“They?”
She shook her head. “Generic pronoun. I don’t know who it is, I really don’t. I did get a weird call, and sometimes I have the feeling someone is watching me, but I thought that was my imagination.”
“This isn’t imaginary.”
“I know. Jarod, I have to make another phone call. Privately,” she said, and he nodded. She still wasn’t telling him what was going on, but this wasn’t a time to push.
“Sure, I’ll go check out your kitchen and start setting things to rights.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.
“I want to. I want to be here, with you, Lacey. Okay?”
She almost smiled, and seemed to relax slightly, and Jarod did, too. He walked through louvered French doors to the kitchen and was tempted to hang close, but he said he’d give her privacy, and he did.
The kitchen was less untidy. He picked up the garbage, and straightened out a few other things, listening to Lacey’s voice as she spoke to someone in low tones, although he couldn’t make out the words.
As he put the garbage pail back in the corner, his eye caught sight of a crunched sheet of paper on top. He couldn’t help but see the name underneath the letterhead, “Domestic Abuse Counseling.”
The scar on Lacey’s arm, the way she’d panicked when the CHIP guy had gotten too aggressive…An ugly picture was forming in his mind. Yet, this could be junk mail and have nothing to do with her at all.
As his fingers touched the edges, he hesitated again.
No.
If Lacey had been abused, if she had one man violating her life, he wouldn’t be another one, no matter how much he wanted to know.
It was up to her to tell him about her past if she wanted to, if she could trust him enough. He pushed the paper back down into the garbage and turned away.
But in his heart, the details had started to form a truth he hadn’t really considered. The protectiveness he’d felt before blossomed into something much, much more powerful.
When Lacey walked in, he’d just dumped a dustpan of broken glass into the garbage pail and had the place almost looking normal again. She seemed relieved. Whether it was finding the kitchen not as wrecked as the living room, or the phone calls she’d made, the color was back in her cheeks, her eyes were less panicked.
“I’m sorry that took so long, I just had to check on something.”
Like an ex-spouse or boyfriend?
“No problem. Apparently the kitchen wasn’t a huge draw for your intruder—not so bad in here.”
“Thank you, Jarod, and thanks for staying. I know I…reacted badly to you showing up, but I’m really glad you’re here.”
He took a deep breath. It was something. More than he’d expected, maybe more than he deserved, considering the circumstances.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” he said, smiling. Crossing the kitchen to pull her close, he was happy when she came willingly into his arms. “I thought I’d go get some paint and take care of your wall art in there. Any color you like in particular? New paint job? I don’t offer often, so take advantage,” he teased, rubbing his hands over her back, and feeling her body expand and contract with a sigh.
“You definitely don’t have to do that. Seriously. The super will send someone to take care of it,” she said, leaning back and looking up. “But thanks.”
“I don’t want you having to see it one minute longer than you have to. I don’t mind,” he insisted, liking how when she leaned back from him their hips met, his groin snuggling against hers.
“I guess I would be a fool to turn down more help.”
“Let’s put things to rights, and then I’m taking you to dinner. If the day is lost for work, we might as well find some small enjoyment in the meantime, huh?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They worked in tandem for several hours, and before long, the apartment was put back together again. Still, it bothered him to see her so controlled, so measured, as she picked up broken objects that were obviously important to her, and put them in the garbage. She didn’t cry once, but repressed emotion strained every muscle in her lithe body, and he knew from his own experience the mental and physical toll something like this took.
Jarod didn’t plan to leave her alone. If she wouldn’t stay with him, he’d find a way to convince her he should stay here. Admiring the pout of pretty breasts under her T-shirt and remembering how her soft skin tasted, he didn’t think it would be a sacrifice.
“There. Not bad,” she announced, gesturing at her room, studiously avoiding the wall where the first coat of paint was drying. He’d used a stain-blocker, but the black was tough to cover against a light wall, and it still showed slightly. He would put on the second coat in a few hours.
Jarod walked up behind her, massaging her neck, playing along. Sometimes it was necessary to just act normally even when things obviously weren’t normal at all.
She turned, and he was leveled by the emotion in her eyes when she looked up at him.
“Thank you, Jarod,” she said simply.
He felt like the richest man on earth. I am in so much trouble with this woman, he thought, as he leaned down to kiss her, wondering how he’d gotten in so deep, so fast.
7
OVER STEAMING PLATES of Chinese food at a tiny place downtown, Lacey laughed hysterically as she watched Jarod, one of the most capable men she could imagine, fumble with chopsticks until he finally gave up and signaled the waiter for a fork.
“The food smells great. I’d actually like to eat some of it,” he said, smiling at the waiter who offered him utensils. “I don’t know how you manage those things,” he said, eyeing her chopsticks with malice.
She wiggled her fingers at him after popping a succulent straw mushroom into her mouth.
“Nimble fingers, I guess,” she replied.
He snatched the fingers of her other hand gently and brought them to his mouth. “Don’t I know it.”
Heat shot up her arm and swept away any other thought. In fact, though this had been close to one of her top-ten worst days ever, in the past half hour she hadn’t even thought about her apartment. Sitting here amid the colorful sights and sounds of the bustling neighborhood, she sighed, actually feeling happy.
It was completely incongruous. How could she be happy when she’d just suffered a break-in, and Scott was out of jail? Not that the two were connected, but they could be. Who else would do this to her? Who else would make it so personal?
“Hey. What’s going on in there?” Jarod asked, a concerned expression on his face.
“Just thinking how nice it is to sit here and forget everything, which of course made me remember it all.”
He reached over, and squeezed her hand. “I’m here if you want to talk about it, and even if you don’t.”
She smiled, grateful, but apprehensive. Whatever it was between them had the telltale signs of turning into something far more complicated than a fling, and that worried her. It was too fast, for one thing, and he was going back home soon, for another.
Sleeping with a guy for some mutual fun, fine—starting a relationship with him—that she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Jarod was incredible, but the way he was getting so close was making her uncomfortable, so she went to a more comfortable topic: work.
“Listen, we have to make up the beach shots in studio, which should take a day, and then another day around the city. We’re scheduled for the Empire State Building tomorrow, so we could wrap this up sooner than we thought. You could probably be back tracking down bad guys in Texas by next week.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really? Well…that’s good to know, I guess.”
“Yes, I’m sure you want to get back.”
“That was before—”
He was cut off by the ringing of his cell, and she tried to hold off a visible sigh of relief. The call must not have been good news, though, but she couldn’t tell much from his regular nods and grunts of acknowledgment to someone named Tom
.
“No problem, Tom. I’ll go now.”
He hung up, but something had changed. The lines of his face seemed harder drawn, and he didn’t look at her, not right away.
“Is everything okay?”
“That was my captain. There’s a guy we’ve been tracking—bad case—and he jumped bail a few days ago. A small-town policeman just north of here grabbed someone on a DWI with the same name, and they want me to check if it’s him, and if so, send him home. I may have to go with him.”
Her eyes widened. “But the calendar!”
He blinked, and she wasn’t sure if she saw disappointment flash across his face. She felt like an ass. He’d been so good to her, and all she could think about was her work. Talk about messed up. She was definitely not in shape for a relationship, and she grimaced. He replied calmly, but set down his fork.
“Let me see what the story is. It might not even be him, but we have to make sure. This is important.”
She couldn’t help feeling stung at that. “This job is important, as well.”
“We’re talking about a guy who kills people. And technically, while I’m up here on the department’s request, I’m not on vacation. If they tell me to do something, it has to take precedence.”
She knew he was right. Obviously tracking down a felon was more important than a magazine’s calendar, but disappointment stabbed at her, as well, and that was not a good sign. She didn’t want him to leave, but there was no way she could admit that.
She nodded. “Sorry, that was uncalled-for. I know you have to do this. It’s been one thing after another with this shoot, and just…life. We can reschedule. It’s not like we haven’t been jostling everything around lately anyway.”
She signaled for the check, feeling like an idiot—when had she ever been this needy or this stupid?
“Lacey,” Jarod began, but paused as he took the bill from the waiter, though she’d grabbed for it first. “This isn’t just work, and it’s on me.”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
She felt awkward and restless, and just wanted to get out of the restaurant.
“I’ll be back by morning if I can. Will you be okay?”
“Sure. I’ll try to get one of the local guys for the skyscraper shots, and—”
“I didn’t mean will the shoot work out. I meant will you be okay?”
She swallowed. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m going to head to the studio now and make up for some lost time.”
He frowned. “Tonight?”
“I often work late into the night. It’s not unusual for us artsy types,” she said lightly, but secretly the real truth was that she couldn’t go back to her apartment. Not yet. Not at night, alone.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“Not necessary. Really, go. I’m fine,” she stressed again.
“It will make me feel better to walk you to the studio.”
She paused. She hadn’t considered that he could be worried, too. He shouldn’t be worried. She didn’t want that. His concern for her triggered guilt about her lack of honesty concerning her past, and Scott, but she also couldn’t help the relief she felt at Jarod’s insistence.
She didn’t tell anyone about Scott, and Jarod wasn’t the exception to that rule. She didn’t want ugliness from her past coloring what she was enjoying with him. They were having fun together, everything was good, and if it would make him feel better to make sure she was safe, what was the harm? It would give her a few more minutes of his company, too.
“That would be nice, thanks,” she acknowledged, and they fell into step together, heading to the subway. “We’ll catch a train and it won’t take long.”
As he grabbed her arm, she felt herself spun around in front of him, and gasped in surprise. He pulled her up tight against him, the granite planes of his chest feeling all-too-good. They ignored a few wolf whistles and comments by passersby as he leaned in and kissed her in a way that assured her he wasn’t entirely in a hurry.
“I don’t want you feeling pressured, but I like you,” he said once he broke the kiss, getting right to the point. “I really like you. I don’t know what that means, but let’s not rush to the end of this, okay?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead, he wound his hand in her hair and tilted her head back so that her breasts pressed into his chest. Her nipples sensitized and peaked as arousal coursed through her. His tongue rubbed against hers in a lazy, mating motion that reminded her what it was like when he was inside of her.
When he released her and looked down askance, all she could do was whisper, “Okay.”
He smiled, and her knees went a little weak. She’d yell at herself for being such a sap later. Right now, all she wanted was for him to go, come back, and kiss her again.
PARANOID ABOUT leaving anything at her apartment, she’d dragged her camera bag along with her to dinner, and that included the roll of film containing the pictures of her and Jarod from the hotel.
Soon, she was lost in her own world, ensconced in the basement labs of the Bliss building. The rooms were still functional, though not used as much as they used to be now that everything was going digital. It made her sad. She was a romantic at heart, and she loved the tangible experience of bringing a photograph to life.
The photos she was working on now had nothing to do with her project, though. She watched with an analytical eye as the first image came forward, Jarod’s strong features slowly emerging, and her jaw dropped as she saw what he’d photographed. There were some ultrasexy shots of herself that had made her chuckle, slightly embarrassed but privately pleased at how he’d viewed her through the camera. Then she came to the images of them together.
As a photographer, she was impressed, and couldn’t ignore the chemistry leaping from the images of them. As a woman, she…she wasn’t sure what she felt as she took in Jarod with his face turned into her thigh, looking for all the world as if he was worshipping her, his eyes shuttered, his concentration complete.
A thrill shimmied its way through to her core, making her inner muscles heat and clench as she remembered what it was like as he had slowly made his way upward, to fasten those amazing lips on her clit and suck her into sheer oblivion. And how she’d returned the favor.
Her heart hammered as she revealed one shot after another documenting the progress of the raw desire between them. When she reached the final shot, the one of them cuddled together afterward, their arms wrapped around each other, faces mirroring the satisfaction of the climax they’d just shared, something settled deep inside her heart.
This was not just any man. Not a fling. The images revealed so much more than that.
Her hands shook as she hung the prints to dry, her eyes following the photo story of their lovemaking from start to finish.
She noticed she was rubbing her arm as she admired the photos. He didn’t know about her past. Maybe he suspected, but he didn’t know. Would it change how he looked at her? Shouldn’t she give him more credit? He was obviously an extraordinary man.
He hadn’t called yet. Would he be back in the morning, or off to Texas, leaving her in the lurch? Jackie’s message had said that Mr. July was out, having suffered a serious injury in the line of duty. Now they might be losing another model, or at least having the schedule disrupted. Mr. April, however, of the FDNY, would be coming in to take Jarod’s place for the day, so at least she’d get something done.
Lacey had to wait for the prints to dry before she could leave. Very likely no one used these darkrooms much any more, but she couldn’t take a chance with material that was so personal.
Her eyes were tired, and there was a cot in the corner. More than one magazine photog had put in long hours here in the past.
Several hours later, a noise pulled her sharply from her sleep, and she sat up, her heart beating hard. She was momentarily disoriented. Something was wrong.
Gathering her wits, she realized what it was in a flash of shock—the pictures. None of them were hanging wher
e she’d left them. Unbidden panic burbled in her chest as she heard a shuffling noise by the door and she stood on shaky legs, trying to cross the room quietly, grabbing a jar of developing chemicals, the only weapon available to her.
“Who’s there? I’ve called the police,” she warned loudly, grabbing her cell phone from her pocket, but grimacing when she saw she had no signal down here.
“Too late. Time for payback, bitch,” a sneering and definitely male voice said; though it was muffled through the door, hard to recognize, the sentiment was clear.
She knew what had happened as she heard the man laugh, and footsteps walking away. Whoever it was must have followed her from the restaurant, but how could he have gotten inside the building? He was leaving—with her pictures!
“Oh, no, you aren’t,” she said with a burst of determination—she couldn’t stand the idea of someone else having those pictures. It could ruin her career, or Jarod’s.
She grabbed the door handle, feeling the heat building up on the other side. An acrid smell assaulted her, and her heart sank in fear.
Fire.
She couldn’t see anything, the room was locked and tightly sealed against light, but some smoke was finding its way under the door. She was trapped.
It had to be Scott.
She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind clear as the room seemed to close in around her.
Options?
She took a blanket from the cot and jammed it into the crack under the door, stemming the progress of the smoke. She pulled her shirt up over her face, and hit the hard door, yelling, “Help! I’m in here!”
Someone had to hear—they had to.
She looked at her watch. The sun was coming up, and there would be people arriving for work. She heard the fire alarm ring, and relief washed through her. Help would come; she just had to sit tight.
Easier said than done, she thought, pacing. Smoke was filtering in, and she had to get out, soon. Taking a breath, she started banging on the door again, shouting, and hoping someone heard her soon.
Hard to Resist Page 8
