“You’re stunning.” Trace put his hand on the small of my back, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
Turning to him, I let my hand fall onto his forearm. “You’re looking pretty wonderful yourself.” He was in jeans, a t-shirt, and boots with a worn-out Georgia Bulldogs ballcap.
“Annie has a daughter who goes to the University of Georgia.”
Trace narrowed his eyes at me. “How in the hell does she have a twenty-year-old daughter?”
“It’s her stepdaughter. She got married young, and her husband was older,” I clarified. “Ellis is actually in the same sorority all of my girls and I were in.”
“That’s sweet.” Trace offer me his arm. “Shall we?”
“Do you mind if I get the pictures from today onto my computer? I get nervous not having them backed up right away.”
Trace walked to the back of my car and popped the trunk latch without question. “By all means. I’ll get you set up in my study.”
After grabbing all my stuff for me, he led the way into his opulent home.
“Right this way,” he called over his shoulder.
His study made me want to read Hemingway—dark wood, worn leather, and the slightest hint of cigar smoke and malt scotch.
“Wow,” I mumbled, taking a step into the room.
“You like it?” He smiled over at me as he set my laptop and camera on his mahogany desk.
“Total understatement. I love it.”
I ran my fingers over the worn spines of the books covering the bookshelf that took up the entire back wall before spinning into Trace’s outstretched arms.
“I’m glad. I barely get a chance to use it. Make yourself at home. I’ll bring you a drink in a minute.” He brushed his lips over my forehead before pulling out the large leather rolling chair for me.
I made quick work of getting all the photos backed up to my hard drive and put them on my external drive as well. I had heard too many horror stories of photographers losing all their shots from an event, and it was a risk I was not willing to take. One bad review like that could be a career-ender for sure.
“Dirty martini with two blue cheese-stuffed olives.” Trace was standing in the doorway with a cheeky grin holding a crystal glass of my favorite drink.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you a stalker?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have called your friend Annabelle to get some pointers for this evening. You know, make sure you didn’t have any food allergies I needed to know about. Thankfully you’re not a vegan, as that would have made the menu a little tough since I basically only cook on my grill.”
“That was very smart and sneaky of you.” I took my drink before following him out onto his travertine pool deck where had set up his smoker and grill.
“I like to be prepared. I was a Boy Scout,” he admitted, clinking his glass of amber liquid on the rocks to the rim of my martini.
“I like it.”
“I like you,” he responded.
Clint rushed for me as I took a seat, dropping a slobbery tennis ball into my lap.
“Jesus, Clint. Way to mess up my game.” Trace grabbed the ball, making my thighs clench instinctively as the backs of his fingers grazed me. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
I laughed as his face turned tomato red.
“Don’t worry about it.” I brushed it off. “What are you making me?”
“Smoked prime rib with grilled vegetables.” He took a seat beside me after throwing the ball. “The meat is already going, and I’ll put the veggies on soon. I hope you’re hungry.”
I rubbed my grumbling belly. “Starving. It’s not easy watching a hundred and fifty people eat a three-course meal while taking pictures.”