Velvet Shadows

by Aubrey Rose

  The Seaside Grill sat atop a small rocky bluff, giving its patrons a delightful view of the ocean. The interior had been constructed with large exposed beams creating a casual, nautical ambiance. Secluded enough to discourage many tourists, the restaurant enjoyed a loyal following from the surrounding community.

  After her heated exchange with Trevor at the Halloween Party, Velvet didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. He’d called the agency Monday morning and officially requested an interview. She’d agreed to this compromise.

  Trevor emerged from an ordinary sedan, which surprised Velvet. He used to tear through campus on his Harley. Maybe the past eleven years had changed him more than she realized.

  A humid breeze fluttered her skirt and stirred the haze in the purple twilight. The distinct scent of seafood mixed with the more robust smell of flame broiled meat. Velvet’s stomach growled in response to the appetizing aromas.

  Tugging the strap of her purse higher onto her shoulder, Velvet studied Trevor as he turned from his boring car and walked across the parking lot. Strength emanated from him. It was not just his height or the breadth of his shoulders ‑‑ though each was impressive ‑‑ determination radiated from his features, his stride, and the unblinking intensity of his open stare.

  “They have a large menu here. You should find something you like,” she commented when he reached her side.

  He didn’t actually smile, but a sudden twinkle in his eyes told Velvet he wanted to. “Oh, I’m not hard to please.”

  They’d been shown to a small table on the second level of the dining room before Velvet continued her silent assessment of Trevor Sutton. She wouldn’t really term him handsome, she decided. His hair was an ordinarily shade of brown that always seemed to look messy. A lock of the wavy mass rested across his forehead. His nose was straight and regular, his jaw line firm, and nearly square. Neither brown nor green, his wide, thick-lashed eyes combined every shade of the two colors.

  She tried to assess his face with a photographer’s brutal objectivity. Her emotions refused to cooperate. She was attracted to this man, always had been. Even after she’d agreed to marry his best friend, she’d held a secret passion for Trevor. He was rugged and masculine, the polar opposite of Elliot’s sophisticated reserve.

  “What’s good here?” he asked lightly.

  “I usually have something Mexican, but their hamburgers are huge, and all of their seafood is very good.” She opened her menu and dragged her gaze away from his face.

  A smiling waitress arrived to suggest an appetizer while they made up their minds about dinner. Declining with a warm smile, Trevor ordered iced tea and Velvet asked for coffee. “Elliot seemed surprised that you’d turned to journalism.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Velvet shrugged and closed her menu. “He said you were a parole officer last he’d heard.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and the white flash of teeth rolled ten years off of his appearance. “I’ve been many things since I last saw Elliot.”

  She nodded and lapsed into silence.

  “So, do we talk about it or pretend it never happen?” He set his menu aside.

  Pressing her lips together, Velvet fought back her amusement. He smiled, the lazy, predatory smile that had haunted her dreams for longer than she cared to remember.

  “What were you doing at the Halloween Party?”

  “Background work for this story. I actually planned to ask you for the interview that night. Then I saw you standing in the shadows, being very naughty, and I got a little carried away.”

  “We both did.” Her voice sounded thick and throaty.

  “I can’t tell if you’re about to laugh or trying not to cry.”

  “I can’t believe the two most humiliating moments in my life both involved you.”

  He tilted his face, his gaze capturing hers. “I didn’t find either event humiliating.”

  “I vote for pretending they never happened.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She put her menu on top of his. “I was under the impression you were here for an interview. Are you even a reporter?”

  “Elliot stood between us before. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  “Yes, it does. If this isn’t about an interview, I’m out of here.”

  “Fine.” He leaned back against his chair. “Strictly business, then. How did you first become interested in photography?”

  The waitress returned with their beverages and took their order before Velvet could answer his question. Velvet picked up her coffee cup and took several sips before she began her tale. “After Dillon started school, I had nothing but time on my hands.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Yes Dillon, my son.”

  “I didn’t realize you had children. Elliot struck me as the sort who would find children bothersome.”

  She didn’t respond to his comment. Her personal life was none of his business. “Do you have children, Mr. Sutton?” She used the title to distance him.

  “No.” He smiled. “Is Dillon your only child?”

  “Yes.” This might be a very short interview.

  After a moment of strained silence, Trevor suggested. “Why don’t we get back on track? Dillon started school and you had nothing but time on your hands.”

  “I was bored,” she agreed, relieved by his digression. “I started searching for a hobby, something to fill my time. Well, it was more than that actually. I needed something I could call my own. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so; still, I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”

  His expression didn’t change, but a certain inflection in his tone caused the image of Selena and Tony to materialize in Velvet’s mind. Stubbornly ignoring the rush of heat between her thighs, Velvet went on. “I married young and had Dillon almost immediately. I’d lived most of my life for others. It’s not that I didn’t value those roles. I’d just never done anything for me.”

  “I think everyone feels that way at one time or another.” He smiled encouragingly. “How did you decide on photography?”

  “I didn’t really need a job. Elliot provided for us monetarily. But I needed to feel useful. And being a homemaker was definitely not my calling. So I studied interior design. I bought an old rundown apartment building in the heart of Hollywood and completely renovated it. I was able to double the lease rate once I’d finished, but it was far more involved than I’d anticipated. I decided to try something less demanding.”

  “Why photography?”

  Velvet laughed, a bit embarrassed by the story she was about to tell. “It started out as a joke. You see, my cousin was getting married and she’s pure as the driven snow. After heartless goading on the part of her loving bridesmaids and several shots of tequila we dragged her into one of the clubs on the Sunset Strip. The headliner called himself the Sultan. He was incredible. Unfortunately, my cousin wasn’t at all embarrassed by the spectacle, but she was definitely entertained.” She paused to take a breath and to chuckle softly at the memory. “I’m sure you’re wondering what all this has to do with my chosen profession. I assure you it all ties in. As he danced, someone whispered that he only did it for the money. I asked her what she meant and she said he was an aspiring photographer forced to use his sexuality to make ends meet.”

  The waitress momentarily halted the story as she efficiently placed their order in front of them.

  “Please, continue. I’m intrigued.” He picked up his hamburger and began to munch.

  “My birthday was two weeks after the wedding and my cousin bought me a two hour, private lesson with the Sultan: as a photographer not a stripper. I’d always enjoyed taking pictures. Mostly I think she wanted me to squirm.”

  “So the Sultan taught you how to use a camera?”

  She laughed again and shook her head. “The Sultan’s name is Roger and he’s a mediocre photographer at best. However, as we developed the shots I’d taken during our lesson he seemed genuinely pleased.”


  “Where were you developing these photographs?”

  “At his loft in Venice. I was paying more attention to his biceps than his praise. You see, despite our ‑‑ incident, I’ve never cheated on Elliot. That day I was ready to dive headlong into sin.”

  Trevor chuckled. “Something tells me your dive was miscalculated.”

  “Quite. He kept gushing about the pictures when all I really wanted was for him to look at me, really look at me. I was about to throw myself into his arms when his lover came home.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Micah.”

  “Micah Silverton? The photographer?”

  She laughed softly and managed to take a bite of her burrito before she clarified. “Yes. Micah came strolling into the room and Roger shoved my pictures into his hands. The rest is history. I was whisked away into a fantasy whirl that brought me to where I am today. Micah taught me the principles and techniques of photography and encouraged me to experiment, to express myself through my craft. He was a wonderful mentor and my timing couldn’t have been better if I’d planned it. The Depalma Agency had been the vehicle through which Micah made a name for himself; still, he’s far more an artist than a fashion photographer. He’d grown bored. He trained me to take his place.”

  “And this all happened in two years?”

  “Well, two and a half, but this is California, birthplace of the overnight success.”

  “Now that sounded sarcastic,” Trevor observed. “Don’t you feel successful?”

  Velvet took a moment to consider his question. Trevor had always been easy to talk to. He was also a reporter! How could she tell him how hollow she found success when he wanted to write an article about the glamorous life of a fashion photographer? “Of course I feel successful, I was just thinking about the flip side of fame.”

  “Drug abuse and bankruptcy?”

  She smiled. His hazel eyes twinkled playfully. Perhaps she was taking this a bit too seriously. “I meant the fickle nature of fame. I was one of the lucky ones. So many aren’t. Take Roger for instance. He went to an art institute and even trained with the same mentor I had, but he’s still taking off his clothes to make a living. For every Selena Vannoy, there’s a Jamie Lynn.”

  “Jamie Lynn?”

  Velvet nodded, a familiar pressure closing in on her chest. “Jamie was one of our models. She was young and incredibly beautiful. The camera loved her. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anyone so photogenic.”

  “Was it just work? You sound like you knew her?”

  “Remember the apartment building I renovated? She was one of my tenants. But more than that, she was my friend.”

  “You keep referring to her in the past tense. What happened to her?”

  Velvet hesitated. Talking about Jamie tended to unleash unpredictable emotions within her. She’d grow infuriated by her helplessness one moment and burst into tears the next. How could she hope to make Trevor understand how overwhelming she found the possibility that Jamie might be dead?

  “The last time I saw her was at the Halloween party. Jamie was acting strangely. It’s hard to explain. I lost track of her shortly after she arrived, but Chyna saw her later. Chyna was really drunk… I don’t know what to believe. Chyna said Jamie left with a man dressed like a caveman, and no one has seen her since. I figured she’d let the guy take her home to teach me a lesson.”

  “Okay, you lost me. Teach you a lesson?”

  “Jamie confided bits and pieces of her past to me. One of the things she admitted is that her family didn’t know were she was. I was pressuring her to call her mother the night she disappeared.”

  “Jesus, Velvet. Whatever happened to this girl wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know, but I feel responsible. I went to her apartment the next day when she didn’t answer the phone. All of her things were still there. The only thing missing was Jamie Lynn.”

  “Sounds like another article,” Trevor said thoughtfully.

  “If you can learn more than the police have, more power to you.” Velvet picked up her coffee cup to hide her scowl.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I don’t usually bother getting to know the models. They come and go so quickly; it’s a waste of time. Jamie was different. She was sweet and generous, but always sort of sad. She was tough as nails; still, there was a vulnerability about her that made me…maternal instincts, I guess.”

  “What do you think happened to her?”

  There was a strange catch in his voice. Velvet looked at him closely. Whatever had caused the inflection wasn’t reflected in her expression. “I don’t know. The police think she’s either dead or hiding from something. I just can’t accept that someone so young, so vital is lost to us forever.”

  Trevor said nothing. His face remained expressionless and Velvet wondered why he would no longer meet her gaze.

  Chapter Three

  “When does your divorce become finale?”

  Velvet glanced up from what remained of her burrito, surprised by the personal question. After their strained exchange regarding her son, each of Trevor’s questions had been about photography or the Depalma Agency. He had been professional and polite.

  His bright hazel gaze watched her closely; his expression remained calm and non-threatening. “Three weeks,” she said simply, pushing her plate aside.

  “Who instigated the separation?”

  “He’s an attorney. Who do you think submitted the proper paperwork? It’s all disgustingly amicable. No screaming matches, no fits of tears, just the sad acceptance that a ten-year relationship has failed.”

  “It was never meant to be.”

  He sounded so emphatic it made her laugh. “You’re basing this on the fact that I foolishly succumbed to your seductive charm in a moment of alcohol induced weakness?”

  “You weren’t that drunk and we didn’t make love.”

  “We didn’t make love because I was engaged to your best friend.”

  “Elliot and I shared an apartment. We were never best friends.” His gaze burned into hers until she had to look away. “Do you ever think about that night?”

  “I thought we’d agreed to pretend it had never happened.”

  “I can’t. I think about it all the time. You have no idea how often I picked up the phone ready to call you. I bought a plane ticket last year… I’ve never slept with a married woman and I wasn’t willing to start with you.”

  She swallowed with difficulty. In three short weeks she’d no longer be a married woman. “It was just… I never should have let you touch me.”

  He chuckled. “Back in college or at the Halloween party?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Are you involved with someone?”

  She could lie, discourage him. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Heat suffused her face. The question confused her. “I’ve been too busy to date, and I haven’t met anyone at work who interests me.”

  “Really? You photograph some of the most beautiful people in the world and you haven’t found anyone interesting? Are you desensitized to their physical appeal?”

  His tone was light, playful, but all his questions led in one direction. Velvet hesitated. You don’t have casual affairs. She’d never needed to remind herself before.

  “Talk to me. I’m harmless.”

  She laughed. “I know better.”

  “What do you find attractive in a man?”

  “What difference does that make to you?”

  His smile faded and his eyes settled on her mouth. “I’m just curious.”

  She didn’t believe him. Awareness pulsed between them, speeding her respiration and tightening the coil in her abdomen. “I like short, blond, passive men.”

  He laughed at her obvious lie. “Sure you do. That’s what kept you hidden in the shadows at the Halloween party. Are you going to try to convince me you didn’t find that man physically attractive?”

  “An
thony Depalma might be as close to physical perfection as I’ve ever seen, and I find nothing about him attractive.”

  “That was Anthony Depalma?” She only nodded. “I didn’t realize. So add filthy rich to the list, and you still don’t find him attractive? Why?”

  “Have you forgotten what they say about STDs? When you sleep with someone you not only sleep with that person, you sleep with every person that person has ever slept with, and so on.”

  “A bit too indiscriminate for your tastes?”

  “Just a bit.”

  “But doesn’t the thought of being with a man who has spent years developing those skills tempt you just a little?”

  They could just as easily be talking about him and he knew it. She wanted to deny the clever challenge and change the subject; still, she found the conversation stimulating. She’d never openly discussed sex with a man. Elliot had not only been her first lover, he had been her only lover, and he approached sex with a clinical efficiency that left her unimpressed.

  “That’s two different questions,” she pointed out. “Being with a man who has mastered the art of pleasing a woman and being with Anthony Depalma are two very different propositions. Besides, having countless lovers doesn’t guarantee that you’re a spectacular lover.”

  “I agree. But learning to gain more from giving pleasure than from receiving pleasure does.”

  Like black velvet caressing her entire body, the subtle promise in his words made her insides quiver. “I wouldn’t know.” She glanced away, suddenly understanding the meaning of temptation. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Trevor. This conversation is pointless.”

  “It’s only pointless if you’ve lost interested in the topic.”

  “What exactly is the topic?” Her intense reaction to the risqué conversation frightened her. Her life was orderly, routine. She was never impulsive or reckless. Trevor called to a dark side of her nature she seldom acknowledged.

  “Sexual fantasies.” He leaned forward and whispered the phrase.

  “You want to talk about sexual fantasies?” She glanced around guiltily. No one was paying any attention to them. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”