“Come on, honey, let’s not play this game. Either give me that camera, or delete the photos, and we can get on our way.”

Why does he want my photos?

Suddenly it occurs to me that he must think I’ve been taking pictures of him.

“I don’t have any photos of you on here, honey,” I reply.

His eyes narrow again and his smile slips away. He doesn’t believe me.

I take a step toward him. I stare deeply into his widening blue gaze and speak very clearly. “I. Don’t. Have.

Any. Photos. Of. You. On. My. Camera.

I’m not a portrait photographer.” I feel my cheeks flush and I look down for a moment.

“What were you taking photos of?”

His voice is level now, and he looks confused.

“The water, the boats,” I gesture out toward the sound with my hands.

“I saw you point your camera toward me when I was sitting on that bench.”

He points to the bench behind me. It’s sitting near where I shot the photos of the couple holding hands. I pull my camera in front of me again and I see him tense up, but I ignore him, turn on the camera and start flipping through my images until I find the ones he’s afraid are of him. I walk over to him and stand next to him, my arm almost touching his and I feel the heat from his sexy body. I make myself ignore it.

“Here, these are the photos I took.” I point the screen toward him and start to page through them, showing him all of the images. “Would you like to see the others I took as well?”

“Yes.” He whispers.

I continue to show him the images of the water, the sky, the boats, the mountains. I can’t help but smell his clean scent as he intently looks at the photos, scrutinizing each one while pulling his lower lip through his thumb and forefinger. His brow is furrowed.

Sweet Jesus, he smells good.

I’ve taken over two hundred photos this morning, so it takes a few minutes to page through each one. When I’m finished, he looks up into my eyes and I see his embarrassment and I’m not sure, but he looks almost sad.

My heart gives a flip as he smiles, a true full-blown, no holds barred smile, wiping away the sadness, and shakes his head slowly. He could melt glaciers with that smile. End wars. Resolve the national debt crisis.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you should be.” I turn the camera off and start to walk away from him.

“Hey, I’m really sorry.”

“You must be awfully full of yourself if you think that everyone with a camera is taking your picture.” I continue walking and of course he’s caught up with me, matching my stride.

Why is he still here?

He clears his throat. “Can I ask your name?”

“No.” I respond.

“Um, why?” He sounds confused.

Hell, I’m confused.

“I don’t give my name out to my muggers.”

“Muggers?” He stops mid-stride and pulls me to a stop beside him, his hand on my elbow. I look down at his hand and, raising my eyes back to his, pin him with a glare.

“Let go of me.” He does immediately.

“I’m not a mugger.”

“You tried to steal my camera. What do you call it?” I start walking again, realizing I’m heading in the opposite direction of my house. Shit.

“Look, I’m not a mugger. Stop for a minute, will you?” He stops again, rubs his face with his hands and looks at me.

I face him, put my hands on my jean-clad hips, my camera hanging harmlessly around my neck and glare at him.

“I don’t know who you are,” I say in my best no-nonsense voice.

“Clearly,” he responds and a smile tickles his lips and I can’t help but feel my stomach clench, hoping he gives me that big grin again. My not knowing him seems to make him happy, but it’s pissing me off. Should I know him?

“Why are you smiling?” I find myself smiling back at him.

He looks me up and down, taking in my dark hair, currently tied up in a haphazard bun, casual red t-shirt that hugs my breasts, jeans, curvy hips and thighs, and returns his deep blue gaze to mine. His smile widens and I lose my breath.

Wow.

“I’m Luke.” He holds his hand out for me to shake and I look at it, still not fully trusting him, then back up to him. He raises a brow, almost as a challenge and I find myself putting my small hand in his big, strong one and clasping it firmly.

“Natalie.”

“Natalie,” he says my name slowly, looks down at my mouth and I bite my lower lip. He inhales sharply and looks back into my eyes.

Fuck, he’s beautiful . I pull my hand out of his grasp and look down, not knowing what else to say, and still confused as to why I’m still standing here with him.

“I… I have to go,” I stammer, suddenly nervous. “It was… interesting meeting you, Luke.” I start to walk around him toward my house, and he steps in front of me.

“Wait, don’t go.” He runs a hand through his already messy golden hair.

“I’m really sorry about all this. Let me make it up to you. Breakfast?”

He frowns slightly, like he didn’t mean to say that, and then looks at me hopefully.

Say no, Nat. Go home. Go back to bed. Mmmm… bed with Luke… All sweaty bodies, tangled sheets, his head between my legs, my body writhing as I come…

Stop!

I shake my head, trying to push the fantasy aside, and find myself saying, “No thanks. I should go.”