Read Must Be Love: (Nicole and Ryan) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 1) for Free Online Page B

armchair. A tall, freestanding mirror with a dark wood frame stands near a cream-colored couch accented with blue throw pillows. There are a few side tables that look like refinished antiques, and a number of decorative pots and urns, but none of it seems to be placed in any sort of order. Along the walls, large sheets of beige canvas cover what appears to be more furniture. Photographer's lights and black umbrellas with reflective white centers, all mounted on stands, crowd around the jumbled display.
    "Sorry," Ryan says. "I was moving things around after my last shoot, so the studio is a mess."
    "That's okay," I say. "It's beautiful."
    He looks around, a proud smile on his face. "Thanks. It was a disaster when I bought it. You wouldn't have recognized it. There were holes in the walls, and the floor looked terrible. It's taken a lot of work, but it's definitely come together."
    I wander over to one of the windows. It reveals a breathtaking view of the beach. The church sits on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Rolling dunes peppered with tall grasses give way to the gray sand of the beach, stretching in both directions. Waves crash against the sand, foamy white water rolling back and forth in a steady rhythm.
    "This is amazing," I say.
    Ryan moves in behind me, his closeness making my back tingle. "Yeah, the view is incredible. It's almost as good as the lighting in here."
    I stand, rooted to the spot, suddenly afraid to turn around. Ryan is so close I can smell him. His scent is fresh and clean, like a breeze blowing through the woods on a spring day. Jason took to wearing cologne. My stomach turns a little as I think about it. He was probably trying to mask the smell of the other woman. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with Ryan's scent.
    My heart thunders in my chest. I’m sure he can hear it. I turn, suddenly desperate for something to break the tension.
    Boobs catch my eye.
    Well, doesn't that just break the spell?

    The walls on either side of the front door are lined with framed photographs. The first one I notice has a woman in a vintage-style bikini, huge boobs barely contained by navy and white polka-dots. Her hair and makeup are done pinup style, like someone from the forties. I walk across the room to get a closer look. She’s leaning against the hood of an old car, her back arched, legs a mile long ending in hot red stilettos.
    "Wow," I say. "Is this yours?"
    "It is," Ryan says.
    I glance at the other photographs. They’re all scantily clad women in various provocative poses. Another looks kind of vintage like the first one, the girl in a sexy version of a sailor outfit, complete with a little cap on her head. A more modern-looking woman looks backward over her shoulder, the lines of her waist extending to lush hips, her body only covered by a thin wisp of fabric she holds up with one hand. The light is soft against her olive skin, and her hair hangs down over her shoulder in gentle waves. A third is of a woman lying on the burgundy velvet chaise I noticed in the studio. Somehow she makes the long sequined gown she’s wearing look more erotic than the bikinis and lingerie on the women in the other photos. Her arm drapes carelessly over her forehead and her other hand teases near her groin. Voluminous auburn hair spreads out over the back of the chaise, and her red lips stand out against pale skin.
    "These are gorgeous," I say, and I mean it. I was taken aback at first, but there’s nothing trashy about these photos. They’re sexual, sure, but they don’t strike me as photos designed only for men to jack off to. The women look beautiful, sensual rather than raunchy.
    "You like them?" Ryan asks. He stands with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted just a bit to the right. His eyes meet mine. "I was a little worried."
    "Why?"
    He shrugs. "Not everyone understands what I do."
    "Is this, um…" I pause, not quite sure how to phrase my question. "Is this the type of photography you do?"
    "Mostly, yeah,"