Mystery Romance 4-Book Bundle

Chapter Two

Chapter Two"I remember Uncle Louis," she says at last, drawn out of her thoughts by the waiter returning with a second pitcher of sangria and clearing away the empty plates on the table. She never did see the pictures that Uncle Louis took that evening and he hadn't attempted to kiss her toes again, but she can feel a slight phantom wetness on her pinky toe at the memory, along with the warmth of his fingers as he cradled her feet in his hands.

It is much later that she learned about foot fetishes and she thought she ought to have been warned about that prior to agreeing to letting the man take so many pictures of her feet, but she can't summon up enough emotions to be angered by it. Mostly, she is just incredibly flattered by the older gentleman's attention. He continued to buy her clothes at Brian's and the shop owner has all but replaced her entire wardrobe with his creations. If she wasn't so wary of her colleagues teasing her for having a sugar daddy who's paying for her clothes, she would wear them all to work. She has kept a few of her discount-bin outfits to wear to her work in the mornings.

Her work as a graphic designer in the city is hardly enough to pay the bills and it's necessary for her to pick up several side projects a year to supplement her salary. She puts the money she earns working with James in a rainy day fund and doesn't touch any of the money. It's a bit silly, as James often pays her more than her actual day job, but she doesn't know when that money is going to stop. She's twenty-three now and she's aware that a modelling career isn't meant to last for very long.

"Of course," James clears his throat.

She wonders if he too, is reminiscing the pictures they took together. "What kind of legacy?" she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Art photos," he replies with unusual delicacy.

She twists her lips into an amiable sneer. "It's not a photo book of feet, is it?"

"Some," he concedes with a little smile and really, she should have gotten used to being unable to shame the man years ago. She doesn't know why she keeps trying. "He takes close up pictures of body parts. Extreme close ups," he says. "A regular person would not have been able to guess what they're looking at, at first, except for the fingers, holding the outer lips wide."

Gwen prides herself in the understanding of the English Language, but it still takes a few seconds for his words to make sense and when it does, she finds herself flushing a brilliant red, her cheeks so hot that she is surprised the ice cubes in her glass of sangria do not melt due to it's proximity to her. "Close up pictures of v*****s?" she whispers, though there's no one around them to overhear their conversation. It has gotten rather late and most of the patrons have left. The place is supposed to close in another half hour. There are a few other tables with couples enjoying the late night, but most of the crowds have long since dispersed.

"Yes," he says.

"And entire book of them? Different women?" she asks.

"Not all of them are of their v*****s," he says, amused by something in her tone. Or perhaps it's her outraged and disbelieving expression that has him smiling like that.

The fact that Gwen is still a virgin isn't a secret to James, who has known her most of her life. She doesn't bother going on proper dates and does not believe in one-night-stands. "It's not something you believe in, Gwen," her friend Stacy had said. "It's not like Santa Claus. It exists whether you believe in it or not." She doesn't want to have one-night-stands, though. She doesn't believe they really come with no strings attached. There's got to be a catch somewhere.

"Some are just of feet," he offers, like he's just sharing that the steak in the restaurant is especially decadent and she should have a bite. "He started the book from years ago, I would guess when he was in his twenties, based on the hairstyles. But he's done an updated version recently."

She isn't sure where he's taking this. "Do you have it with you?" she asks, leaning close towards him.

His lips curl into a wicked grin.

She gasps. "You didn't bring it here!"

"I did," he keeps that s**t-eating grin on his face as he bends sideways to reach for the camera bag that he never leaves home without. He hands the book over, a leather-bound book with thick pages that makes the book much heavier than it looks. The front cover just has the title of the book, "Goddesses" along with his name and birth date inscribed on it, along with a subheading that says, 'Volume IV', indicating he's done three more volumes before this one was published. The fact that he managed to get to volume four at all indicates that there is a market for these photos. Perhaps a niche sort of market, but one nevertheless. She can't imagine this sort of thing to be cheap.

"Do you want me to look at it?" she asks, feeling suddenly shy. She imagines this isn't the sort of thing friends are supposed to do with one another. Maybe if she was Lily, the blonde bombshell that James is dating, then this would be acceptable.

"If you like," he answers, putting no pressure on her.

It's typical of James, really. Whenever he has something new to show her, an interesting project or idea, he wouldn't leap into it but ease her into things. The train of thought makes her wary because she doesn't know what he's up to now. She peers around to make sure that there's no one around them. "Should we do this at your place?" she asks and pretends not to notice his grimace.

"I'd rather not bring the book home," he says.

She supposes Lily can be sort of a prude, but it's hard to imagine. She remembers when James's studio was in her apartment and Lily would wear less and less clothing every time, like she's running out. Or more possibly, that's just Lily's way of declaring to the world - and to Gwen specifically - that James belongs to her and she should back off. She nods. It would be very awkward to read this with Lily around. Her most vivid memory is of the time Lily wore nothing but her bathrobe that keeps slipping open the reveal her perky n*****s and full breast. She had sat opposite Gwen and crossed her legs, though instead of covering herself up more, the bathrobe had slid over her leg, exposing creamy skin and a triangle strip of hair between her legs.

"Maybe we can look at this at my place?" she offers, but her hand is already moving, flipping open the first page so she can see what the leather-bound book has to offer. The pages inside are, as she suspected, made a thick glossy material, the sort that coffee table magazines are printed with so that the colors can be as vibrant as possible, every detail so clear that she can put a magnifying glass to it and see the pores of the woman's face.

It is a little disappointing, honestly, because she had been expecting to be surprised, but the picture she is presented with is hardly risque, not even slightly suggestive. It's merely a formal portrait of a woman fully clothed, the kind she might find displayed on a mantlepiece. The woman is young and beautiful, eyes an emerald green and lips painted red. She appears to be around her age, though the way she's dressed in the sleek sleeveless shift dress, an oversized pair of sunglasses pushed up into her hair and slight up curl of her hair tells her that she was probably born in the mid-sixties. She feels like she has been transported back in time.

"She's very pretty," she observes, her statement punctuated with a curious lilt.

"They all are," he agrees, indicating that he's looked through the whole book already. It's a thought that makes her blush and she hasn't even seen what's in the rest of the book yet. "Keep going," he says and reaches for his camera. She hears the telltale whirl of the lenses being adjusted to fit the dark lighting in the restaurant.

She gives him an indulgent smile, used to him pulling his camera out of nowhere to capture candid pictures of her. Her chair creaks as she swings one leg over the other and she does another cursory glance around herself to make sure that they are still undisturbed before flipping the page. A beautiful woman lays on her side, head resting on her elbow, hair spread out. Though this is different because the woman isn't wearing anything at all, though the dim lighting allows her only to capture the silhouette of the young woman, the curve of her hips and dip of her waist making her look almost like hills over a beautiful sunset.

She licks her lips and wishes she could adjust the lighting. She wants to see what kind of face the woman's making. Across the table, she hears the tell-tale click of James's camera going off and she looks up, arching her brow at him. "Should I skip to the middle of the exciting bits?" she asks, her tone teasing, but she's being wholly serious. She could keep going page by page like this, but there are only a few tables left occupied in the restaurant and the workers are eyeing them with increasing frustration.

Gwen starts flipping through the pages faster, her cheeks turning darker and darker shades of red as she begins to spot a pattern of the pictures getting closer and closer, the darker pictures in the beginning making way for brightness as the cameraman moves closer to the subject. Her mouth goes dry when she finally reaches what James had told her about at the beginning; Pictures of women's private parts, close ups of breasts and n*****s, some of the women obviously lactating, with beads of milk at the tip.

Then, a section with nothing but v*****s. She must be frowning as she flips through the pages because he asks her what she's thinking.

"They all look so different... you know, down there," she says. She truly isn't expecting such a variety, but it's not as though she's had anything to compare her own v****a to. The page she is at has one that's nearly fleshless, a slit peeking from a thicket of curls. The next is pump and meaty and the one after that is neatly shaved, p***y lips peeking out with the woman standing still, legs slightly apart. Then, comes the pictures with their legs spread, fingers holding their p***y lips open so he can take close up pictures of their clits. These too, are different, some with engorged clits and others that are barely visible at all. Some of them have their vaginal holes slightly open and she imagines she can see them pulsing, the opening twitching open. She finds herself wanting to compare her own p***y and c**t to theirs, but realizes with a small sense of dismay that she doesn't really know what she looks like down there. It's not as if she had posed in front of a mirror and spread her p***y lips open to check. She's never been too curious about her s****l parts, honestly. She's ready to close the book when his hand covers hers, startling her into looking up at him.

"Keep going," he says.

She wonders if he can feel the heat coming from her cheeks, her embarrassment so obvious that she doesn't know why the waiter hasn't come over to ask if she's alright yet. She finishes her glass of sangria and nods.

His camera clicks away, capturing the twisting emotions on her face that she doesn't try to keep hidden from James, who's seen all aspects of her and has never judged her for them.

She is almost at the end of the book and they are the last table still occupied with fifteen minutes to closing and half the tall jar of sangria left. James had ordered them more finger food while she wasn't paying attention and she flushes when she thinks about the waiter seeing what she's looking at. Would he even be able to tell? James is right. The image is not too clear unless she knows what she's looking for. It looks like art pieces, honestly, dashes of color on a page that is vaguely erotic in nature. Would they get in trouble if they're caught looking at these?

Her body is growing warm looking at the pictures and the fact that James had taken his hand away doesn't stop her from feeling the phantom warmth of his fingers on hers. She wonders what he had been thinking when he looked at these, if he got hard. Did he masturbate later or while he was flipping through pages and pages of women's private parts, spread out and displayed in vivid detail, every strand of hair captured so perfectly that she feels she can reach into a page and pull out a strand. They are all so pristine too. Some of them are waxed, but she prefers the ones that are more natural, curly hair at the public areas peeking out. It makes the pictures more obvious.

In the dim light, it's hard to read the play of expression on his face when she tries to peer at him. The camera does a good job of blocking half his face from her, in any case. He does that often, hide his face from her with the camera. She wonders if he takes as many photographs of Lily as he does her, but she's long since stopped trying to compare herself to Lily. Lily is twice the woman she could ever be, tall, rich and beautiful. She says she works for several popular magazines as has her face splattered on all of them, unlike Gwen, who is only fit enough to have parts of her displayed. Gwen has also stopped wondering what he does with all those pictures he takes of her. She doesn't want to give herself false hopes and expectations.

She reaches the last of the book and finds pictures of feet, some of them naked, some wrapped up in elaborate footwear. She makes a small noise of surprise upon reaching those pages. Clearly, Uncle Louis puts great importance to them if he thinks they're worthy of being the conclusion to his book.

"Do you recognize that?" he asks when she reaches the final few pages of the book that features a dainty little foot with toes painted red and a pair of sandals that she recalls with sudden clarity. His camera clicks away, but she is too busy staring at the book.

A shadow appears from somewhere behind her.

"He didn't!" she gasps, closing the book as a wave of adrenaline courses through her. "Is that my foot?" she hisses, wary of the shadow coming up behind her.

"It it," he chuckles. "I wish he would have told us before using the pictures. I'm afraid I found out the same way you did, or I would have warned you. He apologizes for not asking for your permission prior to publishing the book and-"

"Are you done with that, sir?" their waiter for the evening interrupts their conversation to ask, pointing at the small dish of the finger food that hasn't even been touched in the middle of their table.

Gwen sees through the man's thinly veiled attempt to kick them out of the premise. She starts apologizing immediately, but is stopped by James shaking his head curtly.

James lowers his camera onto the table and levels the man with a glare that baffles her. "You can see very clearly that we have not even gotten started with this particular dish." He's normally so polite with servers. This is very unlike him. "I told Nathan that I was closing up tonight. Did he not inform the staff?" he asks.

Nathan must have been busy in the kitchen, but emerges at the sound his name as if summoned.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Moreau." It's odd, seeing the older gentlemen bow to James in deference.

James sighs. "I'll close up tonight. Give them a refresher course on fine dining etiquette. This particular establishment is supposed to remain open until thirty minutes past midnight and the servers are paid a generous hourly rate until then. It is not yet eleven. I have been curious why this particular establishment have not been making a profit. Perhaps I should be looking for another manager."

"Sir!" Nathan stands and looks red in the face, ready to argue, but James waves him to stop talking.

"I will hire another to ease you into the role and acquire a more manageable staff," he says. "Go, or I will reconsider keeping anyone hired here at all."

Nathan looks like he means to tear all the servers a new asshole as he turns to address them. She thinks she hears a few of them calling him 'uncle' before he hushes them, so nepotism was probably involved at some point of the hiring process.

"I didn't now you owned restaurants," Gwen says, begrudgingly impressed. She knows that photography is just a hobby for him, something he dabbles in his free time.

"A few," he hums. "It's a family business I inherited."

James doesn't like to talk about his family business. Honestly, she thought that was because it was because it had something to do with something shameful, like recycling used condoms or something. She wouldn't have guessed in a million years that it was related to the food-industry. "It's a fancy place," she says, feeling a little like she doesn't know James at all, completely thrown by this new information that she's just learned about her friend.

James shrugs. "It's a family business," he reiterates. "My passion lies elsewhere."

"Like your photography?" she asks.

He looks at her blankly. The corner of his lips curl into a soft smile and he sighs. "I suppose," he says in a long suffering tone of voice.

"Not that I'm not grateful you showed me this, but why did you show me this?" she asks, handing the book over to him.

He pushes it back into her hand. "That's your copy. He sent us a copy each of the book," he says and then picks up his own drink, sipping slowly. He looks as though he has more to say and is merely building up the courage to say it, so she waits. "As for the why," he pauses again and clears his throat. "He has a request to include you in the fifth edition of the book as well," he says at last.

She shrugs. "Oh, I don't see why not."

He arches a brow at her, surprised by her quick consent.

"I mean, you have the pictures already, right?"

He puts his drink down and leans back into his seat. The silence between them stretches and she feels like she should be understanding something that he isn't saying, but she has been good at guessing what he wants. After a moment, he says, "Pictures for the other sections of the book."

She stares at him for several seconds after that, taking a little while for his words to sink in because it's just so insane. Heat creeps back up to her cheeks and she splutters, "You aren't serious!" She can't imagine being a part of such a perverse thing. Surely normal people wouldn't even be considering it. "Uncle Louis wants to take pictures of my-" she looks around, sees that they are alone, and hisses, "my private parts for his book?"

"I will be the one taking the pictures," he says with absolute certainty, and then adds with a slight hint of red on his cheeks. "If you agree to it, of course."

She licks her lips and can't believe that she's actually considering this.

"The pay is substantially bigger than any of our other projects," he says.

"How much?" She can't believe she's considering this at all. And then, because Lily is always on her mind when it comes to matters regarding him, she asks, "Does Lily know about this?"

He looks genuinely befuddled. "Why would Lily need to know about this?"

Right. Lily did say that James prefers to keep his work life separate from his private affairs. "No reason," she sighs. "Why don't you send me the details and um... give me some time to think about it? It's not something we've done before and I um... I kind of want to know what I'm getting myself into."

"Of course," he nods. "Take as much time as you need. Uncle Louis normally publishes a new edition every ten years. You have plenty of time."

She finishes the rest of her drink and is beginning to feel a little light headed despite the copious amount of sugar in the sangrias.

"I will send you the details tomorrow. Let's get you home," he says.

She watches in a sort of daze as he closes up the restaurant, locking the doors with casual ease, like he's done it a hundred times before, and falls asleep in his car on the way home.

He shakes her awake with a soft smile. "Would you like me to walk you to your room?" he asks.

She snorts. "If you park your car here, it's going to get vandalized. Or worse, it won't even be here when you come back down." He frowns at the flippant way she divulges how terrible the security at her apartment complex is. He doesn't approve of her staying here, but rent is dirt cheap and she found the place after she graduated. It's close enough to her place of employment that she can just roll out of bed and walk to the office. She doesn't spend much time in the dump regardless. It's just a place for her to rest her head.

She holds her bag to her chest and leans over towards him to peck his cheek. "Thank you for the ride, James."

"My pleasure, darling," he says. "Don't forget your book," he says when she exits the car without it and grins when he sees that her cheeks have turned a vibrant shade of red once more. She was half hoping he would forget about the book. It feels taboo, even having it in her room. She knows without looking at the price that it's going to be the most expensive things that she owns.

"Ah," she clears her throat. "Thank you for this too." She flees before he can laugh at her even more.