The studio smelled faintly of paper backdrops and expensive cologne. Soft jazz pulsed low from the speaker in the corner, barely covering the sound of the shutter clicks.

Camilla stood beneath the lights, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe that clung to the curves of her waist. The fabric slipped off one shoulder as she moved into her next pose, exposing the line of her collarbone like a quiet invitation.

"Good," his voice murmured from behind the camera, smooth and low. Like something uncoiling in the dark. "Hold that."

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. Maybe it was the heat of the spotlight. Maybe it was him—Jasper...