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started dating again. Alexandra was never quite the free spirit she intended to be. She believed firmly that all women had the same right to sexual fulfillment as men did, but she felt there should be no subterfuge involved. A woman in the throes of a lust like the one I was now feeling for Jake Morris should feel free to express her feelings and ask if they were reciprocated. An enlightened man would respond in kind. Simple.
    Well, there was no way in hell I was going to inform Jake that I wanted to tear his clothes off with my teeth. As for a more subtle way of conveying that sentiment—well, that’s what flirting is for, and we’ve already covered my total cluelessness in that department. As I stood in the darkness of his big studio and watched him laugh, I knew I was doomed. After these pictures were taken I was never going to see him again.
    He stopped laughing and held out his hand. “Let’s get started,” he said. “Come sit.” He led me to a stool that had been set up in front of the white backdrop and put his hands around my waist to help me onto the seat. Beautiful strong hands with long slim fingers. I have to do something to keep him , I thought. But I couldn’t think of a damn thing. Jake backed off and picked up his camera.
    Now we’ve all seen the cliché of the Photography Session as Seduction in TV shows and movies. You know the scene I’m talking about: The photographer starts clicking away with his camerawhile he’s urging the model to lean toward him and lick her lips and let herself go, baby. Then she’s leaning and licking and letting go while the camera is clicking faster and he’s telling her how beautiful and sexy she is, and before you know it, his voice is getting husky and her eyes are getting glazed and they’re both really turned on. Well, here’s the thing about a lot of clichés: They’re based in fact. At least, that was my experience. You have a guy who’s drop-dead gorgeous giving you the kind of undivided attention you’ve never gotten from a man before, and you’re following his lead the way Ginger Rogers did with Fred Astaire and … I’m sorry to be unenlightened, but that’s a turn-on.
    I thought—hoped—for a second that Jake was feeling the same thing I was. All of sudden, he stopped shooting pictures, and I was pretty sure our eyes connected. I thought he was having trouble swallowing like I was. And breathing. But then he started taking my picture again. I was so disappointed, tears started welling up.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are the lights bothering you?”
    I shook my head.
    “We can take a break, if your eyes are tired.”
    I looked at him. He was standing in the dark, but a beam of light had spilled over him as if he were in a spotlight. He looked like a superstar.
    I knew the shoot was almost finished. I have to do something , I thought. In my desperation I decided to give my mother’s approach a whirl. I’ll tell him I’m attracted to him. What have I got to lose besides my pride, dignity, and self-respect?
    “I don’t know how you feel …” I began; then I stopped. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m very …” I stopped again. Because he was staring at me. The studio was dark and we were all alone because his minions had gone out for lunch, and Jake Morris was staring at me. I knew he knew what I’d been about to say next—before I’d chickened out. I waited for him to do something or say something,but he kept on staring. Suddenly I couldn’t handle the suspense another second, so I started to sing. Yes, the silence got to me so I sang: “Just you wait, ’enry ’iggins, just you wait!” It’s the opening line of one of Eliza Doolittle’s songs from the show My Fair Lady , which, for those of you who are not up on your American musical-comedy history, was the wildly successful Broadway show based on George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion . I kicked off my high-heeled shoes and attempted a little soft-shoe. Now Jake looked