Caught on Camera

by Kim Law

  The pain that seared through her at the thought did nothing to improve her mood.

  It was time to wrap up the conversation. “I really do need to run. I’m meeting JP for lunch at his favorite diner. I’ll send more video later tonight or in the morning. I think this will shape up to be a very nice program.”

  “No doubt it will,” Bob said. He then turned his voice serious. “I may not be able to keep you down here in Savannah, kid, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still watching out for you. That includes the job situation, as well as the men in your life. You be careful with this one, okay?”

  She appreciated his concern more than she’d probably ever told him. It was nice to know at least one person in the world had your back.

  “Thanks, Bob.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  VEGA SNAPPED HER pen in two and silently cursed as she hurried to keep the ink from dousing her skirt. Yet another new skirt. At the rate she was buying clothes, she’d need a second new job just to pay for her wardrobe.

  She glanced up to find JP watching her from the driver’s seat, and she practically hissed at him. How she’d come to be sitting beside him as he headed to pick up Greta for their date, she had no idea. This wasn’t at all what she’d envisioned for the week, though the logical part of her brain did point out what a fabulous opportunity it was. An in-depth interview of Atlanta’s hottest playboy wouldn’t be complete without seeing him in action on a hot date.

  “Problem?” He reached across her to the vehicle’s glove compartment and pulled out a package of tissues.

  “You’re my problem,” she muttered, yanking the tissues from his hand before her ego let her cause a bigger mess than she already had. As it was, the ink was contained to her palms, turning them a lovely dark blue. No need spreading it anywhere else.

  JP didn’t reply. Instead he began humming under his breath to the country song playing softly on the radio. The chorus of Shania Twain’s “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” began, leaving Vega to wonder if he was thinking of her bed or Greta’s.

  “I still don’t know why you insisted I go with you to pick her up. I could have met you two at the restaurant. That would make it easier for me to disappear later when I’ve gotten all the material I need.” Or all she could stand. Plus, it wasn’t like she’d forgotten that Greta was out to catch a man, and had all the right parts to do it. Vega didn’t need to see it from the first second it started.

  “I told you. When I asked if you joining us tonight with your camera was all right, Greta got overly excited. I think she’s looking forward to being on camera more than the date with me.”

  “I doubt it.” She didn’t mean to say that out loud, but JP’s chuckle indicated he’d heard.

  “Jealousy becomes you, babe. I like it.”

  “I’m not jealous.” If she were the jealous type, the feeling would have flared up when JP had kicked her out of his office yesterday morning to entertain the gorgeous redhead. The girl had looked barely twenty, and Vega had been a little taken aback at catching her in JP’s arms before departing, but she supposed that was the norm for someone like him.

  If she hadn’t been so furious with their prior actions in his office, she’d have called him out about having sex with her one minute then kicking her out to hug on another woman the next. Instead, she’d spent the remainder of the morning reminding herself that who he hugged didn’t matter to her. They were over.

  She rooted around in her bag as if looking for something, hoping JP would return his attention to the road, but he didn’t take the hint.

  “I would be jealous if our roles were reversed.” His voice was perfect tonight. Deep, gravelly. Sexy. “And if I had to watch, I’d punch the guy out.”

  Why wouldn’t he take the hint? She did not want to talk. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  The SUV slowed at a stoplight, and he turned on his signal. They were outside an elegantly gated community in Buckhead. Greta certainly knew how to live. But then, that’s what you got when you married a billionaire fifty years your senior. The poor man had been gone only a few months, and his widow was already on the prowl. The thought rippled a cold wave down Vega’s spine.

  They crept up to the guard station and JP rolled down his window.

  “Mr. Davenport,” the man practically announced. “Ms. Greta is expecting you.”

  With a buzz, the gate opened and they drove in…and the knot in Vega’s stomach twisted and grew to the size of Texas. She did not want to see Greta Kirby, and all her assets, fawning all over JP.

  So okay, maybe she was just the teeniest bit jealous, but dang, it had only been thirty-six hours ago she’d been ass-bare, thrusting back against the man herself. Now he was going to spend the evening entertaining one of the most stunning women—even if she was considered a joke—in Atlanta. And said woman was no doubt going to be putting everything she had out there.

  Vega glanced out her side window as she wondered if he’d be receptive to what Greta offered, then wondered if there was any man alive who could conceivably say no. Of course he’d be receptive. He was single. They were over…not that they’d ever really started. And he was a young, virile man. Yep, he’d go to bed tonight after a full couple of days, sandwiched on either end by a naked woman unable to say no to him.

  Fury returned at the thought of how easy she’d been yesterday morning. Had she learned nothing over the last eight years?

  And she still couldn’t believe he’d made love to her up against his office window! Not that she worried anyone would’ve had a long lens in the building across the street, and had it pointed JP’s direction at that exact moment, but she had to be more careful.

  She’d done much better today, but then, he also hadn’t been turning up the wattage of his charm and blasting it her direction. He’d been different since she’d blown up at him. Flirty, but not pushy. Charming, but more in the polite way. And still powerful, yet far more subdued. More as he’d been over the weekend, yet not exactly that either. His actions had actually made it more difficult to resist. Only, he hadn’t actually made another pass.

  Her foot tapped on the floor mat as she replayed the previous morning and the moments leading up to her blowup. He had entered with the sole purpose of seducing her, totally ignoring her prior dictates that they were over, and coming after her as if he had a point to prove. Granted, he’d proven it. She didn’t have to like it, but he’d made it clear she couldn’t be alone in a room with him without succumbing.

  She didn’t want to imagine what she would’ve done next if she hadn’t caught the flash of a predatory smile in his reflection as they’d finished. Her warm fuzzies had immediately turned frigid, and she’d felt as used as when she’d been with Ted. Only this time it had hurt more.

  Then had come the horror when she’d thought he’d recorded them. It had taken several seconds to calm down enough to think rationally, and even then, she hadn’t fully believed him until she’d checked the camera to find that it had, in fact, been shut off.

  The car stopped, and JP turned to face her. His eyes ran the length of her body, landing on the five-inch heels she’d worn to their first dinner. They were the closest things she had with her to power heels, and if she was going to be hanging out with two of Atlanta’s most beautiful people, she wasn’t going to go into it looking like a total loser.

  His gaze raked back up the length of her and landed on her lips. No doubt he was noticing that she’d once again applied lip gloss. But good grief, a woman could only be expected to stand beside someone such as Greta for so long without fighting back.

  “You’ve got the hottest legs I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying.” His mouth quirked and his eyes steamed, then he quickly switched gears. “Make sure you have that camera pointed at the door before she answers. I think this is her big premiere.”

  Vega rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car. She leaned into the backseat for her equipment as JP came around to help. Straightening, she handed off her camera
and began arranging the lighting to capture the “first moment” of their date.

  “I don’t know why she wants me here,” she mumbled. “If she wants to be on camera so bad, why not just sleep with a producer somewhere, and BAM!, she’d be given the chance.”

  JP ignored her ranting, which she appreciated. She didn’t need him pointing out her petty jealousy yet one more time. He leaned back against the car and eyed the front door as if not really wanting to go up there himself. Or maybe that was just her imagining it.

  “I would have paid the quarter million, you know,” he spoke quietly.

  The dark of the night laid shadows across his face, but she could make out his strong profile and the slight angle of regret in the tilt of his lips. This was the first time since they’d returned that she felt as if she was fully getting the man who’d swept her away and done his damnedest to make her fall in love with him.

  She softened her tone to match his. “I couldn’t do that. There would’ve been no way to explain it, and you wouldn’t have wanted to admit that you paid for your own date. Doing so would’ve ruined all future auctions.”

  One side of his mouth lifted as he crossed his arms over his chest and dropped his head back to stare at the night sky. “They might already be ruined.”

  “Why?” She peered closer, wishing he’d look at her so she could read what he was feeling. He sounded so sad. “Will it be inappropriate once you’re in office?”

  Assuming the backlash from the topless photo didn’t keep him from landing in office.

  “That’s one reason.”

  Another beat passed between them as she waited for him to expound, but then as easily as the melancholy mood had shrouded him, it lifted, and he pushed away from the vehicle. He shot her a wink. “Make sure you get this, babe. No doubt she’s looking as hot tonight as she was Saturday.”

  With those words, he was off and striding to the front stoop of the multimillion-dollar home, a soft whistle drifting back from him. He was once again whistling Shania Twain, leaving Vega with no doubt of whose bed he was thinking of.

  “It would serve you right if she stepped out in a turtleneck and a skirt down her to ankles.”

  He glanced back at her and waggled his eyebrows up and down. “I’m sure she doesn’t own a single piece of clothing anything near that modest.” A wide grin showed his gleaming teeth. “Lucky me.”

  Jerk.

  But he was right, no way would Greta not step out with a low-cut gown, shimmering and showing every body part her husband had paid for.

  JP knocked on the door, and Vega readied the camera. She zoomed in tight to make sure she got the start of the “dream date.”

  After Greta had kept him waiting the proper amount of time, the door opened, and Vega almost dropped the camera at what stepped out.

  Greta wore a vintage pink suit, looking as prim and proper as Jackie O had ever been, with a modest straight skirt and button-up jacket, a pillbox hat with matching bow slapped on the front…and pearls around her neck. She fluttered her eyelashes in what Vega could only assume was her attempt at innocent lure, and presented JP with the back of her white-gloved hand.

  Vega kept the shot trained on the two of them, but fought an all-out laugh at the look of strangled shock covering JP’s face. He would kill her for including that in the final version, but he looked so adorable, she had to try. That picture alone would endear him to women across the nation.

  With as little intrusion as possible, Vega captured the couple as they strolled to the car, Greta’s hand resting demurely on the inside of JP’s elbow, and the most innocent smile curling her lips that Vega had ever seen. This woman had done a complete one-eighty in more ways than one. From the look of things, Greta was taking tonight as her opportunity to convince JP she would make the perfect politician’s wife.

  From the green hue to his face, he’d registered this fact. And didn’t agree.

  For Vega, the night couldn’t have been more perfect.

  After JP deposited Greta in the front seat, Vega turned off the camera and hurried to gather the remainder of the equipment.

  He stepped to her side. “I’m sure you think this is funny.”

  “No.” She blinked up at him, as innocent and demure as Greta. “Hilarious.”

  He eyed her, clearly intent on saying something snarky in return, but then his eyes hooded and his gaze stroked her mouth, and Vega very nearly swayed forward, right into his arms.

  She caught herself and shot him a look that should have turned him to cinders. Instead he smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, a glint flashing in his eyes. “I could have you naked behind my car in thirty seconds if I wanted,” he whispered.

  What a complete ass.

  Using her elbow, she jabbed him in the gut to move him out of the way. She opened the back door and shoved her camera inside. “The portable light will be enough when we get to the restaurant. I’ll use that so you don’t have to waste time helping me instead of devoting your full attention to your date.”

  She climbed in beside her camera and turned to slam the door in his face, but he beat her to it. The door jarred to a stop in front of her. At least she was done with him for a few moments. Except he opened the back door on the other side and thrust in her lighting.

  As he stooped over, he gave his one-hundred-watt smile to Greta, who’d glanced back at him. She then turned to Vega with a straight face. “Make sure you don’t miss a second of tonight. I want this recorded for me, if not for the interview.”

  The back door slammed, and JP settled into the front seat. Greta placed her hand over his forearm, and once again glanced back at Vega, her eyes wide and gullible. “It will be aired in the interview, won’t it? I want the country to live our first date with us.” She sighed and brought her gloved hands to her chest. “It’ll be so romantic.”

  Gag.

  Vega fought the urge to show her true feelings, and managed to settle back against the thick leather, trying to pretend she wasn’t a third in a very uncomfortable situation. Greta refused to let her have that small dream.

  “And then there’s the whole aspect of you and me. I mean, who would have guessed the woman who was bidding against me for the man of my dreams would be here recording our first date together? The people will love the irony.”

  Vega blinked. Man of her dreams? Since when? Before or after her husband was in the ground? And the people? This woman probably already had her inauguration gown picked out, as well as the names of their two-point-three children.

  And dog. Don’t forget the presidential dog.

  Nausea bumped and gurgled in Vega’s gut at the thought. She should not be here. Surely there was something else she could be doing to boost her career without having to torture herself by watching another woman play dress-up with JP.

  As if reading her mind, he readjusted his rearview mirror until their eyes met in the reflection. If she were reading the look correctly, he wished he was anywhere but there too.

  Too bad.

  At least one of them had the potential for ending the night on a high note. Vega would go back to her hotel, alone. While JP and Greta would…

  She glanced up at him as he circled around the driveway and headed back to the main road. What would they be doing by night’s end? She closed her eyes and swallowed down her disgust.

  Yes, jealous was a nasty, ugly thing. And yes, it had her in its tightest grip.

  The sea bass was perfection, the restaurant couldn’t have been more high-end, and the company…wasn’t whom he wanted.

  JP took in the woman perched across the table from him, one hand placed purposefully in her lap and the other picking daintily at her food, and wondered what had happened to the curves Greta had on display Saturday night. Not that he really cared about her set of curves, but that had been the only thing he’d looked forward to about this date. Rumor had it Edward Kirby had hired the best surgeon money could buy, and bought himself some first-class parts. The least the woman could do
was display them a little.

  That would have made teasing Vega about the date much more fun.

  He tossed a quick look to the corner of the room where she stood, trying to pretend she didn’t exist. But the thing was, every damn man in the room had eyed her more than they had their own dates. Those heels and the softer sweep of her hair highlighted some of her best features.

  Not that she had a bad feature from what he could tell. And he’d thoroughly inspected each and every one himself.

  His cock twitched at the thought of Vega naked, so he pushed the picture away before Greta caught him with a hard-on and assumed it was made for her.

  “What are we doing next?” Wide eyes blinked across the table at him. She was maintaining an excellent job of keeping up the role of “little lady,” but he was tired of it. He wanted to stir things up.

  “I thought it would be polite to invite Vega over to eat.”

  Greta’s hand fluttered at her throat. “But how will that look? I mean, we’re on our first date, Jackson.”

  And their last.

  “I want it to be perfect, you know?” she continued.

  He reached across the table and took her hand, knowing the visual would look romantic on camera, then leaned in and tried for a sultry look. He needed to give Greta her money’s worth, after all. “We brought her with us, Greta. We can’t really keep her at the camera all night and not feed her.” He gave her a warm smile. “Wouldn’t we look more chivalrous inviting her over?”

  “Oh,” she murmured, clearly liking the idea of being a charitable host. “You’re right, of course. Please, yes. Go invite her to join us.”

  He gave her hand a slight squeeze and stood without hesitation. Vega had been too far away for far too long.

  When he headed her direction, she poked her head out and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as he reached her side.

  Before she could slip back out of reach, he snagged her wrist and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I missed you.”