“Uh, no,” admitted Ben reluctantly. “I can get my laptop, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Forget it, this will be quicker. I’ve always got a couple of dozen of those things laying around, mostly because I tend to misplace them constantly. Come on.”

He was startled when she took hold of his hand, tugging him along in her wake and whistling for the dogs at the same time. Three eager, furry bodies emerged from seemingly out of nowhere at the same time, and they trotted along obediently behind Lauren. Ben couldn’t help thinking that he knew exactly how the animals felt, not daring to disobey their mistress’s commands. He’d only been in Lauren’s presence for less than half an hour, and could already sense that she was a natural born leader, and definitely not a woman you’d willingly want to challenge. Or piss off.

“You’ve got them well trained, I see,” he commented as the Aussies followed them inside the house.

Lauren gave a careless little shrug. “They know better than to try and pull any of their little doggy antics with me – doesn’t work and never has. They’ll be happy to go back home in a couple of weeks when my parents return from Europe, especially since my dad spoils them rotten. My sister and I used to grouse about the way the dogs got away with a hell of a lot more than we ever did.”

Ben chuckled. “What did your father have to say about that?”

She gave him an answering grin. “That the dogs were much more obedient than we were, and much easier to manage. Especially me. Come on, my computer’s up in the loft.”

He followed her up the narrow, winding staircase to the loft, his gaze fixed firmly – and unapologetically – on the really fabulous cheeks of her ass so lovingly outlined in their tight, faded cut-offs. But if Lauren was aware of the direction of his eyes she didn’t acknowledge it, merely tossing out “It’s kind of a mess up here. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

Ben took a quick glance around the spacious loft that contained a squishy-looking sofa, an oversized, equally comfy armchair, a computer workstation, and a long, low table that was piled high with books, photographs – framed and unframed – and a variety of camera equipment. He noticed at least half a dozen camera bags stashed in various corners, as well as three tripods of various dimensions. The computer workstation was an untidy mess of papers, books, DVDs, an oversized mug half-full of heavily creamed coffee, and a bowl that contained the remnants of some sort of breakfast cereal. A closer inspection of the loft revealed a huge, half-empty plastic tub of red licorice, a variety of dog toys, an enormous bag of Cheetos that also looked half-empty, several articles of clothing strewn about, and at least three pairs of rubber flip flops that had been carelessly left lying about.

He shrugged, not in the least bothered by her obvious untidiness. “I’ve seen much worse. The house I lived in my junior year of college looked like someplace they’d feature on an episode of Hoarders.”

Lauren pulled out her desk chair, tossing aside a furry squeak toy as she sat down. “Where did you go to college?”

“I started at a community college near Cincinnati, and then transferred to Northwestern.”

She nodded in acknowledgment as she attached a USB cable to the camera and plugged the other end into her computer. “They have a great journalism program from what I’ve read. It was actually one of the schools I considered for a time, but I knew I’d never be able to handle the winters there. I could never be away from the beach for months at a time.”

“Where did you end up then?” he asked.

“UCLA.” Lauren tapped a few keystrokes and then the photos began to load. “Best decision I ever made. I’ll actually miss the place when I graduate next year, and that’s not something I thought I’d ever say about school.”

“You’re still in school?” Ben frowned at this revelation. “How, uh, old are you?”

She smirked knowingly. “You know it’s really not polite to ask a lady her age, don’t you? But since I’ve never pretended to be a lady, I guess those rules don’t apply. So to answer your question, Blue Eyes, I’m twenty, twenty-one come October. How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-nine in January.”

“Ah, that old, huh?” she teased. “Now that I think of it, you seemed to be having a tough time of it walking back up that hill. I think we might have a walking stick around here somewhere if you need it. Good thing for you I happen to like older men.”

Ben felt his cheeks grow warm again, nowhere near skilled enough at the art of conversation to think of a clever reply to her obvious flirting. He was saved from having to do so by the rows of tiled photo icons that filled the computer screen. “Is this all of them?”

Lauren grinned as though well aware of his discomfort. “Nice way to change the subject, Blue Eyes. And yes, they’ve all been uploaded. Let’s take a look at what we’ve got.”

As Lauren set up the photos to display in slide show format, Ben had to force himself to drag his gaze back up to the computer screen instead of “taking a look” at the tempting display of her abundant cleavage. She seemed completely unconcerned about how much bare skin the skimpy bikini top was revealing, and if she was aware of his ogling it evidently didn’t bother her in the least. As he stood just behind her desk chair, his palm literally tingled with the urge to slide down the side of her throat and then to keep on going until he was cupping the warm, soft globe of her breast in his hand. He belatedly became aware of Lauren’s voice as she pointed out various flaws with the camera angle, the lighting, or the framing of certain photos, and he guiltily dragged his gaze back up to the computer screen.

With rapid fire keystrokes, Lauren deleted several of the shots and made adjustments to a number of others. Then, after scanning through the remaining ones several times, she pointed to the screen.

“This one,” she declared. “This should be your shot for the article.”

Ben studied the photo she’d selected, unable to find a single flaw, and nodded. “I agree. You’re incredibly talented, Lauren. That’s a professional quality shot for sure.”

She snickered. “Yeah, I know. However, this happens to be one of the shots you took. Not bad for a rank amateur who’s never used a decent camera before today.”

He didn’t smile often, was by nature a serious, largely undemonstrative man, but resisting a force of nature like Lauren McKinnon was proving to be impossible. He returned her grin with enthusiasm. “Maybe it’s beginner’s luck. Or maybe it’s just the camera.”

“Pictures don’t take themselves, no matter how awesome the camera is. You might have some untapped talent there, Blue Eyes. If you ever got yourself a halfway decent camera you might surprise yourself.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards right now. More accurately, it’s not in the budget. I’m just assuming this baby of yours wasn’t cheap.”

Lauren nodded. “This is a Nikon D800. Retails for around $2500. Fortunately for me it was a hand-me-down from Uncle Mal. He has more cameras than the local Best Buy store.”

Ben shuddered. “Yeah, way out of my budget. But maybe this photo will help sell the article I’m writing and snag me a permanent job in the process.”

“Hmm.” Lauren plugged a bright orange flash drive into the CPU and began copying the photos over. “So you’re like a freelancer, something like that?”

He nodded. “But I’ve been trying like crazy to get a foot in the door with a magazine like Outdoor or Conde Nast.”

She handed him the flash drive. “Well, if you write as well as you take pictures this article should be an easy sell. Come on, let’s go grab a beer and drink a toast to your future success.”

Ben looked at her inquiringly. “Last time I checked it was barely eleven in the morning. I don’t know about you but it’s a little early for me to start, ah, celebrating.”