by Lori Foster
“Jessica?”
She worried her bottom lip for a moment, then finally sighed. “You’re right, of course. And I did try to ignore you. But you were a terrible distraction and I suppose I resented that more than anything.”
Cautiously, drawn by an inexplicable mix of emotions he’d never dealt with before, Mack stepped closer. “Why?”
She laughed. “You’ll think this is nuts, but you remind me of my husband.”
That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. He stilled. She’d said that she’d raised her daughter alone, so he assumed she wasn’t married. He hoped like hell she wasn’t married. She’d better not be…“Are you widowed?”
She shook her head hard, causing her braid to fall over one shoulder and curl along her left breast. Mack gulped, forcing his gaze resolutely to her face.
“No, divorced. For quite some time now. But just as you seemed to be the life of the party, so was he. Nothing mattered to him but having a good time. Even when Trista was born, he refused to grow up and settle down, to be a husband or a father. And he was about your age when I stupidly married him.”
“I see.” But he didn’t, not really. He wasn’t a husband or a father, but he knew in his heart he’d take those responsibilities very seriously.
She smiled, and again shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business if you choose to make life fun and games. That’s certainly your choice, and I had no right to sit in judgment of you. Whew. I feel better now.”
She felt better? Mack clenched his jaw, he was so annoyed. He wasn’t irresponsible or immature. He knew what his priorities were, and he kept them straight. No one had worked harder in college or taken his lessons more seriously than he. Yet she automatically labeled him because he’d managed to make school fun. Enjoyment was the standard he’d set for his students, his teaching method for making information stick. It was also one of the reasons the principal hadn’t recommended him for the available teaching position. She and Jessica evidently had a few things in common. They were both self-righteous and far too somber.
Only the principal didn’t turn him on, but Jessica most certainly did. She always had.
Mack kept his expression impassive. “So now your conscience is clear?”
“Exactly. Imagine, a woman my age reacting to a two-year-old resentment, especially toward someone so young.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
She nodded, as if that confirmed her suspicions. “It’s ludicrous. Why, obviously your outlook would be different from my own.”
“Because you’re so…old?”
“Well, if thirty is old, which I suppose to someone your age, it is.” She smiled again. “So, can you forgive my surly attitude? Do you think we can start over and go ahead with the shoot?”
He didn’t want to; he wanted to keep talking to her, to get to know her better. But he had promised Sophie. And he had no doubt Zane would ride him forever if he let his reactions to this one woman keep him from getting the job done. He could console himself with the fact that she’d noticed him, she just didn’t like noticing him.
When he hesitated, she sighed again. “I don’t blame you, I guess. But really, I’m not one of those bitter divorcées who can’t talk about anything else. I promise not to even mention it again. And to tell you the truth, I was really looking forward to this shoot. It’ll be a nice opportunity for me, more than I’ve ever done before, since my work usually only includes portraits.”
“So you want this job?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mack nodded. Now he had something to work with. “I’ll stay.”
He saw the subtle relaxing of her shoulders, the relief she tried hard to hide. “Good.”
“We only have one problem.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“You promised not to mention your husband or your divorce again.”
“That’s right.”
Mack smiled, and he knew damn good and well his eyes were gleaming with intent. Good. Let her know he wouldn’t be brushed off. “I want to know about your husband. And your divorce. I want lots of little details. Since I remind you of the guy, it only seems fair. Don’t you think?”
Chapter Two
Jessica stared at Mack Winston, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack him. She was used to that particular reaction—and other, more sexual reactions as well, if she was honest with herself.
He was so incredibly gorgeous, so young and handsome and sexy. He’d whizzed through college, not caring about his grades, always joking, always having a good time, while she’d been forced to struggle to make mediocre B’s.
His carefree attitude and abundant charm did remind her of her ex-husband, and that’s why her attraction to him scared her so much. Why couldn’t she be drawn to a staid, mature man, one that would be steady and responsible? She’d tried dating a few times a year after her divorce was finalized, but the men she wanted to be interested in didn’t stir a single speck of interest in her.
And the one who did, the one who made her feel young and alive again, was exactly the type of man she knew she should stay away from.
When she’d graduated, she’d thought to never see him again. It had been both a relief, because he was a terrible temptation, and a crushing pain, because she still thought of him often, still awakened in the night after dreaming of him. And now, here he was, in the flesh, and if anything, two years had added to his appeal. Darn Sophie Winston, anyway.
Drawing a deep breath and dredging up another nonchalant smile, she asked, “What exactly would you like to know?” She had no intention of letting him see how uncomfortable he, and the conversation, made her feel.
Mack picked up the sexy pajamas with a smile. “How about I change while we talk? That way I won’t hold you up.”
He’d gotten his way, so now he’d be accommodating? She swallowed her huff of annoyance. “That’s fine. You can change behind that curtain.”
He gave her a smile that she was certain had melted many a female heart. When Mack Winston smiled, you saw it not only on his sexy mouth, but in his dark eyes that always glittered with humor, in the dimple in his lean cheek, in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. She expected that nearly every female in Thomasville, Kentucky, had fantasized over him at least once.
But fantasizing was all she would ever do.
While he was occupied, Jessica rummaged through the cardboard box, looking in vain for items that wouldn’t expose his body overly.
“Tell me why you divorced him.”
She glanced up and saw Mack’s flannel shirt get slung over the curtain rod. She gulped as a sharp twinge of excitement raced down her spine. A white T-shirt and belt quickly followed, making her imagination go wild.
“Jessica?”
“I, ah…I told you. He wouldn’t settle down. He kept losing jobs, running through our money. Trista was not quite seven when I filed for divorce, eight before everything was finalized. I decided to go back to college so I could bone up on the newest photography techniques. It was something I’d always wanted to do, but I’d worked to get Dave through college, and then Trista was born, and, well…I just never got around to it. After the divorce, I needed a way to support us both—”
“Is he still around?”
His worn, faded jeans landed on top of the flannel, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Mack was naked behind the curtain. “Who?”
“Your ex.”
“Oh. Uh, no. Well, sometimes. He lives in Florida, and every so often he remembers Trista and sends her a card or a gift.” She looked down at the pile of so-called briefs and quickly tried to decide which ones would conceal the most.
“He doesn’t pay child support?”
“Ha!”
“You could sue him for it, you know.”
Everything she picked up was far too scanty, too revealing, to actually suggest that he wear it. She was a thirty-year-old woman who’d been celibate for too many years to count. Her heart would
n’t take the strain. “But then I’d have to suffer his presence. This way, he’s almost completely out of my life, and he’s not messing with Trista’s emotions.”
“What have you told her about him?”
She stared at the damn briefs, imagined them filled out by his masculine flesh, and felt flustered. “Only that we didn’t get along, but it had nothing to do with her. When she asks me why he doesn’t come around more, I tell her that he does love her, it’s just that some people have a hard time settling into domestic roles.”
“That’s pretty wise of you, you know. So many times, parents are bitter and they force their kids into the middle of things without even meaning to. And the only ones who get hurt by it are the kids.”
“I would never tell Trista what a jerk her father is. Hopefully, by the time she gets old enough to figure things out on her own, he’ll have gotten his act together.”
She glanced up as Mack stepped around the curtain—and froze. He adjusted the waistband, leaving the sheer pants to hang low on his lean hips. The robe was draped over his arm. He was barefoot, his hair appealingly mussed, his hairy chest wide and sexy and hard. His abdomen was sculpted with muscle, and a line of silky hair led from his navel downward. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Her heart beat so hard it hurt, and her stomach did strange little jumps that felt both sweetly tantalizing and very disturbing.
Oh, Lord, it had been so long since she’d seen a mostly naked man.
And she’d never seen a man like Mack Winston.
He paused in the center of the floor, then simply stood there, hands on his hips, and let her look. His eyes narrowed, direct and hot and probing, and his smile tilted in a sensual, teasing way.
Finally, when it dawned on her how long they’d both been silent, she jumped to her feet. An impressive array of colorful, silky underwear fluttered off her lap and onto the floor, like a platoon of male butterflies folding ranks. She looked down, realized she’d been practically buried in the damn things, and almost groaned. She swallowed, staring at the heap on the floor. “I was…was looking for which ones you should pose in.”
She felt more than heard him move closer. “It’s not going to be an easy job.”
Didn’t she know it! “We’ll figure out something.” She cleared her throat roughly. “Now, would you like to put on the robe?” She contrived a polite smile, managed to raise her gaze to his face without lingering too long on all the exquisite male flesh in between, and then wished she hadn’t bothered. He was just so handsome, he took her breath away.
“The robe is a little tight in the shoulders. I’ll put it on when you’re ready to take the picture.”
She nodded dumbly, stared some more, then shook herself. She was not, and never had been, a giddy coed.
She was a mother and an independent businesswoman. “Right. Uh, just let me get a few things ready.”
It took her only seconds to arrange the set as she wanted it. She pulled down a background that looked like a kitchen, set a tall stool and a coffee mug nearby, then motioned him over. “You’re going to pretend you’re just out of bed, okay?”
“I’m supposed to have slept in this stuff?”
“Is that a problem?”
“I sleep naked.”
Jessica faltered, verbally stumbled over a few gasps, then glared at him. “It doesn’t matter what your normal sleeping habits really are. This is just to show the clothing to advantage.”
“Jessica, no man in his right mind would try to sleep in this stuff. Have you felt it?” He offered his thigh for her to test the material. She backed up, feeling foolish, yet utterly appalled at the thought of actually touching that thick, hard thigh.
Mack blinked lazily at her, his look so knowing she felt another blush. “It’s slippery. And there’s no give to it. No man would sleep in it—”
“Then pretend you just pulled it on after you got out of bed!”
“When I’m alone? Why would I do that?”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, doing her best not to imagine Mack traipsing around his home impressively naked. She failed. The image flashed into her mind and refused to budge.
It felt like a Bunsen burner had been turned on inside her, especially low in her belly, where the heat seemed to pulse. “Mack.” She said his name through her teeth. “Just sit on the damn bar stool and sip your coffee, okay?”
He shrugged. “If you say so, but it’s a dumb pose.”
She gave up. “Okay, how do you suggest we set it?”
“Maybe in the evening, in front a fire.” His gaze met hers. “With company.”
“Company?”
He stepped closer, and the lamplight shone on his hard shoulders, heating his skin. “Sure. This stuff is supposed to appeal to women, right? So wouldn’t a guy only wear it for a woman?”
She hated to admit it, but he had a point. “All right. Let’s try this.” She replaced the kitchen backdrop screen with one that featured a glowing stone fireplace. With Mack’s help, a plush easy chair replaced the stool. Jessica used the stool to situate a female mannequin’s arm, holding a wineglass, just to the side of the chair. The arm would be visible from the elbow down, as if a woman were offering the glass to Mack.
He approved.
They got several nice shots of him lounging at his ease, smiling in the direction of the phony woman. The robe was open to show his hard belly, his sculpted pecs.
She probably took more shots than she needed, but he was such a natural, she could almost feel jealous of the damned plastic arm.
After that, they took two sets of photos of Mack in drapey silk boxers. He admitted to liking them, and she admitted, only to herself, that he’d definitely draw in the female customers, just as Sophie had expected.
Though the snow continued to fall and the temperature continued to drop, Jessica felt much too warm. She realized she was turned on just from photographing him, and prayed he’d never know.
“What now?”
“Reading the morning paper on the terrace—and no, don’t tell me you wouldn’t go outside in your underwear.”
“Sure I would.”
She almost laughed, he was so incorrigible. They arranged the set together, using a small bistro table and chair, a pot of silk flowers, and a screen showing morning sunshine and blue sky.
“Now we need to pick the underwear.”
Mack glanced doubtfully at the pile she’d left on the floor. “I don’t know…”
She hesitated as well. She didn’t want to see him in nothing more than a strip of silk or mesh or vinyl. Her pulse raced just at the thought. The damn boxers had been difficult enough, though at least they weren’t so blatantly suggestive. They hung over his masculine endowments, rather than hugging them. But the skimpy briefs…
She really had no choice.
And, she thought, if it was any man other than Mack Winston, it wouldn’t even be an issue.
She glanced at her watch, dismayed to see that they hadn’t gotten nearly enough done, then struggled to achieve a level of professionalism in her voice. “After this shot, we’ll just take some of the various briefs. The photos will show only your navel to your upper thighs.”
Mack blinked at her, and no wonder. Her voice had sounded like a frog being ruthlessly strangled.
She forged onward. “Would you like to choose the briefs or should I?”
Mack waved at the pile. “Be my guest.”
Bound and determined to get it over with, she grabbed the pair closest to the top. “Here.”
Mack frowned. “What’s wrong with them? They’re kind of bunched up.”
She looked at the thin blue underwear carefully, then wanted to kick herself. Lifting her chin, she explained, “They have a seam down the back.”
“Why?”
“It’s…it’s a…well, here. I’ll just read the description to you.” She rushed over to the table and picked up her file. After flipping through a few pages, she found the item number. �
��It says, ‘cheek-enhancing feature with rear seam to shape comfortably—”
“You can damn well forget that pair!”
There was no way she could look at him. “Mack…”
“My backside doesn’t need enhancing, thank you very much.”
She couldn’t have agreed more. “Ah, fine. You pick. You’re the one who has to wear them. But keep in mind, if you choose a thong, you’ll probably have to shave.”
“Why? I thought the shots were only from my navel down.”
It felt like her heart lodged in her throat. “Yes, and that’s where you’d have to shave. Too much body hair—”
“You can forget the damn thongs, too!”
Relief made her chatty. “All right. Good. I mean, fine. We can maybe take a shot of you hanging them on a clotheslines—”
He grunted, as if that idea didn’t appeal to him at all either, but he’d accept it rather than the alternative.
“Are you almost ready?” The longer he took, the edgier she got.
“I’m looking. But I can tell you right now, no thongs, no animal prints, and no vinyl.”
She peeked out of the corner of her eye, pretending to rearrange her papers, while Mack held up pair after pair, finally choosing the one with the most fabric.
“I’ll be right back.” He stomped off behind the curtain, and Jessica held her breath until her lungs hurt.
Ridiculous, she told herself. She was thirty years old. She’d been married and divorced. She was an independent woman. She’d more than learned her lesson about run-around, frivolous men who…
Mack stepped out.
Her wits scattered, every logical argument vanishing in an instant. Impressive. She no sooner thought it than she squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief. She was not a sex-starved woman who went about measuring men’s endowments. But—well, he looked incredible. Better than incredible. Perfect. A very impressive male specimen.
He cleared his throat impatiently, and she opened her eyes again. It was an effort, but she essayed a look of outward indifference, when inside her body was dealing with numerous responses to his appeal.
Then he stepped into the harsh lamplight, and she saw that the material miraculously turned transparent. Oh, my God.