“Good point. Unko is a positive sign, I have to say. But tonight I’d skip the drink and go right to the photo shoot. That way you send this guy a clear message up front that you’re only in this for business.”
“Yes. I will.” Melissa stood, relieved to be moving. Barbara, as usual, had hit on the perfect solution. Melissa’s brain had been muddled by her attraction to Jack. She’d approach their meeting tonight the way she did any other business meeting. She’d been attracted to men she worked with in the past. That didn’t mean she had to fall apart around them.
“You were kind of hit by this guy, huh?”
Melissa took in a long breath, wanting to deny it. “A little rattled, yes.”
“I can tell.” Barbara pushed her chair back, got up and came around to perch on the other side of her desk. “You and I have come such a long way toward finding out who we are and what we want from our lives. When we’re good and ready, we’ll go looking for the romance we deserve. But neither of us is going to weaken and fall for someone just because he’s conveniently around.”
“Amen to that. If I wanted convenient, I could have married Trevor.” She shuddered, thinking of what life with her college boyfriend would have been like. Get up. Go to work. Come home. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Go to bed. Repeat. Like the life her father had. Melissa wanted so much more. With a man or without.
Barbara rose and put her hand on Melissa’s shoulder, gazing earnestly into her face. “Tell me what your instinct says about him. I mean in man-woman terms.”
Melissa couldn’t look Barbara in the eye. Her instinct about Jack was as complex as her erotic and/or surreal dreams about him. Or as his pictures. Celebration to self-destruction. Love to loneliness. “Only that I should be careful.”
“Ah.” Barbara folded her arms across her chest, lips thinned in a disapproving line. “Then you should be, Melissa. Very, very careful.”
* * *
“HEARD YOU FOUND HER.” Seth walked into the upstairs apartment that the group had set aside to use as a common area. The five Come to Your Senses tenants divided the extra rent and contributed toward keeping the shared refrigerator and cupboards stocked with drinks and snack items. They’d furnished it in dorm-room chic, with salvaged and no-longer-wanted furniture. Seth helped himself to a beer and sat down on the worn sofa next to Jack’s favorite chair, an old rust-colored wingback donated by Bonnie’s grandmother. “You’re seeing her tonight.”
“News travels fast.”
Seth laughed somewhat bitterly. “Dude, with Bonnie and Angela around, there is no such thing as privacy.”
Jack nodded, surprised at his friend’s irritation. Small group, good friends, close quarters, what did he expect? “Something bugging you?”
“Nah.” Seth opened his beer, chugged down a few long swallows.
“Just being pissy for the fun of it, huh?”
“Sure.” He drained his beer, crumpled the can. Something was definitely bugging him. Seth wasn’t a big drinker. His dad had been, and that was all the excuse his son had needed to be the opposite. “So you’re finally getting this girl in your studio.”
“Yup.” Jack knew better than to push. If Seth wanted to say anything he would, but it would take patience to get him to that point. Since Jack was meeting Melissa in fifteen minutes, Seth might be out of luck. Though, given that Bonnie had looked like a thunderstorm this morning, Jack would bet the two of them were frustrating the hell out of each other. Again. Jack wanted to give them both a wake-up smack. “We’re trying out some test photos.”
“Yeah? What’s this series? Woman as corkscrew? Girl with dying monkey? Female as coffee table?”
Jack chuckled, because otherwise he’d get angry, too, and Seth was just throwing crap at him because he couldn’t deal with his own. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Seriously, man, what’s this one about? You went looking for this woman for months. You’ve got to have a pretty good idea.” He stood up and grabbed another beer. “You want one?”
“I’m fine.” He rested his head back on the chair. “This series is different.”
“Yeah? How?” Seth clearly just wanted to talk. Jack felt for him, but the guy was being a dope when he could just ask for help with his “Bonnie” issue. Yeah, easy for Jack to say. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Share, either, something a lot of guys with deadbeat fathers probably had in common.
“I started out wanting to make a statement about how pop culture sexualizes women while society wants them to stay virgins.”
Seth opened the second beer. “How would you show that?”
“In a couple of ways. One, a series of body parts. Separated from the whole, totally abstract. Chin, breast, ankle, as if they were separate bricks of a building. Woman as sum total of her parts. Then I’m thinking I’d move on to stories. Eve. Venus. Catherine the Great. Still don’t have all the images nailed.”
“At least you know what you want to do.”
“Songwriting giving you trouble?”
“Fits.”
Interesting. Jack had been around Seth when he was composing in college, and he’d never seen a less tortured creative process, which drove him crazy, because his own was all about torture. “What’s the subject?”
“Love. Romance.” Seth gulped half his second beer and sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m trying to write this crap.”
“Oh, come on.” Seth could be incredibly dense. “I sure as hell do. Her name is Bo—”
“Don’t start with me, man.”
Jack shook his head. “Seriously, dude, for a smart guy...”
“Hi.”
The two men turned in unison. Demi Anderson, the mysterious woman who’d taken over Caroline’s massage studio, stood in the doorway. Dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, she was wearing her usual uniform of black shirt, black pants and an impenetrable expression. Jack thought she must be painfully shy. Bonnie thought she was a bitch. No one knew for sure since she kept to herself and interacted with the four of them in increments that revealed very little.
“Hey, Demi.” Jack gestured her into the room. “Pull up an ugly chair.”
“Can I get you a beer?” Seth half rose from the couch. Demi shook her head no. “Soda?”
“No, thanks. I was just wondering if one of you could help me.”
“Sure.” Jack stood and glanced at his watch. “If it’s quick. I’m meeting someone downstairs in five minutes.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Seth said. “What do you need?”
“I had a new massage table delivered, too heavy for me to move by myself. Can you help me carry it into the studio?”
“Sure.” Seth finished his beer and three-pointed it into the trash can across the room.
Show off.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” A rare smile lit her face, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. She should do that more often.
“So how come we never see you around?” Seth put his hands on his hips, towering over her. “You live with us, but you never hang out with us.”
Oh, subtle, Seth.
Demi looked startled. “Uh. Well. I guess I’m just...”
“Don’t listen to him.” Jack moved toward her. “You do what’s comfortable for you.”
“It’s nothing personal. But thanks, Jack.” Demi seemed more at ease with him than the others, which his ego didn’t mind at all. She was very attractive, very stylish and sexy. Not to mention that her body, which he’d had the happy occasion to see in a skin-tight jogging outfit a few times, was stunning.
If he hadn’t met Melissa, he might be tempted to—
Jack nearly tripped over nothing on the carpet. What the hell was that? If Demi didn’t live with them he’d be tempted to ask her out. That’s all he should have been thinking. Melissa had nothing to do with this.
Feeling on edge, he followed Seth and Demi downstairs. Melissa had been popping into way too many of his thoughts recently. He did want her, and was pretty sure if she were forced
to confess, she’d admit she wanted him, too, though she’d undoubtedly agree that acting on that desire was a bad idea. Which meant the two of them in his studio in close proximity, Melissa wearing some of the outfits—or non-outfits—he was considering, would be like gasoline and a lighted match working together to prevent fires.
He’d chosen her because she had that quality he was after, the serenity, the poise, the stillness that translated so well into photos. In person, though, she had an electric edge that fascinated him. He’d planned out some shots for her, but he had a feeling that until he got behind the lens with Melissa in front of it, he wouldn’t know exactly what he’d get.
In the building’s foyer, Seth and Demi were already busy hauling in a large box that looked more awkward than heavy, both laughing at something Seth had said, while Bonnie peered at them from her shop window.
Jack gritted his teeth. He should talk to Bonnie, get tougher than he had been, than any of them had been, and tell her Seth was not going to change, that it was time to abandon hope and rescue some kind of life for herself. She was too sweet, loving and sexual to be alone. Some lucky guy out there deserved all Bonnie had to give. She needed to make herself understand that Seth didn’t.
“Jack?”
Melissa. Jack jerked away from Bonnie’s painfully wistful expression, then told himself to chill. He didn’t want to come across as eager as...he was. “Hey, Melissa, how’s it going?”
She walked toward him, slender body wrapped in a sleeveless minidress, belted at the waist with a swath of the same silvery-gray fabric. On her feet were ballet-style flats with straps that wound up her ankle. Casual chic, and amazingly sexy. “I’m fine. How—”
“You certainly are.” He shook her hand, noting the scent that arrived with her, herbal and fresh, maybe a touch of citrus. He’d caught it when she was standing near him the day before; smelling her again was incredibly intimate. He didn’t want to think how tempted he’d feel with a drink or two in him. “You ready? There’s a bar down the street that serves—”
“I’d like to skip the drink if it’s okay with you.” She was back to her usual calm today, no fear, no uncertainty, gaze direct and pure. He found himself missing her fluster. She’d been even more magnificent pissed at him. “I’d rather go straight to the picture-taking.”
“Sure.” That suited him fine. He was dying to get her on camera, dying to see where his planned shots would take him. He hadn’t been this excited about a project in a long time. “Have you eaten? Do you want anything from Angela’s before we start?”
“Oh.” She slid a sideways glance into the shop. “Sure, that would be great. I am hungry.”
He was hyperaware of her nearness as she followed him into the bakery, how she stood—strong and still—how her head came to his chin. He was also aware of how much he wanted to touch her. This was going to be a hell of a photo series. Good chemistry with his models tended to turn into good pictures.
Angela wasn’t there, but he ordered two carrot muffins, two ginger cranberry scones and a couple of sodas from her student helper, Scott. With his piercings and jet-black hair he looked like a gang member, but was actually a nice and hardworking kid. A hardworking kid who couldn’t take his eyes off Melissa, not that Jack could blame him.
“Does Angela make wedding cakes?” Melissa spoke beside him, shifting her fabric bag from one shoulder to the other. “Or would she arrange cupcakes on tiers like a cake for a wedding?”
“You can order either one.” Scott handed Jack his bakery bag and cans of soda. “When’s your wedding?”
“It’s my sister’s. End of the month. Can Angela do it that soon?”
“I’ll have to check with her, but probably, yeah.”
Jack grinned. “Angela can do anything. Your sister came to the right place.”
“Oh.” Melissa looked pained. “Actually it was my idea. She wanted to make her own cake. But since I’d like to eat some of it...”
Jack chuckled, at the same time wondering what the dynamic was between Melissa and her sister and why Melissa seemed to be doing all the wedding planning. “You can’t go wrong with anything here.”
“I found that out last night.” She gestured to the cupcakes. “I tried three different kinds, just to taste, and nearly ate all of them.”
Scott pushed an order form across the counter. “Fill this out. She’ll let you know if there are any problems with the date.”
She thanked him. Scott was still smiling like a smitten puppy as Jack escorted her out of the bakery, feeling ridiculously smug that she was with him. “How did you get stuck organizing your sister’s wedding?”
“I wouldn’t call it stuck.”
“Most people would.”
“I chose to do it. Gretchen is...” Melissa frowned. “She’s not very demanding. I mean, she’s sort of passive, takes the easy route even if it’s not what she really wants. I thought if I did it the way our mom would have, it would mean more to her.”
“Would have? Your mom’s gone?”
“When I was thirteen. Uterine cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” He was surprised by a rush of protectiveness. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, though his father hadn’t died, just ditched the family and all his responsibilities. For a second he considered telling her that, to establish a connection, then stopped himself. Only a very few people particularly close to him knew about his dad. Melissa wasn’t in that league.
“I want Gretchen to have a really beautiful wedding without breaking the bank, not something she and her fiancé cobble together last-minute. So wherever I can help, I’m helping. I was thinking of having Bonnie do the flowers, too. She’s very talented and her prices are reasonable.”
“She is. We also have a musician upstairs if she wants an original song, and a massage therapist if she gets bridal jitters. That’s Seth and Demi. You saw them moving in the big box.”
“Hey.” Melissa turned to him, eyes alight, nearly making Jack drop the bakery bag. “You should advertise Come to Your Senses as a total wedding package.”
“Not a bad idea.” He recovered from his clumsiness and opened the door to his shop, ushered her in and through to his studio, annoyed by how much she unsettled him. His usual female targets were chatty women full of life and open sexuality. He responded instinctively to their energy and passion, knew how to handle them, how to tease, how far to go and when to pull back. Women like this, calm and utterly self-possessed, gave him no cues, no rules, no road map. Apparently he’d gotten too used to his standard operating procedure.
“Nice.” She was standing in the center of the studio, looking around, her silvery-gray dress the perfect complement to the black and white elements around her. The white canvas backdrop unrolled halfway across the floor, white walls and black equipment—tripods, umbrella lights for focus, soft boxes for more diffuse lighting. He watched her, wanting to capture her simply today, posed in front of the stark white background, bright lights exposing any potential flaws. Though if she had any, they were well hidden. “Where should I change?”
He pointed to the bathroom and fiddled unnecessarily with his equipment until she emerged minutes later wearing snug black capris and a clingy black top. “This outfit okay? You said black...”
“Fine.” For today. She’d be wearing various different costumes in the final series. Many of which were almost not there.
“So.” She stood, hands at her sides, body starkly silhouetted in front of the white backdrop. “How long have you been at this?”
“Photography? Since I was a kid taking pictures of my family, then for the school newspaper.” He walked closer, focusing on her, his eyes as the lens, noting her lines, her angles, then reached for his trusty Nikon to let it do the same. “My heroes ranged from Walter Iooss, who shot for Sports Illustrated, to fine-art photographer Bill Brandt. I’ve always been interested in photographing people, which is good because people will pay to get their pictures taken. Objects not so much.”
&n
bsp; She’d been examining his wind machine, but at his last comment, she turned and smiled. Click. He got her. Click. And her startled expression. Click. And the beautiful, embarrassed laughter that followed.
He started circling her, taking more shots. Her laughter quieted. “Jack, I don’t know what to do.”
“Whatever you want.”
“What I want is to sit down and have you point that thing at someone else.”
“Whatever you want except that. Try some yoga? In very slow motion, half the speed you usually do it, maybe slower.”
“Okay.” She nodded, lips compressed, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Opening them, she began the sun salute, lifting her arms, swan-diving forward...
He photographed her, kid in a candy store, eager finally to get as close as he wanted, to capture all the shots he craved. He moved around her, thinking of his first set of images, waiting for his instinct to kick in and dissect her into parts and angles, textures and colors and shapes. He would pounce in that instant, on the pose, the perfect disembodiment of womanhood.
It didn’t happen. He focused, shot, zoomed in and out, took a muffin, scone and soda break and tried again. He got the turn of her ankle, the curve of her hip, the delicate push of her collarbone, just the way he’d envisioned. But no matter how far he tried to remove himself, to keep the pictures cold, mechanical, it was always her, always Melissa. Not woman, not a study of the body, but Melissa’s ankles, Melissa’s hips, Melissa’s collarbone, breasts, smooth cheeks, tempting lips.
He started to sweat. When he looked at the textures of her body and clothes, all he could think about was how much he wanted to touch them. The concepts in his mind were not about art, not about images, not about philosophy, sociology. They were all about...
Sex.
Photography was his craft, his art, his profession, one of the sacred aspects of his life in which he had absolute confidence. Right now he felt like Don Juan in bed with the woman of his dreams, not able to get it up.
Melissa had everything he needed for this series. She was beautiful, alluring, and radiated spiritual calm. He had to find some way to take pictures of her without spending every minute distracted by how much he wanted her.
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