Ben ordered a watermelon saketini for Marina and a mojito for himself and then took her hands across the table. “It is just possible, my love, that I have been a horse’s ass.”
She pressed her lips together but wasn’t entirely successful at smothering her laughter.
“Possible,” he stressed, raising one eyebrow, “not probable.”
She nodded. “And why, Ben, do you admit this remote possibility?”
“Because I love you and, even though you’re the most extravagant woman who’s ever drawn breath—”
“Marie Antoinette was worse!”
“I don’t want to change you and I shouldn’t have hurt you by breaking things off between us. By the way, just a little reminder—Marie Antoinette ate cake, which you would never do. And she had her head cut off, something which you should probably avoid.”
Marina ignored that. “So why did you break up with me? Why did you disappear? What’s the real issue?”
Ben stared down at her hands, at the small manicured fingers, which were both pampered and competent-looking. “The truth is that, yes, the money was an issue, especially when suddenly I had none. Ironic that, now, just as suddenly, I do. And because of you. But at the core of everything was—” He swallowed. Talk about a tough thing to say.
His pride almost wouldn’t let him form the words, but he was determined that, this time, pride wouldn’t get the better of him. It had to stand down, or be wrestled into submission—because his love for Marina was a hell of a lot more important.
“It’s not my nose or my thighs, is it, Ben?” she asked anxiously, putting a hand up to her hair.
“No, mi vida. Your nose and your thighs could not be more perfect.” He squeezed her fingers. “This, believe it or not, is about me.”
She blushed at the gentle remonstrance. “Sorry.”
He touched the tip of her nose and smiled at her. Then he took a deep breath. “You are so beautiful…so amusing, so many things that I admire. And all the luxury on top of it. I was afraid, mi amor, that I didn’t quite deserve you.”
“Were you afraid that I might leave, like your mother?” She blurted the question before she could chicken out.
His sensual lips flattened to a straight line. He shrugged.
“Oh, Ben.” She jumped up and slid around the table, right into his lap. “My darling, I’m not going anywhere. As you may have guessed by now, I’m awfully stubborn and spoiled. When my heart is set on something I go after it—damn the torpedoes! And my heart is set on you, Benjamin Delgado. You. Only you.”
He tightened his arms around her until she squeaked. Then he kissed off all of her carefully applied lipstick and the liner, too, until she pulled away breathless.
Everyone was staring at them, but mostly indulgently. They did have a talent for public scenes, didn’t they?
“I’d never, ever leave you, Ben. Not even when you develop a pot belly and a double chin and lose your hair. And grow fur in your ears.”
“Thank you,” he said a little dubiously. Then he grinned. “And I’ll never leave you, either, mi amor, not even when your hair goes gray and your bottom droops and your lovely store-bought rack is knocking against your knees.”
Her mouth dropped open. Then she shrieked and smacked him. “That’s disgusting, Delgado! And nothing about me is store-bought!”
He caught her wrists and held them behind her. “We need to discuss your lying, mi amor.”
“I don’t lie!”
“Yes, my love, you do. You’ve lied to me about your various, ah, improvements upon nature. You lied about Sam Delaney and the agent. And now you’ve lied about Mathew Tremaine and his sudden new division.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shh,” said Ben. “I also have a strong suspicion that you’ve lied to me about being poor. Those shoes on your lovely feet did not come from Payless. And they say Dior inside them.”
Marina realized that her sandal was dangling from her toes and that she was busted. Still…“Last year’s stock!” she insisted.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Sample sale!”
He laid his finger against her lips. “Stop.”
She gently bit it. “You’re not supposed to know me so well. I’m a woman. I like to think that I’m shrouded in mystery.”
“Ha,” said Ben, “and I’d like to think that I’m not an idiot.”
She dimpled at him.
“Now, Marina Reston, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you stop lying to me?”
She hesitated. “Most likely not. Because you’re probably not going to agree with me all the time, which will necessitate me getting a little devious once in a while. But you understand, right?”
He nodded sadly. “I do. Now shut up and kiss me again, so I can smear the rest of your makeup off your face.”
“Okay.” She snuggled against his chest. “I love you, Ben.”
“God help me, but I love you, too.”
TAKING HIS MEASURE
Cindi Myers
To CoCo and KMo,
who made this project so much fun.
1
JOSH KITTREDGE checked the address on the postcard in his hand against the number over the door of the small studio above the dry cleaners. This was the place, then—a building in one of Miami’s older neighborhoods that had seen better days. Still, it looked safe enough and it wasn’t his business to be picky.
He climbed the stairs to the door and knocked. “Come in!” a woman’s voice answered, sultry and low.
He stepped into a narrow front room furnished with a new-looking sofa, a table strewn with various construction tools, a ladder, some cloth drapes and an impressive camera and lighting array. “Make yourself at home and we’ll get started right away,” the woman called from the next room. She had a faint Southern accent, smoky and sexy. “We don’t have a lot of time, so we shouldn’t waste it.”
“Sure.” He wouldn’t have minded an introduction first, but he’d gotten naked for strangers plenty of times, so no sweat. He dropped the gym bag he’d been carrying, then unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops. “I didn’t know what you’d have here, so I brought a few tools with me,” he said.
“That’s great, though, I’m pretty well outfitted,” the woman called. “I borrowed a few things from some friends.”
He bent to untie the laces of his work boots. “You do this kind of thing often?” he asked.
“No, this is my first.”
He kicked off his boots, then pulled his shirt over his head. “Are you nervous?”
“I was with the first guy this morning, but it’s amazing how fast you get over it.”
So he wasn’t her first guy today. He idly wondered how many others she’d done already. Not that it really mattered to him. “Yeah, I guess most things are like that.” He could still remember the first time he’d stripped, back when he was putting himself through school. He’d been scared to death until he walked out on the stage. Then the music had begun, the women had begun screaming…and he’d found out it wasn’t such a bad way to make money, after all.
By the time the woman emerged from the back room he was down to his boxer shorts. “Oh, you’re already undressed.” She drew back, seeming surprised.
“You said you didn’t want to waste any time.” He took his time hanging up the rest of his clothes, subtly checking her out. She had short dark hair, a slim, boyish figure and good legs. He draped his shirt over a hook, then turned and offered his hand. “I’m Josh Kittredge.”
“Nice to meet you, Josh.” She shook his hand and smiled. “I’m Samantha Delaney.”
The name tickled his memory. Where had he heard it before? He looked closer at the woman. Something in the curve of her cheek, in the slight slant of her cocoa-brown eyes, was familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her.
“If you’ll stand by the ladder, I want to check the lighting.�
�� She walked over to the camera while he did as she asked.
He shrugged, then stripped off the boxers and went to stand by the ladder. “Do you want me to pose or anything?” he asked.
She turned back toward him and her mouth dropped open and she looked away. “Uh, I guess you’re not the shy type,” she said.
He could have told her he was an old hand at taking his clothes off in public, but that was part of his past he didn’t talk about much. “Nothing to be shy about,” he said.
She pulled a light meter from the pocket of her shorts and pointed it toward him. “Okay then, just relax.”
He wondered if she was talking to him, or to herself. She made some notations on a pad on the table, then adjusted some of the lights. “Did you have anything particular that you wanted from me?” he asked.
“I know what I did with the two guys this morning,” she said. “I’d like to try something new with you.”
“Sure.” She was calling the shots here. And he always said he was game for anything. He watched as she stood on tiptoe and stretched up to move a light, appreciating the strong line of her legs and definite curve of her bottom.
She turned and caught him looking. Their eyes met and hers flashed with a spark of emotion. Not anger, exactly, more…caution?
A knock on the door distracted them both. Not waiting for an answer, an older man with a tonsure of silver hair stuck his head in. “Hey, Sam, I—” He stopped, mouth open, staring at Josh.
Josh grabbed his shirt from the hook and held it in front of him. “Do you mind?”
The old man’s eyebrows formed a bushy V above his nose. “Sam, what’s going on here?”
“It’s okay, Mr. B.” She rushed to pat the old man on the shoulder. “I’m taking pictures for that charity calendar I told you about. The one for Frameworks for the Future? The construction workers?”
The old man cut his eyes at Josh again. “I remember. Who’s he?”
“Mr. July,” she said. “I photographed Mr. April and Mr. November this morning. Did you need something?”
“Hmmph.” He looked back at Samantha. “I just wanted to tell you I gotta go down to the doctor’s and I’m expecting a package. I put a note on the door, said you’d sign for it.”
“Sure, Mr. B. I’ll do that.” She patted his shoulder again. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. The danged doctor just makes me come in every month to get my blood sugar checked. Like he don’t trust what I tell the nurse over the phone.”
“I’m glad he’s looking out for you,” Samantha said. “Diabetes is nothing to mess with.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved away her concern. “I gotta go now.” He looked at Josh again. “You just make sure you behave yourself. I don’t want nothing funny going on on my property. And Sam’s a nice girl, even if she does take naked pictures. You keep your hands off of her.”
“Absolutely.” He raised the hand that didn’t hold the shirt. “Scout’s honor.” Never mind that he’d never been a Boy Scout.
Samantha closed the door behind the man and hurried back to the camera. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Mr. B. is my landlord, so he takes it for granted that gives him the right to walk in whenever he likes.”
“You should lock the door,” Josh said, tossing the shirt aside.
“I should. But he’s such a dear old man. And it’s sweet that he looks after me.” She turned to the table of construction tools. “Now let’s see what we have here. The information Frameworks sent over said you’re a remodeling contractor?”
“Right. I specialize in renovating historic properties.”
“That must be interesting work. How did you end up agreeing to model for the calendar?”
“I do volunteer work for the group, when I have the time. I know they always need money, so…” He shrugged. “They asked and I thought it sounded like fun.”
She nodded and selected a bright yellow circular saw from the table. “Let’s try this, then. Stand in front of the drape and let’s check it out.”
He took his position in front of the closed drapes that covered the front window and waited while she once more checked the light and the image through the camera’s viewfinder.
“How did you end up as the photographer for this gig?” he asked.
“A friend of mine works in the office and she knew they were looking for a photographer.” She emerged from behind the camera once more. “I think the work Frameworks does is really important. Everyone should have a home.”
She sounded almost…wistful when she said the words. Some of the down-to-business attitude she’d had when he’d first arrived was gone, maybe because she was more at ease with him now.
Something Mr. B. had said had triggered another memory, leaving him with the certainty that he knew Samantha Delaney from somewhere. “Mr. B. called you Sam,” he said. “Is that what your friends call you?”
“Some of them. These days I mostly go by Samantha. I was Sam as a kid.” She came and moved the ladder out of the way.
Maybe that was it, then. They must have gone to school together. “Where did you grow up?” he asked.
“All over.” She began clearing the rest of the tools off the table. He set aside the saw and rushed to help her. “What I want to do is move the table where the ladder was and drape it with one of these white cloths,” she said.
He helped reposition the table and she turned to gather up a plain white sheet. The movement triggered the memory of a summer day when he’d helped a girl cover an old wooden table in preparation for a picnic. Suddenly, he knew. “Sam D.!” he said. He peered at her more closely, comparing the face before him with that of the freckled preteen he’d known. “My God, that is you.”
She turned to him, startled. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s me—J.D.! Julie’s brother. You used to hang out at our house all the time when we were kids.” He’d been fifteen and she twelve the last time he’d seen her.
Her eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth. “J.D.? Oh, my gosh. It is you.”
“It’s been, what—fifteen years? You’ve certainly grown up.”
“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze dropped below his waist and she blushed furiously.
He laughed, a little flustered himself. “It’s a terrible line,” he said, “but imagine meeting you like this.”
She joined in his laughter, breaking some of the tension between them. He helped her cover the table with the sheet. “So what have you been up to since then?” he asked. “Besides becoming a photographer.”
“Oh, this and that.” She glanced at him. “It really is good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah.” Their eyes locked, and he saw, not the girl she had been, but the woman she was—a woman whose heated gaze made him wish he wasn’t the only one naked in this room right now.
She looked away, breaking the spell, and smoothed the drape over the table and patted the top. “Okay, climb up here and stretch out.”
“Up there?” He eyed the platform skeptically. “Will it hold me?”
“It’ll hold you. I want you to stretch out, propped on one elbow, with the saw in front of you.” She blushed again. “Strategically placed. We’re going for tasteful, but sexy.”
“Right.” He did as she asked, aware of his bare butt at her eye level until he turned around. He hoped she enjoyed the view.
He hadn’t thought of that summer in years, but now it came rushing back to him—the coconut aroma of suntan oil mingled with the sweet scent of cherry Kool-Aid and the earthy smell of cut grass. While his friends played baseball and video games and hung out at the beach, he’d been forced to stay home with his kid sister and her friend. He’d complained loudly at first, but he’d ended up having fun in spite of himself. Despite the age difference, he’d found Sam easy to talk to. And that summer he’d learned more about the way girls thought than he had in all the years since.
He watched Sam as she adjusted
the lights once more. So much of her was the same—the way she tilted her head and the dimple at the corner of her mouth when she smiled. But this Samantha definitely wasn’t the kid Sam D. had been. Between her sultry voice and long, tanned legs, she was a major turn-on. He began to feel grateful for that strategically placed circular saw.
“That’s great,” she said, behind the camera once more. “Now smile and flex those muscles…Great!”
He flexed and posed, getting into the spirit of things. It reminded him of his days working as an exotic dancer—before he’d started his own remodeling business.
Of course, he could think of a lot of other things he’d rather be doing naked and alone with a sexy woman on a warm summer afternoon. But since most of those things were out of the question at the moment, he’d settle for this. After all, it was for a good cause.
SAM STUDIED the bronzed, buff man stretched out on the platform before her, glad of the camera to hide her expression. J. D. Kittredge, her ultimate fantasy, was here in the flesh—really in the flesh. The thought—not to mention the man himself in all his naked glory—made her hot and bothered.
When she was twelve, she’d had a serious crush on her friend Julie’s older brother. At fifteen, J.D. had been the bleached-blond surfer god of every girl’s dreams. And he’d been sweet enough to not mind too much having to hang out with his little sister and her friend on those summer days while their parents were at work.
For one glorious summer Sam had spent almost every weekday at Julie and J.D.’s house, sunbathing, watching TV or bugging J.D. to take them somewhere or do something with them. One time he’d organized a water-gun battle—the two of them against him. Other days he’d walk with them to the beach and they’d stretch out on the sand while he paddled about on his surfboard in the mostly anemic waves. They’d flirted and teased each other and, on one memorable occasion, had shared a sweet, tentative kiss—her first, ever.
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