Red Handed by Shelly Bell

shoulders and twirled her toward him. “Who says?”
    â€œNo one has to say it to my face.” She motioned to the wall of mirrors. “It’s very clear every time I’m forced to see my reflection.”
    With two of his fingers under her chin, he turned her head away from the mirrors to stare into his warm eyes. “Then you’re looking in the wrong ones. You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears, his tender touch eliciting a shiver. “And I’ll prove it to you. Let my photos be your mirror. See yourself as I see you.”
    Always been beautiful? Was that a line to make her feel better or did he mean it? And if he did, how would he know?
    She didn’t doubt his talent, but the models in the photos must have had perfect bodies, something she’d never have even if she lost another forty pounds. Her thighs were too thick and her butt too round. Sure, she had big, firm breasts, but without her bra, gravity kicked in. He’d need to use some photo-editing software to make her appear beautiful.
    His eyes narrowed. “I see those negative thoughts floating around in your mind. Trust me to erase them all for you. Can you do that, darling?”
    She exhaled loudly, nodding her assent while her inner critic scoffed at his promise. “I’ll try.”
    â€œCome with me.” He laced his fingers in hers and directed her toward the back of the room to an adjacent alcove. He’d transformed the small space into a studio with several cameras on tripods, gigantic lights, and a white backdrop that extended onto the floor.
    â€œTake off your clothes and then lay down on the middle of the sheet.” He fiddled with the cameras, aiming them all toward the center, where he expected her to lie. Naked.
    While Cole seemed indifferent to her presence, her own heart sprinted a marathon as she began to undress. Her hands shook so much, she had a difficult time unbuttoning her blouse, and it took several tries before she could get the first one through the hole.
    She shook her head at herself. Dozens of naked women strut around Benediction every night. Hers was just one more naked body. Cole probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash, especially since he’d already seen her without her clothes. He was an artist. She was his model. And his slave. One who he had to train, and part of that training must entail building self-esteem. After all, what kind of slave would she make if she feared getting naked?
    She peeled off her blouse and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor, then she slid down her skirt. Her mouth went as dry as Scottsdale in the summer as she folded her clothes and left them in a neat pile. Blowing out a breath, she settled where he’d directed, lying flat on her back with her arms over her head so her breasts would appear perkier, a trick she’d learned from one of her women’s magazines.
    She waited for what felt like forever, watching Cole in action as he concentrated on tipping the lights and shifting the cameras while he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Finally, he finished fiddling with the equipment and turned his attention to her.
    He froze.
    A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his jaw grew rigid.
    Had she done something wrong?
    Moments later, he snapped out of his odd stupor and kneeled beside her. His hands seemed to tremble as he set her head on her folded arms. “I’m going to take a few photos of you just like this.” He kept his gaze trained on her face like a total professional.
    â€œShould I smile?”
    He stood and stomped to the cameras. “Do whatever feels natural.”
    Right. Natural. Because she always posed naked for an owner of a sex club.
    One by one, he moved behind each camera, shooting a photo before adjusting the aim. “Have you ever seen the Mona Lisa ?”
    She blinked, thrown by the question. “Yes. I’ve been to the