She glanced at her computer. Doing a background check on a guy she’d met at the coffee shop pretty much defined “inappropriate use” of library resources, but Marion reasoned the sooner she had proof he’d been playing with her, the sooner she’d return to being productive. Before she could talk herself out of it, she accessed the search engine and typed his name into the white rectangle at the top of the screen, the pause between keystrokes growing longer as nervous tension made her fingers tremble. She hit enter but didn’t bother scanning the web entries. Instead, she palmed the mouse and positioned the cursor over “images.” Taking a deep breath, she clicked.
Dozens of erotic portraits filled the screen.
Fascination and revulsion fought for dominance as Marion’s eyes skipped from one image to the next. As she became accustomed to what she was seeing, she began to appreciate the dramatic lighting, striking lines, and bold shocks of color. She leaned in for a closer look. The array of ages, shapes, sizes, and skin tones of the women amazed her. He couldn’t be accused of having a type. He did, however, have a distinct style.
Along with being a gifted photographer, apparently able to bring out the sensual beauty in any woman, Blake Vince also had a knack for knots. Each photo subject had been bound, either with deeply hued ropes or long, wavering scarves evocative of Cirque du Soleil aerial acts.
She studied the photos until her eyes burned. Was it the bite of rope around wrists which produced the sublime surrender she saw in the graceful bend of powerless fingers? Perhaps the safety of being constrained, limbs wrapped tight in silken sheaths and secured to bedposts, allowed the women a special freedom to enjoy the contortion and exposure of their naked bodies. Whatever it was, Marion envied it.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she imagined calling Blake and accepting his offer. She’d go to his studio. He’d take her clothes off, tie, and secure her. Unable to resist caressing her bared skin, he’d bring her nipples to aching attention. And then he’d move around her, studio lights flashing as he took shot after shot, like he would never have enough of her.
A knock at the door jolted her eyes open, her heart vaulting into her throat. Hitting minimize, Marion called out a breathless, “Come in.”
Chapter 4
“Sorry to interrupt.” Ilene Bell, the children’s librarian, bustled in, clutching a modest collection of papers. “I just need you to sign…Hey! Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Marion pressed her fingertips to her flaming cheeks and then plastered a smile on her face as she lowered her hands, threading them together before bringing them to rest lightly on the top of her desk. “What do you have for me?”
“Not so fast, chicklet. What’s got you all hot and bothered? Come on. Spill.”
It was classic Ilene, straightforward and no nonsense.
After Marion’s initial interview at the library, she’d been surprised when the smiling woman at the far end of the table had insisted on walking her to her car. In the ensuing ten-minute conversation, Ilene had managed to convince Marion she was a shoo-in for the position and practically had her moving in to the newly vacated rental in the duplex she owned with her husband of twenty years. When Marion had found out she had, indeed, landed her dream job, Ilene had been the first to know. Marion had taken the apartment next door, and the two women often met in Marion’s living room after long hours serving the good people of Eaton to drink too many glasses of wine and talk late into the night. Ilene had proved to be equal parts mentor and evil mastermind. She’d been the one, after all, to suggest Marion hide her erotica addiction beneath classics’ covers. Glancing between her friend and the neon contrails swirling across the computer screen, Marion made a decision.
“Close the door.”
Without hesitating, Ilene crossed the room, pushing the door shut with a quiet click before returning.
“Come here. It’ll be easier to show you.” Marion waited while Ilene skirted the desk, abandoning her pile of papers at the far corner before coming to stand next to Marion. “Don’t react.”
Ilene’s eyebrows shot up under the brush of her bangs. When she nodded her understanding, Marion brought up Blake’s work.
“Wow,” she rasped, clearing her throat before continuing in a hushed tone. “I’ve got to admit, I did not expect that. And why, pray tell, are you in here looking at porn?”
“I met the photographer this morning.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope.” She tapped her finger on the crinkled card angled beneath the keyboard. “He says he’d like to take my picture.”
Marion felt Ilene’s eyes on her but stubbornly kept her gaze on the screen.
“Well, you know I’m a big fan of getting your kink on, but this looks a little too high profile for the town librarian.”
“I know.” With a sigh, Marion minimized the photo array. “I’d be crazy to even consider…”
“But you are. Aren’t you?” Ilene paused, presenting Marion with the palm of her hand for emphasis. “Hold on a sec.” Rounding the desk, she settled into the chair on the opposite side. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“He was waiting for me at Café Ole.”
“Waiting for you?”
“Well, we sort of ran into each other yesterday morning.”
“I assume you mean that literally.”
“Yeah.”
“How many times do I have to warn you about that? You’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days.”
“I’m pretty sure yesterday was the day,” Marion mused. “When I ran into him, I dropped my book.”
“Was it one of those books?”
She nodded. “And the faux cover came off.”
“Oh goodness, you really do have the worst luck, sometimes.”
“It gets better. It landed at my feet, face up…”
“So he saw?”
“I practically fell on top of it, but, yeah, he saw.”
Suddenly, Marion remembered the brush of his fingers over her ears when he’d put her reading glasses on her face. He’d meant to kiss her, she was certain of it. She closed her eyes, the intensity of the moment making her forget where she was and who was watching her.
“Something else happened.”
Marion looked at Ilene, cheeks burning. “No, he just helped me to my feet. It should have been the end of it. I mean, the way I behaved. I ran away, clutching the damn book to my chest like some addled teenager. I couldn’t even look him in the face.”
“But he was waiting for you this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you must have made some sort of impression.”
“I guess. I tried to apologize, said I was sorry for walking into him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said, ‘I’m not’.”
“Did he say it in that creepy vampire voice?”
“No.” Marion giggled before sobering. “As a matter of fact, he has one of the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard.” Remembering, she muttered, “I could have sat there listening to him talk for hours…”
“So, he definitely made an impression.”
Unsettled by Ilene’s insight, Marion reached for the abandoned paperwork, suddenly anxious to end the conversation. “Did you need these signed?”
Ilene glanced at the papers. “Totally forgot why I came in here,” she confessed with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Please.”
Marion scanned and signed the dozen or so standard requisition and program proposals. Gathering the sheets, she tidied them by tapping their bottom edges on the desk before holding them out to Ilene.
Her friend rose at the dismissal, taking the packet but staying in place. She tilted her head as she considered Marion.
“A little friendly advice?”
She barely paused long enough for Marion to give a quick nod.
“In the six months you’ve been here, you haven’t shown the slightest interest in any man.”
“It’s not like there’s b
een a line at my door.”
Ilene gave a disbelieving snort. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the young, single men suddenly interested in our quaint little library are looking to check out more than the classics. Are you really that oblivious?”
“Apparently.”
“I don’t buy it. I think you’re very much aware, but none of them do anything for you. This guy…” She tipped her head toward Marion’s computer. “Blake Vince…he did something for you. And you’ve got some pretty compelling evidence he’s capable of doing a whole lot more.”
Marion rolled her eyes in response.
“Well, then,” Ilene continued, undeterred, “for what it’s worth, I think you should call him. Meet somewhere public. Discuss terms. Maybe he could be persuaded to do something other than take your picture, like act out a scene or two from the book you were reading when you met.”
Marion gasped in horror.
Ilene laughed. “Come on, chicklet. What would be the harm in asking?”
Chapter 5
Blake swirled the ice and lime in his soda water idly as he waited, watching for Marion in the mirror behind the bar.
He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted her to call until he’d heard her voice on the phone. The relief had been humbling. He’d been disappointed when she’d suggested they meet at a hotel bar on the outskirts of the city abutting their small town. She hadn’t decided. Normally, he wouldn’t deal with a reluctant subject, but the memory of her huge and haunting green eyes drove him to agree.
As the minute hand of the clock over the bar ticked to true north, she arrived, looking sexier than he’d remembered. Loose curls jumbled at the crown of her head, the length of her slender neck exposed. Glasses absent, her captivating eyes—expertly defined with shadow, liner, and mascara—dominated her sweetheart face. The pink bow of her mouth came in a close second. The black wrap dress and patent leather stilettos she wore were gratuitous to her natural dips and curves.
As she made her way down the carpeted stairs, her footing wobbly and unsure, she tugged the sides of the plunging neckline closer over the tops of her ample breasts. Not her outfit, he decided just as she reached the bottom and looked up, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
The breath left his body in a rush as he realized what was different about her. Excitement, anxiety, surprise, pleasure…her lovely face displayed every emotion. The woman had no filter. In deference, he looked at his drink, feeling as if he’d been eavesdropping on a personal conversation. The possibility to capture such pure and raw expression gave his desire to work with her an unseemly urgency.
Head down, he listened as she clambered into the seat beside him. Taking a sidelong glance, he marveled at her awkward assent. Unruly arms and legs turned the simple act into a daredevil maneuver. It was like watching a deer climb a ladder. Her body begged for control. Blake bit the inside of his cheek as he grabbed his glass, suddenly wishing he’d ordered a proper drink.
“Mr. Vince,” she greeted him quietly.
He nearly choked on the bubbling sip he’d taken, his dick jumping to attention at the formal address.
Swallowing audibly, his eyes burning, he barked, “Blake!” And then, more controlled, “Please.”
“Blake,” she murmured averting her gaze and placing her clutch onto the bar beside her.
Before he could say anything more, the bartender appeared sporting a wide, sparkling grin. Never taking his eyes off Marion, he wiped off the space in front of her with a white cotton cloth before putting down a cocktail napkin. He leaned on his forearms, angling toward her and dipping his chin so he eyed her from beneath half lowered lids.
“What can I get you?”
Instead of answering him, Marion turned to Blake, her gaze wandering to his glass. “What are you having?”
“Soda water with a twist of lime.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not tonight.”
“Oh.” She turned to the bartender. “White wine.”
“Anything in particular?” he pressed.
“What would you recommend?”
“Our house wine is a solid Pinot Grigio. Not too heavy.”
“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
The light, flirtatious banter grated on Blake’s nerves. He gripped his glass, confused by the sudden impulse to punch the lopsided grin off the bartender’s face. He needed to get things settled with Ms. Hertz before they veered any farther off the rails.
“Why did you call me, Marion?”
She looked away, her attention flitting around the room, seemingly interested in everything and everyone except him. He resisted the urge to grab her chin and bring her gaze to his. Finally, her focus latched onto her fingers, which rested lightly on the bar.
“I had some questions…about your proposition.”
“Such as?”
“I saw your work,” she admitted, a slow heat pinking her cheeks. “On the internet.”
“That’s not a question.”
She snapped her head around, eyes narrowed. “Are those the kind of pictures you want to take of me?”
“Those are the only kind of pictures I take. That’s why I gave you my card and told you to call if you were interested.”
“Why would you think I’d be interested?”
He raised both eyebrows in response.
“Just because of my reading material? Seriously?”
“No, not entirely. Your coloring is amazing. You have a fantastic body. And when you went down on your knees on the sidewalk? I got hard, exceptionally hard. My cock has a keen sense about these things. I trust it implicitly.”
Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.
As luck would have it, the bartender chose the charged moment to arrive with her drink. She accepted it into the curve of her fingers, murmuring her thanks without meeting the other man’s gaze. He shrugged, the hopeful light in his eyes snuffed out by her indifference.
Blake enjoyed a fair amount of satisfaction at the dismissal, but then Marion lifted a hand, her pointer finger skyward, indicating the bartender should wait. As both men watched, she downed the contents of her glass in several less-than-lady-like gulps.
Placing the emptied stemware on its napkin and sliding it over the bar with the press of two fingertips, she wheezed, “Another.”
The bartender whisked away the empty glass, shooting a lucky bastard smirk over his shoulder before striding to the opposite end of the bar.
Blake turned his attention to Marion, struggling to mask his annoyance. The harsh speech about getting drunk with strangers died in his throat when he saw the look on her face. Puzzlement pinched her features as if she were trying very hard to figure him out.
“You remind me of my parents.”
He jerked back in disbelief. “That’s something I don’t hear very often.”
“Oh.” Her shy smile seemed sad. “I just mean, my parents were sticklers about using proper English, even in everyday conversation. The way you speak reminds me of that, except, well…”
“Except, well…what?”
“Except…” She peeked up at him through her lashes. They were remarkably long, making her appear younger and more innocent than he suspected her to be. “They never would have said anything so filthy to me.”
His laughter seemed to surprise her as much as it did him, her shocked expression easing into a comfortable smirk as he quieted and reached for his drink.
“You said you saw my work.” He sipped the soda water. “What did you think?”
“I thought it was very erotic, of course.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught the rise and fall of her shoulders, a graceful surrender. “But, to me, the vulnerability was more provocative. It lent your images a lyrical, almost poetic, quality. They mesmerized me. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forget them.”
Blake sat up to stare, unable to take his eyes off her profile. The earnest critique touched an untended place in him. Despite a lengthenin
g list of celebrity clientele, he’d become accustomed to his art being dismissed as pornography—high-quality smut, but smut nonetheless. But she’d seen deep beneath the carnal veneer, discerning the veins of rich emotion he sought to capture.
It was then Blake realized Marion wanted to be convinced.
“So you’re not opposed to the…ah…format, per se?”
“No.” She toyed with the beaded tassel of her purse before turning to him, her gaze determined. “I’m curious. I’ve been curious for a long time, I’ve just never…”
“Had the opportunity?”
“Right.”
“But now I’m offering you one.”
“Yes…”
“But?”
The bartender arrived with her second drink, drawing both of their attention. She said nothing as the grinning fool pulled a fresh napkin from beneath the bar and set it in front of her, placing a very full glass on top. The idiot had the balls to wink, but made a hasty retreat at Blake’s fuck off glare.
He watched warily as Marion brought the wine to her lips. As she took a healthy, but more moderate drink, he revived their conversation.
“You were about to drop the other shoe…”
She laughed—a short, jarring snort. “I can’t let you take pictures of me.”
“Why?”
“Because of my work, Blake. Eaton is a very small town. I couldn’t take the chance people would find out…and they always find out.”
I won’t take any pictures. Just let me have you for a night. The words came to his tongue so fast and easy, he had to clench his jaw to prevent their escape and admit his interest had gone beyond having her focused in his viewfinder. There had to be a way. Anticipation twisted low in his belly as an idea took shape in his mind.
“Let me paint you.”
“Paint me?”
“Oil on canvas,” he explained. “I dabble, more of a hobby, really. I haven’t done a nude since college, but you…” He tilted his head, warming to the concept as he considered her. “Inspire me.”
“And what would happen to the painting…after?”
“Whatever you wished.”
“Why? Why in the world would you make such a generous offer?” She twittered in disbelief. “There’s nothing special under my clothes, you know.”
A Matter of Discipline Page 2
