by Cat Schield
She didn’t hesitate before striding toward the white screen. After twenty-five years there was nowhere she felt more at home than on set. Here, she became a girl next door, a seductress, a woman in love, a rag doll, a warrior, a free spirit, a crusader. Or any one of a thousand other incarnations. Finding the center of the backdrop, she turned to face Oliver and found him watching her, his right hand resting on a camera, as if halted amid the act of picking it up.
“How do you get people to open up so that you can photograph them stripped down to their essence?”
“It’s different for every person. The key is to find the trigger that allows their guard to fall.”
“How do you make that happen?” While Sammi never hesitated when asked to pose in the nude, contemplating the exposure of her inner landscape made her woozy with anxiety. “How do you break down their walls?”
“Before the subject comes in to be photographed, I do a significant amount of research on them.”
“What sort of research?”
“Background on their personal and professional lives.”
Sammi shivered as she considered what her complicated relationship with her mother revealed about her. “I imagine you know exactly what to say to bring up all sorts of negative feelings.”
The way his expression hardened to stone at her remark told her she’d made a misstep.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” he said at last, his flat tone not quite hiding his strong emotions. “The photoshoot isn’t successful if the client is unhappy.”
“That makes sense,” Sammi murmured. “So how do you use the information you gather?”
“I ask questions, get them to talk about pivotal moments in their lives.”
“What would you ask me?”
To her surprise he came away empty-handed from the table of camera equipment. “Why do you want to do this?”
“I want to see what you see when you look at me.”
As good as he was at controlling his facial expressions, her answer had obviously surprised him.
“Why do you care how I see you?”
“Because you make me feel...”
She moved in his direction, keen desire driving away common sense. She’d dated Ty for six months and never once slept with him, yet tonight she’d gone home with a virtual stranger, proving she wasn’t the frigid bitch he’d accused her of being.
“How do I make you feel?” Oliver prompted, hunger intensifying the bold blue of his eyes.
Lust tightened deep in her belly as she tunneled her fingertips beneath his bomber. Riding the hard muscles of his chest and upper arms, she slid the jacket off his broad shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
His strong fingers fanned over her hips, drawing her firmly against his hard planes. A hot ache flared between her thighs as her lower half settled against his. The hard thrust of his growing erection bumped against her as Oliver’s lips grazed along her neck. With a moan she tipped her head to the side and pressed her breasts into his hard chest, communicating her sharp need. Where she half expected anxiousness or doubts to surface, Sammi knew only the enticing shimmer of anticipation rising inside her.
“That tour you offered me earlier,” she said, one hand gliding beneath the hem of his T-shirt and discovering the hot silk of his skin while the fingers of her other hand raked into his thick hair. “I’m ready to take it.”
Two
Her lips were impossibly soft beneath his, and Oliver lingered over their pliant sweetness for several heartbeats until she tilted her head and gave a low whimper. He hummed in pleasure even as he offered her one last opportunity to snatch at reason.
Instead, she dug her fingertips into his back, showing that her hunger matched his, and Oliver shifted closer still, claiming her lips, taking the breath she surrendered. He pushed his tongue into her mouth as need descended on him. Lashed by urgency, lost in the howling lust the kiss unleashed, he pinned her body against his and took everything she offered and more.
Oliver woke with a start, jarred awake by the insistent bleat of his smartphone. Muttering curses, he set his jaw against the shocking ache in his loins and rolled over. As he went to snatch the phone off the nightstand, it slid onto the floor under his bed. Hauling it up by the charging cable, he disconnected the power with a ruthless jerk and answered.
“What?”
“Your shoot at EW starts in an hour.” The soothing female voice on the other end of the call belonged to his assistant. “The car will be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
“Fine.” All too aware that he’d overslept, Oliver hung up without thanking her for keeping him on schedule. It wouldn’t do his reputation any favors to show up late to a photoshoot.
Following a quick shower, Oliver dressed in faded jeans and a gray T-shirt. Snatching up one of his numerous leather jackets, he slid his feet into his favorite black suede sneakers and headed for the front door.
Heidi met him in the lobby with a cup of coffee and a pair of sunglasses. He accepted both before pushing through his building’s front doors. Outside, a crisp mid-October morning slammed into his senses with the decaying scent of dying greenery and the bite of early frost. Morning sunlight slanted over the facade of his building, the lower angle another indication of the passage of the seasons. Oliver slid on the dark glasses, all too aware that he was on the verge of brooding all through October in the same way he’d done with the latter weeks of September.
Time was rushing by while Oliver wallowed in a bog of bad moods and fuming. Not only had the sender of the fishing equipment remained anonymous, but also he couldn’t find the woman he’d spent the night with six weeks earlier. As soon as that encounter popped into his mind, a memory of the following morning rose to torment him. After a night of amazing sex, he’d awakened to find himself alone in his big bed and his apartment empty. As unsatisfying as that had been, that they had unfinished business made her vanishing act that much harder to move on from.
Making no effort to stifle his ever-present frustration, Oliver stormed past the black-clad driver and slid into the back seat of the awaiting town car. He balanced the to-go cup on his knee and glared out the window as Heidi slid into the passenger seat in front of him and the driver took his place behind the wheel.
He hated to be this preoccupied with a woman he barely knew, even though they’d slept together. Especially when his prime reason for inviting her back to his studio and offering to photograph her was because he’d needed a distraction that night. Sure, Suzi fascinated him and he’d been curious to find out why she reacted the way she had to her boyfriend’s poor treatment. Or maybe he’d been drawn in because she’d been at the last runway show he ever participated in. Despite the fact that his recall of that night was hazy, the event marked a major turning point in his life.
When the evening had played out differently than he’d planned, Oliver was content to let a different sort of distraction consume him. He’d assumed that after they each satisfied their appetite for each other, he would have a better idea of what made her tick and could produce the promised photograph. He discovered, however, that his desire for her was stronger than his curiosity. They’d made love through the night, before falling asleep in the wee hours. He remembered gathering her into his arms, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and drifting in profound contentment in the moments before he dropped off.
Most women he slept with liked to stick around. Sex relaxed him, allowing him to revel in the moment and put all his energy into satisfying whoever occupied his bed. Never in a million years had he expected that after the sexual connection he and Suzi had made that she’d vanish before he awoke. Worse, as bright morning sunlight flooded his loft, he’d realized he had no idea her last name or how to get ahold of her. Since he’d given her his business card with his private number on the back, he’d assumed she’d call. But when several days went by without contac
t, he’d decided to go on the offensive and tasked his assistant to find a Filipina model with the first name Suzi.
Heidi hadn’t been the least bit surprised by his request. As his assistant, she was accustomed to doing all sorts of tasks for him, and finding a model was hardly unusual. But when she’d come up empty, his excessive surliness had been noteworthy.
At five minutes before ten, he strode into the workroom at EW Lingerie and surveyed the scene. His team had everything ready for the shoot. His photography assistant had set up the lighting per his instructions. He glanced toward the corner where racks of cotton, silk and lace undergarments waited beside the hair and makeup tables. Instead of hiring professional models for the shoot, the designers of the inclusive underwear brand were to be highlighted wearing their lingerie. The magazine had chosen to feature EW Lingerie—the initials standing for Every Woman—because the brand had been created by three women with a mission to bring affordable lingerie to women of all shapes and sizes without sacrificing beauty, style or comfort.
A camera was placed in Oliver’s outstretched hand as he approached the set. With an effort of will, he shoved aside all distraction and focused on what he was being paid big bucks to do. He expected a difficult shoot based on the fact that he wasn’t working with professional models, and many women wouldn’t be comfortable posing in their underwear. He was therefore delighted that the three owners were eager to have some fun and proud of their product.
After snapping several hundred photos with numerous wardrobe changes, Oliver shifted out of artist mode and noticed the room’s energy had changed. Accustomed to being the center of attention, Oliver sensed he was receiving a different sort of interest. Setting down his camera, he caught Heidi’s eye and waved her over.
“What’s going on?” he asked, noting that his team was making an effort to avoid looking his way.
“Everything went smoothly,” Heidi declared with a bright smile. “The magazine is going to love the images.”
Convinced she was hiding something, Oliver settled a hard glare on her. “I’m not talking about the shoot. I know that went well.” He narrowed his eyes at the anxious energy surrounding him. Something was wrong. “So, I’m going to ask you again, and this time you’re going to give me a straight answer. What’s going on?”
“There’s been some news.” She paused, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but standing in front of him at the moment. “It’s about your family.”
Suddenly Oliver understood why everybody was treating him like an escaped wild animal. They were afraid to set him off. He ground his teeth in irritation. It was one thing for him to terrorize his crew when something went wrong on set. It was something else for them to tiptoe around him because of his personal issues. Restraining a growl, Oliver strode to where he left his leather jacket. He scooped it up, feeling the weight of his silenced smartphone in the left pocket. Without a word to anyone, he headed out.
Oliver’s phone was in his hands and his fingers were typing Black Crescent into the search bar before the elevator reached the ground floor. His long legs carried him to the sidewalk as the first news article materialized on the screen.
Vernon Lowell Lives! Black Crescent Fugitive Located in Remote Caribbean Location.
His father was...alive.
The shock of it hit Oliver’s psyche like a hundred-foot tsunami wave, sending his emotions spinning, scrambling his thoughts. The air around him grew heavy. It was as if he floundered beneath the surface of the ocean with no sense of up or down. Unable to breathe, Oliver stumbled toward the nearest solid object and placed his shoulder against the building’s concrete facade.
That damned fishing pole. It had come from his father after all.
As this realization seared across his brain, fury replaced his initial shock. With acid burning his gut raw, Oliver scanned the bombshell article splashed all over the national news. Vernon Lowell had been spotted on a remote Caribbean island. For fifteen years Vernon had been in hiding, enjoying his life on a Caribbean island while his family faced all the public scrutiny and ridicule. Oliver gripped his smartphone until his fingers turned white.
How could this be happening? His father was alive?
With a curse, Oliver hurled his phone into the Manhattan traffic. Overcome with need to find a bar and demand a shot of whiskey, he started walking. No, not a shot, an entire bottle. Only oblivion would let him escape the rush of powerful emotion filling him. He moved toward the curb and hailed a cab, directing the driver to take him to the Soho Grand Hotel. Then, thoughts churning, he collapsed against the seat and stared unseeing out the window as Manhattan slid past.
When the taxi stopped outside the hotel, Oliver passed the fare to the driver. With his wallet still in his hand, he exited the vehicle. Oliver started toward the hotel’s front door and then stopped. Of their own volition, his fingers wrapped around the stainless dog tags dangling around his neck. Tightening his fist around the talismans, Oliver focused on calming his unsteady breathing.
The necklace bore two dog tags, one his own, the other belonging to Carson Bowles, Oliver’s best friend. The two buddies had been all sorts of bad as they drank and partied their nights away. They’d started out modeling around the same time and bought the matching necklaces after walking their first New York Fashion Week runway. Superstitious about the dog tags, they never went anywhere without them, taking them off only to work. As lucky charms, the necklaces proved their effectiveness over and over. Was it any wonder that the night Carson left his behind at the last runway show either of them ever worked was the night he died?
Oliver often wondered if he’d made more of an effort to find his friend that night if Carson would still be alive. That night had started out like most others. Oliver had hit a couple of clubs, partied with some people he knew, but never caught up with his friend. After running out of drugs, Oliver had been looking to score. Unable to get ahold of his regular source, he’d met up with a dealer he didn’t know. Drunk as hell and high on something a lot more potent than life, he’d ended up badly beaten. While he was recovering, Oliver found out Carson had overdosed.
His family never visited him at the hospital, nor stepped in to ease his legal troubles. Not surprising, since they’d abandoned him long before he’d made a mess of his life. So when he ended up in court-appointed rehab, he had only a gutful of regret and his best friend’s necklace to get him through the worst days.
And as Oliver turned away from the hotel, resisting the urge to drink himself into darkness, the dog tag, engraved with Carson’s name and the date he’d died, saved him from making a huge mistake now.
* * *
Sammi gazed out the window of the two-bedroom Manhattan apartment she shared with her mother and worried Oliver’s business card between her fingers. The once sharp edges of the heavy paper had grown soft from handling. At least once a day Sammi took out the card and ran her fingers over the embossed front before turning the card over and staring at the ten numbers written in Oliver’s bold script.
In the early days following their night together, she’d been tempted to program his contact information into her phone. She’d reasoned that their unforgettable night together could be the start of something blissful and amazing. But as the days turned into weeks, time and distance put her bubblegum daydreams into perspective. Oliver Lowell wasn’t a teenage girl’s dashing hero but a complicated man with anger issues and no track record of lasting relationships.
That’s why she’d crept out of his SoHo loft at dawn six weeks earlier without saying goodbye and why she’d never called. As to why she couldn’t bring herself to throw away his number...
She could say she’d kept the business card because he owed her a photo. A single portrait of her that she’d paid twenty-three dollars for. Even though she could afford to walk away from the paltry sum, a thrill that was half terror and half delight danced down her spine at the thought of deman
ding that he honor their verbal contract and give her what he promised. Sammi knew she’d never go through with it. What use did she have for an image of herself that exposed her soul?
Absolutely none.
Which brought her to this moment and a whole new purpose for reaching out to Oliver.
“What do you mean you’re quitting modeling?” her mother demanded. She threw her arm wide to indicate the gorgeous apartment with stunning views. “How are we going to afford this if you quit?”
“We are not,” Sammi said, her voice cracking beneath a burden of exhaustion and worry.
In the two weeks since the pregnancy test had been positive, she’d been overwhelmed by pregnancy hormones and anxiety about the future. Tired all the time and brought low by morning sickness, Sammi found herself paralyzed about the changes rushing at her. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and shut out the world. But her mother’s expectations drove her relentlessly.
Celeste frowned. “Then where do you think we’re going to go?”
“I don’t know where you are going to go,” she said, cringing away from her mother’s dismay, hating the guilt that flared at her mother’s fear. For years Celeste had been a drain on Sammi’s finances. Why couldn’t she be at peace about cutting ties? “I’m going to move somewhere I can afford.”
The thought of living on her own filled Sammi with a perplexing mixture of relief and dismay. Her mother had been with her all her life, directing Sammi’s career, pushing her to work harder, interfering in her daughter’s personal life until Sammi wasn’t sure she could succeed on her own. Frustrated by such unwelcome doubts, she shoved all emotion aside and focused on dealing with her mother’s escalating dissatisfaction.
“Somewhere you can afford?” Celeste demanded. “What about me? What am I supposed to do?” As fast as a snake could strike, Celeste’s tone went from outrage to self-pity. “Have you thought about me at all?”
