by Francis Ray
“Of course he does,” she said to Trent, then faced the man glaring down at her and swallowed. “Trent said you were a cowboy, and I just thought you’d want to have your picture taken in your boots, or at least your Stetson.”
Both men stared at Dominique for what seemed countless moments, then met each other’s gazes and burst out laughing. Dominique suddenly felt as if she were the brunt of a joke. “Did I say something funny?”
“Not at all,” Trent said, struggling to stop laughing. “It’s my fault for not making the introductions sooner.” Trent quickly corrected the matter. Dominique’s expression didn’t change.
He and the man exchanged looks again. “You still have no idea who he is, do you?”
“I’m sorry if you’re someone I should recognize,” she said, knowing how some people’s egos were easily bruised when the world didn’t know them. “I’ve been out of touch lately.”
“You’d have to have been out of the country not to know about the world champion Dallas Cowboys, and one of their star team members,” Trent offered.
She had been in Europe, but didn’t think this was the time to tell Trent.
“That’s all ri—girls, get out of there.”
Dominique turned to watch the man move with surprising speed and agility toward the two giggling girls who were in a tangle of clothes and beads. Scooping up one in each arm, he faced her.
The oldest child had a three-foot strand of pearls dangling around her neck; her hand was clamped on the wide brim of a ladies’ straw hat encircled in large poppies. The youngest had a ladies’ shoe dangling from her foot, a pink boa around her neck.
“Sorry, Dominique. I’ll pay for any damage to the clothes and other things.”
Dominique wasn’t thinking about damages. The brawny man holding the two small, giggling girls so tenderly was such a contrast that she knew she had to capture the moment. Reaching for her Hasselblad 503CW, she raised the viewfinder to her eye. The adjustments were smooth, automatic. The motordrive whirled as she took several rapid shots.
The camera lowered. “Please, sit down with the girls in front of the trunk.”
He did so easily, attesting to his strength and also to ease of practice. Here was a loving father who took time with his children. That was what she wanted to capture.
She knew she was right about the relationship as she watched the youngest cup her father’s face with her small hands and kiss him while the oldest leaned contentedly against his wide chest. The camera shutter whirred and whirred.
Ten minutes and seventy-two shots later, she sat back on her booted heels, a satisfied smile on her face. “You have two precious daughters.”
He beamed and hugged the giggling girls to him. “Thanks. They are something, but I thought you wanted to take a picture of me.”
“Your children are an extension of you. Obviously you’re a loving father, and that shows. That’s what I want people to see.”
“What about the Dallas Cowboys?” he asked.
“I know Texas is supposed to be bigger and better, and you’ve obviously shown it by being on the team of the world champions cowboy event, but is a Dallas cowboy really any different from thousands of other cowboys all over the country?” she asked seriously.
Trent’s groan could be heard loud and clear.
Dominique heard the sound and forged ahead, anyway. “I simply think being a loving father speaks more highly of you than your occupation or anything else.”
“So do I.” On bended knees, he untangled the girls from the props and picked them up in his arms. “How soon can you have the proofs ready?”
She came to her feet, the camera clutched securely in her hands. The cost would double to have the slides printed in under seventy-two hours, but she had a feeling the results would be worth it.
“Anytime after noon tomorrow. You can come in at this same time if it’s convenient,” she said, feeling as if her feet were dancing a happy jig although they were still on the floor.
“Good. I’ll bring my wife.”
“I look forward to seeing you then.”
The man looked toward Trent. “If these pictures come out as well as I think, I’ll still be in your debt.”
Trent stuck out his hand. “Why don’t we call it even and start fresh?”
The handshake was sure and strong. “Thought you might say that. Dominique, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As soon as the door closed Trent picked Dominique up and twirled her around. “You were really awesome. You know that!”
“Put me down,” she told him, but she was smiling.
He sat her down, but kept his hands on her small waist. “You don’t have any idea of what you’ve done, do you?”
His happy mood matched hers. “No, but I’ve taken some very good shots. One of them just has to be a twenty by twenty-four or at least a sixteen by twenty.” She groaned as a thought hit. Her happiness took a nosedive. “Oh, no. I forgot to give him a price list. Janice’s friend’s eyes almost popped out this morning when I showed it to her. Do you think he and his wife will be the same way?”
Trent shook his head. “I can’t believe you.”
“What?”
“To you he was just a man and his children.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize him, but he seemed to take it well.”
Trent laughed, sending her stomach into another flurry. “The main thing is that everyone we meet tonight will know who he is. You’re going to be the talk of the party. You’d better take lots of business cards.”
Her eyes glowed. “You really think so?”
“I know so. Come on, I’ll help you pack things up so we can get to the party.” Releasing her, he went to the trunk and began putting the clothes away. “I can’t wait to tell Frank Lloyd why we’re late. He has season tickets to see his favorite team play.”
“Play what?” she asked, pressing the button to remove the film.
He didn’t answer until he stood before her again, a mischievous smile on his face. “Football.”
Predictably her stomach fluttered, but there was something else to be considered. One thing she had learned since her return from Paris was how seriously men in America took football—her father and Daniel included. “I’m ruined.”
“Just the opposite,” Trent said. “Dallas loves the Cowboys, and anybody they love. I’d say business is about to increase.”
“Thanks to you.”
“We’re friends, remember?”
“Friends.”
Chapter Seven
Eyeing herself critically in the full-length mirror, Dominique admitted she wanted to look spectacular and didn’t question the reason why. There was no guarantee that the afternoon’s shoot would develop into a sale, but she felt like celebrating, anyway. The red silk gown she chose was sophisticated, elegant, and sensual.
Grabbing her tiny, red satin handbag shaped like a tulip, she strolled out of the bedroom. Trent was in the living room with Janice. He must have heard her because he glanced toward the door while bringing a glass of iced tea toward his mouth. His mouth gaped.
Dominique finally admitted the real reason she wanted to look good. If the stunned look on Trent’s face was any indication, she had outdone herself.
“You look lovely,” Janice said.
Lovely meant nice and peaceful, Trent thought. There was nothing nice or peaceful about the beguiling woman in red smiling at him. She knew her power, and wasn’t afraid to use it. She was absolutely stunning. Evocative was another word that came to mind. A living fantasy come to life.
He had never seen a woman more alluring, more confident in herself. Her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders like coiled silk. Hunger hit him hard and fast. He reluctantly admitted Dominique had a way of taking him further, faster, than any woman had. It wasn’t a comforting thought.
The glass clinked as he set it on the coffee table and stood. “I’ll apologize early for staring.”
She smiled. “It’s the dress.”
Immediately his gaze swept back over the gown that covered her from neck to knees but also displayed the flawless perfection of the wearer. His mind got him into trouble again—there wasn’t a line anywhere to indicate undergarments. He swallowed. Hard.
“Shall we go? I don’t want us to be too late.”
“Have fun,” Janice told them.
“Goodnight,” Dominique called.
Trent mumbled something, he wasn’t sure what. Dominique could definitely be a problem.
Her skin is like warm velvet, he thought as he led her to his parked car. She smelled exotic and forbidden. He caught himself wanting to lean closer to inhale her fragrance, to touch her in other places to see if she was that soft all over.
“I thought we were going in your truck,” she said, sliding in on the passenger seat of the roomy, champagne-colored Lincoln Towncar.
The dress skimmed up above her knees. He’d like nothing better than to place his hands on her sleek legs and slide the gown up further.
He cleared his throat. “Might have been a tight fit.” She glanced up at him sharply. “Getting in the truck, I mean.”
Closing the door, he went around and got in, hoping he’d have pulled it together better by the time they reached the Lloyds’.
He did, with Dominique’s help. She was in a playful mood, and thirty minutes later when he parked in front of the Tudor-style mansion in far North Dallas, he was back in control.
At the handcarved front door they were greeted by a servant and immediately shown into the living room. All the guests turned to see the new arrivals, who were twenty minutes late.
From the relieved expression on Frank and Ann Lloyd’s faces, Trent knew his and Dominique’s tardiness had worried them. He extended his hand. “Sorry we’re late. Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, I’d like you to meet Dominique Everette.”
Even at sixty-five, Mr. Lloyd was a typical male. His eyes rounded. He recovered nicely. “Glad you could both make it.”
“Welcome to our home,” Mrs. Lloyd said graciously. “Let me introduce you to the rest of our guests.”
The other four couples’ reaction was predictably dictated by gender on seeing Dominique for the first time—the men with open admiration, the women with distrust.
Trent found himself annoyed at all of them, until he remembered his own reaction and noticed that Dominique didn’t appear to mind. She was gracious and charming. When they were shown into dinner, she was complimentary of the table and the room without being effusive.
During dinner the women gradually thawed. By the time the main entree was being served everyone was chatting amicably. It didn’t escape Trent that the reason was probably because Dominique wasn’t paying any more attention to the men than they were paying to her.
They were male enough to enjoy looking at a beautiful woman, but that didn’t mean they loved and cared for their wives any less. Finally Trent was able to relax enough to enjoy his succulent prime rib and baby potatoes.
They were finishing dessert when Mr. Lloyd gave Trent the opening he had been waiting for all evening. “My box is open to any of you who want to come and watch the Cowboys beat up on the Philadelphia Eagles Monday night. Should be a massacre,” he said gleefully.
Ann shot him a pained look. Her husband grinned. Ruefully shaking her head, she asked, “What did you men do before football?”
Frank shook his head of graying hair. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
Everyone laughed.
Trent placed his fork on the empty dessert plate where there had been a large wedge of pecan pie and took the plunge. “Dominique, for one, is glad. Her latest client plays for the Cowboys.”
All eyes turned to her. “Trent, why don’t you tell them?” she suggested easily.
He was only too happy to give them the details. “I had seen the fantastic pictures Dominique took of her godmother and I suggested he come by. But Dominique took one look at his daughters playing dress up and decided to do a family shot.”
All eyes focused on her again. “They were about three and five years old, and just precious,” she said. “I can’t wait until I see the prints.”
“Neither could he. He’s coming back with his wife tomorrow afternoon,” Trent said.
“Are portraits your specialty?” one of the other dinner guests asked.
“Yes, but I don’t like formal poses. I’d much rather create something unique that says something about the individual,” Dominique explained. “The photos this afternoon just happened. It wasn’t planned, but that’s what is going to make them great.”
“How do you know?” asked the man to her left, who was vice-president of a bank.
“I just know. The way a tennis player knows a particular shot is going to win the game. The way you know when the stock is going to plunge or rise. You just know,” she said simply.
He nodded. “I have a six-year-old grandson who loves to fish more than eat. What do you think would fit him?”
“A tattered straw hat, old-fashioned overalls rolled up midway on his legs, a cane fishing pole in one hand, and a tin minnow bucket in the other.”
“Oh,” said the perfectly coiffured woman in a black gown beside him.
Dominique flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you by mentioning the bait.”
“You didn’t,” the woman hastened to say. “I could just see Michael as you pictured.”
“My son likes fishing, too,” said the man across from her. She remembered him as an investment broker.
“Now, Charles,” said the banker. “Our Michael already has the overalls, and I don’t want his picture looking like anyone else’s.”
“Since neither of you have made an appointment with Dominique, I don’t see how you can have pictures alike, and I’m sure you wouldn’t get an idea and let another photographer take the pictures,” Trent said smoothly.
“Of course not,” they chorused.
Dominique caught Trent’s wink and hoped no one else had. The odds were in his favor. She was the center of attention again.
She spoke to the second man. “Perhaps your son likes fishing, but he may have other interests. Reading under a shady tree, drawing, or perhaps he considers it his duty to find every puddle of water on a rainy day and making sure he splashes all the way through them.”
The heavyset man laughed. “Are you sure you haven’t met Ben?”
She smiled, as did everyone. “Although it’s just my brother and I, I grew up with a lot of friends and family around.”
“So how do you work?” asked the first man.
“I like to meet with potential clients first, to get a feel for what they like. The consultation visit is free, of course. If I don’t come up with an idea then, I give the person a call later, when I do.”
“From what I’ve heard tonight, I don’t think there is a chance of having to wait.” He glanced at his wife who nodded. “How soon can you schedule Michael?”
She saw no reason for being coy. “I’m open.”
“You have a card?”
Her expression saddened. “No.”
“Here you go,” Trent said, handing the man her heavily embossed card. “I picked up some while I was in Dominique’s studio this afternoon. I have some friends who are football fanatics who are going to insist she take their picture, as well.”
“May I have one?”
“Yes, me too.”
“Certainly, ladies. Take extra if you need them,” Trent suggested with a smile.
“Maybe you should have her do your picture, Ann,” Frank suggested to his wife. “You know the children and I both have asked you.”
“You know why I haven’t, Frank.” Ann turned toward Dominique. “No offense, Miss Everette, but my pictures don’t turn out too well.”
“Please call me Dominique, and that’s the photographer’s fault, not yours. It’s imperative that the photographer not only have a solid understanding of their equipment, but of
lighting and composition, as well. For your clear complexion I’d use soft lighting and put you in a setting that you enjoyed so you’d be at ease. My bet is it would be your flower garden.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“From what I’ve seen of your lovely home the rooms are marked by soft colors, fresh flowers, and light,” Dominique said. “The botanical prints are as proudly displayed as the other pieces of framed art on your walls.”
Dominique leaned forward to stress her point. “The living room is an easy mix of antiques, plush, upholstered pieces with pink pillows, and fresh flowers in china pots. Despite the elegance, there is a hominess that invites everyone to sit and enjoy. Like this room, it has richness and charm.”
Obviously pleased, Mrs. Lloyd smiled. “Thank you. You’re very observant.”
Dominique sat back in her chair. “A photographer has to be a decorator, as well. The picture has to appear effortless, yet capture the essence of the people in the shot.” She glanced around the dining room. “Just as the refinement here appears effortless, although I’d be willing to bet you put a lot of time and effort into creating the effect.”
“It has taken me years of collecting to finally have the house the way I want it,” Mrs. Lloyd admitted.
“You’ve succeeded admirably.” Dominique nodded toward the French doors. “Decorative lighting outside allows dining room guests to enjoy the flowering gardens and terrace at night. From the size of those brass urns filled with pink geraniums by the doors, I don’t think they were brought in just for tonight.”
“No, they weren’t.” The hostess turned to Trent. “May I please have one of those cards?”
He passed one to her with a smile. “Something tells me Dominique is going to be busy, so tell your friends early so they can beat the rush. I’m thinking about letting her do me.”
“How would you pose Trent?” asked Mr. Lloyd.
All eyes turned to her. For the first time that night Dominique didn’t like the attention on her. “Doing something he obviously loves.” His dark eyebrows lifted in silent query. “Stepping from one of his trucks.”
It was obvious from everyone’s expressions that they were disappointed with her answer. That was fine with Dominique. It was better than shocking them with her first thought—Trent stepping dripping wet from the shower, and not a towel in sight.