Trudy started to rise, but Mac held up a four fingers, indicating he still had four minutes left. She settled back down on the chair. She’d all but promised him five minutes.
“When we were in bed,” he repeated, “the sex did suck, but I want to make something absolutely clear: it didn’t suck because of you.”
Wait…what? Of course she’d been responsible. She turned her head away, trying to hide her blush behind the heavy curtain of her hair.
“Trudy, I didn’t give you what you deserved, and I want to apologize.” Mac spread his feet wide and leaned forward, his forearms braced against his thighs. His voice took on a tone of earnestness when he said, “That bad sex wasn’t about you. Not at all.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Mac cut her off before she could get a word in edgewise.
“I’m serious. You said something yesterday that made me realize you’d taken on the blame of our really bad, no good, lame-assed sex, and I have to set the record straight. It wasn’t your fault. No way, no how.”
Trudy lifted her brow. “But I thought…”
He shook his head. “I felt bad that night, right after we’d finished. After all, I’d knocked you down onto the bed, caused the lamp to break, nearly cracked your skull open with mine, and then I pulled your hair out by the roots.” He ran a hand through his black hair, spiking it in various directions, then added, “Not to mention that I couldn't even manage to get you undressed, then succeeded in giving you what had to be most underwhelming orgasm any woman’s ever experienced in the history of humankind.”
At Mac’s use of the word “underwhelming,” Trudy suppressed a giggle. “Not exactly butterflies and glitter,” she admitted.
“Exactly!” Mac leaned forward. “You ‘ooped,’ if I remember correctly. No woman should ever be reduced to ‘ooping.’ Screaming, sobbing, gasping, yes—but ‘ooping’?” He shook his head. “Oh, hell. That was my bad, dearest. Not you. No way should you ever think that our crappy night in bed had anything to do with you.”
Could he be serious?
He added, “I figured when you took off that you were thoroughly disappointed in me. Disgusted, even—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I thought I’d blown it.”
Mac leaned forward and caught her hands in his. He turned her hands upward and ran the pads of his thumbs in small circles in the palms. “Nope, it was all me. You were amazing.”
Her hands warmed under his touch. She kept her gaze low, on his hands, noting the length and strength of his fingers, a small scar on the back of his right hand, his tanned skin contrasting with her light palms.
Mac leaned forward, close enough for Trudy to get a whiff of his hair. Her tummy flip-flopped.
“Trudy, there were moments that night of absolute sensory overload. We hit a few great highs as well as a couple of lows. The chemistry between us nearly melted the place down.” He slowed the movement of his thumbs, then ran them up her wrists.
Trudy sucked in her breath at the sensuous touch.
“I think we have something here.” Mac shifted his legs, bringing his knees in contact with hers. “And I think you feel the connection as much as I do.”
Heat spread throughout her body. She flicked her gaze upward to see Mac still staring at her hands. She absorbed him with her stare, taking him all in. He opened his mouth, as if to speak. Instead, he hesitated, touched the inside of his teeth with his tongue. His soft, soft tongue. A tongue Trudy wanted against her lips, in her mouth, on—
Rebel, she thought. Her body was rebelling against her mind. So the bad sex that night hadn’t been her fault. Good—one issue taken care of. She still had to deal with the fact that she’d walked out on a job. She tugged her hands out of Mac’s and leaned far back into the wing-backed chair. One at a time she pulled her feet up under her until she sat curled up in a near fetal position, knees at her chest, arms wrapped tight around her shins.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“So…where does that leave us? I know I signed that contract, but I really do have issues about posing nude for a photographer. I can’t do it, Mac. I just can’t.”
* * *
Mac shifted, leaning back into the wingback chair, rather perplexed. Trudy could turn hot or cold in seconds, but he didn’t think she was meant to be capricious—rather, she seemed to be hiding something. He frowned, then said, “I guess I don’t get it. Even if you were contracting with a sculptor, artists often take photographs of the poses. My dad certainly does. And you said you were you planning to allow him to photograph you, right?”
“Yes, but that’s different…” Trudy refused to look at him. Instead she stared out the window, gazing out over the rustic scene behind her.
He followed her gaze—was that a donkey outside? He shook his head. Didn’t matter. He turned back to Trudy, who still wouldn’t meet his gaze. He’d met quite a few art critics who didn’t believe photography could be considered art. If Trudy was one of those snobs, well…
“For your information,” he said, knowing he sounded puffed-up but not caring, “photography as an art form has been in existence for almost a hundred years. Ever heard of Alfred Stieglitz?” When Trudy didn’t respond, he continued, almost desperate to make his point. She might not ever model for him, but he wanted another dating do-over. And if they were to date, he wanted her to know who he was. And respect what he did. “Stieglitz started the whole art photography movement over a hundred years ago with his famous photograph, ‘The Steerage.’ You ever hear of Dorothea Lange? Imogen Cunningham? Ansel Adams?”
Trudy tipped her head in a nearly imperceptible nod.
“We’re artists, Trudy. Artists.” Excitement filled his voice. “What I do with a camera, film, and a darkroom is as equally valid in the eyes of the art world—well, most of the art world—as what my father does with marble and sandstone. I really want you to understand that. To see art the way I see it. Photographs can be beautiful. And they can really show the truth about someone.”
Trudy dropped her forehead into her hands. Her shoulders started to shake—little tremors at first, then stronger. He narrowed his eyes. Was she laughing?
“You may not agree,” he said almost stuffily, “but I’d rather you not laugh at me.”
Trudy shook her head and her hands in simultaneous action. “No…” she said, her voice pitched high.
Realization hit him like a cannonball to the belly. Trudy wasn’t laughing at him—she was crying.
“Oh hell, Trudy.” He’d been an ass. An ass so wrapped up in his own insecurities he couldn’t even tell he’d hurt her. But how? What had he said?
In one smooth movement, Mac left the couch to come over to where she sat. He cradled her against his chest and swayed back and forth, keeping time to a beat that existed only in his mind. Bending his neck, he nuzzled hers. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful and brilliant head of yours, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with something more than a difference in opinion about art.”
Her shoulders shook again. “It’s what you said…how photographs can show the truth about someone. I hate that.”
“But why? I developed those photos I took of you in that first Warrior Woman pose. They were brilliant. You were brilliant. Amazing. The power I saw in you the first time I set eyes on you was clear—I could see you in those photos. I could really see you. Why would you hate that?”
She waggled her head back and forth and he could feel the wetness of tears leaching through the chambray of his shirt to his chest. Whatever ate her up inside wouldn’t relent. And he needed to make it better. Needed to make her better.
“Trudy,” he said softly, “I did come here to apologize, yeah, but also to ask you for another do-over. To convince you to stay as my model for the Warrior Woman series. I want to see you through my camera lenses. I want to see images of you emerge onto paper in my darkroom.” He hesitated briefly, then added with a smile, “And to see if maybe, even though we’d b
e working together, we could try dating again.”
Trudy lifted her head up and chuckled. “Is that what you’re calling the other night? A date?”
He laughed, then kissed her neck, drinking in the sensation of the softness of her skin, how she smelled of the warm spring air, sunshine and jasmine. He fought the urge to bury his lips in her clavicle. To run his tongue up her pulsing carotid artery. To twist her around and take her mouth with his.
“How many do-overs were you planning to request?” she asked before he could answer her question, laughter in her voice but a tremor from crying still evident.
“Last one. I promise. You can answer me about being my muse later, but for now, will you please tell me how I’ve reduced you to tears?”
* * *
The myriad of emotions Mac kept churning up in her had been throwing Trudy off guard since the night at the art gallery. Her body was drawn to his like a magnet to metal. And somewhere along the way she’d seen a glimpse of who he was—or at least, who she thought he might be. One of the good guys. She needed to come clean. Explain why she hated photographers so much. She owed him that.
“Look,” she said, placing her her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back far enough away so she could look him in the eyes. She sucked in a deep breath and prepared herself to tell him the truth, difficult and painful as it was to recount. “A few years ago I was hired to model nude for an artist. Shouldn’t have been a big deal—I model nude for artists often. But this guy…he ended up putting those photos online, without my consent, and…”
Mac shook his head, obviously puzzled. “And what?”
“Are you on social media much?”
“A little. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr. Not Pinterest, though.” He mock shuddered. “Why?”
She grimaced. “That was the first modeling job I’d taken after experiencing several abdominal surgeries.”
“I noticed yesterday. Did your client not like that your tummy has scars on it? I thought they added dimension.”
“No, that wasn’t it. I’d gained a lot of weight after the surgeries, and when he put the photos of me online, people started commenting. Images of me went around the cyber-sphere with the tag, Tubster Trudy. I was humiliated.”
Tubster Trudy… The name didn’t ring any bells, but then again, he didn’t give much attention to other people’s cruelty. “Had to be tough.”
“I was trying to come to terms with the fact that because my body had changed so much. I’d lost my career as a high-fashion model. Clients didn’t care about the scars, but they did care about the fact I’d gained almost thirty pounds. I couldn’t walk the runway anymore. And then when the online comments started, and when people started calling me Tubster Trudy behind my back, I caved. Lost my self-esteem. Started to believe them that I was, oh, I don’t know…useless. Fat. Ugly.”
Mac pulled back, fury covering his face like a dark veil. “Don’t ever say that. You’re beautiful. Amazing. Strong.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet. You’re like Sir Galahad,” she said, teasing, trying to lighten up the situation that had gone too dark. When his eyes lit up with sparkles, she continued. “So you can see why I’m a bit at odds against anyone wielding a camera. Especially when someone’s photographing me naked.” She poked a finger at Mac’s chest.
He rubbed his forehead. “I get it. And I’m sorry. Sorry some bonehead had to go and do something that would harm your career. Harm you. But I honestly had no idea, Trudy, when I took those pictures. I was just amazed at how you’d captured the image I had in my mind. Amazed to see my Warrior Woman standing in front of me.”
“Why didn’t you confirmed we were good before I stepped up on that dais?” she asked, studying his face.
He swallowed, then raised his chin in a quick motion. “I should have. In my defense, I had asked Doe to bring you to my office first. But we had some miscommunication—Aaron had been up the night before and she was exhausted, and I sometimes forget she just turned eighteen. She wanted to work for me and Dad, wanted to make a contribution.” His face softened. “Being a mother to my nephew is contribution enough, but I had to respect her desire to provide something.”
When he reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, she quivered, then said, “It’s okay, really. I mean, mistakes happen, and in no way am I mad at Doe. I hope she knows that. I can’t tell with her.”
“She’s more prickly than a passel of porcupines, but she uses those prickles to cover up a major soft spot.”
Trudy knew what that was like. Not the prickly part, but needing to hide the soft spot. That part of herself that was still a lost child, bouncing around from foster family to foster family, clinging to Milla like a bur on a cat’s back. Constantly informed they were moving on. Never wanted enough to be part of a forever family. Always rejected.
“Look,” he added quickly. “I’m serious about starting over again. I’d like to try again. I need get on the right foot here, Trudy. Can you give me some help?”
She stood then, and paced the length of her living room, coming to hitch a hip against the windowsill of the wide, open window that looked out over the animal sanctuary below. A grassy field spread wide, blossoming apple trees white against the green backdrop. Serene. Unlike how she felt now. In a rush of breath, she said, “I still don’t think I can model for you.”
“You’re my muse, you know.” His voice held steady, but rose a notch. The smallest of inflections, but enough to tell her he’d exposed part of his soft underbelly. “I’m officially offering you the full three-year contract.”
She had bills to pay—lots and lots of them—and modeling for Mac would get her solvent again. But one of the images from a social media site—the one of her naked form riding a gigantic slice of bacon like it was a flying carpet and the slogan, Don’t eat and drive like Tubster Trudy, flashed into her mind.
Bile filled her throat, but she managed to get the words out. “The contract stated no images of me would be released to the public without my permission…except for the actual showing of the art. I was fine with that when I thought the image of me would be in bronze or marble or even wood, but with your art, what would go out to the public would be an actual photo. It will be clear the nude woman would be me. I apologize, Mac, but I need out of the contract.”
Silence met her statement, and when she turned around, Mac was frowning at a spot on the floor. “The contract is already with my lawyer,” he said quietly, “but I’ll get him to draw up a nullification, okay?”
She smiled, but Mac didn’t look at her. “I am sorry, you know,” she said quietly.
A beat passed, then two, before he spoke again. “Okay, then. I acquiesce. No modeling. But what about the other thing?”
“Dating, you mean?”
Mac finally looked up, a naughty smile now on his face. “Either that, or we could start with sex—let me prove to you I don’t suck in bed as much as you may think.”
She snorted but couldn’t help but to smile. “So that’s what this is all about? Soothing your male ego?”
Mac’s cocky grin lessened. “Nah, but I’d love the chance to prove I can make you see butterflies and glitter. And prove to you the other night wasn’t your fault.”
When she hesitated, he stood, then came forward to where she leaned against the window frame and placed his hands on her hips. She allowed him to rock her pelvis forward, gently, nearly imperceptibly, until their hip bones met, then held. A breeze danced through the open window, teasing Mac’s hair and sending his scent wafting over her. Leather, bay rum, and springtime.
She bit the inside of her lip.
Mac bent his head and placed his lips on hers, nudging her mouth open to allow his tongue to enter. His lips were inviting, his tongue warm and wet and oh so very soft. Oh yeah, he was more than hot. Smoldering, really. Trudy shuddered and succumbed, kissing him back with abandon until she had to drag her lips from his to suck in a ragged breath.
She tucked her head against
Mac’s chest, palming his muscled pectorals. That kiss, his scent, the way his very heat aroused her—it all had to mean something. Her body wouldn’t have responded so viscerally if there wasn’t something deeper between them.
Trudy allowed her breath to calm, and then, with deliberation, laid out her terms. “We can start with a date. One date. And see where things go from there.”
“Okay,” Mac murmured into her hair, pulling her tighter.
She’d give him that one date. But as much as she believed him that the mistaken identity had been unintentional, he still should have made sure before snapping those photos. And she had just the opportunity for a little playful payback. She grinned as she said, “In that case, pick me up here, at five o’clock, on Saturday.”
His breath ruffled against her ear, triggering tingles and sparks of flame. “I don’t get to pick the date.”
“Um…I have something I’ve already committed to. But you can join me.”
“I’m fine with that. What is it we’re doing?”
Squirming, she glanced up at him and said, “I know I should tell you, but I’m afraid you’ll back out.”
He raised his brows. “Hmm…is this a test of some kind?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose you could call it that.”
“Then don’t tell me,” he said quickly. “Keep it a surprise. I’ll pass your test, and with flying colors. But what do I get if I pass?” He grinned, wide and bright-eyed and with hints of naughtiness in the sparkle in his eyes.
She snorted. “You’re not seriously trying to bet getting me into bed now, are you?”
He didn’t answer. Just kept grinning.
And the topsy-turvy rollercoaster in her tummy told her she hoped that’s exactly where his mind had gone.
Grey and orange filled the sky as the sun set over the suburbs just outside Sacramento. Mac cupped Trudy’s elbow in the palm of his hand, as they made their way up the walk to her sister’s home. A bottle of old vine zinfandel lay tucked in the crook of his arm. When he’d picked up Trudy earlier, she’d informed him that their date would consist of the two of them spending the evening with her sister’s family. He’d been surprised, but pleased, too. Although his time with Milla had been brief the other night, he’d enjoyed Trudy’s sister’s company. He could go for a family night in.
Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) Page 10