She rubbed her forehead and pushed her plate away, glaring at the bill. Of course it was her turn to pay. It was always her turn to pay. Another of Carolyn's little passiveaggressive stabs at the difference in their economic status; when Carolyn had as much money as Simone, then—and only then—would it be her turn to pay. Whatever. She jammed her bank card into the folder with the bill and set it on the edge of the table for the waiter.
Simone had never made a big deal out of her wealth. She didn't flaunt her money, she didn't rub it in Carolyn's face. Carolyn had always, since she was a child,
resented anyone who was more successful than she. Worse, it was not at all below her to try to sabotage someone to bring them down. Their brother's band nearly lost out on a lucrative recording contract after Carolyn made a few strategic phone calls. Well, Simone could never prove it was her, but she and her brother had no doubt. And that was precisely why Simone didn't dare breathe a word about Jason to Carolyn.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Driving down the long stretch of highway from Tofino to Victoria, Jason barely noticed the scenery. In fact, he barely paid attention to the road. Normally, he could multi-task; he'd watch the road, but at the same time, he'd be watching for a new place to stop and photograph a sunset, or scanning the treetops for a new eagle's nest. The four hour drive never got old, no matter how many times he drove it, and he always found a new and interesting place to get out and shoot. But not today.
He thought of one thing and one thing only: Allyson Bishop.
Just the thought of her face, of that mesmerizing smile, was enough to distract him from the road. Thinking about the way her hips fit perfectly in his hands, he nearly ran a stop sign. Even before he was out of Tofino, he nearly missed the turn-off because he was too busy remembering the cool softness of her hair between his fingers and the heat of her breath on his shoulder when he fucked her.
About two hours north of Victoria, while his mind was back on that pier the night he met Allyson, a logging truck changed lanes and cut him off, startling him back into reality. Rattled, Jason pulled over to collect his thoughts. With the Jeep parked safely on the side of the road, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and threw his head back against the seat. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, gripping it for dear life as he tried to bring his thoughts back under control.
He couldn't get her out of his mind. The sex alone was enough to distract him from everything short of breathing. Sex with Allyson was the kind of bone-shaking, furniture-splintering, mind-blowing sex he thought he'd never experience again after Paula. In fact, Paula couldn't hold a candle to what Allyson did to him. And whatever it is she's doing , he thought, shifting uncomfortably in the seat, she's doing it right now without even being here.
No woman had ever done this to him. Never. Not even Paula. And that scared the hell out of him.
An uneasy tightness crept into his gut. Whatever it was she did to him, she did it to more than just the part of him that currently made his jeans uncomfortably tight. But there was more to it than the sex. There was something else. Around Allyson, he could just be. No pretense, no façade, just Jason. She was fun, she was sweet, she was—
"Christ, Jason, you barely know her," he said, rubbing his eyes. But what other woman had ever had him checking his voice messages every ten minutes to see if she'd called? Especially after only meeting her twice, knowing full well each time she left that he might never see her again. It could have been just a fling for her, a notch on the bedpost, a fuck and run. Yet he'd waited by the phone like a lovesick schoolgirl for her to call, and when she did he'd nearly jumped out of his chair with excitement But he was uneasy. Part of him was afraid to rush into anything. More than enough time had passed since his divorce, but he was gun shy. And there was still that unspoken something that had hung between them on the phone the last time they'd talked. More than once, he'd considered calling and asking, but he hadn't quite worked up the nerve. He convinced himself it was because he wanted to talk to her in person, that that was easier than talking over the phone.
"Chickenshit," he muttered to himself.
He could only do one thing now: Wait. Wait until she came back. Wait until she said what she needed to say. Deal with it then if he had to.
Jason shook his head and put the car back in drive. He pulled onto the road and continued south to Victoria.
* * * * *
"Jason? Earth to Jason?"
Jason looked up. Sean, his younger brother, rolled his eyes. Jason shook his head.
"Sorry, I was—" He looked at the photos and gallery brochures spread out on the table in front of them. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what they'd been discussing. Sean leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his neck. "So who is she?" Jason blinked. "What? Who?"
Sean laughed. "Come on, bro, I've only seen you this distracted twice in your life."
"Twice?"
"Yeah. Paula and Kelly."
Jason laughed, but the uneasiness in his stomach tightened. If you only knew, Sean. Paula and Kelly combined never did this to me. Did it mean something that Allyson distracted him more than his ex-wife or ex-fiancée ever did? He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Oh come on," Sean pressed. "Tell me. What did you do, find some chick on the Internet?"
"Yeah right," Jason said. "Because I get such amazing Internet access in Tofino."
"Tell me."
Jason shook his head. "It's nothing. Really." Nothing I should be thinking about right now, but I really don't have a choice. He cleared his throat and picked up one of the color proofs of a brochure for their new gallery in Vancouver. "Besides, we have a lot of work to do."
Sean took the brochure out of his hand and set it back on the table. "We have a lot of work to do, you're right. But we aren't going to get a damn bit of it done while your head is stuck on Cloud Sixty-Nine."
Jason glared at him. "It's not like that." It's exactly like that. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled.
Sean's eyes widened and he leaned forward in his chair. "You're not in love, are you?"
Jason's head snapped up. What, are you a mind reader now? His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. No. No, I'm definitely not. Right? I barely know her. It can't be love. Yet. Sean's eyebrows jumped. "Oh my God, call the press, my brother's in love." He clapped Jason on the shoulder.
"I am not in love." Yet.
"Well at least tell me something about her."
"About who?"
Sean glared at him. "Do I look stupid?"
"Do bears shit in the woods?"
Sean laughed, but then his expression tightened. "Tell me. Don't even try to tell me there isn't a girl, because I know there is." Then, his eyebrows leaped and his jaw dropped. "There isn't a man, is there?"
"Yes, I'm having a sordid affair with a seventy-year-old fisherman from Nunavut."
"Jackass."
"Takes one to know one."
"Come on. Tell me."
Jason ran a hand through his hair, pausing to scratch the back of his neck as he let out a surrendered breath. He should have known he couldn't hide her from Sean. His brother could read him like a book, especially when he wore his feelings on his sleeve. Exhaling, he leaned back in his chair. "Her name's Allyson. I met her while she was on vacation in Tofino."
"On vacation? In Tofino? I didn't think anyone but you went there voluntarily." Jason shrugged. "I guess a friend of hers has a cabin there, sent her up to relax from, I don't know, something that was going on in her life." Sean raised an eyebrow, his humor fading slightly. "A husband, maybe?" Jason's stomach turned. He swallowed hard. "I've wondered about that, to be honest."
"So you had a weekend fling with a woman cheating on her husband?"
"God, I hope not." He paused. "She's been back up once. And she called the other night, said she wants to come back up. Soon."
Sean clapped him on the shoulder again and laughed.
"Good going, bro!" Jason thumbed a stack of prints on the table. "I don't know what's going on in her world," he said. "But I wouldn't mind her spending a bit more time in mine." Sean snorted. "Your bedroom, you mean?"
Jason laughed. Sean, you don't even know the half of it. He shivered. Just a few more days. A few more days and I can touch her again. "That, I definitely wouldn't mind." Sean smirked. "Animal."
Jason flipped his brother the finger and picked up another stack of brochures.
"Okay, we need to finish this."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sean said. He looked at Jason, the humor evaporating from his tone. "Seriously, though. If she's got a husband or something, you could be swimming in some dangerous waters. Be careful with her."
Jason said nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jason's fingers dug into her hips as he railed her on the kitchen table. She moaned, screamed, begged for more, and he gave her more.
Harder. Deeper. Closer, oh God, she was getting closer. She couldn't get enough. Wanted to beg for even more. Couldn't breathe, so close, couldn't form the words, so damned close, couldn't—
The shrill screeching of the alarm clock pierced her consciousness. Simone's eyes flew open. She looked around the dark room, disoriented, before realizing she was alone in her own bedroom.
In Los Angeles.
A thousand miles away from Jason.
" Fuck." Her voice echoed in the silence just like her dream echoed in her mind. She groaned and smacked the alarm clock to shut it up, at least for fifteen more minutes. It was four thirty. She had to be on set by seven.
A frustrated string of curses rolled off her lips. She'd been so close in the dream, so close to the kind of orgasm only Jason could bring out of her. She pleaded for sweet unconsciousness to return and take her back to Tofino to finish what they'd started, but there was no way she was getting back to sleep now. Not with the way the first ripples of an orgasm still thrummed inside her.
Closing her eyes, she slid her hand beneath the covers and gently circled her clit with her fingertips, letting her mind take her back to that night.
* * * * *
Jason stared at the ceiling, whispered profanities rolling off his lips as he tried to hold on to the dream that had him so damned close.
He glanced at the clock beside the bed. Four thirty. Jesus. Outside, lightning flickered, and a moment later, thunder rumbled across the sky. Fucking storm, he thought. How many thunderstorms had he slept through in his life, and this one had to wake him up?
Son of a bitch. He rubbed his eyes. Sleep wasn't going to happen anytime soon, not with as turned on as he was. Might as well just get up and start his day.
In the shower, he put his forearm against the cool tile and rested his head on his arm. He couldn't get the dream out of his mind, so he surrendered to it. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his hand around his cock and let his mind go back to that night when he—
* * * * *
— fucked her on the kitchen table like his need for her was physically painful. The bed sheets bunched in her hand as she furiously worked her clit. Faster, she begged him in her fantasy. Fuck me faster, Jason.
Her back arched off the table and she knew she screamed this time, completely overcome as he slammed into her, driving himself deep inside her as her orgasm went on and on. She circled her clit faster as she heard her voice echoing in Jason's kitchen " Don't stop don't stop don't—
* * * * *
— stop, Jason, oh my God . . . . "
He gasped as she tightened around his cock, lifting her hips and returning his every thrust, pulling him deeper inside her. "Oh fuck," he whispered. His breath caught. He scrunched his eyes closed, grimacing as the tension built, and built, until his—
* * * * *
— lips parted just enough to let a helpless moan escape. "Oh, God . . . . " The first waves of an orgasm rippled through her, each one more intense than the last. "Oh, God . . . . " She held her breath. Couldn't exhale. Couldn't—
* * * * *
—stop, and didn't even try.
He exhaled hard, bracing himself against the shower wall with one arm as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and—
* * * * *
—came so hard her back arched off the bed and her breath caught in her throat. She thought she moaned. She might have even cried out, and as she came down, it occurred to her that it was a damned good thing no one else was in the house. The alarm screeched again and she cursed under her breath as she hit the snooze button. Then she lay still, her eyes closed, letting the aftershocks rush over her, one after the other. Her orgasm satisfied the hunger that her dream had aroused, but it wasn't enough. It was nothing like what Jason could do for her. She had to get back to Tofino. She needed—
* * * * *
—her touch like he'd never needed another woman's touch. The more he had her, the more he craved her.
He turned and let the hot shower rush over his face and down the back of his neck. His knees were still unsteady, his body still trembling from his orgasm, but the hunger lingered.
He didn't know how things were going to pan out with Allyson. There was something she wasn't telling him, something that unsettled him, and he didn't know what. He didn't know how long this would go on, how it would end, what she wanted out of it, what he wanted out of it.
But he knew one thing for certain:
She couldn't get back to Tofino fast enough.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The night before she headed up to Tofino, Simone called Jason. Her heart pounded in her chest. She'd see him in less than twenty-four hours, but she needed to talk to him.
"Jason Connor."
His voice sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach.
"Jason," she said. "I just wanted to hear your voice before I come up there." Because I don't hear it in my mind every waking hour, and I don't still feel your breath next to my ear, and I don't—
"I'm glad you called." The grin in his voice made her knees weak. "I can't wait to see you."
"Neither can I. And . . . ." She trailed off.
"Yes?"
"There's, I need to ask you something." Ok, you're committed. No getting out of it now.
She heard him swallow just before he said, "Okay, shoot." Was that nervousness in his voice? She wished she could read his mind. "I want .
. . ." Shit, I can't believe I'm asking this. The tension hung on the line between them, crackling like static. Her mouth was dry. She took a deep breath. "Would you photograph me?"
Silence. A long silence. "You—you mean, you want me to?" He paused. "Sure, I, of course, I'd love to. What did you have in mind?"
"Like the photos on your wall." Her cheeks burned. "Nude." He coughed and she realized he must have been taking a drink just then. He cleared his throat. "Really? You're serious?"
No, no, forget I said anything. What the hell am I thinking? I'm not thinking clearly. What's wrong with me? No! "Yes."
"I'd love to, Allyson. But I thought—I thought you didn't like the camera. And nude . . . ."
"I know," she said. She chewed her lip for a second. "I've been thinking about it for a while." Deep breath. "I want you to do it. If you want to."
"I do, I absolutely do," he said. "Did, um, did you have anything specific in mind?"
Besides you fucking me senseless afterward? And beforehand? No, not really. "No, I figured I would leave that up to you. You're the artist."
He was silent for a moment. "I think I have some ideas."
"Oh?"
He laughed softly. "You'll see when you get here."
"Tease."
"Me? Never."
"Okay. I'll be in tomorrow night. Late. Probably eleven or so."
"I'll be up."
I'm sure you will. You'd better be.
* * * * *
Jason hung up the phone and thought for a long moment about her request. So that was what she'd been thinking all this time.
He thought of
the night they met, how she had balked at the camera. She was the last person on earth he had expected to ask to be photographed, let alone in the nude. But if ever there was a woman he wanted to look at through the camera lens . . . God Almighty, Allyson, I'll take as many shots of you as my camera will hold. He rose from his chair and took his camera bag down from its shelf. He pulled out a case of lenses and sorted through them, looking for the perfect combination for her shoot. A long portrait lens, a wide angle, a couple of backups. She had a face that
was made for the camera, and her body, good lord, that body. Her curves were gentle and supple, slim and soft, absolutely exquisite for modeling.
Or fucking.
He swallowed hard.
He picked up his macro lens and held it in his hand for a moment, wondering. It was intended for ultra close-ups of the tiniest things. Perfect for a nipple. Or her carefully manicured nails. Or her lips. In his mind, he pictured some ultra close up shots of her nipples, her fingers, the ends of her hair splayed along her shoulder. But on second thought, even if she was asking him to do the shoot, she was—or at least had been—camera shy. He'd have to get the macro lens right up near her skin to get the shot, and he guessed that would make her nervous. Really nervous. Cameras unnerved a lot of people, and being right up in her face the way a macro had to be, that would certainly be too much for her. No, she would be better off if he used the other lenses so he could stay a few feet away from her, making the camera's presence less invasive.
He wondered what it was that terrified her so much about being in front of the camera before, and what had changed. Her reaction that first night was more than just a little camera shyness. It was like she had a phobia. Yet now she was okay with it. Now she was okay with being naked, completely exposed and vulnerable, in front of it. Maybe it was less a problem with the camera and more of an issue with the photographer. Maybe she just needed to trust him. Yet she'd only met him twice, spent those few blissful days with him. Was it really enough time for her to trust him like that?
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