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worry had deepened, and a haunted expression clung to her.
    The room was decorated in gauzy fabrics and geometric patterns, with candles on almost every surface. The fragrance of pears clung to the air. Pears and vanilla. It was neat, clean and showed a touch of the feminine side she hid.
    “Hey. Hey, stop a second.” He caught her elbows and pulled her to a stop as she crossed toward a dresser next to the bed. When she didn’t meet his gaze, he tapped her chin with his knuckle. “We’re going to catch him.”
    Their gazes locked, and the turmoil boiling inside of her broadcast loud and clear. She jerked her arm out of his hold.
    Creature trotted past them and jumped onto the bed, making himself comfortable.
    “I need to hit something,” she muttered.
    “Hit me.” If she needed to take her anger out on someone, who better than him? This was his fault, after all. He hadn’t protected the images like he should have. Just bringing the camera into the office while they ate would have solved their whole problem. Instead, he’d thought with his cock, only wanting to be near Odalia. He couldn’t move forward with her, with what he wanted to do, until they got those pictures back.
    Odalia needed to ground herself. She needed something he could give her. A little hot and heavy physical action.
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed stretchy yoga pants out of a drawer.
    “I’m serious, bébé .”
    “I am not hitting you.” She stepped into the pants, scowling at him.
    “Fine.”
    Jacques took one step, grabbed her by the waist and tossed her back on the bed. Odalia squawked, and Creature jumped to his feet, barking. He went to grab her leg, but caught the flash of iron-gray fur from the corner of his eye and jumped backward.
    Creature’s jaws snapped together where his arm would have been.
    “Stop.” Odalia snatched Creature’s collar and hauled the dog off the bed. “My dog will tear you to bits. Come on, Creature.”
    She led the dog to the stairs and gave him a little push. The dog glanced over his shoulder, almost appearing sad before he trotted down to the first floor. She closed the door and turned to stare at him.
    In a move so fast he might not have been able to dodge or deflect if he’d wanted to, she took one step and planted her right foot in his chest, knocking him back onto the bed. He bounced, grinning. She had fire, and he didn’t mind getting burned.
    She jumped on top of him, straddling his waist, and punched his chest, once, twice, not hard enough to hurt. The third blow never came. Her shoulders slumped. She lowered herself until she lay on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest.
    Jacques reached up and unrolled her hair, taking out the pins and letting the locks fall in loose waves, pooling all around them. He dug his fingers in, massaging her scalp until she relaxed.
    It was a crime that someone was destroying the beautiful pictures they’d created. He’d savored each pose, the progression of dressed to nude, how she’d submitted to every show of bondage for the camera while looking past it to him. They’d danced around each other, exchanging power through the give and take of subject and film. Whoever the bastard was, Jacques hoped to get a piece of him for defiling such a beautiful thing.
    He rubbed her shoulders, gently at first, progressing until he dug his thumbs into the knots. If they’d been at his loft, he’d use the new batch of herbal massage oils that should be ready to test. The fragrant blend in the mixture would ease the tension out and leave her soft and supple.
    Jacques wrapped his arms around her, studying the contrast and complement of their skin tones next to each other while she rested her head against his shoulder. The picture they made consisted of light to dark, hard to soft. There was a story to be told, but would she allow him to photograph her again? Would she ever sit in front of a camera after this? Would she trust him again?
    He