Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian by Logan Belle Page B

slowly, mesmerized by the images. As she walked deeper into the hallway, the images became more intense: a grainy image of a woman bound to a chair with rope, naked except for garters and fishnet stockings, a gag in her mouth. In the background, a woman in a tuxedo held a whip by her side. And then a shot of two brunettes kissing, clad in lingerie like the things Sebastian had bought for her, while in the foreground was the blurred image of a woman watching them, brandishing a riding crop. Then a shot of a woman on her knees, a curtain of black hair to her waist, her back arched, her ass high in the air, her legs covered only in the fishnet stockings that trailed to her ankles, her feet in black patent-leather platform heels. A shot of a woman’s bare ass, her skin as pale and smooth as fresh cream—except for the red mark in the faint but distinguishable shape of a hand.
    â€œYou took all of these?” Regina asked, even as she knew the answer.
    â€œYes,” said Sebastian. He stood directly behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders.
    â€œWere you . . . dating all of these women?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” he laughed. “They’re just models. Although, when I’m taking photographs, my subject might as well be my lover. My girlfriend. My wife. The person in front of the camera is the only woman in the world for me.”
    Regina swallowed hard, feeling something close to jealousy, as absurd as that was.
    â€œHow did you get into photography?” she asked.
    â€œMy stepmother introduced me to it.”
    â€œShe was a photographer?”
    His face clouded. “No. A model.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I’d love to photograph you.”
    She whirled around and looked at him like he was crazy. “That’s not going to happen,” she said.
    He laughed. “You say that a lot, you know. Why don’t you think about it for maybe two seconds before you decide.”
    â€œI don’t like having my picture taken.”
    â€œThat’s because you don’t feel worthy of being the object of attention. I could see this when you walked through the lobby of the Four Seasons the other night. I want to help you get past that.”
    â€œWell, thanks, but I don’t want to be some project of yours. I can see you have many ready and willing participants in your, uh, stable of subjects.”
    â€œThey’re professional models. I don’t want them. I want you.”
    â€œI’ll stick to reading for the fiction award. That should give us plenty to work on together.” She laughed uncomfortably. He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. Her heart started pounding so hard she felt something might be wrong with her.
    â€œDid you look at the Bettie Page book?”
    â€œA little,” she said, blushing at the memory of what she had done afterward. And then she was unbalanced by the thought of Sebastian’s touching her the way she had touched herself alone in her room that night.
    â€œHave you thought about what I asked you at dinner? What does Bettie Page have in those photographs that none of these women have?”
    Was this a trick question? Regina did a mental checklist: Bangs? Boobs? A retro bathing suit?
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œMirth,” he said. “She looks like she is having fun. She’s every woman, and yet she’s like no other. She had a duality of innocence and sexiness that has never been replicated. But I see it in you.”
    â€œIt’s just the haircut,” Regina said quietly.
    â€œA million girls have the haircut,” he said. “And why can’t you take a compliment?”
    â€œI just don’t get why you’re so focused on me. It’s not that I’m being modest or something. I just don’t get it.”
    â€œYou looked so beautiful, and helpless, and lost on the stairs of the library. Watching you was like seeing the opening