by Nora Roberts
in her purse. “All right, girls.” She flipped her hair back. “Let’s go flaunt it.”
They slid out of the limo, then streamed past the line of hopefuls outside the club. Parker gave her name at the door. In seconds they were inside the wall of music.
Mac scoped it out. Two levels of booths, tables, and banquettes left room for a central dance floor. On either side, under the rainfall of colored lights, stood stainless steel bars.
Music churned; bodies gyrated. And her mood clicked up a couple of notches.
“I love when a plan comes together.”
They hunted up a table first, and Mac considered it an omen of good when they scored a small banquette where they could squeeze in together.
“Observe the species,” Mac said. “This is my first rule. Observe the plumage, the rituals before making any attempt to acclimate.”
“Screw that, I’m going for drinks. Are we sticking with champagne?” Emma wanted to know.
“Get a bottle,” Parker decided.
Laurel rolled her eyes as Emma wiggled out and started toward the nearest bar. “You know she’ll get hit on a dozen times before she orders anything, and feel obliged to have actual conversations with the guys who drool on her. We’ll all die of thirst before she gets back. Parker, you should go, and put on your invisible cloak of Back Off until we’re set up here.”
“Give her a few minutes first. How’s the fear factor, Mac?”
“Diminishing. I can’t even imagine the undeniably cute Dr. Maguire in a place like this, can you? At a poetry reading, sure, but not here.”
“Now, see, that’s assumption and conclusion based on profession. Like saying because I’m a baker, I must resemble the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
“Yes, yes, it is, but it helps my cause. I don’t want to get involved with him.”
“Because he has a PhD?”
“Yes, and great eyes, a really soft blue that go all sexy when he’s wearing his glasses. And there’s the unexpected superior kisser factor, which could blind me to the basic fact that we’re not suited. Plus any relationship with him outside the most casual of friendships would be a
serious relationship. What would I do about that?
And he helped me on with my coat, twice.”
“Dear God!” Parker widened her eyes in shock. “You have to nip this in the bud, quickly, finally. I understand it all now. Any man who would do that is . . . Words fail.”
“Oh, shut up. I want to dance. Laurel’s going to dance with me while Parker swirls on her Back-Off cloak and rescues our champagne—and rescues Emma from her own magnetism.”
“Apparently it’s time to acclimate,” Laurel said when Mac pulled her up and toward the dance floor.
SHE DANCED, WITH HER FRIENDS, WITH MEN WHO ASKED, OR whom she asked. She drank more champagne. In the silver and red ladies room, she rubbed her sore feet while Emma joined the army of women at the mirrors.
“How many numbers have you collected so far?”
Emma carefully applied fresh lip gloss. “I haven’t counted.”
“Approximate?”
“About ten, I guess.”
“And how will you tell them apart later?”
“It’s a gift.” She glanced over. “You’ve got one on the line, I noticed. The guy in the gray shirt. He’s got some moves on the floor.”
“Mitch. Smooth on the floor, great smile. Doesn’t strike me as an asshole.”
“There you go.”
“I should get the tingles for Mitch,” Mac considered. “But I’m not getting them. Maybe I’ve been detingled. That would be seriously unfair.”
“Maybe you’re not getting them for him because you’ve got them for Carter.”
“You get the tingles for more than one guy at a time.”
“Yes, yes, I do. But I’m me and you’re you. I figure men are there to make me tingle, and if I can do the same for them, everybody’s happy. You’re much more serious about such matters.”
“I’m not serious. That’s a mean thing to say. I’m going out there and dancing with Mitch again, open to tingles. You’ll eat those words, Emmaline. With chocolate sauce.”
It didn’t work. It
should have worked, Mac thought as she settled at the bar with Mitch after another dance. The man was great-looking, funny, built, had an interesting job as a travel journalist but didn’t bore her senseless with countless stories about his adventures.
He didn’t get pissy or pushy when she turned down his suggestion they go somewhere more quiet. In the end they exchanged business numbers, and parted ways.
“Forget men.” At two A.M. Mac crawled back into the limo, and sprawled. “I came to have fun with my best pals in the land, and said mission was accomplished. God, do we have any water in here?”
Laurel passed her a bottle, then groaned. “My feet. My feet are screaming like voices of the damned.”
“I had the best time.” Emma slid onto the limo’s side bench and pillowed her head on her hands. “We should do this once a month.”
Parker yawned, but tapped her purse. “I have two new contacts for vendors,
and a potential client.”
And so, Mac thought as the limo streamed north, we each define ourselves. She toed off her now very painful shoes, shut her eyes, and slept the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE MORNING THE SUN WAS JUST A LITTLE STRONGER THAN it needed to be, in Mac’s estimation. But otherwise, all was well.
See, she told herself. Young and resilient.
In her pajamas she ate a mini Hostess coffee cake with her coffee and watched the birds swoop and dive at the feeder. Ms. Cardinal enjoyed breakfast this morning, too, she noted. Along with her brightly plumed mate, and some unidentified neighbors.
She’d need her zoom lens to get a closer look and identify them. Probably some sort of book or guide, too, as the visual wouldn’t tell her anything unless it was a robin or a blue jay.
Catching herself, she stepped away from the window. What the hell did she care? They were just birds. She wasn’t going to sideline into nature photography or birdography.
Annoyed with herself, she crossed into her studio to check her appointment book and her messages. She had an afternoon appointment with a former Vows bride, now an expectant mother for pregnancy portraits. That, Mac thought, would be fun. And a nice stroke for the ego that her wedding photos had been so well received, the mom-to-be wanted this follow-up.
It gave her the rest of the morning to complete some work already ordered, to take the meeting at the main house, and to review the client’s wedding portrait for ideas on baby-in-waiting.
An hour or so toggled in, either side of the studio shoot for website work, she determined, and that was a good day.
Shifting, she pressed Play on her answering machine, business line. She followed up when necessary, congratulated herself on being a good girl, then checked her personal line.
Three messages in, she got the tingle.
“Damn it,” she said under her breath as Carter’s voice hit her straight in the belly.
“Ah, hi. It’s Carter. I wonder if you might want to go out to dinner, or maybe the movies. Maybe you like plays better than movies. I should’ve looked up what might be available before I called. I didn’t think of it. Or we could just have coffee again if you want to do that. Or . . . I’m not articulate on these things. I can’t use a tape recorder either. And why would you care? If you’re at all interested in any of the above, please feel free to call me. Thanks. Um. Good-bye.”
“Damn you, Carter Maguire, for your insanely cute quotient. You should be annoying. Why aren’t I annoyed? Oh God, I’m going to call you back. I know I’m going to call you back. I’m in such trouble.”
Calculating, she decided the odds were strong in her favor that he’d already left for work. She preferred the idea of talking to his answering machine in turn.
When his clicked on she relaxed. Unlike Carter, she
> was articulate on answering machines. “Carter, Mac. I might like to go out to dinner, or the movies, possibly a play. I have no objection to coffee. How about Friday, as it’s not a school night? Pick the activity and let me know.
“Tag, you’re it.”
See, it doesn’t have to be serious, she reminded herself. I can set the tone. Just having some fun with a perfectly nice guy.
Satisfied, she decided to indulge by working the first hour of her day in her pjs. Nicely on schedule, she dressed and took the consult at the main house, breezed back to her own with time to spare before her shoot.
Her message light blinked at her.
“Uh, it’s Carter again. Is this annoying? I hope it’s not annoying. I happened to check my messages at home on my lunch break. Actually, I made a point to check them in case you called me back. Which you did. I’m afraid I have a faculty dinner to attend Friday. I’d invite you but if you accepted and attended, you’d never go out with me again. I’d rather not risk it. If another night would do, even—ha ha—a school night, I’d like very much to take you out. If you’d like that, maybe we could do dinner and a movie. Is that too much? It’s probably too much. I’m confusing myself. I’d like to add, though it may not seem possible, I have asked women out before.
“I guess this makes you it.”
She grinned, as she’d grinned throughout the message. “Okay, Carter, try this one on.” She punched Call Back, waited for the beep. “Hi, Professor, guess who this is? I appreciate being shielded from the faculty dinner. Showing both good sense and chivalry has earned you points. How about Saturday night? Why don’t we start with dinner and see where it goes? You can pick me up at seven.
“And, yes, this makes you it again to confirm.”
In the best of moods, Mac switched on some music, dropped down at her computer. She sang along as she reviewed her upcoming client’s wedding shots. As possibilities and angles ran through her mind, she made notes. She clicked back through her files to see what equipment, what lighting, what techniques she’d used on the bridal portraits.
Considering the client’s olive complexion, the dark hair, the deep brown, exotic eyes, Mac chose an ivory drop. And remembering the client as just a little shy, just a bit demure, Mac decided to save what she thought could be the money shot until after she’d warmed mom-to-be up a little.
But she could prepare for it. She grabbed the phone, hitting the button for Emma as she opened the door to what she considered her prop room. “Hey, I need a bag of red rose petals. I’ve got a client coming any minute or I’d come down and steal them myself. Can you run them up here? And maybe, just in case, a couple of long-stemmed reds? They can be silk. Thanks. Bye.”
Juiced, she checked the bright pink tackle box she used for professional makeup, then switched the music to a New-Agey CD she thought suited the shoot. She was adjusting the backlight when Emma came in.
“You didn’t say what color red roses. It does matter, you know.”
“Not so much for this. And I can always manipulate them in Photoshop. Besides . . .” She walked over to take the ones Emma held. “Perfect.”
“The rose petals are real, so—”
“I’ll charge them off. Listen, since you’re here, can you stand in? You’ve got close to the same coloring, and you’re about the same height. Here.” She pushed the roses back at Emma. “Go over there, give me a three-quarter body angle, facing the window, head turned to the camera.”
“What’s this for?”
“Pregnancy shoot.”
“Oh, for Rosa.” Emma assumed the position. “Laurel did the cake for her shower last week. Don’t you love the follow-up clients? How we get to see these important scenes in their life.”
“Yeah, I do. Light’s good, I think. For the standard shots anyway.”
“What are you doing with the petals?”
“They’re for later, for the real shot—after I convince Rosa to get pretty much naked.”
“Rosa?” Emma gave an eye-rolling laugh. “Good luck with that.”
“You know her, right? I mean before she was a client. The wedding gig came through you. Your third cousin once removed or something?”
“My mother’s uncle’s cousin-by-marriage’s granddaughter. I think. But yeah, I know her. I know everyone, and everyone knows me.”
Could be a stroke of luck, Mac calculated. “Can you stick around for a while? You could help put her at ease.”
“I can give you a little time,” Emma decided after a check of her watch, “mostly because I’m dying to see how you try to get her undressed.”
“Don’t say anything about it,” Mac said quickly when she heard the knock on the door. “I need to guide her toward it.”
Mac’s first thought on opening the door was
Wow! Look at the shape. And her mind shot off in various directions on how to exploit it, showcase it, intensify it as she drew Rosa inside.
Having Emma there served as a plus; nobody put people at ease quicker than Emmaline.
“Oh, Rosa, look at you!” All warmth, all welcome, Emma lifted her hands. “You’re gorgeous!”
With a quick laugh, Rosa shook her head while Mac took her coat. “I’m enormous.”
“Gorgeously. Oh, I bet you can’t wait. Let’s sit down for just a minute. Have you picked out names?”
“We keep thinking we have, then change our minds.” With a little whoosh of breath, her hand on the mountain of her belly, Rosa eased into a chair. “Today it’s Catherine Grace for a girl, Lucas Anthony for a boy.”
“Wonderful.”
“You don’t know the sex?” Mac asked.
“We talked ourselves out of it.”
“I love a surprise, don’t you? And it’s exciting to have Mac photograph you now.”
“My sister nagged me into it. I guess, at some point, I’ll appreciate looking back and seeing myself looking like I swallowed a hot air balloon.”
“You’re beautiful,” Mac said simply. “I’m going to show you. Why don’t you stand up here so I can take some test shots? Do you want anything first? Water? Tea?”
Rosa pulled a bottle of water out of her purse. “I drink like a camel, pee like an elephant.”
“Bathroom’s right over there, any time you need it. And any time you just want a break, say so.”
“Okay.” Rosa levered herself out of the chair. “Is my hair all right? This outfit? Everything?”
She’d pulled her dark hair back in a tail—very tidy. Mac intended to fix that. She’d chosen simple black pants and a bright blue sweater that skinned over the mountain. They would, Mac thought, start there.
“You’re fine. Just test shots. See the tape on the floor there? Stand right on the X.”
“I can’t even see my feet.” But Rosa moved to the mark, stood stiffly while Mac checked her light meter.
“Turn to the side, head toward me. Chin up a little, not that much. Yes, put your hands on the baby.” She glanced toward Emma.
Picking up the signal, Emma got up to wander behind Mac. “Have you set up the nursery?”
Emma kept Rosa talking, made her laugh and Mac took the first Polaroid. She rubbed it on her thigh to speed the developing, then, opening it, walked to Rosa. “See? You’re beautiful.”
Rosa took the print, stared. “I may be enormous, but I sure look happy. It’s really pretty, Mac.”
“We’re going to do even better. Let’s try a few in that same pose.”
Warming up now, Mac noted as she chatted Rosa up along with Emma. She tossed in quick directions. Tilt your head to the right, shift your shoulders. Halfway through she handed Rosa one of Emma’s long-stems, tried shots with the flower as a prop.
She got a full roll of what she considered very nice, very ordinary pregnant woman shots.
“Let’s try something else. A different angle, a different top.”
“Oh, I didn’t bring another top.”
“I’ve got something.”
Rosa patted h
er mound. “You couldn’t possibly have anything that would fit me.”
“It’s not about fit. Trust me.” Mac pulled a plain white man’s shirt out of the prop room. “We’re going to leave it unbuttoned.”
“But—”
“The contrast of the sharp lines of the shirt against the round curve of your belly. Trust me. And if you don’t like the look, no harm.”
“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Emma poured out enthusiasm. “Baby bumps are so cute.”
“I’m at thirty-eight weeks. The bump is Mount Everest.”
“It’s a beautiful shape,” Mac told her. “And you have great skin. The tone, the texture.”
“It’s just us girls,” Emma reminded her. “I’d love to see how it looks. The lighting’s so pretty, so flattering.”
“Well, maybe. But I’m just going to look fat.” Reluctantly, Rosa pulled off the sweater.
“I want one!” Emma exclaimed, and stroked a hand lightly over the baby. “Sorry. But it’s just . . . magnetic. It’s us, you know? We’re the only ones who can do it.”
“Celebrating the female.” Mac slipped the shirt on Rosa, fussed with the lines, turned up the cuffs a couple of times. “Let’s let your hair down. Contrast again, and it’s more womanly. I’m going to add a little more gloss to your lips, okay? So they read a little deeper.”
Flustered now, Mac thought as she worked. But that was all right. She could use that. “More a three-quarter angle for this, shoulder more forward. Good! Maybe cup your hands under your belly. Very pretty. I just need to adjust the light.”
“Are you sure I don’t look stupid? Sloppy? I feel like a cow who’s gone way past milking time.”
“Rosa.” Emma sighed. “You look sexy.”
Mac captured the surprise, the pleasure—and finally, the pride. “Big smile, okay. Straight at me. I mean, jeez, look what you did! That’s good. Okay? Need a break?”
“No, I’m fine. I just feel a little silly, I guess.”
“You don’t look silly, trust me. Emma, dress the sleeve a little, right side. See where it’s—perfect,” she said when Emma stepped over and adjusted. “Now, Rosa, turn a little more toward me. Little more. There. Hands on the sides of your belly. Good.”
She could see it coming together as she shot. See the moment, the magic. Nearly there, she thought. “I want you to look down, but lift your eyes—just your eyes to me. Look at the secret you have, the power. Think, for just a minute, how that secret got in there. Pow! Rosa, you’re
fabulous.”
“I wish I’d worn a nicer bra.”
With that door cracked open, Mac lowered her camera. “Take it off.”
“Mackensie!” Rosa released a horrified giggle.
“We’re going to try a figure study. You’re going to love it.” Voice brisk, Mac gestured. “Sit down, relax, rest a minute. I need to set up.”
“What does she mean, figure study? Is that naked?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Emma took Rosa’s arm. “Come on and sit. We might as