She snatched her discarded robe from the floor and shrugged it on.

Propped on one arm, Kir watched her, that self-satisfied grin of his even bigger than usual. “Quite the contrary, actually. I take a good amount of cream and sugar in my coffee.”

“Really?” She cinched the belt around her waist and ambled to the kitchen. “You’ll drink vodka straight like it’s water, but you need all the extras for coffee?”

“I’m Russian. Vodka is water. Coffee requires sugar and cream to even it out.” He strolled into the kitchen clad only in his black boxer briefs just as she closed the refrigerator door.

Cassie paused with her coffee container in hand long enough to give every bit of his six-foot-two lean-muscled goodness a thorough once-over. “Well, there’s a view I could get used to.”

He hooked her around the waist and kissed the side of her neck. “A view you will get used to.” Rather than make himself at home at the dining room table as she’d anticipated, he sprawled long-wise on the sofa so he had a line of sight view of her at work.

Doing her best to ignore the intensity behind the way he watched her, she measured out the coffee and poured water into the reservoir.

“I’d like you to accept the offer,” he said matter of factly.

“What offer?”

“To photograph Lizzy and her band.”

She punched the brew button and meandered in his direction. “I told you guys, I’m not a professional. She needs someone with experience.”

Kir lifted his chin toward one of her favorite photographs mounted on the far wall—a cable car on Canal Street taken just before dusk. While the subject matter was popular tourist fodder, it was the coloring she’d most prided herself on capturing. The green of trees lining each side of the street. The soft glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps down the median and how the evening skies on one side blended into the sunset still lingering on the other. “From what I’ve seen, you’re quite experienced.”

“A few of my favorites doesn’t make a portfolio.”

He dipped his head, an acquiescent move typically reserved for polite negotiations. “You are correct. Show me more.”

Well, shit.

Talking about photography was one thing. Actually showing someone her work was something else. No matter how many appreciative comments she got from her aunt or coworkers, she’d never been able to shake that perplexed expression on her father’s face the first time she’d shown him an image she’d been excited about. “Seriously?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, all right. Fine.” She fished around the portfolio with her most recent work. “But remember—I’m more of a landscape and fixed image girl. Which is why I think I’d do horrible work for Lizzy.”

He sat up and accepted the leather-bound volume. “Have you ever worked with people?”

“A little.” She sat down next to him. “I’ve done okay with a few candid shots. I don’t have a clue what to do when it comes to posing people, though.”