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“I’m really fine,” I insisted, unsure what to make of the glare Blaze wielded at the photographer, but it only got worse as he stared at my wounded hand.
I quickly pulled it out of Marc’s hold and folded my arms like I could erase what happened if I kept it out of sight. “So, where should we start?”
“Let’s do some shots here by the hives, first, and then I might do a couple with the field in the background. We’ll see.”
Saying nothing, Blaze walked right between us toward the hives. Marc winked again at me and grabbed his camera that was slung to his side. He toyed with the settings and then took a few test shots. Instantly, I understood why Blaze insisted that Paisley go to his brother’s for the afternoon even though she desperately wanted to stay and watch. I’d initially thought it was because he didn’t want her to see him work, but as soon as the shutter fired, a light bulb went off.
He hadn’t wanted her to be around this camera either. Even though the situation was very different, he didn’t want it to upset her.
“All right, what vibe do you want him to have, sunshine?” Marc asked.
My eyes slid to Blaze standing by a hive, his weight evenly spread between his feet and wearing exactly what he’d been told: a plain white tee that fit perfectly to the muscles of his chest and stretched comfortably over his shoulders. Dark wash jeans that hung on his trim hips, fitting just close enough to his thighs and ass to make my mouth water.
It was cosmically unfair that a man could look equally as devastating in clothes as he did out of them.
Everything about him screamed raw and delectable…the whole point of the campaign, but what was understated, what I saw only in the heavy cadence of his breath and the hard set of his jaw, was grit. Determination. The qualities no one expected him to have because why would he? He was Blaze Stevens. A famous actor with more money than Midas and more worshippers than God.
“Playful? Serious? Full-blown, smear honey on me sexy?”
I shivered, realizing I hadn’t answered. “I’m not sure—”
“What are you saying?” Blaze called. “I can’t hear you.”
Marc laughed. “I’m telling Harper that you’re her drone and she has to decide what she wants to do with you.”
Oh god… my mouth dried up. Blaze didn’t know what drones did, I repeated, trying to calm myself.
“So, how do you want your beekeeper to look?”
“Like himself?”
“Broody and skeptical?” he returned, making me chuckle. “I don’t think that’s the image you want to give potential customers.” He turned back to Blaze. “Blaze, did you know honeybees are responsible for one third of all the food we eat?”
Blaze tipped his head. “No?”
“Well, now you do, and I want you to look at the hives like you just realized how important they are to your world,” he instructed and brought the camera to his eye, snapping shot after shot.
Blaze’s expression shifted—melted into something sincere and protective. Something that felt more personal, more specific than recognizing how critical honeybees were to him. But that was the goal, right? That was…acting. It wasn’t Blaze thinking of my bees and my hives and the other kinds of difference they’d made to him.
“Do you have gloves and a smoker?”
My trance broke, and I looked at the photographer, taking a second to process his question.
“Yeah. I can go grab them.”
“Perfect.”
I headed for my shed to grab the beekeeping tools.
The next twenty minutes were spent biting my cheek, trying hard not to let my jaw gape at Blaze. At least with Marc taking his photos, I had an excuse to look at him—to stare longer than I should. To fill my forbidden memory bank with images that were real…and that didn’t relish reminding me how stupid it was to crush on him.
“Okay, now the honey,” Marc requested when he’d finished with the last set with the smoker. Of course.
“Right.” My honey. For Blaze. I jogged back inside and grabbed the jar on the counter, huffing by the time I returned to the two of them, and interrupting a conversation that had Marc laughing and Blaze scowling.
“Here you go,” I said, joining them again and handing the jar to Marc—or attempting to.
“Give it to Blaze.”
