Light Me Up

by Isabel Sharpe

  She was breathing hard now, afraid of what she was doing, loving what she was doing, not sure when or how she’d stop. She lay on her back, scarf between her legs, twisted her body to the right, hands flat on the floor, apple by her breast, and looked back at the camera. Looked back at her photographer. Looked back at Jack.

  Come get me. I dare you.

  7

  JACK LOWERED HIS CAMERA, emerging from the dazed concentration of watching Melissa transform into everything he’d hoped she could be and more. A lot more.

  Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? Invitation, pure and simple, in her eyes.

  Or was it in Eve’s eyes? A role she was playing for the camera?

  He’d wanted Melissa from the first moment he saw her in the park, arching her back in Upward Dog, face turned to the sun. Now she lay in front of him, naked, barely covered by the snake-scarf between her legs, breasts swelling free, the brilliant red of the apple contrasting with the stark white of the sheet under her and the golden hue of her shoulder. Lips parted, hair in wild disarray—she’d made him hard even without the come-on look in her eyes.

  One step, two, then he lifted the camera again, moved so he was straddling her, one foot on either side of her thighs, aiming his lens at her lips.

  She twisted around, lay on her back, hands cushioning her head.

  To hell with the camera; this was a conquest. He lowered it again, gazed down at her long smooth legs, beautifully curving hips and narrow waist, tight nipples on round soft breasts, and at her delicate features: rosebud lips, high pink cheekbones, heavy-lidded smoldering gaze. That gaze changed as he hesitated. Her eyes grew wider, allowed in a touch of vulnerability. No more Eve. This was Melissa looking at Jack.

  The seduction game he knew, had played it many times over and enjoyed it every time. He’d also seen plenty of women play the role—the sexy movements, flipping hair, exposed necks, sultry gazes—and behind them always an odd combination of anxiety, desperation and cynicism.

  That wasn’t what Melissa was projecting. None of it. This wasn’t a knee-jerk seduction for her.

  He pulled his camera strap from around his neck, lowered it safely to the floor. Knelt and put his hand flat over the notch of her collarbone, then drew it down her body in a leisurely stroke, savoring the smooth pliancy of her skin, the swells of her breasts, parentheses for his hand, the graceful spread of her rib cage, her muscled abdomen. He stopped before the slow slide into soft curls.

  He stopped.

  “You’re beautiful, Melissa.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice had turned shy. She couldn’t meet his eyes, lowered hers so they were almost closed. She was lying there, waiting for him to make the next move.

  Jack held still, watching the sweep of her eyelashes over her cheek, their shadows delicate spikes on her skin. His hand grew restless on her abdomen, wanting to explore. Yet Jack—the great seducer, the great lover, conqueror of women citywide and now kneeling next to this stunning woman who was offering herself in no uncertain terms—was holding back.

  He’d never sleep with one of his models, but Melissa wasn’t a professional, and he wasn’t paying her. Those ethics weren’t driving his hesitation. Something else. Something that felt again very much like whatever had kept him in the trees, photographing her from that distance for so long.

  Her lids rose, blue eyes gazed at him expectantly, questioningly; her beauty made Jack’s breath catch in his chest. He leaned over, supported himself on one arm and brushed his lips across hers, as warm and sweet as they looked.

  He tasted her again, then again, half of him on fire to take it further, the other half bogged in confusion.

  She gave a soft, sweet moan and slid her arms around him, mouth hungry against his. Passion won him over; he collapsed next to her, rolling her on top of him to spare her the hard floor. Her body felt so good against his; he followed the curve of her back to the gorgeous firm ass that seemed made for his palm. She was everything he’d imagined.

  Her hands went up under his shirt; her mouth explored his chest. Arousal burned through him; he cupped her buttocks and held her firmly over his straining cock, the material providing an effective barrier for now.

  Barrier. Condoms. He didn’t have one. He doubted she did, either.

  But there were other things they could do to—

  Melissa raised herself, hands braced on his chest, her hair falling forward, lips parted, two gorgeous breasts begging for his touch. He couldn’t resist, took their soft weight into his hands, then made the mistake of looking up into her shining, slumberous eyes.

  Something shifted, some element between them clicked into an unrecognizable place that felt as strange as it felt inevitable.

  “Jack.”

  She bent forward; he lifted his head to meet her, cupping the nape of her neck, kissing her with passion that nearly swept him away, openmouthed kisses with tongues touching and stroking. Her breath accelerated; she gasped. They tumbled to one side; she landed hard, didn’t stop kissing him, her arms around his back like bands of desperation. Emotion, thick and powerful, threatened to overwhelm him.

  He left her mouth, found her neck, biting gently, down lower to her breasts, sucking hard. Better. Easier. Familiar territory. His hand sought then found the warm wet place between her legs, nearly losing his mind when she gasped. Cried out. Gasped again.

  Except...his lust-clouded brain registered that something was wrong.

  “No.”

  That got through. He moved his hand away, came up from her breast. She was staring at him, panting, looking as if she was about to cry.

  “Melissa.” Instinctively he tried to gather her close; she resisted, pushing against his chest. He let her go. Had he hurt her? He didn’t see how. “What is it? What happened?”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears welled, spilled over. He felt horrible, filthy, as if he’d gone too far. “I just... I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  “Melissa, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He wanted to touch her again, but instead took off his shirt and draped it over her shoulders. Sat next to her again, cursing himself for not listening to the instinct telling him to stay away. “Any guesses what happened?”

  “Oh.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m just an idiot.”

  “I doubt that.” He wanted to help, wasn’t sure how. “Try me?”

  “It was just...” She waved a hand, let it drop helplessly to the now-rumpled canvas underneath them. “Intense.”

  “Uh-huh.” He understood that. Big-time. More than she knew.

  “And it sort of scared me.” She laughed nervously, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave in to his need, lifted her hair so he could see her face, so lovely even sad. “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because it’s ridiculous. I wanted you to— I wanted it. I asked for it.” She snorted. “And then, I turned chicken or something.”

  “Actually—” he stroked her back, let his arm rest across her shoulders, feeling her body relax against him, surprised at his pleasure when it did “—it got to me, too.”

  Melissa turned her tearstained face up to his. He nearly choked. What the hell had he done? All but told her she scared him? Come on. That wasn’t part of any game he’d ever played with any woman.

  “Really?”

  He desperately wanted to look away, to stop the tenderness piercing his chest. But he couldn’t do that to her. Even though he was about to lie again, which bothered him.

  “Really.” The word came out easily. And didn’t feel like a lie. Which bothered him more.

  “Look, Melissa. It’s no big secret I’m attracted to you. And obviously I set up a charged situation with this shoot. But that doesn’t mean we have to cross the line again. What happened today was probably a good clear sign that we shouldn’t.”

  She nodded, her body drooping into obvious relief.

  That bothered him, too.

  “So this is good.” He squeezed her in a b
uddy-buddy way. “We know where we stand now. We can try the photography again another day and stay away from physical contact. How does that sound?”

  Uh. Had Jack Shea just suggested to a woman he wanted that they not become sexually involved?

  “It sounds good.” She managed a small brave smile at him, and he wanted to kiss her again so badly that he took his arm from around her and jumped up to get away. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “For attacking you?” He quirked an eyebrow so she’d know he was teasing.

  “For understanding me. Both now and before, during the shoot. That was...amazing.”

  He nodded, sure, no problem, de nada, and watched her gather up her underwear and walk out of his studio, the stunning length of her legs, the sweetly vulnerable bend to her head, the stride that had lost its serene confidence, turning her from the perfect Eve to a woman who apparently could get to him in a way he’d never experienced before.

  Agreeing they’d keep their distance was good, it was right. He was putting Melissa at ease and sparing himself any weirdness in the future. At the same time he was acting in a mature and responsible manner, which couldn’t be a bad thing. By staying away from her physically he was saving himself from complications he had no interest in inviting into his heart.

  If only he could shut away the nagging thought that at the same time he might be denying himself something vital to his soul.

  * * *

  BONNIE SAT AT HER COMPUTER, nursing a glass of wine poured from a bottle Seth had insisted he didn’t care for, and would she please take it off his hands? Yeah, boy, gotta hate those French burgundies. She should have called him on it, but frankly, having a glass of wine at night was a luxury she really missed, and she’d gone along with his ploy, made all the more ridiculous since they both knew perfectly well what he was up to.

  Ridiculous and really, really sweet.

  Deep breath, another sip and she launched her browser, typed in the address: Seattledates.com.

  God help her. Drinking wine given to her by the love of her life while she tried to find a new boyfriend.

  She’d filled out a Seattledates profile the night before and, my God, how exhausting was it to try to sound honest and sane, caring and supportive, and sexy and funny in a few short paragraphs? She’d done okay, she thought, but hadn’t had the courage to set the profile to public view just yet. One baby step at a time. Tonight, having finished her latest Bonnie Blooms’ Blog, a rather irreverent size-matters story about how passionflowers could only be pollinated by really big bees, she was going to check out the male merchandise, see if there was anyone worth looking at. From what she’d heard, the free sites tended to attract as many perverts and weirdos as real, sincere men. But she couldn’t afford the steep rent of the paid sites.

  She pulled up the search criteria and filled in a few to narrow the list. Woman seeking man. Within five years of her age. No smoking. Thirty miles distance. Single only. With a job. At least some college. Was that enough? Not enough? Too much?

  Finger held over the Enter button, she finally got up the nerve and poked it.

  Good God.

  Twenty pages of thumbnail summaries. How many on a page? Dozens.

  Half an hour later, her glass was empty and she’d broken her rule about making the bottle last as long as possible by pouring herself more. This was nuts. What could she tell from pictures of men she’d never seen move or blink, heard speak or laugh, never smelled them or their aftershave? Complete strangers. How was she supposed to choose with any reliability?

  Another half hour gone, another glass, she decided she couldn’t pick sensibly, so she’d just follow her gut. Bald guy with beard, no; bald guys with beards looked upside down. Guy with picture of his mother, no. Guy whose typo-ridden profile proclaimed his love of pubic displays of affection, no. Guy whose picture was a close-up of his crotch, no. Guy who undoubtedly murdered someone and got away with it, no thank you.

  She wanted nice, boy-next-door normal. Wasn’t there a little field you could click for that?

  Apparently not. Looking sadly at her empty glass, and longingly at the bottle, Bonnie made herself click on the next page, determined to go through the candidates thoroughly, to give everyone a chance.

  No...no...no...

  Ooh, how about that one?

  She clicked to view his profile and additional pictures. Definitely possible. Not gorgeous, not ugly by any means. Normal. Looked like he had a decent body, too. And his introduction...

  I’ve been out of a relationship for a year and am ready to dive in again, but fine waiting until it’s right. I’m an IT geek, but I was a journalism major and write on the side. I’ve got good friends, am healthily close to my family, love cooking and eating, travel, conversation, working out and continuing to evolve out of the cave. I don’t love writing commercials for myself. (Now how much would you pay?) On a date I am easy to talk to, interested in who you are and am generally well behaved. I am attracted to women who are positive, confident, passionate communicators and see the humor in everything. Infatuation doesn’t last, but I believe if both parties are determined to keep the passion in a relationship they can.

  “Ooh.” Bonnie put her hand to her heart, which was doing a pretty impressive tap dance. This one looked really good.

  Maybe she should write to him. No reason not to. It wasn’t as if she had to marry him. She didn’t even have to answer him if he wrote back. No risk.

  Bonnie’s cheeks flushed hot. She giggled nervously.

  Well.

  One click brought up a blank message screen. What the hell was she going to say?

  Dear Mercer533. Hi.

  Oh, that was brilliant.

  I saw your profile online, and liked it. If you think mine looks good, too, then—

  “Knock knock.” Seth’s voice from her foyer. None of the tenants of Come to Your Senses bothered locking their apartment doors unless privacy was vital. Bonnie should have locked hers.

  She scrambled to save the note, hit the wrong combination of buttons. A window popped up she’d never seen before. What the—

  “Hello?” Footsteps sounded in her living room, her kitchen. “Bonnie?”

  “Yeah, in here.” She got rid of the weird window, jabbed more buttons to save the profile.

  Her computer froze.

  Damn it.

  “Here you are.” He pushed into her room as if it was his.

  “Oh, hi.” Bonnie shoved back from the monitor, jumped out of her chair and whirled around. “Hi, Seth.”

  “Uh.” He looked at her curiously. “Hi?”

  “Yeah, hi, how’s it going?” She sounded exactly as guilty and nervous as she was feeling.

  “Fine, thank you.” His gorgeous gray eyes narrowed. “And what were we doing in this room just now?”

  “Geez, Seth.” She started to move in front of her monitor to hide it, then realized what she was doing. For heaven’s sake. She was free to date anyone she wanted to date, and too bad for him if he found out. In fact, maybe it was better he did. She had nothing to feel guilty about. “It’s my room. I can do what I want.”

  “Yes, it is. But when you jump up and give me a look as if you were plotting the illegal overthrow of the U.S. government, it’s my duty as a loyal citizen to ask questions.” He folded his arms over his broad chest, looking his steely-eyed sternest. “You have something to tell me, young lady?”

  She grinned, couldn’t help it. “Only name, rank and serial number.”

  “Hmm.” His eyes went past her to the screen. His faux-commando pose faltered. “What the hell is that?”

  “Oh. That’s Seattledates.com.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but only ended up sounding like someone trying to be nonchalant and failing. “I signed up.”

  “Yeah?” He bunched his lips together, a sure sign it bugged him but he didn’t want to let on. “How’s that working for you?”

  She shrugged, searching his face, trying to cope with the turbulence inside her. Guilt sh
e was angry for feeling, worry for Seth she was even angrier to be feeling, plus determination to kick this man out of her heart once and for all, plus doubt she’d ever be able to. Nice little stew. “I’m just starting.”

  “Yeah? What brought this on?”

  She sent him a look that implied he was failing adult kindergarten. “I want to go out with someone? Have fun with a guy? Maybe get serious? I’m old enough, you know.”

  “Sure. Yeah.” He walked over to her bookshelf, chose a book and opened it with interest he had to be faking because it was total chick lit and he wouldn’t be caught dead reading it. “I’m just not sure why you picked now.”

  “Because now is when I’m ready. What are you getting at, Seth?”

  “I just feel like...” He shrugged, leafing through the book he wasn’t reading. “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t know. He never knew. And that was why she had Seattledates.com up on her screen right now. “You feel like you don’t know?”

  Seth blew out a breath of frustration. “I feel like you and I are getting closer again. Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” She wanted to slug him. Closer? To what? Mutual annihilation? Her anger got stronger, and with it her courage. “What do you mean, Seth? Exactly. Spell it out.”

  “Okay.” He put the book down—not back where he’d found it—and faced her. “I thought you and I were heading for each other again.”

  “Heading for each other?” She knew what he meant. She was going to make him say it and then she was going to correct him in no uncertain terms. If he hadn’t seen her profile up on Seattledates.com there was no way they’d be having this conversation, and this “closer” they were supposedly getting would not bear anything like relationship fruit for another century at least.

  “You know what I mean, Bonnie.”

  “Indulge me.”

  “Give me a break.” He shoved his hand through his hair, then jammed it on his hip. “I’m trying. Okay? It is hard for me to—”