I stood at the back of Saint Thomas Church snapping shots of the awe-inspiring structure, which included the man behind the podium. In a voice that was impossible to ignore, Vincent  rendered the packed house mute as he spoke of his late father, Roberto Valentino. Apparently, the deceased man had devoted his life to preserving the historical buildings of New York, London and Paris, and Saint Thomas had been a particular favorite of his.

Based on everything I knew about Vincent, he shared his father's passion, but one could not tell this from watching him speak. His expression remained impassive, with his gaze directed over the heads of his audience as he delivered the eloquently-written speech. He could have just as easily been reciting the monthly financial reports to a board of directors, and I wondered if he employed some sort of method to get through the dedication without showing any sign of weakness or emotion. While some would see this as a fine quality for a successful businessman, I saw it as the potential cause for his string of failures on the relationship front.

After the dedication, Sheila and I converged in the parishioners meeting room, a reasonably well-lit space crowded with buffet tables and folding chairs. We exchanged business cards and made small talk as I walked the perimeter with my exposure meter, determining the best location for the shoot. Sheila chose a sunny spot for the interview, setting up a pair of chairs near a vertical window, and I readied my tripod and reflector as we waited for the man of the hour.

A good thirty minutes later, when my stomach had started to growl from hunger, Vincent arrived, accompanied by an attractive woman carrying a briefcase and wearing a severe expression, which might have been due to the tight ponytail she wore. She approached Sheila and me, greeting each of us with a firm handshake.

"Apologies, ladies. Vincent was beset with well-wishers after his speech. I'm Amelia, Vincent's publicist. I spoke to you on the phone." She directed her statement at Sheila, after which she turned to me, making a slow, deliberate scan of my body. "I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Reese Kentwell," I said, ignoring her overt scrutiny and chalking it up to stress, or maybe her tight ponytail. "I'll be providing the photography for the piece Sheila is writing. I'm subbing for Cassie Bennet."

Amelia studied my name badge. "Reese, huh? The name suits you. Do you have a release you need Vincent to sign? We already handled those details with Cassie, but I assume you have your own."

"Yes, and a non-disclosure statement as well." I dug the documents out of my camera bag, pretending the strange vibe coming from this woman was just my imagination. When the papers were signed, Amelia tucked them into her briefcase, offered Sheila and me a clipped nod, then took a seat at the far end of the room.

Once Sheila and Vincent got settled, she proceeded to grill him about his successful rise in the business sector and his position as chief of the World Relics Preservation Cooperative founded by his grandfather in the nineteen seventies. During the interview, I attempted to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, taking candid photos of Vincent from different angles as he described his lifelong interest in the architectural styles of the renaissance era. 

The timbre of Vincent's voice soothed me like the fingers of a masseuse, and several times I found myself biting my lip as I listened to him speak. He also shared my obsession with gothic architecture. The photographs decking the walls of my apartment could easily prove this, and I wondered what he would think of them. Why was I picturing Vincent in my apartment? 

Through the eye of my camera, I noticed Sheila straining to stay composed as Vincent gave her his undivided attention, pinning her with his intense gaze while offering brief but thorough answers. He seemed oblivious to the clicking of my shutter, but his body shifted almost imperceptibly as I moved around him, always managing to keep me in his peripheral view. The guy was extremely photogenic, and despite my efforts to stay focused and dry, I felt my sweat glands hemorrhaging. At one point, I realized I'd been staring at his face without taking a single shot. I'd photographed plenty of hunky men before, but something about Vincent had me stupefied.

"Well, that about does it," Sheila announced as she pushed unsteadily to her feet. Vincent stood with her, appearing to hold her up as he shook her outstretched hand. "Thank you for agreeing to the interview, Mr. Valentino. I will send a transcript to your publicist for your perusal before it goes to print."

"I'm happy to do it, Sheila. Best of luck in your career."

"Thank you. You too." Sheila's eyes swept the floor, and she clicked her tongue, probably cursing herself as she quickly picked up her supplies. She smiled at me on her way out, and I noticed a few curls stuck to her sweat-soaked temple. "He's all yours, Reese."

I wanted to say I wish, but instead I offered, "I'll send you an email with the photos once I get them downloaded."

With a dazed nod, Sheila scuttled out of the room, and I barely had a chance to collect myself when I realized Vincent's cool, gray eyes were locked on me. Now it was my turn to sweat.

"Well, Reese. Did you get enough photos, or would you like a few more?"

"I'd like to get some standing poses in front of that bare wall, if you don't mind. Most publications like full body shots." My voice sounded forced as I attempted not to squeak like a mouse, and I couldn't help thinking Vincent noticed.

"Of course. Should I keep my jacket on?" He tugged on the lapel of his suit, which hugged his broad shoulders like a football uniform, and I diligently pushed away the image of him stripping down to nothing.

"Let's get a few with the jacket, then you can take it off and we'll get a couple more relaxed poses."

"You're the boss." Vincent offered a closed-mouth smile that appeared rehearsed. It made me wonder how often he did it, but that simple gesture had my knees feeling like rubber as I directed my feet across the floor. 

The next few minutes passed in a sweat-infused blur as I popped off multiple shots of Vincent with and without his jacket. I had never been more grateful for the distraction of the camera, which obstructed his view of me. I had to stop myself from biting my lip through the entire shoot, and I cut the session short before I drew blood.

Amelia left her chair to join me, anxiously tapping the toe of her high heeled boot as I folded the tripod and tucked it into my camera bag. "Did you get enough of Vincent? That is, did you get enough photographs?" She smiled wryly as I crouched over my equipment. Could she tell I was flustered? Was she used to her boss making females swoon and want to drop their panties? Was she and Vincent doing the dance with no pants?

"Yes. I'm sure the editor will be happy with them."

"Good." 

Still tapping her toe impatiently, Amelia started scrolling through her cellphone, and Vincent walked up as he shrugged on his jacket, wafting the scent of his masculinity under my nose. Was he trying to kill me?

"I enjoyed seeing you again, Reese."

I gazed up at him as I tucked my lens attachments into the bag, feeling blindly for the pockets while I reeled from the sound of his voice. Every time he said my name, I had an image of his lips at my ear and his hands on my...

"Same here," I said while I still had command of my wits. "I'd be happy to email you the results of the shoot. I'm not sure Sheila will include photos when she sends you the article."

"That would be fine. Let me give you my card." He pulled a glossy black business card from his wallet, holding it between his fingers and forcing me to stand up to take it. "May we talk in private?"

Vincent looked pointedly at Amelia, his gray eyes speaking his intent, and she returned his gaze with equal intensity. My answer didn't appear to be necessary while they engaged in their standoff, so I finished securing my camera equipment and shouldered my bag.

"Don't take too long, Vincent. We have places to be," Amelia said with a surrendering head shake. Then she strode from the room, her heels clicking as she pressed her ear to her phone.

I realized my mouth had gone dry as I waited for Vincent to say something, but he didn't seem eager to make conversation. He just stared at me like an inquisitive animal assessing something foreign. It made me wonder if I had food in my teeth.

"I hope you don't think me too forward for asking," he said finally. "But, have you heard from Colin?"

Not this again.

"No, but the day is still young."

"Are you planning to see him again?" As Vincent interrogated me, he stood stock still, his stoic expression telling me nothing, although I figured there was plenty going on in his head. A fist fight with his brother was the first to come to mind.

"I'm not anticipating a repeat. I don't think Colin is a good match for me."

And neither are you.

A cold chuckle escaped Vincent's throat as he kept me locked in his steely sights. "Oh, I think he believes otherwise."

I offered my own version of scrutiny, lifting my eyebrows as I responded. "Listen, Vincent. It's obvious you two butt heads, but with all due respect, I don't see where this is any of your business."

My blunt reply had Vincent cocking his head, as if he hadn't expected me to retaliate. It wasn't my intent to piss off one of the sexiest guys in Manhattan, the opposite actually. I kind of wanted to jump him, but that didn't mean I had to submit to his intrusive line of questioning. When the edges of his lips rose faintly, I felt obliged to stare at them. 

"I understand your confusion. Let me explain. Colin and I have an arrangement. If he makes a bid for a woman's affection who I find equally intriguing, I keep my distance until she tells him to shove off."

I didn't even try to hold back my laughter. It just tumbled out while he watched me, unfazed. "That sounds a tad primitive, don't you think?"

He offered a benign shrug. "I suppose to some, but I prefer to think of it as chivalry."

I dropped my gaze as I felt the sting of his proposal, which I considered to be crude and unchivalrous. Was he really interested in me, or was he more interested in pissing off his brother? This arrogant, sexy-as-sin playboy would probably be the best fuck of my life, but I needed to stop the downward spiral I'd been on or I would end up in hell.

"You can justify it however you want to, Vincent, but your methods are not the best way to intrigue a woman. I suppose I'm this week's target, right?"

Vincent actually appeared confused, although I couldn't say what I based this assessment on. The man was as easy to read as an instruction manual written in Latin. "Don't be angry, Reese. I didn't mean to insult you. I would like to see you again. In fact, I was hoping to entice you into a lunch date after the interview. I heard your stomach rumble earlier. But, if you are interested in Colin, I will settle for a rain check."

"Just to be clear, I was never interested in Colin. I spent a little more than an hour with the guy, and I'm even less interested in getting involved in a sibling rivalry."

Vincent quirked a single brow as he glanced at my camera bag. "You might want to check your phone. I thought I heard it vibrate."

WTF?

"I didn't hear it, and I'm pretty tuned-in to the sounds my phone makes."

"Please."

I didn't have a clue why I was standing there catering to this guy's whims, maybe because his eyes reminded me of rain clouds before a storm and his scent made me salivate. "Fine." I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw me do it. I wanted him to know he was pushing his luck. When I pulled out my phone, there was a text from Monica waiting for me.

"Well?" he said with a confident air.

"It's a text from my friend, Monica."

"What does it say?"

I quirked my lips in the universal language for Really, dude?

"Just read it. You don't have to tell me what it says."

Clearly, this guy had never been told to take a hike. I opened the message to find a photo of me and Colin cutting loose on Psychotic's dance floor. His hands are all over my ass. Underneath the photo, her message read: Your moves must have impressed Colin. He asked me to give you his number. Call him or pass him on to me. Next to Colin's number she included an emoji with heart eyes.

"Apparently, you were right about Colin," I said.

Vincent's chest rose and fell heavily as he released a strangled sigh. "As I expected. I regret this has to be goodbye, for now. But I hope you will consider calling me if things don't work out with Colin."

I opened my mouth to remind him I was not interested in Colin, but I didn't want to give him false hope. The fallout from an ill-fated relationship with either Valentino would probably have me curled in the fetal position for a week. Instead, I ended the awkward moment like the professional I was supposed to be.

"It was nice meeting you, Vincent. Your altruism is inspiring." I turned and left the room before I was tempted to take him up on his offer for lunch, or a quickie inside the parishioner's coat closet.

As I headed for the subway station, I distracted myself with my stomach, which Vincent had been right about. It was empty and rumbling. What would Sylvie say when I told her I'd refused a date with Manhattan's foremost player with a bankroll to match? I could already hear her speech about getting my head checked. 

I stopped next to a deli, deliberating whether I could afford the carbs when I noticed Vincent and Amelia leaving the church. They were joined by another man with a stalky build and long blond hair cinched into a ponytail. His clothes looked too casual to be appropriate for a dedication, specifically the turquoise Chuck Taylors donning his feet, but he seemed to at least know Amelia, based on the kiss he planted on her cheek.

Through the cover of swiftly moving bodies, I had the advantage of anonymity, and, on a whim, I pulled out my phone, opened the camera app, and zoomed in on Vincent's gorgeous face, snapping a few quick shots. While my Nikon currently held a plethora of photos of his sexy mug, professional courtesy and a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo forced me to keep those private. These were for me, so I could look at them and kick myself for turning down the hunk of the century.

PLAYLIST SONG: Girls Your Age by Transviolet (Twin Shadow Remix)