Syria's Seduction: A New Adult Introduction to the Boudoir Sessions Series (2 page)

Syria wondered what it would feel like to have your naked skin against a tree, out in an open park. She couldn’t hold a candle to a woman like that. She wasn’t beautiful whatsoever, her mixed heritage of Oklahoma mother and a father from India made her skin a strange watery coffee color, and her hair dark but not thick and lustrous like Indian girls, just curly and unmanageable.

She didn’t belong in this town. Her absent father, who turned out to have lied and was married, seducing her mother at an ashram on a trip to India twenty years ago, was a constant source of gossip. Her mother hadn’t dated, and the two of them kept to themselves on a little lot surrounded by wheat fields out on the highway as Syria went through school.

Watching Anthony close in on the woman, taking tighter shots of her face and parts of her body, set Syria on fire. He was so comfortable with it, like he did it every day. Maybe he did. She imagined herself in Sharon’s place, breasts exposed, thighs rubbing a tree, out in public, pictures forever capturing the moment.

“I think we’ve got it,” Anthony said. “Syria, can you hand Sharon the robe?”

He turned away to pick up equipment, but Syria couldn’t take her eyes off the woman now, her skin rosy where it had made contact with the tree. She handed her the robe, but Sharon didn’t put it on, kicking off her shoes and walking over to her underwear, passing close to Anthony.

Syria clutched the disk, wondering what the woman was up to. Anthony was kneeling low, packing his camera in a bag, and Sharon stood over him, her breasts just above his head, the bare mound right where his face would be if he turned. “So do you think we have some good stuff?”

Anthony was stuck, and while he didn’t upset by it, he also didn’t want to turn right into the woman’s naked body. Syria felt sorry for him. Did many of these women proposition him after shoots, either boldly or subtly? He was extraordinarily cute, his short brownish gold hair spiking straight up, those happy blue eyes, and the lean frame. She could see the appeal.

Anthony kept busy with the bag. “Absolutely, Sharon. You are a rare treat to photograph.”

This mollified the woman and she stepped back to retrieve the black lace. When she looked down to step into the thong, Syria could see Anthony visibly relax. She began to wonder if he’d needed the reflector at all, or if he had wanted Syria as a buffer.

She walked over to them as Sharon finally hooked the bra back on and headed toward a bag that hopefully held more clothes. “That was fun,” Syria said, passing him the disc.

He stood up and twisted it, collapsing it down into a quarter of its previous size.

“Wow!” she said. “Can I do that?”

He handed it back to her. She opened the disc and it popped out suddenly. She lost her grip and it smacked her in the nose.

“You okay?” Anthony took her arm and shoved the reflector out of the way. “It opens quick!”

Syria rubbed her face. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” She passed the reflector back. “Perhaps I need a safety training before operating heavy machinery.”

He laughed, a ringing sound that bubbled through Syria’s already warmed-up body. “You’re funny AND useful. I’d love to work with you again.”

Syria blushed. She’d just failed to do a basic task, but still, he was being nicer to her than pretty much any boy she’d ever talked to.

Sharon interrupted them, seeming a bit miffed. She tore a check off her pad. “I expect I’ll see these soon?” She looked from Anthony to Syria.

He accepted the check. “Absolutely. You’re my highest priority.”

Sharon watched him a moment. “You are a sweet talker, Anthony. If only I was ten years younger.” She pinched his cheek and sent a scathing look over at Syria. “Ta ta!”

When she had disappeared over the hill crest, Anthony exhaled in a long slow rush. “I am so glad you came along. That woman is a tiger.”

Syria sat in the grass to watch as he collapsed his tripod and packed it in a bag. “I think you mean a cougar.”

“Her husband is a big banker dude. She’s a great client. Her orders alone can feed me for a month.”

“Must be tough, photographing hot naked women all the time.”

He pulled the light stand closer and removed the flash. “It’s harder than it looks. Sharon is in good shape, but they aren’t always.” He twisted a knob and the stand shrank down. “And then there’s moments like this.” He gestured around him.

“Isn’t it illegal to shoot nudes in public?”

“Yes and no. If it’s not sexualized, like shooting a porn movie, it can be art. But they can still get you for public indecency.” He stuffed the light stand in next to the tripod. “I hate doing it this close to kids.”

All his stuff seemed to be packed up now, and he folded up the piece of canvas he’d laid everything out on. “I don’t think I got your name?”

Syria’s face bloomed hot as she realized she hadn’t given it to him when he’d said his. “It’s Syria McMillan.” She held out her hand. “This was fun.”

He took it, but instead of shaking it like he had earlier, he held it between his fingers like she was a princess. Her heart beat a little faster. “Syria.” He looked at her again. “With caramel skin and hair like black fire. Are you part Native American? Puerto Rican?”

“My father is from India,” she said.

“It’s an exquisite look.” He let go of her hand. “I tell you what.” He slung a bag over his shoulder. “Help me get this stuff to my car and I’ll take you to dinner for your trouble. You did save me, you know.” He passed her a camera bag.

Syria stood back up and brushed the grass from her shorts. Her heart was hammering out of control. This amazing cute and funny guy wanted to have dinner with her?

She took the bag from him. Maybe it was just a thank you, but she had to do it. The day had gone from horrible to amazing, and she wasn’t ready for the good stuff to end just yet.

“That sounds great,” she said.

“My car’s up that way.” He pointed back toward the lot. “We can pick a place.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early and I need to get my equipment somewhere safe, but maybe in a few hours?”

“Sure.” Syria scooped up her blanket and keys and had to force herself not to skip as they headed up the hill. Never had a day turned around quite as fast as this one.

Syria smoothed her skirt as she stood by the door of her Pontiac. She didn’t bother parking around the corner like she normally might have, to avoid embarrassment over the old car, as Anthony had walked her to it back at the park.

Her mother had thankfully been out when she dashed home, showered, and fussed about what to wear. This wasn’t a date, technically, just a thank you. But he hadn’t been forced to take her, right? So he at least could bear her company, even if he wasn’t truly interested.

Jennifer had used so many exclamation marks in her text messages about the date that they hadn’t fit on one screen. She and Syria often lamented the lack of dates for either of them, wondering if their mixed-race looks were the reason, or they were just that unapproachable. Syria was so relieved to find someone who understood this fear.

Anthony’s car was three spaces over, so he had to be waiting inside the restaurant already. Syria drew in a deep breath. She was so inexperienced in all this, even though she was twenty and plenty old. She would loved to have kissed a dozen boys and slept with one or two by now. There had just been no one. Maybe this could be the start of something. Maybe not. Only one way to find out.

The breeze kicked up, lifting her skirt as she headed up the walk. She kept one hand on the dress as she struggled with the door. By the time she got it open, thighs were showing and her black mop was standing straight up. Great.

But Anthony rose from a bench, looking pleased to see her. “I think I like this weather,” he said, tilting his head to look at her legs as Syria tried to pull herself together.

Syria didn’t say anything, just made sure her skirt was down, and smoothed her hair as best she could. He took her arm, and they followed a hostess to a booth in the back corner.

The place wasn’t fancy, just a chain known for pub food and fruity drinks. Anthony slipped onto the cushioned bench, a half circle with a round table, and pulled her next to him. His hand on her arm was electric, and all her tingly bits grew warm when he kept the contact as she sat down next to him.

The waitress left them menus, and Anthony turned to her. “Sharon called me an hour ago asking if she could come over tonight to view the images.”

Syria shook her head. “She’s got it bad.”

“I’m going to have to meet her in public places, not that it will stop her.” Anthony picked up his menu. “I think I bit off more than I could chew with that one.”

“Why not invite her husband to view the images. Make it a date for them.”

“A great idea.” He turned his face to her, those blue eyes darker in the low light. “She might go for it. Hard to say.”

“Occupational hazard.” Syria scanned the menu, looking for cheap things. She didn’t want to seem expensive or opportunistic.

“What are you drinking?” he asked. “The cocktails here are kind of girlie but they have a lot of beers.”

Syria bit her lip. “I’m only twenty.”

“Ah. I thought that might be the case. They aren’t super fanatic here about carding if you want to give it a try.”

“That’s okay. I’m fine with water.”

Anthony sat back against the cushion. “All right.”

Syria sensed that she’d disappointed him and wanted to be bolder to keep his interest. “So do you do a lot of nudes?”

He barked out a short laugh. “Not a lot, no. Sharon likes them. She likes to show up with little to no costume changes.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“She’s aged well.”

The waitress arrived. “I’ll have a Guinness,” Anthony said. “Syria here said that last time the cocktails were too sweet. Do you have anything a little less sugary?”

The girl nodded. “I like the Berry Cider. It’s dry enough to cut through the sweetness.”

Anthony turned to her. “You want to give it a try?”

Syria was blushing so hard she could barely choke out a reply. “Sure.”

Anthony nodded at the girl. “Thank you.”

She took off, and he turned back to her. “See? Not so hard.”

Syria tried to calm her breathing, her heart hammering. “Is this a test to see how many illegal activities we can do in one day?”

He laughed. “You know, you’re a bad influence on me. I’m just an ordinary hack, trying to make a dollar, and here you are, luring me into all sorts of trouble.” He picked up her hand from her lap, and Syria’s heart began thumping. “Such delicate hands.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He continued to play with her fingers, bending each one. “I’m so glad you showed up on that ridge.”

The waitress brought the drinks. “Can you bring some fried pickles to start?” Anthony asked.

The girl glanced at their joined hands and went away again.

“Fried pickles?” Syria managed to squeak out. Her hand and arm were on fire from where he touched her.

“Never had them? You’ll love them. Are you a vegetarian?” He caressed her wrist and her pulse jumped against his fingers.

“No. I’m a hot dog eating American like the rest of us.”

He chuckled. “Good. You should try the ribs here. Amazing.”

“Sounds messy.” She had already lost her composure a hundred times. She couldn’t eat sloppy too.

“Messy is fun. Shall I order some for us to share?”

Syria nodded, her throat tight. She didn’t know what to feel, excitement, surely, that this arrestingly cute boy was coming onto her so strongly. But wariness too, that he thought she was easy, that he could just seduce her. She’d known about boys like him and avoided them all her life. She was petrified.

But then, why not? If this was something she wanted, why not with him? So what if he did this to every girl? She could be one of them.

She needed advice.

Syria picked up her purse. “Little girls’ room.”

“You haven’t even tried your cider yet.” He picked up his beer and clinked it against her glass.

He thought he knew her, that she was shy and reticent.

She’d show him.

She picked up the glass and took a tentative sip. The waitress was right. It was like a light Italian soda, one that was easy on the syrup. Syria flashed a smile at Anthony and brought the glass back to her lips, and in one long unending gulp, drained the contents of the glass.

He stared at her, then broke out into a glorious grin. “This is going to be a fun night, Syria.”

She nodded and slid out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, she frantically typed a message to Jennifer.

Night crazy. Boy coming on strong. Should I do this?

She pushed into the restroom and stared in the mirror as she waited for a reply. Her hair had calmed down and looked relatively decent for once. Her makeup was simple, as she didn’t know a lot about applying it, but it passed. The dress hugged her chest and showed a little cleavage, then billowed out below the waist into a full swing. That caught the wind, she thought, and wondered what it would be like to be as bold as Sharon, naked in the middle of the day in a park.

But Syria had freaked over her skirt blowing and showing her legs. On an impulse, she reached down and tugged her panties off. They weren’t anything special, just pale yellow and cotton. She dropped them into the trash. There. Now she was getting bolder.

Her phone buzzed.

He sounds like a good time. I say GO. Buy CONDOMS.

Dang it, condoms. She’d just have to hope he was supplied. If not, they’d just have to, well, not do things.

Syria fluffed her hair one more time, tucked her phone back in her purse, and headed back out to Anthony. She’d made her decision. He might be a rake, too smooth, too fast, but this was an opportunity she wouldn’t let pass.

She almost stopped short, seeing him in the booth, hands wrapped around the bottle. He was cute. REALLY cute. Why was he with someone like her, average looking, shy, and uninteresting? She couldn’t even get through a junior college tech program.

He smiled when he saw her. “I half expected you to bolt.”