipment?”

 
The teasing light faded from his eyes, along with his smile, giving him a tensely dangerously appearance. “I wanted to get away from London for a while.”

 
“Why?”

 
His eyes hardened as he strolled further into the room, his movements as stealthy as a cat’s. “Why do you want to know?”

 
“I… It was just something to talk about.” Eva shrugged, wary at the way he had changed from being lazily charming to a watchful predator.

 
“And if I’d rather not talk about it?”

 
“Then we won’t.”

 
Finn came to a halt just feet away from Eva, realizing he was alarming her with his sudden change of mood. But there was no way he could think or talk rationally about the reasons he had left London. Not yet. Not when he knew Moira and her obsession for him were still out there somewhere. That Jack’s phone call just now meant that she could be somewhere close by...
 

 
He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t mean… Only two people know that I’m here.” That count had just gone up to three, now that Moira knew exactly where he was too.

 
“Three now,” Eva attempted to lighten the conversation.

 
“Three now.” Make that
four
people, Finn amended, frustrated. Obviously Eva knew where he was too!
 

 
“I would hazard a guess that one of the other two people is the person who sent you the parcel?”

 
“My agent.” He nodded.
 

 
“And the other person?”
 

 
“The owner of this house. A friend.” Although Finn knew that if asked, Lucien would probably dispute that friendship. Lucien didn’t do friends.
 

 
The two men had met a year ago when Lucien Wynter had bought a quartet of Finn’s photographs through an agent. Finn had then offered to deliver the photographs himself since he liked to meet the people who were going to own them.

 
At first Lucien had turned down the offer, at which point Finn had then refused to deliver the prints at all.

 
Lucien wasn’t a man who accepted being denied anything he had decided he wanted, and he badly wanted to own those four prints. He was a man who surrounded himself with beautiful things, unique possessions.

 
That standoff had been the start of their friendship. Lucien could call it what the hell he liked, but as far as Finn was concerned the two men had learned a healthy respect for each other that day a year ago, and the two of them had definitely been friends since.

 
To the extent that Lucien hadn’t hesitated to offer Finn the use of his secluded house in Wales after Moira’s last exploit had resulted in another woman needing to visit the hospital. Finn hadn’t been left unscathed either.
 

 
“Your girlfriend...?”

 
Finn focused his gaze back on Eva. “A man. Not in my life,” he added dryly, just so that there were no misunderstandings on that score. Although his constant erection, since Eva Shaw’s arrival, was probably a sufficient indication of his sexual preference! “Just for the record, there’s no woman in my life either.”

 
Eva sighed inwardly. Not because Finn had denied liking men; his earlier conversation had been a clear indication he didn’t prefer men, without the physical evidence of his attraction to her still pressing against the front of his denims.

 
She just wouldn’t feel comfortable, having Finn flirt with her—if his earlier conversation could be called anything as tame as flirting—and be involved with someone else.

 
But that didn’t answer why a man as famous as Finn Devlin would hide himself away in a remote place like North Wales.

 
Possibly
because
he was famous, and had needed to get away from the limelight and paparazzi for a while. Or something else. Maybe someone else?

 
“Doesn’t your family know where you are?” She frowned at the thought of the fuss there would be with her own family if she just disappeared.

 
Finn moved to turn on and adjust the lights. “I only have my older brother, and his wife and kids. He’s a fisherman out of Galway,” he added distractedly. “I call him once a month on my cell phone, just to let him know I’m alive,” he added dryly. “Liam has never understood my interest in photography.” Finn shrugged as she looked surprised. “He asked me if I was a sissy when I took it up professionally,” he remembered fondly.

 
Eva almost choked on her own tongue. “Does your brother need glasses?”

 
Finn chuckled ruefully. “I come from a long line of fishermen, Eva. Playing around with a camera in my hand isn’t Liam’s idea of man’s work.”
 

 
“Did he see your ‘War’ exhibition?”

 
His eyebrows rose. “Did you?”

 
Oh yes, Eva had seen it. She had lined up outside the gallery for an hour just to get into the exhibition after the critics had raved about it in the press.

 
It had taken only the first few photographs for her to know that this wasn’t the blood and guts of war but the devastation war left in its wake.

 
A line full of laundry left blowing in the wind next to a completely demolished house.

 
A man drinking water from a puddle in the road.

 
A dog left to starve in a garden, the owners having fled or dead.

 
There had been thirty photographs in the exhibition altogether, from no specific country, all of them heartbreaking. A stark and terrible reminder that it was the innocents who really suffered in war.

 
They weren’t photographs taken for their commercial value. Not the sort of thing anyone would want hanging on the wall of their dining room. They were the heart and soul of people. All people devastated by war.

 
“You won numerous awards for that exhibition. Were given a Fellowship by the Royal Photographic Society,” Eva recalled wistfully.

 
“So I was.” Finn nodded. “Liam thought one of the awards was something I used to prop the door open,” he recalled affectionately. “He loves me, but he doesn’t understand what I do for a living,” he explained at Eva’s shocked expression. “My grandfather was a fisherman, my father too, and now Liam does the same. It’s what he knows. What he’s comfortable knowing.”

 
And into that practical and obviously loving family had been born a man with the heart and soul of a poet. Except Finn talked with the keenness of his eye, through the lens of a camera, rather than with a pen and words.

 
“Will you be going home for Christmas?” The holidays were still four days away, but surely the storm would be long gone by then, and hopefully the roads all reopened for the people traveling to family and friends for Christmas. Besides which, the fact that there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration up in the house seemed to imply he wouldn’t be staying here over the holidays.