Bared

by Jill Shalvis

  “Rafe pull his cool, distant routine on you again? Oh, honey, don’t take it personally. He doesn’t really have a thing for models, you know? If he had his way, he’d be out taking pictures of…I don’t know. Stuff. Not people, I don’t think. So if he’s all chilly and remote on you, just shrug it off.”

  Chilly and remote?

  Ha!

  That hadn’t exactly been the problem.

  No, the issue was her own.

  Basically, her life had been easy up until now, just a series of stories she put together to give other people pleasure and to keep herself so busy that she didn’t have time for anything else.

  Then she’d taken one look at Rafe Delacantro on a dark, stormy Hawaiian island and everything had changed. She’d wanted, she’d craved, and she hadn’t wavered from that want and craving until she’d gotten it.

  And oh, how she’d gotten it.

  She’d gotten hot and wild. She’d gotten the incentive she needed to spice up her storylines for the next ten years.

  Next time.

  Oh, dear God, he wanted a next time, and there’d be even more.

  Her heart started a rapid tattoo just at the thought. Because the truth was, she wanted a next time, too.

  12

  RAFE STOOD AT THE TOP of Donner Summit Pass, the wind tossing his face and clothes, the sun at this high altitude seeming so close he could almost touch it, and drew in a deep breath. Beyond him stood the majestic Sierras, tall and craggy, lined with a carpet of towering pines and sage, dotted with the snow that unbelievably hadn’t melted yet, even though it was June.

  Again, he was an entire world away from Los Angeles and again he was loving it.

  They’d flown up here, in an eight-seater Cessna—a “butt squeaker,” Stone had called it—and had hooked up with a local who’d shown them the quickest way to get to the snow. It had involved a short hike but they’d gotten the shot they needed, with their model in a stark white zip-up leather suit, straddling a snowmobile and looking outrageously sexy.

  On the flight up here, he’d ridden shotgun with the pilot, with his model in the far, far back, and because he’d been busy talking to the pilot when everyone had loaded, he hadn’t gotten a good look at her.

  Until they’d stepped off the plane he hadn’t known who he was shooting today.

  But one look into her fathomless light-brown eyes and he’d known. Emma. Emma, wanting desperately to be mistaken for Amber. The looks she shot him were filled with anxiety—that he’d reveal her, that he’d somehow refer to what they’d done in his pool—as well as a reluctant awareness.

  If she thought he was going to tell anyone what had happened between them, she was sorely mistaken. He didn’t want to share the details of an experience that had rocked his world.

  So for the shoot he’d given her the anonymity she seemed to crave. He’d done it because he’d needed it as well, because if he acknowledged that she wasn’t Amber, that she was indeed the woman he had slowly stripped and had begun to make love to, he didn’t know how to be just her photographer.

  But now the shoot was over and people were making their way back to the small, private Truckee/Tahoe airport where the Cessna waited to take them back to L.A.

  Standing on the tarmac while everyone loaded up, Rafe maneuvered his way close to Emma. She’d changed out of the leather cat-suit that had looked amazing on her, and now wore simple black jeans and a white sweater. She’d pulled her beautiful hair back in a clip and had washed off all the makeup. She looked about sixteen. She stood with her head tilted back, soaking in the wide-open blue sky that seemed so much larger up here in the Sierras than it ever did at home.

  When he touched her hand, she jumped a little and shot him a wary look.

  “Emma.”

  She let out a long breath. “The way you do that…You know you’re the only one who can tell us apart.”

  “It’s not hard for me.”

  She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure she liked that.

  “I love the way you look in your own clothes.”

  Her expression went from wary to startled in a heartbeat, and then she laughed. “Yeah.”

  “I do.”

  She shook her head and looked at the mountains surrounding them, at the lovely valley just beyond the airport where wild grass shifted in the wind, making the land look alive. “After all the exquisite clothing you’ve been exposed to on a daily basis,” she said, “you like my plain jeans and a sweater?”

  “No, I like you in the jeans and sweater.” He grinned. “Actually, I like you in nothing at all, but—”

  “Shh!” She covered his mouth with her hand and looked around, but relaxed when she realized no one was paying attention to them. She turned back to his still-smiling face, and had to shake her head and let out her own smile. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  He pulled her hand free and kept it in his own. “I’m glad it’s you here doing this.”

  “When did you know?”

  “When I saw your face.”

  “After we got off the plane?”

  “I tried to see you before, but you were good at keeping your face averted on the ride up here.”

  She looked out to the valley again, then sighed. “I don’t know why that sticks with me—that you see me when no one else does.”

  “You’re softer than Amber.”

  She stared at him; she slowly shook her head.

  “Sweeter.”

  “Stop it.”

  “And your breathing changes when you look at me.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Really?” He shifted subtly closer. Anyone looking at them would have sworn they were just having an easy conversation, heads together so that they could hear each other over the roar of the Cessna’s engines starting.

  But with his shoulders and body blocking Emma from view, he stroked his hand up her back, then slowly back down, applying just enough pressure that she had no choice but to take the last step between them. Her hand came up against his chest to brace herself and, in the guise of telling her something, he leaned in and nuzzled just beneath her ear.

  That she let out a shaky breath, that he felt her shiver, told him everything he needed to know.

  “How did the writing go last week?” he murmured. “Between the pool shoot and now?”

  “I—”

  When he nibbled her throat, she let out a helpless moan that reverberated through him and was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

  “—I can’t think with your mouth on me, Rafe.”

  He lifted his head and smiled at her, his hand still low on her back, fingers spread wide to touch as much of her as possible. “I like it when you say my name like that, just a little breathless.” He stroked her again. “Tell me about the writing.”

  “If you believe that I can think with your hands on me, think again.”

  “Hey, I can’t even think when you’re standing right here in front of me.”

  That seemed to surprise her, but why, he had no idea. Did she really think she didn’t affect him?

  “I called you,” he said.

  “I know.” She glanced over at the plane, where everyone had loaded but them. No one seemed to notice the two of them talking. “I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you again.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “Yeah.” She looked into his eyes then. “Here I am.” She dropped her gaze to his mouth. The wind had loosened a couple of strands of her hair, one of which clung to his jaw. He left it there, a damn good sign of how far gone over this woman he was.

  “You asked me about the writing.” Her eyes lit with wry humor. “The executives at the studio didn’t know what to make of all the sex I put on the page. They told me to keep doing whatever it was I was doing to get inspired.”

  Rafe grinned, and the hand he had low on her back drifted a little lower, brushing over the very sweet curve of her butt, squeezing once before rising again. “Keeping you inspired
would be my pleasure.”

  She looked intrigued, but also slightly wary again. “We’ve got to get on board,” she said, eyeing the pilot talking to two men from inside the airport. He was shaking his head and consulting his clipboard, and he didn’t look happy. “I think they’re waiting on us.”

  “I have an idea.”

  She eyed him. “Yes, well, I have an idea what your idea is.”

  He laughed. “I’m capable of thinking of something other than sex.”

  Looking doubtful, she cocked her head and studied his expression. “I’m going to be sorry I asked, but what’s your idea?”

  “Stay with me here in Tahoe tonight.”

  “I thought this was an idea about something other than sex.”

  “It is. We’ll find something fun to do, have a great meal, and then go to a bed and breakfast. Fly home tomorrow, instead.”

  She blinked. “That sounds like a date. A very long one.”

  With his mouth so close to her ear, he could breathe her in with every breath. He kissed her neck, felt her tremor and knew they had to follow this through. “After everything else we’ve done, don’t you think a date would be almost tame?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know…”

  “You wanted hot and wild. Granted, you got a nice start on it, and I had to take cold showers all week, but there’s more, so much more—” He laughed softly when she blushed. “Don’t be shy now. Come on, Emma, aren’t you in the least bit curious about the rest? I mean, we practically burn each other up just from kissing. Let’s see where this goes.”

  “You’re talking physically.”

  He knew she’d shy away from more, plus he wasn’t ready to go there, either. “Yes.”

  Her gaze had drifted out to the mountains again and then she brought it back to him. “In the name of research.”

  “Does that make you feel better? To call it something other than what it is, which is an attraction, a deep one?”

  She let out a huff of air but had the good grace to smile. “I believe it does.”

  “Whatever works for you, then. I just…want you.”

  “Rafe—” She was still smiling, but she was going to say no, he could feel it.

  But then the pilot appeared at their side, his clipboard gripped tight in his fist. “They’re saying we’re overloaded. They’ll let on one more person, but then we’re at maximum capacity.”

  Rafe craned his neck and looked at the plane. “How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Maybe you all ate too much while you were here.” He offered a feeble smile.

  They must have flown up here overloaded. Rafe thought about all the small plane tragedies he’d ever heard about, and felt a little sick.

  “Someone’s got to stay,” the pilot said apologetically. “I’ll charter another flight for whoever does, or come back for them myself.”

  Emma looked at the plane, then around them at the incredible landscape, and finally, back at Rafe. Without taking her eyes off him, she said to the pilot, “The two of us can stay.”

  “Only one of you needs to,” the pilot said.

  “But two of us are going to.” Rafe held Emma’s gaze.

  “Thank you,” their pilot said sincerely, clearly relieved to have the problem solved without trouble.

  Rafe smiled at Emma, who smiled back, albeit tremulously.

  She was unsure and, honestly, he felt the same. They had a large expanse of time stretching out in front of them, to do whatever they wanted.

  The only problem was, he wasn’t sure it would be long enough.

  THE TRUCKEE/TAHOE AIRPORT was about ten miles outside of Lake Tahoe, in the small, quaint town of Truckee. They’d gotten hotel rooms, found the town, and had changed before going for dinner. They decided on the restaurant in the lovely hotel downtown where they were staying, a historical building rich in Old West detail. Their waitress told them that one hundred years ago, there’d been saloon fights in the dining room on a daily basis and a brothel upstairs.

  Now, after years of neglect, the place had been recently renovated. With its buttery walls and soft lighting, it was a perfect setting for intimate dining.

  But Emma didn’t know if she was ready for intimate.

  Before they had come in here, they’d walked around downtown. Commercial Row was filled with galleries, eateries and unique little shops that had kept them entertained for a few hours. Now darkness had fallen, cloaking them in that strange sense of isolation Rafe always provided.

  She sipped her wine while they waited for their food, and looked at the tall, dark and mouthwateringly gorgeous man sitting across from her. With the candlelight glowing over his dark, dark hair and his rugged, tanned features, she could imagine him sitting there one hundred years ago, looking for trouble, then possibly going upstairs to visit the brothel.

  She’d never looked for trouble a single day of her life, and yet here she was herself, courting it. Right upstairs were their rooms where they could go and finish what they started.

  She could be in his arms for an entire night…Oh, yes, definitely trouble as she’d never experienced it before.

  Her body hummed in anticipation, her pulse thumped a dull, heavy beat that echoed in her ears. Even her skin twitched, along with every erogenous zone in her body, of which there appeared to be more than she could have imagined.

  “My sisters would love this place.” Rafe looked around him at the walls that had historical prints and antique mining tools mounted on them.

  This fascinated her, the thought of Rafe as a family man. “Do you see them a lot?”

  “When I’m home. Which I rarely am.” He smiled. “But yeah, we hang out. We like each other. Or we did.” He laughed. “Now that I’ll be home more, I’ll be in their hair driving them crazy, making them wonder why they ever wanted me to travel less.”

  “How will you drive them crazy?”

  His smile widened just a bit wickedly. “Oh, I’ll have fun torturing Carolyn’s dates. I can’t do that to Tessa anymore—she’s married with a baby on the way—but I’ll find ways to get her, too. I’ll probably buy my soon-to-arrive niece or nephew a drum set or a tuba.”

  “But…those are loud instruments.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned so disarmingly that she found herself grinning back.

  “I’m trying to imagine you as an obnoxious brother,” she said.

  “I’m good at it.”

  “What do they do back to you?”

  “Mostly just keep track of my every indiscretion. They say they’re going to use it all against me someday when I have a wife and kids.”

  He didn’t look worried, but…happy. She tried to imagine the sort of easy love he was describing. It didn’t apply to her own family. “I used to pretend my sister and I were like that,” she said. “Close. Loving.”

  “I thought all twins were close.”

  “Oh, we’re close.” She frowned into her wine. Close as in she was always there for Amber.

  But who was there for her? “Just in a different sort of way,” she said.

  “Such as one of you needing the other one to constantly get her out of messes?”

  “She’s not a bad person.”

  “Not at all,” he agreed, and his fingers stroked hers. “But if I had to guess, it’s got to be more of a parental relationship, with you being the parent.”

  That was it exactly. “Yes.”

  Bringing their joined hands up to his mouth, he kissed her palm, and brought her flutters right back. “What about your parents?”

  “My dad died before we were born. And my mother…She’s a writer, too. Literary fiction,” she clarified. “The important stuff. What we do confuses her. I guess I can see that—having one daughter who tends to take off her clothes for the camera, any camera, and another daughter who wastes trees for a living—”

  He gaped and tightened his fingers on her hand. “Your mother said your writing is a waste of trees?”

  “Well�
�” she laughed, embarrassed to have let that slip “—all she meant was that what she does is very different than what I do.”

  “Uh-huh. I wonder if you translated your ratings into readers, how many millions you’d beat her by.”

  “She has a Pulitzer.”

  “And you’re writing for television. Does she realize how hard that is?”

  “All I’m saying is that sometimes we…disappoint her,” she said. “Granted, Amber more often than me, but—”

  “So, as a result, you spend your time running around covering Amber’s ass.”

  “Yes, but at least she loves me for it.”

  “I’m sure she does. But Emma, who’s there when you need someone?”

  She stared at him, a little dismayed to have him cut right to her inner turmoil so effortlessly. “I—I don’t know.” She pulled her hand free and rubbed her temple. “I don’t think about it like that.”

  His eyes never left her as he took her hand back and lightly scraped his teeth over the fleshy part of her palm before soothing it with the tip of his tongue.

  All her bones dissolved. “Rafe.”

  He did it again.

  Her mouth went dry and she gulped down some water as her thoughts jumped ahead to what could happen next. Would he kiss her? Would he touch her—

  “What are you thinking?” He stopped her nervous fingers from playing with the condensation on her glass by putting his hand over hers.

  What was she thinking? She was thinking how he would feel filling her body. “Um…Well.” A knowing light came into his eyes and she had to let out a little laugh that was a good part nerves. “Why ask if you already know?”

  Cocking his head, he studied her with those eyes that seemed to see right through her exterior to the real Emma beneath. The one that wanted to toss the “research” facade out the window and admit she wanted him. She just wanted him, plain and simple.

  And she wanted him to want her back, plain and simple. No complications, no emotional ties, nothing to bog it down, even while she knew that there was nothing plain and simple about this at all.

  All around them were people dining, paying them no attention whatsoever, but she leaned in. “What’s going to happen?”