Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air

by Rhonda Nelson

  Like the one sitting across from her.

  Her fingers itched for her camera. A waste of time, though. A photo would only confirm what she already knew. The man was pure eye candy, wrapped in a layer of sexual charisma. And underneath all that temptation? He was an alpha leader to the core. The kind of man who issued orders without thought and always expected to be obeyed.

  Sophia had never considered herself a sensual woman. She’d even wondered if Joseph was right, that she was a little frigid.

  But now? Yes, the sight of Max was a major turn-on. The man was seriously sexy, massively gorgeous. But that was aesthetics. She’d spent years in school viewing equally stunning models, men who turned heads by just walking into a room. But she’d never felt this tug of desire deep in her belly. A spark, a sexual one, that told her that he’d make her feel things she’d never even imagined.

  Hands shaking a little at the concept, Sophia lifted her glass, hoping to find a few more comforting drops of tequila.

  Was she so insecure in her own strength and independence that she couldn’t enjoy a sexy man’s company unless he was a wimp who wouldn’t threaten her control?

  “I’d love to take your picture someday,” she blurted out. Her eyes grew round, jumping from his to her empty glass. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  “More than the one you shot of me back in the gallery?” he teased.

  Sophia wrinkled her nose in a self-deprecating little wince. “You saw that, huh?”

  “Why’d you think I told you to bring the camera?”

  He reached over and made a little gimme motion with his fingers. She laughed, then pulled the camera from her pocket, toggled it to the view option and, after a quick look, pressed her lips together to keep from snorting.

  She didn’t release the camera, but turned the view screen so he could see the shot of himself in a half squat, hugging the huge white penis.

  Max stared, his dark eyes round in horror.

  She waited for the explosion.

  He burst into laughter.

  Heat swirled low in her belly, making her thighs quiver. God, she wanted him.

  “Nice job,” he complimented, taking the camera to get a closer look. Sophia’s fingers itched to grab it back, so she curled them into her palms. The camera was like another limb. She hated being without it.

  “I don’t know art that well, but you perfectly captured not just the weight of that marble, but how freaked out I felt. So is that what you show at your gallery? Blackmail shots?”

  Sophia laughed as he leaned back in the chair, draping one arm along the back of the seat next to him.

  “I doubt there are enough blackmail shots out there to pull together much of a show,” she said thoughtfully. “But that would be fun, wouldn’t it? It’d probably be a bigger draw than my upcoming romance show.”

  “Romance?”

  Sophia hesitated, so used to her ideas for the gallery being dismissed as soon as she offered them. But Max looked genuinely interested, so she took a deep breath and leaned her elbows on the table.

  “Romantic photos, to be precise. Esprit has been…” What? Sinking in depravity? Selling out for the quick buck? Peddling sex instead of art? She went with, “Floundering in its focus for the past few years. I’m hoping this show, my first show since taking over, will get us back on track. We’re shifting away from all other formats to focus exclusively on photography.”

  “Hence turning away the big dick?”

  She grinned. “Exactly. Despite Esprit’s reputation and history, my late husband thought he’d make more money if he shifted focus to erotic art.”

  “Reputation and history? Esprit de l’Art,” he mused. “I know that name for some reason. Something besides Rico talking about it, I mean.”

  “Did you grow up locally?”

  “San Francisco, born and bred,” he confirmed.

  “Then you probably have heard of the gallery. Not only was it declared a historic site seventy years ago, as it was one of the buildings that survived the 1906 fire, but it’s also made the news for the shows and dignitaries it’s drawn over the years. The building itself is owned by the Historical Guild.”

  “Isn’t Esprit one of the most exclusive galleries in Northern California?”

  “Yes,” she said enthusiastically, thrilled that he’d recognized it. “The gallery started out featuring only California artists and subjects. Pretty soon artists were moving to California for a chance to show here. Until four years ago, its main focus was photography.”

  “I remember it now,” he said. Then he smiled with quick charm. “Are you thinking of showing your own work?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “My work isn’t showworthy.”

  “But you want to take my picture?” Unspoken, but clear on his face was the question “Why?” She didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t think admitting he turned her on and she needed to see him objectively before she gave herself permission to strip naked and straddle his body was an appropriate response.

  Especially since it was insane. A woman trying to reclaim—hell, to claim for the first time—control of her life didn’t grab the first opportunity to climb all over a man who’d proved in the first five minutes to be just as domineering as her father, her brothers and her ex-husband.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she demurred. The picture wouldn’t matter. Because this wasn’t going anywhere. She might not be able to control her reaction to the man, but she could damn well control whether she chased after him like a lust-starved groupie.

  MAX WASN’T STUPID. THAT offer to take his picture had been an opening. A very brief one, too, since it looked like it’d closed already. Too bad. He’d pose with a whole forest of penises if it meant she’d give him another one of those dreamy wasn’t-he-the-best-hero-in-the-world? looks.

  “Another drink?” the waitress offered on her way to the bar.

  He saw the automatic no on Sophia’s lips. Then her pale eyes met his and she hesitated. Taking advantage of that millisecond, he tilted his head, winked, then offered, “I have some recent pictures of Rico you might enjoy.”

  “You play dirty,” she murmured with a rueful laugh.

  “I play to win.” The words came easily to his lips, said millions of times over in his life. But now, instead of filling him with inspiration, it just made him tired.

  He’d been raised to win. To win and to take care of responsibilities. But lately, he’d felt as if he’d gone a round with a bomb and lost. Maybe it was burnout. Maybe it was the scare of seeing Rico hurt. Maybe it was the letter listing all the things his mother needed him to do when he got home. Either way, he’d been feeling a little rough.

  At least, he had until Sophia. She was a refreshing treat. Gorgeous and sweet, with just a hint of sass.

  And like any treat, it’d be better if he drew out the enjoyment. So he gave the waitress a smile and, pointing his finger, indicated another round. He shifted his focus back to Sophia and let his smile warm and widen.

  “If you look that pensive over a drink, are you going to give yourself wrinkles if I order a plate of appetizers?” Max asked.

  “Appetizers?” Sophia frowned.

  “It’s not that I’m ignoring your hurry-up-and-drink mandate,” he assured her. “I’m just hungry. Other than airplane food, I haven’t eaten in half a day. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of real, U.S.-made food?”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  There was something in her voice again. Something cautious and a little chilly. But Max could tell from the reluctant amusement dancing in her eyes that he’d be getting his plate of nachos.

  Sophia twisted in her seat and waved her hand to get some attention. The move made her ruffled blouse gape. Just enough to give Max a peek at the golden glory of her full breast and a hint of white lace.

  His mouth went dry. The waitress arrived with their drinks and, after a quick look of inquiry, Sophia ordered the large nacho platt
er. Max could still see her breasts in his mind, though. He imagined sliding his fingers, just the tips, over those lush mounds. Tracing the pristine white lace where it met the silky contrast of her skin. He gulped his beer.

  “You said you had pictures of Rico,” she reminded him when the waitress brought the food.

  Rico.

  Hell.

  Frowning, Max pulled out his cell phone and punched up the photo application. He kept his eyes on the pictures of his squad, the guys still on the front line depending on him. He bit into a cheese-and-shredded-beef-covered chip and told himself to get over the inappropriate lust.

  Rule Number One: You don’t go after a buddy’s sister, even if he gives you permission, unless you’re serious. And serious about sex doesn’t count. That’s quickly followed by rule number, well, probably Rule Number Seven or Eight if he was being honest. Rule Number Eight, then. Don’t hit on vulnerable women.

  Sophia being Rico’s recently widowed sister made her off-limits according to both rules.

  But…

  Max had never met a rule he wasn’t tempted to challenge.

  “Tell me more about the photos you take,” he invited, giving her his most charming smile. “Are they nudes?”

  Her eye roll didn’t quite disguise her amusement.

  “Forget I said anything,” she instructed. She poked her finger at the camera still on the table between them. Then after briefly sucking on her lower lip and trying to drive him insane, she pulled it toward her and said, “I’ll go ahead and get rid of that shot.”

  Max’s hand covered hers before he was aware he’d moved. “Let me get this straight. Not only are you rescinding your offer to take my picture, you’re now going to delete the only shot you do have of me?”

  Her eyes went smoky blue, sparked by a sudden fire that had flared somewhere inside. Max’s body responded to that look as if she’d used it to strip him naked and write dirty suggestions on his bare skin. Instant, flaming passion.

  “Why don’t we take your camera and a pitcher of those margaritas to go and see what kind of scenarios we can shoot,” he said, keeping his tone light, even though he was serious as hell.

  Her eyes rounded. The blue depths held a hint of sexual curiosity that made his ego sing. But if he was reading her correctly, there was worry and just a little fear there, too.

  God, what was wrong with him? Max felt like a bigger dick than the one they’d crated earlier. He was getting all turned on and seeing sexual innuendo in her look that he knew she didn’t intend.

  Rico had described her as innocent, despite her marriage. Sweet. And here Max was, horny as hell, ready and willing to take advantage of that sweet innocence.

  Whether it was his suggestion or if she’d actually read his thoughts, she slipped her hand and the camera away.

  “Like I said, I’m not a professional,” she told him. “And while this was lovely and I really enjoyed hearing about Rico, I really need to get back to the gallery.”

  Taking the rejection in gentlemanly stride, Max nodded. He ignored her insistence on paying the tab, left the waitress a couple of bills and tried to help Sophia from her seat. He was so distracted trying to sort out why he felt so disappointed that he barely noticed her irritation.

  He didn’t want this to end yet.

  All the way across the street, he fought the urge to slip his guiding hand from the small of her back to the curve of her slender waist.

  Like any good soldier, he strategized on his feet. He marshaled his arguments, backup plans and contingencies in the sixty seconds it took them to reach the sidewalk in front of the gallery.

  He had too much respect for her to use the lonely-soldier-home-on-leave ploy, but he wouldn’t hesitate to pull out the Rico card. Yes, he’d love nothing better than to take her away to some secluded rose-covered cottage for a weekend of romance. But he’d settle for dinner. What nonthreatening restaurant should he suggest? The trick would be to keep it light. No scaring her off by hitting hard and horny.

  Then she stumbled. His hand shot out, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her tight against his body. She gave a little cry of surprise.

  “What’re you doing?” she demanded, her words breathless, her eyes huge.

  “Saving you from falling.” And pressing his luck.

  “I don’t need…” Her words trailed off as realized how close they were. So close her scent filled his senses. Close enough for him to see the faint sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin.

  He could see his own desire mirrored in her pale eyes.

  To hell with the rules.

  Two steps and they’d reached the side of her building. He backed her up against the bricks, bracketing her body between his and the wall.

  Max leaned down and took her mouth. Her sweet, tequila-laced gasp reminded him that taking advantage of a woman who’d been drinking was totally out of line.

  Then she gave a little shudder, her breasts shimmying against his chest. She reached up, locked her hands behind his neck and between one breath and the next, she was the one taking his mouth. Her kiss was decadently sweet. Soft. Incredible.

  Her tongue traced his lower lip, then his upper. She nibbled, she rubbed. She tempted.

  She was driving him insane.

  Max groaned. His hands slid down her back, smoothed over her hips. Then, unable to resist, he reached around to cup the delicious curves of her ass. Her delighted little groan brought him to his senses. What the hell was he doing?

  “Not here,” he murmured, pulling away and trying to find his famed control.

  “But here feels so good,” she protested, her hands tightening on the back of his neck.

  “Inside,” he insisted, pulling her arms down and taking her hands.

  The passion in her eyes dimmed, replaced by insecurity. She lifted her chin, giving him a look that made him feel as if he’d just kicked a kitten and now she was going to hiss and spit.

  “Max, I’m sorry,” she started. He didn’t have to hear the rest to know she was handing him a rejection. And since he didn’t want to hear it anyway, Max interrupted.

  “Inside,” he repeated, pulling her around to the front of the building. That kiss had been hot enough to melt his shorts. If she was going to boot him to the curb after it, he’d rather it wasn’t here on the street, with the hostess grinning at them from the cantina across the street.

  Not listening to her sputtering protests, he pulled her through the door.

  But once they’d stepped into the gallery, his defenses immediately shifted from lust to protection. His senses on full alert, he squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Sophia to shield her with his body.

  “Oh, my God,” Sophia breathed, either in shock or because she needed support, her trembling hand clutching the back of his shirt.

  “What the hell happened here?” he demanded.

  4

  SOMEONE HAD MADE DESTRUCTION an art form.

  Max wasn’t an expert, but it looked to him like it totally clashed with the gallery’s decor.

  The two tall ficus trees that flanked the door had been shoved over, a messy arc of leaves and dirt dulling the gleaming surface of the hardwood floor. One of the blue velvet settees flanking the walls had been upended, its wooden legs covered in shards of glass from any of the half-dozen broken picture frames that’d crashed to the floor behind it.

  In the middle of it all was Sophia’s assistant, her face almost the same color as her hair.

  “I was in the back with the shippers, then uncrating the frame order. I heard something and came out to this…” She looked shocked, waving ineffectively at the scattered glass, tears pouring down her cheeks. “The bell over the door never rang. I don’t know…”

  “Call the police,” Max ordered.

  The pixie started bawling and Sophia trembled against his back.

  But neither woman moved toward a phone. Max reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

  Dead.

  Damn.
He hadn’t charged it. Given that his mother and uncle were the only ones in the country who’d be contacting him, he’d preferred to not make it easy for them.

  A quick glance through the showroom didn’t net a phone. “Is the phone in your office?”

  “Yes,” she responded absently, her focus on the mess that’d once been her beautifully pristine showroom. “I need to clean this up.”

  At that, her assistant hurried out of the room.

  “Don’t touch anything until the police get here,” he instructed

  “I can’t just leave it like this.” He could hear the despair in her words. She finally stepped around him to face the mess. Max instantly missed her warmth.

  The pixie returned with a broom. Sophia went to her, hugging the sniffling woman briefly before taking the broom and murmuring a few comforting words.

  “I know it wasn’t my fault,” Gina said tearfully. “But I still feel horrible. I should have been paying better attention after the last time.”

  “This has happened before?” Max snapped.

  Sophia gripped the handle so tight her knuckles were white, but her look was serenely controlled when she glanced back at Max. “This building’s had some problems the past few months. A little graffiti, some vandalism. A few harassing phone calls.”

  Rico was right. She did need protecting.

  “You’ve notified the landlord, right?”

  Sophia sucked in a deep breath. He yanked his gaze from the deliciously tempting curves of her breasts. This was the wrong time to be getting turned on.

  “Max, I appreciate your help. But I can handle things here.”

  “What happened before? What did the police do?” he asked, ignoring her.

  “They can’t do anything,” she repeated. She took the broom back from him. “They’ve been out for the vandalism and the ugly phone calls. All they can do is write a report. There’s no evidence, no witnesses, nothing for them to do anything with.”

  “Right, but they still need to come out. Why don’t you check the rest of the gallery, make sure nothing else was damaged. I’ll go call the cops.” Before she could snap, Max added, “The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can sweep up this mess.”