Chapter Two

A/N:
First and foremost, characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Rated: M

Chapter Two -

I sat rigidly against the brown, straight-backed couch in the living room of my Los Angeles home, staring at the black and white photos that assaulted me.

She was a beauty queen. Not as voluptuous as Marilyn Monroe, but certainly more striking then the up-and-coming Bettie Page.

Her laughter began taunting me through every frame I allowed my fingers to graze. I picked up my silver cigarette case, tracing the outside initials that graced its cover. Isabella gave it to me for a birthday present a few months back. I treasured that cigarette case.

Popping the lid, I took out a smoke and lit it, inhaling deeply. The cool flavor of menthol filled my lungs sending me into a euphoric bliss of calm.

My fingers flitted through every conceivable picture that was before me and there was one realization that came over me in a wave.

There wasn’t a bad picture in the bunch.

I know I’m a good photographer, but hell, not this good.

There were over two hundred photos and not one terrible picture of the most beautiful woman in the world. How was that possible? I had been photographing beautiful women since I was seventeen years old and there was always at least one bad photo. One bad frame that may have been out-of-focus or maybe the smile was too wide, or the eyes weren’t seductive enough. It was always something.

But not this time.

Maybe it wasn’t the artist and his brush, but his subject. His best subject. His muse.

Isabella Swan was what every man wanted and lusted after, time after time, pin-up after pin-up. I could bet my last paycheck that every man who was fortunate enough to have a breath running through his body had at least one picture of Isabella Swan hanging up somewhere.

Picking up the closest black and white to me, I studied her slender face. She didn’t have the perfect, symmetrical features I had always sought after in my other subjects, but the slight flaws only gave her more substance. Her body may not have been as voluptuous as most pin-ups of the day, but she was just right in all the appropriate places. She was an all-American girl gone naughty. What every red-blooded boy and man wanted.

Including me.

An involuntary grin began to overtake my lips as I let my eyes swim across the sea of Isabella Swan.

I took another drag off of my cigarette when I noticed the photo that would go to Life magazine.

The slight ravine of cleavage that peaked above the bust of the swim suit caught my attention, or shall I say, caught the attention of my crotch.

It was the portrait of perfection.

Every man would wrench the next issue of Life magazine out of their wives’ hands, all the while, women would find the photo compelling.

It was Isabella sitting in the grass, legs crossed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her chestnut brown hair cascading over her right shoulder. Her smile emulated nothing but warmth and grace, yet her eyes had a sex kitten appeal to them that would make any man want to find a bathroom to take care of their business.

Holy hell, I wanted to wretch that flimsy piece of fabric from her delicate frame and ravage her beautiful body with wet kisses, pushing her into the grass, holding her wrists above her head, making her plead for the release. I wanted to feel the wetness between her silky thighs while I made her beg for my cock over and over again.

The heat of my cigarette broke the spell that had overcome me. “Shit!” I yelled throwing the smoldering stick of paper down into an oversized Czech crystal ashtray that was set beside me. I stuck my finger in my mouth to try to quash the blistering pain that had singed the first layer of skin off of my index finger.

“Dreaming about her again?” Heidi’s creamy voice made me jump.

“No,” I lied, “trying to get this photo to Jenks. You’re taking it.”

“You’re continuous hard-on for Isabella is sickening.” Heidi quipped as I licked the envelope shut. I glanced down at my crotch before standing, making sure all evidence of my daydreams was gone.

“I don’t pay you to have an opinion on who I photograph.” I stated simply, shaking another cigarette from the confines of its package. I brought the smoke to my lips. Without hesitation, Heidi flipped open the Zippo and had my cigarette lit in one motion. It was part of the reason I kept her around.

“You pay me to do your dirty work and to be brutally honest when the situation calls for it.” She responded snapping the lid shut.

I shoved the brown envelope into her hands, ignoring her comment, “You’re taking this to New York. Felix will take you to the airport. I set you up in the Hotel Pennsylvania for three days.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me Mr. Cullen? To lure that little vixen into your lair?”

“Heidi, you need not be involved with my personal life.” I picked up the black receiver of the telephone that sat on one of my end tables and dialed the number to the chauffeur’s living quarters.

“Heidi will need that drive now, Felix.” I placed the phone back into its cradle, turning my attention back to Heidi.

Heidi scowled at me, taking a long filter from a small case and placing a Pall Mall into the confines of the fiberglass, “I’m not cleaning up another media blitz Edward. Scandal is frowned upon in this town.”

Exhaling slowly letting the smoke trail through her nostrils, she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut for a brief moment, allowing me to speak my defense.

Instead I ignored her. I didn’t want to be bothered by her trivialities anymore.

“You’re flight leaves at seven fifteen this evening; make sure you’re on it. Jenks has to have that photo by nine o’ clock tomorrow morning or I don’t get paid.” I opened my wallet and handed her the four hundred dollar bills from my black billfold. “Because if I don’t get paid--”

“You don’t get paid,” she finished. She shot me a final look, swiping the money from my grasp, “Don’t do anything irrational. Or stupid while I’m gone.”

If fucking Isabella Swan was irrational, then I was going to be in heaps of trouble.

Felix walked in, taking me away from exquisite thoughts of naughtiness that was beginning to take shape. Plans I had for Isabella and me.

Plans of feeling Isabella’s hips grind into mine. Feeling her luxurious skin underneath my seeking fingertips. Running my lips over her quivering abdomen. And knowing all along it was me that made her feel the pleasure that she deserved.

Heidi was still staring at me, shaking her head, slowly taking in another drag, “I think I’m calling Rose and Emmett to watch you while I’m gone.”

“Are you my mother now?”

“Maybe that would be a better person to watch over you?” Heidi crossed her arms.

I was irritated, possibly more so because Heidi’s worries were not all together unfounded. No matter how hard I tried to deny it, Isabella Swan was a married woman.

Exasperation raked through my brain and shook me to my core. Call Rose and Emmett? My mother? What was I? Five? I didn’t need my mother or my brother and my sister-in-law to babysit me while my secretary was gone. I was a grown man.

You are a grown man who is having delusional thoughts about having sex with a married woman. Smooth move, Cullen. Great red flag to send up. May as well stick it to my ever-present hard-on that seems to be giving me away.

My lips pressed into a hard, thin line before I stormed over to my wet bar, grabbed one of the crystal glasses from the cabinet, and poured myself a shot of the amber liquid courage I had grown so fond of.

I didn’t need my secretary telling me what I could or could not do.

I threw the shot back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. As the pleasurable warmth began to spread across my body, my thoughts began to reach out for Isabella again.

Candles all over the house. Laying her down on the white, shag rug in front of the stone fireplace, suckling her beautiful breasts-

“Edward?!”

How long had Heidi been calling me?

“What?” I asked innocently, pouring myself a second glass of bourbon. This time I added ice. I needed the shock of cold to alleviate the ache that was growing in my loins. I couldn’t seem to control any of my thoughts.

Clutching onto her hair as I fucked her mouth as hard as I could. Feeling the back of her throat on the tip of my cock. Saying her name over and over, “Isabella,”

Heidi extinguished her cigarette and placed her big Dior hat atop of her head, sighing, “You are a hopeless romantic drunk Edward Cullen.”

Hopeless? Definitely. Romantic? Maybe. Drunk? Getting there.

She strode over to me in three long strides and patted the side of my face with her gloved white hand before she continued, “You are free from appointments for the next three days as requested.”

Heidi picked up her black clutch from the bar end, sticking it under her left arm. She tugged at both of the white gloves dutifully, “That does not mean it is a free pass to jump in bed with Isabella. This just means you get to relax, free of deadlines for the next seventy-two hours.”

Seventy-two short hours to make Isabella Swan mine was a deadline I intended to keep.