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nausea rolled through her when she set her foot onto the step of the chapel. She stopped and placed her hand against the cool stone, trying to calm her churning stomach. An electric shock ricocheted down her arm. She snatched her hand back , rubbing it against her chest and stepped away from the wall. Her gaze scanned the front of the church looking for loose electrical wires. Nothing seemed out of place and the chapel didn’t appear to be connected to electricity.
    With a tentative step, she inched her way through the doorway. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the chapel. Narrow beams of sunshine filtered through thin slits near the roof and cast bright slashes across the stone floor. Dried leaves collected around the edges of the walls and dark green moss clung between the crumbling stones of the wall.
    The click of Christopher’s camera echoed through the hallowed chamber. Faye watched him point the lens toward a sunbeam and snap several pictures. She’d seen his work. He was one of those truly talented photographers, whose eye saw more than just the composition of a good photo.
    “What are the pictures for?” she asked.
    “Some are for a photo spread Pierre wants to do about the chapel.” He turned and pointed the camera at her, snapping off several shots before she had a chance to react. “And some are for me.”
    He lowered the camera and smiled at her.
    Faye tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not very photogenic.”
    Christopher walked toward her and stopped. He scrolled through the pictures. “I disagree.”
    He held the camera out to her. When she reached to tilt the screen for a better view, her fingers brushed his. Butterflies danced in her stomach. Maybe the church’s intimate atmosphere was making her feel things that weren’t there. She didn’t pull away like she normally would have, but let her finger linger a second longer. Who knows, maybe having signed her soul to Satan was making her reckless. Rejection seemed a small issue compared to what she might be facing.
    Faye stared at the photo of her. Did she really look like that? Soft rays illuminated her unruly locks that had escaped her ponytail, creating a halo around her head. With the stone background, she looked like someone from medieval times, a portrait of a young maiden.
    “It’s beautiful.” She looked at him, her compliment dying in her throat. He stood close, his blue eyes peering at her as if her opinion mattered. “You’re a true artist if you can make me look this good.”
    His words came out low, tinged with a sensual edge. “The camera doesn’t lie.”
    She couldn’t tear her gaze away, frozen in place as his lips lowered toward hers. Was he going to kiss her? God, she hoped he was going to kiss her. The shrill ring of her cell phone shattered the moment.
    “Sorry.” Her voice rasped out. She cleared her throat and fumbled in her bag to find the electronic saboteur. “Good morning, Mr. Shogun.” Christopher stepped away and returned to his task. “Yes, I’m here now.”
    “And is that yummy photographer with you?” her boss asked.
    Faye turned toward the wall, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Uh, yes, sir. He’s taking photos.”
    “Lucky girl. What’s he wearing?”
    Pierre Shogun was outrageous, flamboyant clothing, white bleached bangs, and more rings on his hands than a gypsy fortuneteller. For the most part she was able to dodge his shocking comments. “Excuse me, sir?”
    “Does he have on those luscious tight jeans?”
    “Well…” She pivoted. Christopher faced away from her. She had to admit, her boss had an eye for men. “Yes.”
    Christopher slid a lens cap into his back pocket, his hand lingering as he bent to look at the stone altar. Lucky lens cap.
    Pierre sighed on the other end of the phone. “Lucky girl. You’ll make it happen, right Faye?”
    She tore her gaze away from Christopher’s butt and stammered. “What?”
    “The