“Studying me?” Did he say stunning? Huh. She was tempted to swivel her head for a peek at her ass.

“I’m a photographer. It’s hard for me to ignore things of beauty,” he said smoothly, his dark eyes holding her gaze. An involuntary trill shot down her spine.

“Oh, please.” Tara snorted, masking her reaction to him. If she angled her head to her best side, it wasn’t for his benefit.

Besides, it had to be a practiced line, coming from a player like him. Seth Kim wasn’t just any photographer, but a sought-after fashion photographer. Gossip sites loved to post pictures of him with an ever-changing parade of gorgeous models on his arm. Of course, one shouldn’t believe everything on the Internet. But even if just a small percentage of the gossip had a grain of truth in it, his playboy status still held firm.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?” He arched an eyebrow with mastery that almost matched her own.

“No one actually looks at themselves in the mirror and thinks, ‘Wow. I’m beautiful.’” Geez. Why do I always do that? I am beautiful, dammit. Inside and out. She needed practice owning it.

“Is that a no?” The surprise on his face morphed into a sultry, hooded glance that traveled her body. “Because I’m prepared to convince you otherwise.”

Her heart tripped on a beat and tangled itself up. Gah. Her body begged for a detailed demonstration of how he planned to convince her of her beauty, but she couldn’t let her libido distract her from her mission.

“Look, I know I clean up nicely.” There. She owned it. Sort of. “And this dress doesn’t exactly hurt me in the looks department.”

It was true. The crimson mermaid dress hugged her curves like a long-lost lover and made her boobs look like full, round globes of glorious flesh. As though reading her thoughts, Seth’s eyes dropped to her chest.

“But you’ve had enough anatomy lessons for tonight,” she said, waving her hand in front of his face. “Quit ogling my breasts.”

“For the record, I wasn’t ogling you.” His eyes flew back to her face, and she was gratified to see a little color suffuse his cheeks. “I was gawking at you.”

“And the difference is?” She crossed her arms in an impatient gesture, and waited for more playboy bullshit from him.

“Ogling requires lewd intent, which I definitely did not have. Gawking is more like staring at something in a trance because they can’t help it.” He paused to give her a lazy half smile, which probably gave countless women pudding knees. “If I was gawking, it’s because I find you captivating.”

What. The. Dickens? The way his voice dipped low and turned rumbly on “captivating” was … yowza. Tara willed her pulse to slow the hell down. He was a player, all right. Quite an accomplished one. Regency-rake level accomplished. She needed a damn fan to flutter on her face.

“Will it help if I hide my captivating self behind some shrubs over there?” She narrowed her eyes to hide his effect on her.