Free Vintage Pleasures by Billy London Page A

at her. “What?”
    “I mean it. Don’t. Don’t touch. He’s not for you.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says me. I’ve already said you’re not sub material, and that’s what he needs. You messing him about is really low on his list of things to do in 2013.”
    “Challenge accepted.” Sabra smirked. Before she could say anything else, Lauren closed her netbook with a grimace. “I’m sure he’s big enough to tell me he’s not interested.”
    “I know you. You’ll make him interested.”
    “And the problem is?”
    “He’s the best photographer I’ve ever had. Don’t fuck him up.”
    Sabra felt her grip on her temper slipping. “Stop it. I’m not a heartless whore. And he should be able to separate business from the pleasure I’m going to make sure he has with me.”

Chapter Two
     
     
    A few days later, she rocked up to Tristan’s studio without an appointment and, surprisingly, just one outfit and her make-up box. His personal assistant hadn’t blinked twice that a potential client had messed up his boss’s schedule. Sabra simply sat back in the reception area with a vintage lingerie magazine, circling new costumes, until her name was called.
    Barely glancing up as she put a big cross over a forties-style nightgown, Sabra did a double take. Lauren, you sneaky cow . Tristan was completely her type. Outer geek, inner dom. Behind black-rimmed, square glasses, moss-green eyes looked straight through her, as if he could see exactly what she wanted. “Sabra? Hi. I’m Tristan.”
    “Hello,” she replied, extending her hand. He caught it and gently pulled her to her feet.
    “Do you want to come through to the studio?”
    “Yeah, um. Sure.”
    “Don’t worry about your make-up box. Jono will take that for you.”
    She followed him, noting he was taller than her by several inches, even in her four-inch heels. Walking in the trail of his scent, rich with sandalwood, Sabra felt herself drift into lust. Goodie, goodie, goodie. He sat her down and sat opposite her, his denim-covered knees a few inches from her own.
    “Lauren called me. Warned me, I should say,” he added.
    Sabra’s mouth dropped open. “That’s so out of order.”
    “I know. Told her as much. Especially as I already know about you.”
    “Pardon moi?”
    “Remember Theo?”
    “No,” Sabra lied without thinking. Of course she remembered him.
    “Yes you do. He ran for councillor in South London for the Conservatives.”
    Sabra winced. “Yes, well, he should have thought about his political career before dating a burlesque dancer. Kate Middleton’s cousin is a burlesque dancer.”
    Tristan blinked butterfly-long lashes at her. “I wasn’t talking about his political career.”
    “I did not forward any photos to any tabloid. He was cheating on me!”
    “I didn’t mean the photos, either. Not to worry. What are you looking to do today?”
    “Well, I need some test shots for a potential business venture, and I wanted them to be like the peep shows that used to exist. I was thinking more fifties style, black and white, and the twenty pence is about to run out.”
    Tristan’s mouth lifted at one corner. “I got it. What do you want to wear?”
    “Strands of pearls, stockings and heels.”
    He breathed out slowly. “Are you sure you want to give these out? Sounds like you should sell them.”
    Sabra bit down on her bottom lip, looking up at him innocently. “Depends on your work. Shall I get ready?”
    “Of course. I’ll set up the studio. Peep show style.”
    Her skin rippling with anticipation, Sabra only had to remove her cotton dress. She’d worn no bra or underwear to ensure her skin would be unmarked. Using her favourite body powder from Marc Jacobs, she pressed the large body puff all over her skin. Tristan would have to help her with her back, as she couldn’t reach. Devilish, she thought. But necessary in seduction. She applied ruby red lipstick to match her short red nails and the Louboutins she sported, then flicked