They weren’t in the bedroom. Heck, they hadn’t even gotten out of the kitchen. Not his idea of romance, but she guided him into her heat, and he was lost. Her gaze locked on his as he began to move, and as he put one hand on the wall to thrust, her gaze never leaving his until she closed her eyes and made that noise deep in her throat that told him she was beginning to orgasm. “Yes,” she told him, her eyes opening as she lifted her head to kiss him. “Oh yes.”
Joe felt his own release power up until he let himself go deep inside. Then he cradled her. “I’ll never look at this wall the same.”
“Good,” she told him, her breath beginning to slow. “Because that was good. Really good.”
He drew her further into his arms. “How about we get you cleaned up?”
“I am ready for the shower,” she told him, the desire evident. “My turn to tick check.”
He guided her into the bathroom, turned on the shower full force. He’d never showered with a woman before, but Taylor wasn’t just anyone. Just like what had happened in the kitchen, he wanted this experience with her. He tested the water. Perfect. “Time to get wet.”
Three hours later, Joe traced circles on her bare skin. “Okay, I want to see the shots.”
She walked naked into the living room, returned with her camera to the bedroom. They lay together as she showed him the shots.
“They’re good,” he approved.
“Thank you. I only need to make a few minor lighting corrections.”
Joe admitted he looked great for a guy who didn’t like being photographed. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable letting anyone see them. I’m still not sure if I want to be in the burn survivors book. Especially with the calendar out too.”
“Why don’t you let me retouch them and you can decide? Personally, I think they’re very sexy. I prefer these to Mr. September’s shot. You’re exposed. Vulnerable.”
“No guy wants to be either,” Joe pointed out. He moved his finger up her arm to her shoulder.
“More human. Women like to know the man beneath the tough exterior. Like me with you. I definitely like you better than I did that first day.”
“It’s the Marino charm.”
“It’s more than that, and you and I both know it.” She placed the camera safely onto the nightstand and inhaled. “I might be falling for you.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It is if you don’t think you’re falling for me. That this is just sex.”
Joe’s gaze searched hers. “It’s more than just sex.”
Taylor exhaled. “Good. That makes me happy.”
“I want to make you happy,” Joe told her.
Taylor curved into him. He’d agreed to the photos. Doing the shoot had been a huge step. He’d done it because he trusted her. A warm feeling overtook her. Yes, this was more than sex.
He lowered his lips to her shoulder. “By the way,” he told her between kisses, “before I forget, I’m working this weekend.”
“On the fourth?” That was Friday.
“All of it. I’m picking up a shift for Parker on Sunday, so I’m going to do more than my normal forty-eight and pull some overtime. He and Susie are taking Winnie on a mini-vacation.”
“A vacation sounds nice. I’m scheduled at Presley’s. It’s not as busy now that Fair St. Louis moved to Forest Park.”
“So we wouldn’t have seen each other much anyway. And you won’t miss much.”
“Only the fireworks. I always liked seeing those.”
“How about we create some of our own?”
She flipped over and reached for the part of him that was ready for her. Wondered if she’d ever get enough of him. “A very good idea.”
* * *
Once the holiday hit, she didn’t see Joe again until Monday, July 7, and then she saw him only briefly, for his brothers were all going fishing and camping for two days and he’d agreed to go with. She didn’t mind. She was mostly wrapping up her photo shoots and, thanks to both Joe’s mom and Virginia, she had a lot of work.
Also, after he’d left, in a display of how small town St. Louis really was, her mom’s friend’s connection at St. Louis Magazine was none other than Ginger Redmond. When Ginger had realized who Taylor was after she had shot her family portraits, she had offered Taylor a job.
Taylor had a week to decide whether to accept, but she been on cloud nine ever since the offer and planned to say yes. While the pay wasn’t much, it was decent, full-time work, with health insurance. Even better, she could keep doing freelance photography and quit Presley’s.
As she waited in the conference room for her Wednesday afternoon appointment with her professor, she checked her phone, laughing at a text from Joe. He’d sent her a picture of his only catch—a pathetic tiny sunfish he’d thrown back into the stream.
“Taylor. Good to see you.” Her professor shook her hand. Sat down. “Thanks for e-mailing these. I’ve had a chance to look through them.”
“And?” She scooted to the edge of the chair.
“Congratulations. This is exactly what I wanted.”
Taylor resisted the urge to jubilantly thrust fisted hands in the air. “Also”—and for the first time her professor really smiled—“I’m proud to tell you that five of your photos will be on display in our summer juried art show. While the deadline’s passed, I contacted the director on your behalf and upon seeing your work, he made a special exception, something I’ve never seen him do. It’s last minute, but the show’s this Friday night at seven. I took the liberty of giving him the go-ahead. Your photos are being printed as we speak.”
Taylor gasped. “This Friday?” Oh God. She hadn’t expected this. She planned to show her professor her pictures, go home, and pop some bubbly. The photos she’d used, the ones Joe hadn’t yet wanted her to show the general public even in his book, were about to go on display. “So I’m in the show.”
Her professor nodded. “Yes. From seven to ten. You can be here?”
She’d have to change her Presley’s shift, but that was doable. Soon she’d be able to quit waitressing altogether. What was really important, though, was telling Joe. And praying he didn’t believe she’d used him.
“Invite your family and friends. It’s quite an honor. Congratulations, Taylor. After Friday night, your degree is complete. I have to run, but I’ll see you at the gallery.”
She sat there, stunned, the directions to the gallery in hand. A job offer. Her degree. Inclusion in the summer show. Perhaps Joe had been correct, for suddenly Lady Luck seemed to have entered Taylor’s life. Maybe whatever cosmic bill she’d owed had been stamped “Paid in Full.”
Except for the fact that she had to tell Joe. She wouldn’t see him tonight as he wouldn’t be back until after midnight, and he would start a twenty-four hour work shift tomorrow at seven a.m. He couldn’t attend her show—so he wouldn’t see the photos anyway.
They had planned to see each other all day Saturday, and then on Sunday she was taking his family’s portraits. Tonight she’d just mention that her project was done and that she’d been included in the show. Saturday, she’d tell him everything. Also, Owen had stopped texting her, so she could tell him not to worry. She’d been right. Silence was golden, and ignoring Owen had been best.
* * *
Friday night Taylor wore the strapless peach Alice and Olivia dress she’d worn to Virginia’s dinner party. As she stepped into the art gallery with her mother, she worked to calm her nerves. Around the room, people studied and discussed the pieces on display. A crowd stood in front of her set of five pictures, which included Joe’s victory photo and the photo of him in the field.
“Beautiful work,” her mother said as she wove her way through the crowd. “Proud of you. Your dad would be too. I’m glad I’m here. I’d miss Bunco for this any day.”
“Thanks.” A tear misted in Taylor’s eye, and she blinked it away. “I had a good subject.”
A woman overheard her and turned to Taylor. “Are you t
he artist?”
“The photographer, yes,” Taylor confirmed.
“Is your work for sale?”
Taylor shook her head, the updo not budging. “Oh, no. I couldn’t part with these.”
She handed Taylor her business card. “If you change your mind, call me.”
Her mother stared at Taylor. “Did you hear her? She wanted to buy your work.”
“I can’t sell Joe, Mom.”
Her mother studied the photographs, which had been printed 16 x 20, matted, and framed. “No, I guess not. I didn’t realize he’d been burned.”
“Yes,” Taylor said, glad only one of those photos hung on the wall. Guilt crept in. She’d violated Joe’s trust. Taking the path of least resistance didn’t sit well.
“Hey, sorry we’re late.” Marci blew into the space. “Mrs. Krebs, this is Thad. Thad, Taylor and my second mom.”
“Nice to meet you,” Thad said. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Glad you could make it.” Taylor gave Marci a hug.
“You’re my best friend,” Marci said. “Even with twenty-four hours’ notice, I wouldn’t miss it. Just forgive us for not staying long. “
“That’s right. You had the play.”
“We still have time to make it as long as you don’t mind we’re just popping by.”
Taylor shook her head. “Of course not.”
“These are really great,” Marci said. “I can see why you love him.”
“I don’t …” Taylor started to protest, then closed her mouth. Joe consumed her thoughts. Made her happy. She counted the minutes until she’d see him again. As conversation flowed around her, Taylor pulled herself back into the present. Saturday would come soon enough, and she had so much to share. Please let him forgive me. Please let him understand.
“Sorry we couldn’t stay longer,” Marci said as she gave Taylor a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“You better,” Taylor said, watching as Marci and Thad left. She turned back to her work, studying the expression on Joe’s face, the one that hinted at his hidden depths.
“These are good. I always knew you’d do great work.”
Taylor froze. She recognized that voice. Owen.
She turned slowly, seeing him standing next to her. Her photographer’s eye still saw him as beautiful, but her heart and head knew what lurked underneath his Nordic god looks. Dread filled her. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk and you won’t return my texts.”
She folded her arms, refusing to be intimidated. “We have nothing to say.”
Taylor’s mother put a hand on her daughter’s elbow. “Perhaps you should hear him out.”
Taylor whirled to face her mom. “You’re the one who gave him my phone number?”
“Yes, but I didn’t invite him here tonight. He stopped by the house earlier, and I mentioned that I was meeting you—Oh.” Her mom’s face fell. “Owen, you shouldn’t have come here,” Taylor’s mom chastised.
“I’m desperate. Hear me out. Then I’ll go,” Owen pleaded. “Let me tell you what I told your mother. I’m sorry if I scared you again. I don’t mean you any harm. Please.”
Taylor, not wanting to create a scene, fumed, trapped. “Okay. Talk.”
He shoved his hands into his dress pants pockets. Only a few inches taller, she stared at him eye to eye.
“I came to apologize.”
Her lips puckered. “It’s far too late for that.”
His earnest expression didn’t waver. “I know, but it’s part of my program.”
“What, are you doing Twelve Steps?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Really?” She hadn’t been expecting that answer. Had been sarcastic. She paused. Took a good, long, hard look.
“Making direct amends to people I’ve harmed is Step Nine.” He pulled a chip out of his pocket. Held it out so she could see. “I’ve been sober over a year. Alcohol interferes with my bipolar medication.”
She frowned. Couldn’t quite believe. “I saw you at Presley’s. Your table ordered a bucket of beer.”
“But I didn’t drink any. I’m always the designated driver.” He glanced around. More people were coming to view her photos. “Do you mind if we step away, just a little?”
“There’s a bench over there.” Taylor pointed to an alcove where she’d still be in view of her mom. “I do want to hear this,” she told him. “But I think I need to sit down.”
* * *
When Joe’s cell phone buzzed around seven thirty, he was twelve hours away from the end of his shift, which so far had included four car accidents, three overdoses, two heart attacks, and a grease fire. The latter was the most recent call, and the reason he currently smelled like smoke. While the family would need a new kitchen, luckily no one had been injured.
Just off the truck, he stood in the bay and answered the call. “This is Joe.”
“It’s Marci.”
“Hey.” Joe’s nerves went on high alert. “What’s going on?”
“I was at Taylor’s art show, and when I left I saw Owen.”
“You mean the art show for her class?” He’d assumed when she’d told him about the show it was a class thing. Like everyone in her class shared a picture or something. It was public?
“Yes, that art show.” Marci named the gallery, and Joe’s frown deepened. “I saw Owen walking in when I was driving away. Her mom is with her, but I’m worried.”
“She’ll be okay, Marci. I’m on it.”
“Thanks. I’m at the theater and the play’s about to start. I’m on a date. Do you need me?”
“No. I’ve got it. Stay on your date.” Joe hung up. Cursed. Loudly.
“You okay, lieutenant?” Reid asked.
No, he wasn’t okay. Far from it. He was trapped. The truck needed four guys. There was no way he could get to Taylor. He had to help her, but he was the senior officer on duty. He couldn’t leave.
Not without a replacement.
“Give me a minute.” He dialed Susie’s number. She answered. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Parker home?”
“Yes. He’s putting Winnie to bed.”
“I need him.”
She must have heard the urgency in his voice, for Parker was immediately on the line. “Hey, Joe. What’s up?”
“I need you to cover for me.” Joe said, mentally calculating that Parker lived less than five minutes away.
“Sure, no problem. When?”
“Right now,” Joe told him. “I need you right now.”
* * *
An hour later, Taylor remained on the bench talking to Owen. She couldn’t fathom everything he’d told her. Upon their breakup, he’d gone ballistic. “The restraining order was the wake-up call,” he’d told her. “I lost it. But eventually I had to admit I was stalking you.”
“You didn’t attend the hearing. That’s why the judge granted it.”
“I refused to accept I was at fault. I blamed you. Hell, I blamed everyone for my problems and actions. Then one day I woke up drunk off my ass and wanted to kill myself. And I got help. Took two weeks and checked into a clinic. It saved my life.”
The medicine had made a difference, he’d told her. He’d also stopped drinking, which hadn’t been easy. He’d changed jobs, giving himself a fresh start. Two years later, he’d begun really applying the Twelve Steps. “I want to marry Emily,” he told her. “I love her. She knows my past, but she didn’t live through it. She accepts me for me. She makes me happy. But I couldn’t move on until I’d apologized to you. I did a number on you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you again. I really had to convince your mom to give me your number.”
“She probably should have mentioned it.”
“I asked her not to; she agreed it was our business. Your mom is the type that gives someone a second chance.”
“Yes, that she does,” Taylor said. She’d talk with her misguided mother later. However, she understood her
mother’s reasoning. Her mom wanted Taylor to have peace, and now, after talking to Owen, an odd peace had settled over her. She’d never have to look behind her again. Owen had moved on. She had too. Her future was the man in the photograph—the man who had just walked in wearing turnout pants, suspenders, a blue T-shirt, and a layer of soot. A murmur raced through the crowd.
She rose to her feet, shocked. “Joe?”
“Taylor?” He strode over. Glared angrily at Owen, who’d risen shakily to his feet. She put her hand out, stopping Joe before he reached out and throttled her ex. “Marci called me.”
Marci. Another meddler. Taylor wrapped her fingers around his arm, smelled the smoke that clung to him. He’d been fighting a fire. “I’m okay.”
Taylor’s mom joined the queue. Thrust out her hand. “You must be Joe. I’m Taylor’s mom Deidre.”
“Taylor, thank you for speaking with me.” Owen tried to ease away.
“Don’t move,” Joe commanded. Owen froze.
“Owen came to apologize,” Taylor told him. “He’s doing Twelve Steps. It seems my mom gave him my number.”
“And did you accept his apology?”
“I did. He’s going to marry that girl you saw at Presley’s.”
Joe stared down Owen until the smaller man flinched and withered. “If you’re done, get out. Don’t ever bother Taylor again.”
“Got it.” As Owen backtracked, Taylor knew she’d never see him again. Her professor approached. “Is there a problem?”
“No, none,” Taylor inserted quickly. Her hand still on Joe, she could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
“You’re the guy in the photographs.” Oblivious, he stuck his hand out. “I’ve worked with Taylor for a year now and this is the best work I’ve ever seen her produce. I told her to capture your humanity. Your soul. She did just that. In fact, Taylor, I want to be the first to congratulate you. You’ve won.”
“Won?”
“Yes. We’ll announce it from the podium in five minutes, so don’t go anywhere, but the thousand-dollar cash prize is yours. I couldn’t be more pleased. I had to really push Taylor to take these photos, but you were the perfect subject,” he told Joe. “So raw and emotional. Perfect.”
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