The One He's Been Looking For

by Joanna Sims

  “That’s it!” she said dramatically. “You’ve taken it all out of me. I’ve got nothing left to give.”

  Ian realized that he was laughing along with her. The rare sound of his own laughter seemed strange and out of place in the studio. But with Jordan, laughing seemed like the most natural thing to do.

  “You brought the magic, Jordan. There’s no doubt about it.” He played along with her as he walked over to the computer. “Why don’t you go get changed while I start to review the images. I definitely want you to take a look at these before you go—I think you’re going to be surprised.”

  Jordan rushed to change into her own top so she could hurry back to Ian. She was nervous and excited to see the finished product. Was it possible that he’d managed to get usable shots of her? Rent and painting supplies were hanging in the balance. She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time before she returned. On the short round trip to Ian’s side, a sharp sense of humiliation began to creep into her system. Without knowing why she had felt compelled to do it, she had let her guard down and showed him the silly, private side that only her close friends and family had ever seen. Not only had she shown that side to him, she had actually let him capture it with his camera! As she walked over to him, she wished she could press Rewind and take back the last fifty frames.

  “What’s the verdict?” she asked with feigned bravado as she joined Ian at the computer. Nonchalantly, he switched places with her so she was standing to his right before he clicked on one of his favorite shots.

  “Some of the images we got at the end are ridiculously good. Just look at this one.” He pointed to a shot of her giving him her Billy Idol snarl. She stared at the pictures on the screen wordlessly, and after a second or two, Ian prodded her impatiently. “Well? What do you think?”

  Jordan shook her head slowly, transfixed by the photographs. The woman staring back at her didn’t resemble her at all. That woman looked as if she belonged in front of a camera.

  “I can’t believe it,” she finally said. “I actually look...”

  “Beautiful? Edgy? Badass?”

  “Well...I wouldn’t go that far—”

  “I would,” Ian declared.

  “But I look good. Really good.”

  “You have very complicated angles, but that’s what’s so exciting about your face,” he explained as he clicked on another of his favorite shots. “Look at this. See how the light is reflecting from your cheekbone? You can actually see the structure of your face and appreciate the beauty. Now here...” Ian switched photos. “Look at this one. Your face is in shadow and your beauty is lost.”

  “So...what you’re saying is that I have a tricky face to photograph?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying! But with the right lighting, with the right photographer, your face photographs like a dream.” Ian looked down at her with a pleased smile. “You’re a natural.”

  Jordan couldn’t believe what she was seeing. One amazing shot after another. She actually looked like a model, and for the first time in her life she enjoyed seeing herself in a photograph. And she felt so good about the results that she brushed aside her humiliation and allowed herself to enjoy the moment.

  “I’ve gotta admit I’m blown away,” she said to him. “I haven’t seen a decent picture of myself since I was in elementary school.”

  Ian stared down at Jordan and couldn’t remember the last time he had been so intrigued by a woman. It wasn’t just her gorgeous face. It was more than that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew instinctively that he had never met anyone like Jordan Brand before. She was a quirky combination of innocent sensuality and edgy attitude. She lacked the purely superficial obsession that most models in his acquaintance possessed. But then, she wasn’t a model, was she? She was something entirely new. Something entirely different. And she was the woman he needed to create the final book that he envisioned. Now all he had to do was get her under contract.

  “Let’s go up front and talk about the project,” Ian said.

  Jordan followed him to the front of the studio; he gestured to one side of the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Now that her adrenaline was starting to drop back to normal levels, she was reminded about the excesses the night before. Her stomach was upset and her head was pounding.

  “Water’d be good,” Jordan said, and then as an afterthought, “Do you have an aspirin or something in the same general analgesic family?”

  “Still feeling lousy from last night?”

  She nodded as she perched on the edge of the couch. “Note to self. Beware of the pink-champagne fountain. Of course, I admit that I’m a bit of a lightweight. I’m usually the designated driver.”

  Ian returned with a highball glass filled with fizzing water. “What were you celebrating?” He held out the glass to her. “Here. Drink this.”

  “Bachelorette party.” Jordan took the glass. She wrinkled her nose and smelled the liquid. “What is it?”

  “Drink it quick. Before the fizzing stops,” he instructed.

  She made a face. “What is it?”

  “Brioschi.”

  “What?”

  “Brioschi. It’s an antacid. My mom swore by it. If I had an upset stomach when I was a kid, that’s what I got.”

  When Jordan still hesitated, Ian repeated, “It’s an antacid, I swear. I’m not slipping you a roofie. Drink it before it stops fizzing or it won’t work,” he added when Jordan continued to stare at it.

  “All right, bossy. Geez.” She brought the glass up to her mouth.

  “Drink it all down at once.”

  Jordan raised her eyebrows at him. “I will. Give me a minute to emotionally prepare myself.”

  She reached up and pinched her nose as she gulped the liquid down. After she was done, she coughed a few times. “That was disgusting.”

  “It’ll cure what ails you. Guaranteed.”

  “Couldn’t you give me something to chase it with at least?” Jordan held out the empty glass to him.

  “It’s not a shot, it’s an antacid.” He took the glass and with a smile in his voice said, “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you.” The words were laced with her trademark sarcasm. “Were you trying to cure me or kill me?”

  Ian returned from the kitchen, sat down on the couch, stretched out his long legs with one ankle over the other. He rested his head on his hand as he looked at her. “That’s a new one. I’ve never heard of death by antacid before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, GQ.” Jordan’s lips quirked up into a smile.

  “I bet you’re feeling better already.” He nodded his head toward her.

  She thought about it before she responded. “You know what? I do feel a little better. That stuff’s a miracle drug.”

  “Told you.”

  Jordan studied Ian for a moment. “You know...I thought you’d be a lot different.”

  “What did you think I’d be like?” he asked. Then he held up his hand. “No, wait. Let me try to fill in the blanks.” He raised his pointer finger. “Arrogant.”

  Jordan nodded and shrugged one shoulder in agreement.

  Ian held up another finger. “Egotistical.”

  She nodded again.

  He held up a third finger. “Womanizer.”

  “That’s a pretty comprehensive list. You must’ve heard it all before,” Jordan said. In truth, he had hit all the major headings she had labeled him with. Maybe she had judged him too harshly too soon.

  “I get how people view me because of the business I’m in. I don’t agree with it, but I don’t have the time to dwell on it. It is what it is.”

  “And your looks,” Jordan said. “People judge you for that, too, I suppose.”

  “That w
as just the luck of the genetic lottery,” Ian said with an irritated shrug. “But you’re right. That’s part of it. Still, people who know me, people who work with me...know that I’m always thinking about the next amazing image. I genuinely love the art form of photography. And, honestly, the rest of the stuff that comes with the job is just white noise to me.”

  “I can respect that.” Jordan nodded, surprised that she actually had something in common with him. “You’re a perfectionist. I’m a perfectionist about my artwork, too.”

  “Are you a tattoo artist?”

  “What?” she asked, confused. Then she remembered where they had first met. “No. I’m a painter. Starving, of course—what else, right? But there’s a fine-arts gallery downtown that’s sponsoring me. I have my first show starting February 1, so hopefully the starving part will change.”

  Ian nodded as he listened to her. “So how are you making ends meet until the show?”

  “I bartend at Altitude on the weekends,” Jordan said. “And every once in a while I sell one of my designs as tattoo flash to Marty or Chappy. That’s what I was doing the day that we met. I have kind of a small following in the underground music and art scene. One of my friends wanted me to design her tattoo and it took off from there. After a bunch of my friends went to him asking for my artwork, Marty offered me a deal. He does his own custom work, of course, but if someone wants one of my designs as a tattoo, they have to go to his shop to get it, and I get a cut. It’s a pretty sweet deal for me, but the money’s not nearly regular enough to keep me in canvases and paint, I can tell you that much.”

  Ian leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Then I’d say I have pretty impeccable timing. Because if you agree to model for me, you’ll be able to buy supplies for this show and the next. Isn’t that right?”

  Jordan pushed a wayward lock of hair back off her forehead. “I can’t deny that you have a point. I could really use the money right now.”

  “Then let’s talk business, Jordan.” Ian sat upright. “I really want you for this project. I can’t say it any plainer than that. I like what I saw today—you’re a natural in front of the camera and you’ve got great instincts for someone who hasn’t modeled professionally.” He lifted his eyebrows. “So? What do you think? Do you want the gig?”

  Jordan studied him intently. She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders a bit. Part of her wanted to jump at the chance. She needed the money and she’d had a blast modeling today. But there was something inside of her that was making her hesitate.

  “What’s holding you back from saying yes?” Ian asked. “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She shrugged noncommittally. “But it’s not like you’re going to go all Silence of the Lambs on me.”

  “Then what?” Ian stood up and walked over to one of the copper barrels that were being used as decorative tables. He moved the catalogs aside and sat down so he was directly across from her. “Look, Jordan. I really want us to work together. Tell me what I can do to help you get to yes.”

  “Well. I’m from Montana...” she said slowly.

  “Okay.”

  “And I was raised to believe that if something seems too good to be true, then it is too good to be true. You catch my drift?”

  “Sure,” Ian said. “You think there’s a catch.”

  “Exactly. A famous photographer tracks me down?” Jordan pointed to her chest. “And wants to pay me twenty-five thousand dollars to model for him? I mean, come on—what’re the chances, really?”

  “Okay.” Ian breathed in through his nose and then let out the breath. “I think I get what’s holding you back.”

  “And what have you come up with, oh, Obi Wan?” she asked with a combination of sarcasm and skepticism.

  “You think that I have an ulterior motive,” he said as he watched her carefully.

  Jordan was unlike any other woman he’d ever met—a rare gem in a sea of semiprecious stones. And he knew instinctively that she needed to be handled with care if he wanted to get her under contract for the book. Unfortunately, he couldn’t rely on his usual bag of tricks—she wasn’t impressed with his fame, his money or his connections. And unlike most women, who he typically had to pry off his couch with a crowbar, Jordan looked as if she might try to bolt at the slightest provocation. She reminded him of a beautiful, untamed mare, wild and unpredictable. He had absolutely no idea how to handle her. And that only intrigued him more. It made him want her under contract even more.

  “Well?” she asked pointedly. “Do you?”

  “Listen, Jordan. The only thing I can do right now is tell you how things work with me. As a general rule, I don’t get involved with the women I photograph. I’ve learned through trial and error that professional boundaries make for a low-drama life. So when I tell you that I want you for my book, I don’t have a hidden agenda. You’ll have a contract, and when you’re done, you’ll have twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank. I’ll have the images I need for my book, and you’ll have plenty of spending money in your pockets to go wild at the art-supply store. We both get what we want.”

  The man had a way with persuasion; there was no doubt about that. Ian was sitting close enough to her that she could see every perfect feature of his face, from his golden skin and strong, determined jawline to his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. He was a walking billboard for what a healthy, handsome, all-American male should be. And, shockingly, she wasn’t repelled by his rock-hard body and handsome face, as she normally would be. In Ian’s case, she was atypically drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

  Before Jordan could say, “Let me think about it,” Ian glanced at his watch as said, “Look, I’ve got to start getting ready to head out of town on Monday. Why don’t we do this—I’ll have my attorney send you the contract via email. You left your information with Violet, right?”

  Jordan nodded. This would give her time to think about Ian’s job offer with her head and not her impulses. She had a bad habit of making snap decisions, and often lived to regret them.

  “Take a look at the contract—get an attorney to look it over—and if you’re interested, you’ve got a job waiting for you with me. But the ball’s in your court now, okay?” Ian offered her his hand.

  “That sounds like a plan.” Jordan slipped her hand into his. As his warm skin touched hers, a spark of electricity jumped between them. Surprised, she looked down at their hands and then up into his face. She could tell by his expression that he had felt the spark as well, but instead of pulling his hand away, he held on to hers and gently squeezed her fingers. Just for a moment, before he let her hand slip away.

  Wordlessly, Ian opened the door that led into the reception area, and then in three long strides reached the outer door and opened it for her, as well. Jordan’s arm brushed against his shoulder as she stepped into the hallway, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in her senses as she pushed the down arrow for the elevator. After it lit up, she turned to face him.

  “I hope you seriously consider my offer, Jordan. You and me—we can make beautiful art together.”

  “I think I’d like that, Ian,” she said honestly.

  Neither of them spoke as the elevator made its way upward. As she heard the sound of it approaching the third floor, she said, “I’d like to ask you something before I go.”

  “Shoot.” Ian appeared completely relaxed and confident as he leaned back against the doorjamb.

  “Tell me the truth.... Don’t you think it was wrong, hunting me down the way you did?”

  “No.” He didn’t hesitate in answering. “I don’t. When I want something, I go after it. And I want you.”

  “Do you always get what you want, GQ?”

  “Not always.” A dimple appeared in his right cheek when he smiled at her. “Usually.”


  “Do you think you’re going to get what you want with me?” Jordan heard the slightly flirtatious undertone of her question.

  “I have no idea,” he said as he contemplated her. “But I certainly hope so.”

  The doors to the elevator slid open and Jordan stepped inside. She turned to face him again, but for once decided to hold her tongue. This man seemed to be able to read her like a book, and she wanted to close the cover before he saw too much.

  “Until next time, Jordan.”

  “See you around, GQ.” She flashed him a peace sign just before the doors slid silently shut.

  As the elevator descended to street level Jordan discovered she couldn’t seem to keep from smiling. The truth was she enjoyed going toe-to-toe with Ian. He was a worthy opponent, which was hard to find. Most guys she met were just too bendable to be fun. She had been raised around rugged Montana ranchers and she had to admit that she was tired of mushy males who were easy to push around. If she pushed Ian, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t budge. He was a solid brick wall that wouldn’t give an inch. He was confident, totally male and relentless in his pursuit of what he wanted. At the moment, she was what Ian Sterling wanted. And she was going to make damn sure she enjoyed the ride while it lasted.

  Chapter Five

  Ian waited a few minutes before he stepped back into his studio. First, he printed his favorite Jordan Brand photograph and then he poured himself a Scotch neat. He took both items back to his favorite spot on the couch. While he slowly savored the biting taste of the Scotch, he stared at Jordan’s face. She did have a tough face to photograph well. But he had the eye and the talent to transform her unusual angles into digital magic. In all the years he had been making a living as a photographer, he had never felt as if he had a muse before. Until now. Until Jordan. She made him feel like a teenage boy about to get laid for the first time. She made him feel alive in a way that was completely foreign to him. There had been something magnetic between them. He hoped that Jordan had felt it, too.