by Linda Mooney
“What are you going to do with it? Put out an ad in the paper's lost and found? Put one of the pictures on a milk carton?” Ferra smirked at her own joke.
“Nope. I'm going right over there to the drugstore and have them develop the photos. Maybe there's something on them that'll give me a clue as to who lost the roll.”
“Yeah, and you'll probably end up paying a pretty penny for someone's bad shots of every tourist trap in town.”
Jolee shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But in case there's more here than I think, I might email one of the pictures to the newspaper. Somebody's bound to recognize their work.”
“Ooo! What if they're dirty pictures? You know...porn shots?”
Jolee rolled her eyes. “Girl, you need to get laid. You've been lonely too long.” Getting to her feet, the ghost of a twinge reminded Jolee of her earlier misstep. She winced. “Look, I'm heading back to the office. Same place, same time tomorrow?”
“Are you seeing that guy tonight?”
Oh, yeah. She had a date. “No, tomorrow night. Don't worry. I'll give you all the juicy details over lunch Monday,” Jolee promised before her friend had the chance to beg.
They exchanged quick hugs, and then Jolee crossed the street to drop off the mysterious roll at the nearby drugstore. The technician promised to have the pictures ready by the time Jolee got off work, which suited her just fine. A not-half-bad presentation, a mysterious roll of film, and a bonus date all in one day. She found an extra spring in her step as she started back to work.
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Chapter Three
This is impossible.
“So...what are you?” The clerk leaned over the counter. “I really like the one with the purple unicorn.”
“Huh?” Jolee tore herself away from the proof sheet to give the camera clerk a questioning stare.
“Are you one of those models? Like for those romance novels?” The young woman gave her a conspiratorial grin. “You're lucky they weren't more explicit. Those shots are hot!"
Jolee dropped her eyes back to the proof sheet. She could easily see why the clerk would ask such a question. “Uhh, no. We were just goofing around.” She flashed an embarrassed grin at the woman, which wasn't too difficult considering what was on the photos.
She quickly paid for the developing and went straight home. As soon as she was inside her apartment, she went right to her computer and booted it up. While she waited, she treated herself to a rare glass of wine and took it over to the desk. The photo disk loaded, and Jolee took a swallow of the Merlot to steady her nerves.
DO YOU WISH TO OPEN THIS FILE?
“God, yes.”
Jolee clicked the OPEN button and watched with apprehension as the first image filled the screen.
It was her.
With a man.
And—Lord have mercy on her soul—what a man!
He was holding her face between his hands and leaning down as if to kiss her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted in breathless anticipation. Jolee could almost feel the impatient need to have his mouth cover hers. To breathe in his virile male scent when he—
Get a grip, Wiley! Another gulp of wine, and she clicked the mouse.
The second shot was more sedate. She was resting her head on his shoulder. His cheek caressed her forehead. Their eyes were closed. They almost appeared...
Sated.
A shiver ran through her. Come to think of it, was there any hint or sign of clothing in any of these shots?
Jolee felt her thighs clench, and warmth oozed into her panties. Questions tumbled around inside her head like clothes in a dryer.
Who was he? More importantly, who was the woman in the snapshot?
There was no way the female in the photos could be her. Didn't someone once say everybody in the world had an exact double? That's who the woman had to be. Her twin, just not related by blood. But an identical twin, nonetheless. Damn!
As Jolee stared at the woman, she had to admit the resemblance was almost perfect. Almost. The only difference she could see was that the woman in the shot had a lover straight out of dreamland, and Jolee...well...
Oh, but what she wouldn't give to be that woman snuggling in his embrace.
Staring at the computer, Jolee could see a lot more detail in the high-resolution monitor than what she'd noticed in the tiny thumbnail proofs. There was a close-up of the man, and this one revealed a tiny scar on the bridge of his nose. He also had mesmerizing brown eyes.
These photos were raw and real. Pre-touchup. What was in each picture was one hundred percent genuine, warts and pimples and all. The man's appearance wasn't perfect, but those imperfections made him that much more alluring. Whoever had taken these shots was damn good at his job.
“You... are...the man of my dreams,” she murmured aloud, then chuckled and mentally slapped herself. You're losing it, Wiley. You've gone ga-ga over a man's picture, and for all you know he could already be married. Or taken. Maybe to the woman who could be your identical twin. No one that devastatingly handsome stays single for long.
She continued to click through the collection, all thirty-six exposures. Each shot was a different pose of the two of them. Correction. Of the guy and the girl who looked like her. They were sensuously photographed, captured in romantic clutches. In some they appeared either half-naked or totally nude, but tastefully arranged so that the naughty bits weren't exposed. A blanket here, a bud vase there. A three-quarter view from the waist up in several, or a headshot or close-up.
But in every one of them the man and woman, although they knew they were in front of a camera, seemed oblivious to it. Their whole attention, their sole focus, remained on each other. Every touch, every look, every bend in their bodies spoke of devotion and love. These weren't two people modeling. They were lovers caught in the midst of a romantic interlude.
She took her time studying each shot. Over and over she had to keep telling herself that the woman making love to that undeniably handsome man was not her, but she looked real enough to fool even her parents. The woman even had a little rose tattoo on her right hip, exactly where Jolee had one!
There were a couple of head-and-shoulder poses of just the man. Shots that didn't feature herself...her twin, rather. If she placed one of them in the Lost and Found section of the paper, surely someone who knew the guy would be able to identify him. And that would lead to whoever lost the roll of film. Hopefully.
Jolee shook her head. This was all too freaky for words. Technically, these were professional shots, although they were just this side of being called porn. No wonder the camera clerk thought they were poses for romance novel covers. Tasteful, yes. Hot, oh, hell, yes!
She clicked through the disk until she reached exposure number thirty-four. It was faded, like it was under-exposed. Number thirty-five was black but outlined in red. Ditto for thirty-six.
She backed up. Thirty-three was a clear picture of the man and woman reclining in a tub filled with bubbles. Of course. Show me any posed shot of someone in a bathtub where there aren't any bubbles. Just as she'd expected, suds covered strategic areas of the couple's bodies. The man's hands also helped to keep the photos rated PG.
Jolee felt her nipples tightening. The man had his palms cupping the woman's generous breasts. It almost appeared as though he was teasing the tips with his fingers. His mouth was most certainly teasing the woman's neck.
Involuntarily, Jolee reached up with one hand and squeezed her breast through her silk blouse and bra. Sweet heavens, she could almost feel his hands! She could almost sense the warm water swirling sensuously around their bodies as she pressed her back against his chest. His erection lay on the bottom of the tub, where her butt cheeks nestled against his pubic hair and his ultra-hard dick slid between her folds
Jolee sat up in shock. This is crazy!
A mouse click forward didn't change the outcome of the last three photos. They were still dark or
almost dark. On the other hand, maybe the photographer was finished at number thirty-four and didn't want the last two shots on the roll, so he'd exposed the rest of the film and accidentally damaged number thirty-four in the process. Oh, well, she mentally shrugged. What did it matter, anyway
She saved the entire disk to her hard drive. Her hard-earned money had paid for the developing. Might as well benefit by keeping copies for her own personal lusting. And, boy, there was no way the images of Mr. Man of Her Dreams were going to go to waste! Not if she could help it! Every woman needs her fantasy man, especially when the real ones are too few and far between.
A jump onto the Internet and over to the newspaper's website, and Jolee uploaded photo number sixteen to the Lost and Found department, paid for the added expense with a credit card, then went back to the kitchen for a refill from the half-empty wine bottle.
Hopefully, by this time tomorrow someone would contact her about his missing roll of film. She would inquire politely about the name of the man and the woman in the pictures, then try not to appear too eager to find out if the man was already spoken for, even though she already knew it was useless to assume otherwise. But she could dream. As long as she had those snapshots, she could dream and pretend the woman in his loving embrace really was her. That wouldn't be too difficult.
Admit it, Wiley, she bitterly told herself as she trudged back into the kitchen. The closest you'll ever come to a Happily Ever After is a jpeg file entitled “36 Exposures".
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Chapter Four
Just to be on the safe side, when she got to the office the next morning, Jolee checked the newspaper's classified ads on her computer. Yep, there it was, and reproduction in black and white did nothing to dampen the draw she felt for the man in the picture.
Found: a roll of 36-exposure film on the corner of Breedluff and Merceyd. 901-555-7865 or [email protected].
Good. Short and to the point. Nodding, Jolee closed her browser and tried to concentrate on her next project. To be on the safe side she opened her email and left it open, hidden behind her current document in case someone popped into her office unexpectedly. Every time the little mail icon dinged for her attention, she rushed to see who it was.
By lunchtime when she hadn't gotten any response to her ad, she was beginning to feel disappointed no one responded to the ad. Why, she didn't have the foggiest idea.
“What were you expecting, Wiley? For the man in the photo to come striding into the building, take the elevator up to the fifth floor, turn right at Missy's cubicle, and come straight into your office so he can scoop you up into his arms? You are so pathetic!”
Despite her self-condemnation, Jolee opted out of lunch with Ferra and remained at her desk with a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of baked potato chips from the deli in the lobby. By five o'clock she gave up.
The taxi ride home was quiet, thank goodness. The driver was self-absorbed and kept his radio off, for which Jolee was grateful. She didn't want to listen to any music on the way. She was in no mood for the latest trend in screeching. Nor did she want to listen to any oldies, on the off-chance the station would play some heart-wrenching ballad that would leave her in tears.
You are so pathetic. Boy, was she right about that observation. Twenty-seven, unattached, and the last time she had entertained a member of the opposite sex was... Jolee had to dig deep to even remember the guy she'd shared dinner with many months before.
The taxi pulled up to the curb next to her brownstone. Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she paid the man an extra fiver and thanked him for the quiet. Walking the short flight of steps up to the door, she let herself in and opted for the elevator to take her up to her floor.
The message light was blinking on her phone when she entered her apartment. A glance at the machine read “3". Jolee slapped the PLAY button on her way to hang up her jacket in the entryway closet.
“Hi, Jo! Ferra. Well, did you ever solve the mystery of the lost roll of film? Missed our lunch date. How about dinner? There's a new Italian place opening up over on Knox. Give me a call by six if you're interested. Ta!”
“Ta,” Jolee parroted, adding a snicker. That woman ate more pasta than anyone she knew. Kicking off her heels near the sofa, she strode over to the phone to listen to the rest of the messages.
“Miss Wiley, this is Bristol Ackerman. We need your first edits for the Manchester account ASAP. I went by your office but you were already gone for the day. Call me to let me know where they are. You have my number.”
She threw a mock salute at the machine. Screw him. He could wait until morning for those edits.
“Hello. My name is Mike Owensby.”
Jolee froze. The voice was deep. Warm. It immediately threw her body into a surprising state of awareness. Hell, it practically swam in sex.
“You placed a lost and found ad in the paper. You found a roll of film? Is there any way I can meet you to get the roll back? I've been sick with worry it might be permanently lost.” The voice sighed, and she could hear the man's despair. “My number is 901-555-8228. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”
She jumped for the machine to catch the time on the readout. 4:58 p.m. A look at her watch told her it was just past six. Trembling, she grabbed the receiver and punched in the number. It was a local call, which meant he was here in town. While she waited for the connection, her eyes slid over to the dark computer monitor.
“Hello.”
Oh, God. It was that voice again. She had to sit down on the arm of the sofa before her legs went out from under her. “Uh, Mr. Mike Owensby, please.”
“This is him.” His breath caught. “Are you the person who found my film?”
A little giggle escaped her before she could answer. The man sounded like the cavalry were rescuing him. “Yes. I found it on the street. I'm sorry I had to develop the film, but it was the only way I could think of to find its owner,” she apologized.
The man laughed back. It was a relieved laugh. A de-stressing laugh. “Hey, not a problem. That was very smart of you. Look, is there a place where we can meet? I hate to rush you, but it's urgent I get the roll back as soon as possible.”
“Sure. But please forgive me. I have to ask you first—”
“What's on the roll?” the man finished for her. “They're some candid shots of a man and a woman. Very loving shots. Would you like more detail?”
More detail? Her mind went blank. “Uhh...”
“There should be about a dozen shots where the man and woman are growing...closer.” He gave a little embarrassed chuckle. “There are a few shots in a bubble bath and a few more in bed. A couple of head shots of the man alone, and a couple of the woman. Is that enough description?”
“Yes!” she hurried to assure him. “Look, do you know where Sinclair Avenue is?”
“Sure.”
“There's a little market at the corner of Sinclair and Faust. I can meet you there.”
“Perfect. I need a loaf of bread, anyway,” the man chuckled again. Its vibrations rattled through her, all the way down to her toes. “What time?”
“Umm, seven? Or do you need longer to get there?”
“I can make it by seven. How will I know you?” the man asked.
How will I know you? Oh, sweet heaven, should she tell him? “Trust me, Mr. Owensby. When you see me, you'll know it's me.”
“Pardon?”
She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. “I'll meet you at Fosatti and Sons Market at seven. I'll be the one holding a disk of photos.”
“Great! See you soon.”
The man hung up, leaving Jolee to stare at the receiver in her hand. Mike Owensby sounded like a wet dream come to life, with a voice warm enough to melt the panties off every female within a fifty-mile range.
A strange thought came to her, making her smile wistfully. Wouldn't it be funny if Mr. Owensby was the guy in the photos? B
ut, of course, that would be impossible. From the sincerity in his plea, he was probably the photographer. Maybe he shot photos for use on romance novels like those that Ferra had suggested. Maybe he had a deadline, but because he'd lost the roll, his boss was eating his butt out for being careless. It was very likely his job was on the line, and she was his stroke of good fortune for finding the roll.
Slipping on a pair of old, no-tie canvas sneakers, Jolee grabbed her keys and the disk, and left her apartment for the short walk to the corner grocer. With any sort of luck the guy would offer her a token reward. If she was really lucky, he would treat her to dinner.
But if she was truly blessed...
Jolee smiled. Who knew? Stranger things had happened.
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Chapter Five
It was a little past six-thirty when she got to the market. Other than Mrs. Fosatti, who was running the register, and two kids squabbling in the candy aisle, there was no one else in the store. Jolee gave the woman a quick wave and a smile, then headed over to the magazine rack to kill some time perusing the covers.
Every time the door jingled to signal someone entering or leaving the store, she glanced up. Her heart had picked up its pace. Now it was beating out a little staccato rhythm to match her nerves.
She had to ask Mr. Owensby who the man in the picture was. She had to find out his name and, at the very least, if he was single. That's all. That's what her “reward” could be. Just tell me who he is, and if there's any way on earth I can meet him. That would be more than enough compensation for my trouble
The cover of a film noir magazine caught her eye. She picked it up, but she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to thumb through it. What if Mr. Owensby didn't show? What if he sent one of his assistants over to pick up the disk? No. She mentally shook her head. The guy sounded like he was the hands-on type. It was obvious the man did his own work, right down to the dirty fingernails jobs. Maybe one of the bigger book or magazine publishers employed him.
