Full Exposure: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance

by Tracy Wolff

  She rushed through her shower, ran a comb and some gel through her wet hair before slipping into a pair of jeans and a tank top. She started to put on the long-sleeve shirt that had been part of her “uniform” her entire adult life, but then discarded it. Kevin had already seen everything she had to offer. What good would her armor do her now?

  A quick stop in the kitchen yielded a cup of coffee and, of course, a Twinkie. With an even quicker stop at her car for her camera bag, she was ready to go. Pausing for a moment, she looked around the bayou that surrounded Kevin’s house—everything seemed greener, more vibrant than it had during her first trip. A few pictures wouldn’t hurt, she thought. After all, this was Kevin’s domain and it said a lot about the man that he would choose to live in the middle of an alligator- and snake-infested swamp.

  She brought her camera up, snapped a quick picture of a raccoon half-hiding behind a tree. A hummingbird sipping nectar from a flower. Kevin’s well-kept house. The great iron sculpture that sat a little to the right of the driveway. There was so much to see here, so much that explained a little more about who Kevin was and what he wanted.

  She snapped another picture of the sculpture, then another. It was immense. Ten feet tall and at least four or five feet wide, it was an abstract piece full of sharp angles and long, thin spears. She zoomed in, taking picture after picture. The whole piece, sections, a particularly intriguing angle. The closer she got to it, the more she studied it, the more she grew to believe that she was studying Kevin’s soul. Why was this piece, in particular, standing in front of his house? What did all the angles mean, all the confusing twists?

  Serena lowered her camera slowly. She looked at the sculpture without the distance provided by her camera lens and felt a deep, erotic pull—in her stomach and her womb. All sharp angles and wavy lines, myriad pieces and disconnected shapes—with one look, she knew that this was Kevin. She was sure of it. And while she didn’t know what all the different pieces meant yet, she knew that if she could figure out this sculpture, she could figure out the enigma that was Kevin Riley. That was what she needed—for the book and for herself.

  Her pocket began vibrating—and for a few seconds she stood, actually frozen in fear. Let it go, she told herself. You don’t have to deal with this now. Not on top of everything else going on. She hesitated—hand over her pocket—until with a sigh of derision she flipped the phone open.

  She’d spent too much of her life in fear—afraid of the dark, of commitment, of dying and of surviving. She’d be damned if she’d be afraid of her stupid cell phone too. Or the sick and twisted psychopath on the other end.

  “Hello.” Her voice was clipped, abrupt, but she couldn’t help it. Any more than she could make herself look at the caller ID. If it was him she didn’t want to know one second before she had to.

  “Serena.”

  All the tension inside of her poured out in a big sigh of relief. “Jack. How are you?”

  “Actually, I was just about to ask you that question. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop what happened yesterday.”

  She sank onto the top step of Kevin’s porch with a small sigh. “It’s not your fault—I guess it was stupid to even get our hopes up.”

  “Not stupid, Serena. Human. I really thought, maybe—”

  “I know.” She interrupted him before he could finish. She couldn’t bear to hear the words out loud. Not yet when the wound was still so raw. “Nothing we said would have made any difference. The LaFleurs—” She broke off, a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Jack hesitated, and she could tell he wanted to say more. But he must have known how she felt, because at the last second he changed the subject. “Well, then, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d love to take you to lunch. It’s a great day for it.”

  She couldn’t hold back the grin—that was good old Jack for you. Always a gentleman, even when you didn’t deserve it. She pictured the young, senior ADA perfectly—dressed in a suit, seated behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him while he spoke on speaker phone. Just the kind of man she usually dated—cool, professional, casual. Not that she’d ever consider dating him—way too much history there. Besides, in the years after Sandra’s death, he’d become a friend. But he was definitely her usual type—too polite to dig too deep, too nice to make her face things she’d rather ignore.

  Not like Kevin, who pushed and prodded until she gave him everything. Who paid no attention the boundaries she set—for her mind and her body. Who ripped through any and all barriers she erected between them. Kevin, who was a lot of things—incredibly hot, unbelievably sexy and terribly brooding—but who could never be called casual. Or nice.

  “Serena.” Jack’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here, Jack.” She cursed herself. She’d never drifted off in the middle of a conversation before she met Kevin Riley. He—obviously—was having a horrible influence on her. “But I’ll have to take a raincheck on lunch. I’m not in Baton Rouge right now.”

  “Really? Where are you then?”

  “In the bayou, about three hours out.”

  “That’s right—you told me. The book on Kevin Riley.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, how’s that going? Is he as difficult as everyone makes him out to be?”

  She shrugged before she remembered he couldn’t see her. “I don’t know. He’s certainly not easy.”

  “The best things in life never are.”

  She snorted before she could stop herself. “What are you—a Hallmark card?”

  He answered with such a careful show of affronted dignity that she knew it was fake. “I was simply explaining that sometimes one has to work for happiness.”

  The laughter bubbling in her throat died abruptly. “You’re kind of preaching to the choir, don’t you think, Jack? If you want to use old euphemisms, I mean.”

  “Oh, Serena, I didn’t mean it that way.” There was a long silence in which she could tell he was trying to decide how to get around the elephant that had suddenly entered the room. The silence stretched—along with her nerves—until she couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Jack—”

  “Serena—”

  They both laughed as they tripped over each other’s words and the awkward moment ended. “Well, how long are you going to be out there? We’ll have lunch when you’re back in town.”

  “I’ve still got a couple of weeks, at least. But that would be wonderful. It’s been a while since we’ve talked about anything but the parole hearing.”

  “That’s true.” His voice was suddenly much more subdued. “I am sorry, Serena—”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but the people in that room and the LaFleur family. You’ve been wonderful—through everything.”

  “Not wonderful enough, obviously, or Damien—”

  “Stop.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. End of discussion. Besides, we’ve spent so many weeks talking about this that I have no idea what you’re doing. We haven’t talked about you in forever.”

  “I’m fine. Nothing unusual here—just working another big case.”

  She felt herself tense involuntarily, even as she tried to keep her voice casual. “Oh yeah—what’s it about?”

  Jack paused as if reluctant, but just as she was about to tell him that it was none of her business, he answered, “Champagne bottles.”

  “Excuse me?” She couldn’t have heard him right.

  “I know. Ridiculous, right? I have no idea how it got to trial, but here we are. A guy stole two bottles of champagne from his neighbor’s garage and then later bonked him on the head with one.”

  She laughed before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not really funny. I’m not—”

  “Laughing at me, just with me.”

  She stifled a snort. “Exactly.”

  He sighed and she could almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s a long way
from major felonies, but when Collins quit last month his cases got passed around. I drew champagne guy.”

  “Well,” she cleared her throat to cover another giggle. “Keep me apprised on how the scales of justice fall on this one.”

  “Oh, I will. Believe me. And you—good luck with Riley. From what I hear, you’ll need it.”

  “He’s really not that bad. At least he’s resigned to the project.”

  “Well, that’s half the battle then.”

  “With Kevin, it’s two-thirds at least.”

  “And call me when you get back to town.”

  “You’ll be first on my list.”

  Serena hung up with a grin, which quickly turned to a grimace. Maybe she should have told Jack about the phone calls. Not that there was a lot he could have done, but still … she could have gotten his take on the situation. She opened her phone, began to dial the number, then stopped. If the guy didn’t stop, if he took it to the next level—then she’d tell Jack. For now—She sighed. For now, she’d just wait and see.

  She turned back to the sculpture and took a few more pictures, refusing to let her fear ruin another day. But when the camera clicked, signaling that she’d run out of film, she lowered it with a sigh of regret. She could stand here all day, taking pictures of this most personal piece of art. But while it might give her a better understanding of the man in her bed, it wouldn’t get the rest of her work done. Reloading her camera, she stepped silently into Kevin’s studio, hoping to get a few shots before he noticed her.

  She needn’t have worried. He was in a frenzy, heating, bending, twisting metal, an almost crazed look on his face. Stunned, she watched him work with none of his ordinary stealth and precision. He flew through the studio, picking up one anvil, discarding another. Metal forceps, wrenches, and even his favorite blowtorch rotated through his hands so quickly Serena had trouble distinguishing one tool from another.

  Raising her camera to her eye, she took shot after shot of this delicious, haunted Kevin. He wasn’t working from a sketch as he nearly always did. This vision burned inside of him, so desperate to get out that it had completely taken Kevin over. Obsession was upon him, the muse firmly on his shoulder and it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Sweat poured down his sculpted chest. His muscles strained to bend the iron to his will. His glorious hair was swept into a short, haphazard ponytail at the base of his neck and his eyes glowed with a vision only he could see.

  Her fingers flew over the camera, adding another roll of film, determined not to miss more than a second of the artistic frenzy that gripped him. He bent, his well-worn jeans cupping his ass as he strained to lift what she assumed was the base of the sculpture. A long, thick line, it was as fluid as waves rolling in off the ocean. She hadn’t realized it was possible to do that to metal—to make it as soft and flowing as water. Somehow she knew that a lesser sculptor could never have accomplished it.

  Kevin lifted an arm, absently wiped sweat off his face as he studied his work. And caught sight of her silhouetted against the doorway, her camera a natural extension of her body.

  He grinned, full of excitement and exuberance. Serena found herself smiling back even as she captured the look on film. His eyes widened as he heard the click of the camera, and he prowled toward her. A sleek jungle cat stalking his prey, he advanced slowly, deliberately. Her breath caught and alarm coursed through her. But she wanted these photos, needed these photos. The real Kevin Riley—genius, predator, madman.

  Her heart beat wildly and her breathing grew ragged. She’d had him more times than she could count last night, but she wanted him again. Here, now. Her body craved him, craved what only he could give it. And he knew it. She could see his knowledge in the seductive curve of his mouth, in his sapphire eyes blazing nearly black with need.

  His bare, wet chest reflected the sun, and its light surrounded him with fiery red tongues of flame. He was temptation personified—conquering general, obsessed artist, ardent lover—and Serena could feel him pulling her further and further into his dominion.

  She clicked the last picture before lowering her camera. He came to a stop directly in front of her and his hand reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off her forehead. He was, once again, just a man and when he opened his arms, she sank into them, resting her head directly above his heart. She breathed in the dark, musky scent of him, listened as his heart beat harder and faster. And laughed at herself, at the flight of fancy that had, for a few brief moments, had him looking something more than a man. But as she let her eyes drift shut, savoring the closeness of him, that last frame stayed with her. Fear, contentment, and desire churned together inside of her, dampening her thighs and making her nipples harden painfully.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, pulling away to study her. His smile was warm, but his eyes were watchful as they skimmed over her face.

  “I slept wonderfully,” she purred. “You tired me out.”

  “I tried hard enough.” His hands slid up and down her back and she felt his arousal press against her stomach. “Are you still tired?”

  Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “Not too tired, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  His grin was wolfish. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

  She pulled away from him, walked toward his work. “What are you working on? It’s new, right?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged, followed her. “I woke up at about three with this idea burning in my head. I had to see if I could capture it.”

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes were shadowed as he studied what he’d done. “I don’t know if I’m good enough to capture what I’m seeing in my head.”

  She gasped, whirled to face him. “Don’t say that. I’ve never seen anything like this.” She gestured to the piece in front of her. “I didn’t even know it was possible.”

  “I’m not sure it is. But I have to try.”

  “What’s it going to be?” she asked. “It’s hard to tell at this stage.”

  Kevin studied her for a moment, eyes grim, before his mouth curved enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

  She raised her eyebrows, answered drily, “Or I won’t.”

  “Exactly.” He shrugged again.

  Serena wandered through his work area, taking a few pictures as she went. He watched her work, silently, for several minutes before asking, “How do you know what picture you want to take? Why this workbench and not that one over there?”

  “How do you know which way to bend a piece of metal?” she answered.

  “It tells me. I feel it in my gut.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  He brushed a kiss along her brow. “Are you ready for the trip to San Diego?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I have much more to do than what I’m doing here. You’re the one with all the responsibility.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” she asked incredulously. “The opening of an exhibit of your work at the San Diego Museum of Art? The unveiling of a sculpture in the new Matthias Building? Your first showing at the Price Gallery? It doesn’t get much huger than that. Aren’t you excited?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I love seeing my work where it’s meant to be—the Matthias sculpture took such a long time and is designed so precisely for its environment. I really like that part.”

  “But not the rest?” she asked. “A museum full of people admiring your work one night, a gallery of people buying it the next?”

  “I don’t like the show, all the airs people put on at those things.” His eyes darkened. “I can’t stand the fake crap.”

  “Why are you so sure it’s fake?” she asked.

  “How can it not be, cher? A bunch of people standing around in designer wear talking about what they see in my art, how it makes them feel!” He snorted. “Spare me the wannabes and their need to discuss the ‘esoteric’ details of my work with me. Particularly when ninet
y-five percent of them don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.”

  She leaned back and studied him for a minute. His eyes were contemptuous, his mouth twisted in disgust. “I never would have guessed it,” she commented. “You’re a snob.”

  “Excuse me?” His voice fairly crackled with indignation and his eyes turned glacier blue. “They’re the snobs, with their hundred-dollar caviar and their thousand-dollar dresses. I don’t care about any of that shit.”

  “And you think anyone who does is weak and stupid.”

  “A lot of them are weak and stupid.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to disagree.

  “And you think because you wear faded jeans and live like a hippie in the middle of nowhere that you’re better than they are? You’re just as narrow-minded in your own way.”

  “Wait a minute! I never said I was better than them. I said I couldn’t stand them. There’s a difference.” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Oh really? What’s the difference?” She smirked, challenging him.

  He stared at her, nonplussed, trying to find an argument that would help him win their debate. When he could think of nothing, he simply shrugged and said, “I don’t know. But there is one.”

  She laughed, wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled into the curve of his arm. “Great answer.”

  “Why are you defending them? Someone just like that killed your sister and bought his way free.”

  Serena stiffened against him and he cursed himself, wanting to take the words back as soon as they had left his mouth.

  “You think I don’t know that?” She pulled away to glare at him. “You think I don’t live with that every day of my life? But you can’t condemn everyone because of what a few people do.”

  He watched the light go out of her eyes and cursed himself again. “I’m sorry. That was totally uncalled for.”

  She shrugged, the ice maiden back in place. “Don’t apologize. It’s true.”

  “True or not, you don’t need me to throw it in your face.” He put a finger under her chin, tilted her face up so that she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “It was a crappy thing to say and I’m sorry for it.”