He quirked an eyebrow at her as if to say he knew where she was coming from and then he smiled at her, the first smile she’d ever received from him that actually reached his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Even now this smile didn’t totally encompass him. She always had a sense of part of him being closed off, as if he held a jealously guarded secret. “At the least, distraction.”
In the span of a very brief time her self-perception was changing drastically. The way she saw herself was beginning to unravel. Perhaps it had begun with her dreams about Simon and her reaction to him tonight, the way she saw herself since she’d discovered Elliott’s unfaithfulness, the way Simon portrayed her in relation to her parents. In a very short time frame her world had shifted and changed and left her floundering. Perhaps the last year in New York had just been a warm-up, and the closest she’d come to discovering her true self had been in the last few minutes.
And she and Simon were getting real. She’d had a glimpse of the real Simon when he’d photographed her for Elliott. What would she see in herself now, were he to photograph her again? She didn’t want him to retreat again. She didn’t want to dream about him tonight. Tonight she wanted the flesh-and-blood man in her bed.
An idea began to gel. He was so much more approachable when he was behind the camera. If she could talk him into photographing her, she also had a fairly good chance of getting him into her bed.
“Simon, would you do something for me?”
“It depends on what it entails.” Ah, ever cautious, ever reserved Simon wasn’t crawling out on a limb blind.
“I’m more than willing to pay you.”
A wicked smile set her heart thundering. “You’ve definitely caught my attention now.”
Something dark and sexy underlay the note of droll amusement in his voice that sent a wave of desire washing through her. Attention was good for starters, but she definitely wanted more.
“Would you photograph me while we’re waiting on the lights to come on? Not for Elliott this time but for me?”
“I’M NOT FOR HIRE,” HE SAID. Agreeing to photograph Tawny would be a combined act of madness and desperation.
“Oh.” Her disappointment wasn’t feigned.Who was he kidding? He might as well get real with himself. Photographing her would be a sweet torture. Making love to her with his camera was a dismal substitute for actually touching and tasting her but far safer. And when it came down to it, he was incapable of denying her anything. He’d give her the moon if it was his to offer.
“But I will do it for free.”
She shook her head, freeing a few strands of hair that promptly clung to her cheek. She brushed them back. “No. I insist on paying.”
“Trust me. I’m a selfish bastard. You’re much less likely to cry in front of a camera. It isn’t gratis as much as self-preservation.”
“I only cry when I’m really angry, so you’re safe unless you make me mad.” She smiled. “I’m beginning to think you’re not a selfish bastard at all but that’s the image you like to project.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then we’ll barter. I’ll plan a party for you one day.”
“Absolutely.” Right. He had one friend. Elliott. And he wasn’t feeling like throwing a party for him at the moment.
“Or I could set something up more private, for you and your lady if you decided to approach her,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.
“You did offer to help me with my sad love life, didn’t you?”
“I could set up something very nice and romantic. You really should approach her. You’ve got so much to offer a woman.”
“I’ve already agreed to photograph you. Blatant lies aren’t necessary,” Simon said. He laughed to cover his pounding heart.
Tawny smiled and caught him totally off guard when she tossed a small pillow at him and it bounced off of his chest.
“Maybe you need a little dose of your own hard-line truth. Whoever this wonder woman is would be damn lucky to have you. I think you’re hiding a very nice guy behind your aloofness. You’re smart, occasionally very funny, talented, sexy and I give you high marks in the kissing department.”
He didn’t know what the hell to say. “Okay.”
“At least think about it,” she said. “Decide what kind of evening you’d like to have with your own true love. I bet if you ask her, she’ll say yes, and I can take care of the rest.”
She faced him from the other end of the couch like a luscious piece of fruit just out of reach. Well, unfortunately, closer to his reach than was comfortable. And he didn’t have to think about it too hard. He’d want it similar to this. Candlelight. A bottle of wine. Her. Him. Soft, seductive music. He’d sit in a chair and she’d stand just out of reach and slowly peel her clothes off until she was splendidly naked. She’d come closer, close enough for him to touch the velvet of her skin, cup the fullness of her breasts, cull the dew of her desire, inhale the scent of her skin and arousal…. He jerked himself back from the precipice of lust he’d almost plunged over headfirst. “I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Just let me know when.”
“Sure.” He levered himself off the couch and crossed to his equipment stored by her door. “Now that we have an agreement, what’s your favorite room? Your favorite place? Where do you spend most of your time?”
He pulled out his camera and began setting up the lens. He relaxed into the rote task, pleased to focus on something tangible, something other than his feelings for Tawny.
She hesitated. “The couch is my favorite spot.”
He wasn’t buying it. She’d thought about it too long for him to believe her.
He looked at her across the candlelit room. She sat perched on her knees, bracing her arms on the sofa back, watching him.
“Come on, Tawny. What happened to honesty in the dark and all that? Let’s try this again. What’s your favorite place in your flat?”
Her chin rose a notch. Ah, that was his girl. “The tub. It’s an old claw-foot. Great for soaking.”
Click. Instant photo in his head. Her, hair piled atop her head, steam rising, skin glistening. He swallowed.
“What’s your next favorite place?” No way she missed the hoarseness in his voice, but bloody hell, he was only human.
“The bedroom.” Only marginally safer than the bathroom, with her big sleigh bed, but at least naked wasn’t a given. “And my least favorite room is the kitchen. I don’t like to cook and neither the kitchen nor this room has windows. They feel claustrophobic.”
“Then let’s photograph you in the bedroom.” He strove for a professional tone. She’d hit on the perfect solution to his problem. Photographing her, he became a professional engaged in a shoot instead of Simon Thackeray besotted with Tawny Edwards.
“I definitely want to change clothes. I’m hot and sticky.”
“Fine. Take your time. I’ll finish setting up my equipment.”
“It won’t take me long.” She picked up a candle and hesitated. “Would you, uh, mind just walking me to the bedroom until I light the candles?” That’s right, he’d blown them out earlier. “I hate walking into a dark room.”
She had major issues with the dark. But then again, he had major issues with getting too close in relationships. He knew that. Particularly after one of his girlfriends had flung the accusation at him on her way out the door. Everyone had their own neuroses to bear. “Sure. I’ll lead the way so you don’t have to walk into the dark room.”
“Thank you, Simon.”
Her soft voice with it’s honeyed Southern drawl slid beneath his skin. Ridiculous, really, that she looked at him as if he’d just agreed to slay dragons on her behalf. Even more ridiculous how good it made him feel.
“You’re welcome, Tawny.”
A fat candle in hand, he led the way, aware of her close behind him. Unfortunately for him, he now knew how delicious her mouth tasted, how her curves fit against his body as if she’d been tailor-made for him. Just before he reached her room, she place
d her hand lightly on his back. Her touch hummed through him.
“Wait a minute. Let’s stop by the bathroom. A nice cold washcloth would be heavenly right now. I bet you could use one, too.”
How about a nice icy shower? But he’d get by with a cool cloth. “Sure.”
He stepped through the dark doorway to his left, the candle illuminating a rectangular room with a small, high window. A claw-foot tub with a circular shower curtain pushed to one side sat beneath the window. The mirror over the sink reflected his light and brightened the bathroom.
Simon sucked in a deep breath as her hip and breast brushed his side, her fingers slid along his back as she squeezed past him in the confines.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“No problem.”
She placed her votive on a small shelf next to the sink. Thick, fluffy towels and washcloths sat neatly folded in an open cabinet. She plucked two cloths from the stack and held them under the cold-water tap.
Simon waited beside the sink, next to the door. She squeezed excess water from the cloth and passed one to him.
He ran it over his heated face and watched Tawny do the same. She slid the cloth over her neck, rolling her head to one side and then the other. A half moan, half sigh escaped her. “How good does this feel?” she asked, her voice low, husky, intimate.
“It’s somewhere past good.” Icy droplets trickled down his throat, raising gooseflesh. It wouldn’t surprise him to hear the water sizzle on his skin. She definitely had him hot and bothered. The cloth might be cooling him down, but she was heating him right back up.
“Here. Let me wet it again.” She took his cloth and held it under the cold faucet. She held it out to him dripping wet.
Simon set his candle on the widest portion of the sink and took the cloth from her, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange. The brief contact fired through him.
“Have you ever been this hot before?” she asked. “If I spontaneously combust, douse me with water to put out the flames.”
Simon had no idea where it came from, but he ran with his impulse. “Like this?” he asked. He stepped closer and squeezed the cloth, cascading water over her shoulder.
She gasped, whether at the shock of the cool water or at his audacity or perhaps both, and then laughed. “Oh, you…”
“Or like this?” He sent another round of droplets skittering down her back, bared by her top.
“Maybe more like this.” She reached up and squeezed her cloth at the base of this throat, sending a cool stream down the front of his T-shirt.
He laughed and retaliated. She shrieked and didn’t bother with the washcloth, cupping her hands beneath the water and tossing it his way. Within seconds they were both drenched. One of them, their aim so bad, doused the big candle. It sputtered out and ended their water play. Only the small votive flickered, plunging them into intimacy.
“Oops,” Tawny said. “That was fun.”
Her hair hung drunkenly from its clip. Water sparkled against her skin. The cold water had her nipples standing at full attention against the wet material of her shirt. Simon swallowed hard and looked her in the eyes. Just don’t look back down.
He cleared his throat. “It was fun.”
He had no idea he could be so playful. Water fights had never happened in his house. Hell, fun hadn’t happened in his house. His parents had taken their jobs and life very seriously. They still did.
She grabbed a towel off of the stack and he reached for it. She bypassed his hand and instead began to rub his wet hair herself.
“I can do that myself,” he said.
“I know.” She gentled the towel along his jaw, slid the thick, soft cotton down the column of his throat. “But there, I’ve taken care of it.”
She took a step back and, using the same towel, blotted her face. Simon held out his hand and she gave the towel over to him.
“I can do this myself,” she said, echoing his earlier declaration.
“I know.” He eased the towel over the length of her neck, across the delicate line of her collarbone, into the valley created by her breasts. Simon made sure only the cotton cloth touched her skin. He moved behind her and slowly, carefully dried her shoulders and the expanse of sweet skin along her spine. He knelt on one knee and drew the towel along her thighs, the backs of her knees, her calves.
“Turn around for me.”
She pivoted slowly and he once again slid the towel the length of her legs, the material whispering over her skin.
He stood and silently handed her the towel.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No problem.”
At least there wouldn’t be as soon as they got out of this confined space where she smelled too good, looked too good, felt too good. He picked up the candle she’d carried in. The sooner he got her to her room and put his camera between them, the better off they’d both be.
6
SHE WAS IN DEEP DOO-DOO. Something had just happened there in the bathroom, without even a kiss or an overt touch. She’d gone from mere lust to infatuation. Every inch of her knew that it was no longer a matter of if they wound up in her bed together tonight but when. He couldn’t possibly touch her with such tenderness and not want her. And while part of her was keyed up in anticipation, the knowledge also put her somewhat at ease.
Simon lit the last of the candles in her bedroom.“I have a couple of T-shirts that are big on me. They’d probably be tight on you, but at least they wouldn’t be wet.” She fished out a shirt she occasionally slept in because it was two sizes too big. “How about this?”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll just hold on to it until you get out of that wet one.” She knew what she wanted and she was going for it. Him.
“Were you planning to watch?”
“Unless you object. A girl’s got to get her thrills where she can.”
“I’m not sure that I qualify as a thrill.”
“I’m certain you do.”
Simon tugged his T-shirt loose from his jeans and peeled it up and off his body. Sweet mercy, the man had a body to die for. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and nicely trim in between. She felt like Goldilocks who’d just discovered the perfect male. Oh my, that one had been too big and hairy. And oops, that one was too hairless and skinny. But, oh baby, this one was just right. And however cliché it was, she found it incredibly sexy the way that dark hair trailed past his navel and disappeared below the waistband of those jeans.
“You, Simon Thackeray, were built to thrill. I’m very…thrilled.”
He grinned. Not the arrogant smirk of an overinflated ego but that of a man pleased to be appreciated.
“You want to toss me that shirt you’re holding on to?” he said.
She sighed audibly. “I will if I absolutely have to. Don’t feel compelled to get dressed on my account.” Nonetheless, she tossed it to him.
He caught it single-handedly and sobered. “Are you flirting with me, Tawny?”
“Yes, Simon, I am. Shamelessly.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No. Not really. I think it’s probably a very bad idea, but I’m certainly enjoying it. How about you?” she said.
“Am I enjoying it or do I think it’s a good idea?”
“Both.”
“I have to go with you on both counts. I’m enjoying it and I’m sure it’s a bad idea.” He pulled the shirt over his head, hiding that yummy physique.
Spoilsport.
But not to worry, she planned to get it back off of him soon enough.
THERE WAS SOMETHING VERY intimate about being in her candlelit bedroom, knowing she was about to undress. “Hold on a minute. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He sprinted back to the den, snagged his camera and was back in her bedroom within a minute. “I want to capture the moment, the anticipation, the preparation, not just the finished product.” Hell, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he was damn near certain it was a bad idea. But no worse
than being here now. And photographing her was safer than kissing her.When he shot, he became one with the camera. He could be himself behind the lens.
“You want to photograph me changing clothes?”
“Not while you’re actually changing but while you’re getting ready. Plus it gets you used to being in front of the camera. Just forget I’m here.”
She looked across the room, her eyes holding his. It was a look, one breath away from smoldering, that acknowledged him as a man she’d kissed earlier. “I can’t do that.”
“Can you forget the camera’s here?” He was proud of his steady tone. He didn’t feel steady.
“I think so.”
He fired off a couple of shots, just to get her used to it. She smiled, self-conscious and awkward. “Just relax,” he reminded her. If he could keep her talking, a stream of distracting chatter, she’d also relax. “Do you have your hair up because it’s cooler that way?”
“Yes. But it’s so hot now, I don’t think it’s going to matter. And I should do something with it anyway.” She turned her back to him and pulled the barrette out and let her hair tumble past her shoulders. His shutter whirred. She shook her head and pushed her fingers through it. He shot again. She looked at him in the mirror, a beguiling mixture of longing and uncertainty, and his heart pounded. Was there anything more enchanting, more intimate, than a woman taking her hair down?
“Better?” she asked.
Click. “Perfect. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
She raised her arms and reached beneath the fall of her hair. “Beautiful. Beautiful delineation of your neck, shoulders and arms. A study in perfection. A work of art.”
“You don’t have to say those things, you know.”
“I know. But it’s true.” And it would be so much better without the interfering lines of her halter top. “Keep your back to me and take your top off,” he said, automatically instructing her in what would give the best shot of her back.
“Is that how you get women to undress for you? A few complimentary phrases?” She glanced over her shoulder, laughing, teasing but with a sexy glint in her eyes.
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