Page 68 of Hate To Be Mine

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

“Morning,” one of the photographers greeted cheerfully. “Sebastian says we’re on a location scout. Birth of Venus, right? That’s ambitious.”

“That’s the idea,” Sebastian confirmed.

We climbed into one of the vans and headed out.

The drive took us along coastal roads winding through areas that were even more remote than where we’d been shooting. The ocean sparkled to our left, endless and blue. And so damn beautiful.

We stopped at the first potential location, a small beach tucked between rocky outcroppings. The water was calm, protected by natural barriers. It could work.

Sebastian and I walked along the sand while the photographers hung back, taking test shots of the light and angles. The wind played with my ponytail, and I could taste salt in the air.

“Here,” Sebastian said, gesturing to a spot where the water met the sand. “This could work. The model could stand right there, water around her ankles.”

“The sand slopes too steeply,” I interrupted, making notes on my tablet. “See how it drops off? She’d have maybe two feet of safe space before the depth becomes dangerous.”

“Okay, but what if we moved over there?”

“No.”

He sighed but didn’t argue. We kept walking, his arm occasionally brushing mine, both of us wanting to touch but aware of the guys behind us.

At the next location we both stopped and surveyed it. He focused on the beauty and I was absorbed by all the danger. It was a cove with interesting rock formations, and while I could see how pretty it was, the rocks made me nervous.

“Look at this,” Sebastian said. “The rocks create a natural frame. We could have her emerging from between them.”

He stepped closer to the water’s edge, and I saw it—the slick rock shelf hidden just beneath the surface. My brain went into full-on alert mode with all the red flashing lights and sirens blaring.

“Sebastian!” I grabbed his arm and yanked him back just as his foot started to slip.

He stumbled into me, catching his balance, his hands going to my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa.”

“Dammit, Sebastian. Are you trying to void your own insurance policy? That rock shelf is slippery as hell. You could have cracked your head open.”

“My hero,” he said, and before I could process what was happening, he pulled me into a hug.

It wasn’t a friend hug. Friend hugs were brief, platonic with a quick squeeze and release. Maybe a couple of pats. Sebastian wrapped his arms around me, holding me close, our chests pushing against each other with his face buried in my hair. I was melting into him. I had my hands flat against his back. I inhaled, taking in that masculine, slightly musky scent and completely forgetting we were in public. I ignored that little voice trying to remind me there was supposedly nothing going on between us.

“Thank you,” he murmured against my hair.

“You’re welcome. Now be more careful.”

He pulled back but kept one hand on my waist.

One of the guys cleared his throat behind us. “Should we keep looking?”

Sebastian’s hand dropped from my waist. “Yeah. Let’s keep going.”

We visited two more locations, but neither was quite right. Too rocky. Too exposed. Wrong angle for the light.

Then we found it. The cove was perfect. It was tucked away from tourist areas, protected by a natural breakwater that kept the surf calm. The water was crystal clear, shallow enough that I could see the sandy bottom, gradually deepening in a safe, predictable pattern. No rocks. No coral. Just pristine sand and gentle waves.

“This is it,” Sebastian breathed. “This is perfect.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the wonder in his voice. I was not a creative. I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body. But I understood passion. I knew what it felt like to find exactly what you were looking for.