Men at Work: Through the Roof / Taking His Measure / Watching It Go Up. Cindi Myers

tool belt. Okay, now twist and look back over your shoulder. Perfect! Whew. That’s going to be smokin’. You could be the next Diet Coke guy, Ben. No lie!”

      Sam set down her camera and went to adjust the light. “I’m going to experiment with a more film-noir look in the next few shots. Will you step into the powder room, there, and work some baby oil into your skin?”

      Oh, Christ. Now she wanted him greased up so the photos would be even more beef-cakey. Ben felt utterly foolish, and started to remove the tool belt.

      “No, no. Leave that on. And when you’re done with the oil, put on these work gloves and tuck that hammer into your waistband.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “Now, what kind of message could you possibly be telegraphing with this little vignette?”

      “Why, that you’ll be happy to nail the viewer, of course.” Sam grinned unrepentantly. “We’re marketing this calendar to women, bud. And the more suggestive it is, the faster it’s gonna sell.” She tossed the work gloves at him.

      Ben caught them and sighed.

      “Oil up,” Samantha ordered. “We’re running short on time. I’ve got a guy coming right after you.”

      So he did. Then he flexed and sucked in and mugged for the camera, gradually losing his self-consciousness and having fun. His grin got ever more devilish.

      “Fabulous!” exclaimed Sam. After several more shots, she tossed a construction hat at him. “Okay, now we’re ready to get hard core.”

      “Hard core?” Ben repeated, alarmed.

      “Yup. Strip down in the powder room and come out holding that strategically.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You heard Ms. Delaney, darling.” Marina’s voice came from the doorway, richly amused. “Go get naked and hold that hard hat over your small penis.”

      He swung around and glared at her. “What are you doing here?”

      “Supervising.” Marina eyed him coolly. “It is my charity’s fund-raiser, after all.”

      Ben fought the urge to inform Sam that he did not have a small penis; that it was quite hefty, indeed. But he’d come off sounding too much like Hank Azaria in America’s Sweethearts. So, instead, he mocked Marina.

      “Oh? Have you felt the need to supervise all twelve shoots of naked men? And have you been a hands-on type of manager?”

      Sam bit her lip and fiddled with her camera. “Hi, Ms. Reston. Nice to see you.”

      “Hello, Sam. Has Delgado been giving you any trouble?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      “Good. He’s signed all the release forms?”

      Sam nodded.

      “Well, then, what’s the holdup, Benny? De-pants already.”

      Ben shot her a gaze full of promised retribution and disappeared into the bathroom again, where he dropped his pants and clapped the hard hat over his goodies. Then he strode out with a gleam in his eye. “So, ladies. How would you like me?”

      “Why, sunny-side up, darling,” Marina retorted, settling herself into a chair and crossing her slim, bare legs.

      Sam’s lip quivered but she held on to her professionalism. “How about if you recline against the far wall. Rest your weight on your elbow. Good! Hold that expression.”

      “What expression?” Ben asked.

      “The one that crosses your face when you look at Ms. Reston. As if you’d like to—”

      “Beat her?” Ben inquired.

      Sam’s face flushed red. “Eat her for lunch.”

      “Oh, that expression,” said Ben, and bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.

      “Holy Mother of God,” said Sam. She clicked away. “Um, I don’t want to get, um, out of line here. But go ahead and think about doing…whatever it is you do…to Ms. Reston when you’re spending time together. I’d like those expressions, too.”

      “Oh, I’d be delighted.” Ben turned his dark eyes on Marina and let them drop to a sleepy half-mast, while he bit his lower lip and began to picture all kinds of X-rated things.

      “Dear Lord!” Sam uttered, and Marina squirmed visibly in her chair, uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

      They continued in this vein for a good ten minutes.

      Finally, Ben laughed softly. “More?”

      “I’m not sure I can take any more,” Sam said, fanning herself with an envelope she’d snatched off a side table. “Besides—I’ve got shots here that will peel the wallpaper in the average housewife’s kitchen. I don’t think we can improve on them. Thank you.”

      “Just doing my job, señorita.” Ben headed for the powder room, very conscious that the two women’s eyes were glued to his naked backside. Just for fun, he turned his head and caught them in the act.

      Sam immediately pretended to look at her camera. Marina switched her attention to her Piaget watch.

      Ben smirked, and she flushed angrily. He got dressed wondering how the atmosphere between them always became sexually charged, whether they were speaking or not. By all rights, they should be icily cold to each other after the way they’d parted yesterday.