Damn. It was Richard.
He looked over the flowers. “Nice choice.” His expression was icy. That cool power was indicative of what had attracted her and, ultimately, repelled her.
“Will you do me the honor of having coffee with me?” He seemed so charming.
“No.” She knew this would incite him even more, but there seemed to be little alternative. She’d almost believed that nothing could intrude on her decadent new life, but over the last twenty-four hours it had become apparent that both she and Jason had old ghosts from their pasts that still had to be laid to rest.
He smirked. It didn’t suit him. His looks were so austere that it gave him the look of a nasty schoolboy who was about to pull a prank.
“Think again, Georgie.”
He opened his jacket and slipped the edge of a Polaroid photograph out against his shirt. From the exposed corner, she saw it was one they had taken together during the time they were lovers. It used to be a source of arousal to her, to look at the instant photos they took of one another during their sexual encounters -- until she had found out what a downright chauvinist and an absolute cad he really was.
“I’d rather burn in hell than spend another moment in your company.”
His mouth twitched. “You might like to reconsider that ... I was thinking of sending some of our snaps to your father.” He caught the glance of annoyance and surprise she could not withhold, and smiled. “I thought so. We can’t have the reputation of the prestigious Montgomery household destroyed by your lewd behavior, can we?”
He took her arm and led her to a small Turkish coffee house set behind the market stalls. They sat into a secluded booth. He ordered for her without asking what she wanted. She wasn’t surprised.
“I don’t intend to come back to you, Richard, no matter what you decide to do with those pathetic photographs.”
She was pretty sure he was bluffing. After all, sending the photos out would merely ensure she never saw him again. It was a ridiculous attempt at getting her back. What sort of basis for a relationship did he imagine this line of behavior was? Richard liked his women to be less intelligent than he was and treated them accordingly. She had long since begun to wonder what she ever saw in him.
Aside from that, part of her was focused on the uncanny coincidence between her situation and that of Zoë Mac. Zoë, a leggy blonde with the most famous media pout in the last decade, had much more to lose, for sure. But she felt Zoë’s secrets would be a whole lot safer with Jason than hers were with this creep. The bottom line was motivation, and Richard wanted her back. Georgie was easily intelligent enough to see through his bluff.
He took a wad of photographs from his pocket and began to look through them, dropping them onto the table as he commented on them. Georgie drank her coffee, maintaining an aloof expression as she watched the images of her own body flash down in front of her. If he was hoping to arouse her, she wasn’t going to allow it to happen. Well, not this time.
“I particularly like this one, Georgie. You look so ... innocent.”
He gave a nasty laugh as he held the picture up in front of her face. She was sitting in a chair, legs apart, her breasts crushed together by her arms as she reached down to pleasure herself with a large molded black vibrator in front of the camera. The crude black object looked unreasonably large against the tender folds of her glistening sex, but boy, had it ever felt good when she had ridden it.
Georgie mentally counted to ten, trying not to get hot. It was very hard not to. She looked at him. That helped. He was well gone on this. His pupils were dilated, and a bead of sweat clung to his upper lip.
An idea began to suggest itself to her. She smiled.
“Yes, it is a good photograph. You know a good image when you see it, don’t you, Richard?”
She winked at him and was gratified to see the look of achievement that spread across his face. He thought he had convinced her.
“Tell me, what do you like about it?” She leaned closer to him, her legs shifting under the table.
“Your abandonment. You can’t help yourself, can you, when you’re like that?” He was practically grinning.
She had to control the urge to laugh in his face. Her heart was beating very fast. She reminded herself where the door was and gauged the distance.
“No, I can’t help myself.” She slid her leg between his, beneath the table. She lowered her hand to close over his knee.
“Oh, my little dark angel is coming home to me.” His eyes glinted at her, his legs parting to let her feel her way along his thighs.
She pushed them wide with her hand and then jerked right back in her seat, her foot rising to land sharply in his crotch.
His face altered quickly into an expression of pure horror, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open. His outraged cry of pain filled the coffee house, but Georgie was already on her feet. She grabbed her bag, the flowers, and as many of the Polaroid shots as she could snatch up before he recovered, and tore out the door, her coffee cup crashing to the floor as she went.
On the other side of the city, Jason stormed down the stairs and out of the swing doors onto Fleet Street, cursing the newspaper industry, wishing he’d never seen or heard of the gossip gutter press. A raging tirade was going through his head while he paced the streets with a face like thunder, not even sure where he was headed.
As soon as he’d got to work, he found his mailbox had been loaded with messages from Greg, Joel Elliot, and other “insiders” quizzing for info about the alleged photos of Zoë Mac he had taken. He’d had to tell switchboard to refuse calls to his extension, and even Dave had heard there was something juicy about Zoë circulating on the press grapevine -- news that he didn’t hesitate to share with Jason, of course.
When the two meatheads stepped out onto the pavement in front of him and blocked his path, Jason didn’t need any evidence to tell him they were hounds on the scent. He could see it written all over their faces.
“Get out of my way.”
“We’ve got a message from Joel Elliot. He wants the photos, and he’ll pay well, very well.” The man flashed open a notebook with a figure written on it and held it up in front of Jason face, glancing around as if he expected to be pounced on at any moment by a rival paparazzi.
The second man moved to one side and leaned up against nearby railings, as if attempting to give their conversation a more relaxed appearance to passersby.
The numbers on the page came into focus, and Jason’s eyebrows shot up. Christ, he was in even bigger trouble than he thought.
“Interesting amount, huh?” The meathead gave a hungry smile. “He wants to work with you, but he says you didn’t reply to his email offer, so we’re here to make sure you know how serious he is.” The threat in his voice was not lost on Jason.
“I’m not interested, and you can tell him to keep his damn nose out of it.” He let his volume slide up, gratified when passing heads turned.
“I bet you’ve got those photos on you right now.” The meathead turned to his sidekick. “Don’t you agree, Charlie? We could just take them off him.”
Charlie gave a brief nod, eyeing Jason’s pockets while he lolled against the iron railings.
An image of Zoë flitted through his mind. The photos were beautiful, nothing to be ashamed of. They’d been happy. They’d had fun. “There are no photos,” he snapped defensively.
The man chortled. “We’ve heard that one before, and it makes us all the more interested.”
Jason swore under his breath, his fists clenching.
“It’s a good rate of pay for a few photos, you can’t deny it, but we’ve heard they’re worth it ... hot nudey shots.” The meathead licked his lips. “I’d sure like to see them.”
Jason’s blood hit boiling point. His stomach balled. “Fuck off, you leering psycho.”
“Ooh, listen to you.” He grinned at his mate, who watched the unfolding scene with a sinister stance. “You call us leering, and we hear you took these ph
otos when she was barely legal.”
“That’s a lie.” He spoke between clenched teeth.
“That’s what we heard.” He prodded Jason in the chest. “And that means you’re the pervert here, buddy.”
The roaring sound in Jason’s ears drowned out whatever was said next. He could see the mouth moving but heard no words. The bastard’s finger kept prodding him in the chest. Prod. Prod. Prod. Until Jason finally cracked, big time.
Chapter Six
Georgie ran through the market and through the nearby streets into the shopping mall, her breath captured somewhere between gasps, laughs, and cries. Her heart was beating wildly.
When she’d put plenty of space between herself and Richard, she paused to catch her breath. She darted into an alleyway, fished a cigarette lighter out of her bag, and ceremoniously set fire to each and every photo, dropping the flaming remains down a drain. She watched the last flicker disappear and then left. It served him right to have a taste of his own medicine, but she wished she hadn’t had to do it.
She didn’t ring the bell or wait for Cal to invite her in when she got to his studio. She just opened the door and rushed in, dropping what remained of the flowers on the chair by the door as she went.
“Are you home?”
“In here.” His voice emerged from the studio. He was sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in a book. When he saw her hasty entrance, he closed the book. She flung herself down beside him, and he folded her into his arms. Without being aware of their imminence, she found that tears began to fall onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
Without questioning her, he instinctively stroked her back and murmured soothing words in her ear, which was the most perfect thing he could have done at that moment. When she drew back to look up at him, he raised his eyebrows in query, and then she noticed the dots and streaks of mascara and lipstick she had left on his shirt.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I’ll wash it.” She plucked at the buttons of the shirt, but his eyes were twinkling at her.
He ignored her comment and kissed her gently, taking a taste of her tears onto his tongue. “What’s upset you?” He stroked her hair back from her face.
She sat back against the velvet of the sofa, her gaze going up to the painting of herself that stood against the wall on the other side of the room. She still didn’t recognize it completely.
“Richard. He wants me to go back to him. He’s very persistent.” After a moment she added, “Do I really look like that?”
He smiled. “No. Even more beautiful.”
She turned to him again. She could almost feel him sinking into her body, he looked so intently at her.
“There’s something I need to ask you about,” he whispered, still stroking her.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve been approached about a new exhibition of my work, small but prestigious, in about six weeks time. I’d like our new theme to make up the body of the work to be shown.”
Her eyes widened. “The sex theme?”
He gave a dark husky laugh. “The you theme, Georgie. That is, if you’re happy to be the subject?”
“Well I ...” It was difficult to take in.
“It’ll mean we’ll have to spend a lot of time together, so I’m asking for a serious commitment from you.”
A bubble of laughter and pleasure rose inside her. “How can I refuse a request like that? Sure. I don’t have any plans for the summer vacation. I’ve really enjoyed modeling for you ... and all that comes with it.” She added, suggestively, “More of the same would be good.”
He smiled and nodded. “I’m pleased, too.” He got up and reached for his sketchbook. “May I draw a quick sketch of you now?” He settled on the other end of the sofa from her.
She nodded, and after a moment he began to draw. She was more than pleased at his latest request. Just being with him was comforting after the encounter with Richard. His intimate, subtle attention gave her a breathing space to relax in. She always felt like this with him, as if she could let go when he was observing her. It was a strange phenomenon, given that the result would be on public display, but one that she wasn’t about to deny.
Cal wondered if she might be a little cautious about his sketching her right then, with her emotions so recently exposed. However, that was exactly what was attracting his eye. He looked at the way the salty trails dried across her cheek, a wisp of hair still clinging to the spot where it had once been wet.
“Take off your top,” he whispered. “It intrudes.”
She slipped her T-shirt over her head. When she sat back, she leaned her head against the velvet and closed her eyes. The arch of her neck was exquisite. It led his gaze down to the upright peak of her luscious nipples, velvet soft and blushing rosy. The swell of her perfect breasts rested against her lower ribs, the skin shadowed lightly before it glowed white across the curve of her belly and dipped into the shadow of her jeans and the hollow of her hipbones. One hand rested gently between her thighs, long and slim, the fingers tipped with damson nail polish.
The charcoal moved on across the page, the sound of it only just breaking the quiet that surrounded them both.
Neither of them moved when they heard the door click and Jason come in. He walked slowly toward them and then paused with one hand on the easel, steadying himself. Cal turned and was about to say something, when he noticed Jason’s skin was pale, his expression tense. A movement captured his eye, a trickle of blood descending from Jason’s hand to drip onto his jeans.
Cal swore under his breath and sat upright, abandoning the sketchpad. Jason’s white shirt was ripped and stained with dry blood. “Is this to do with Gregory?” he demanded.
“Oh, my god,” Georgie cried when she saw him.
Jason shook his head as he dropped into a chair.
“Well, yes, kind of. He’s put the word on the street that I have some private photos of Zoë. I’ve had two calls from tabloids offering me five-figure sums for the negatives. Then these two thugs threatened me for them ... like I’m carrying them around with me, waiting for the highest bidder!” He laughed, but it was humorless and his face was pale.
Georgie pulled on her T-shirt and ran to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of brandy.
“Who were these guys?” Cal asked.
“Said they were sent by Joel Elliot.”
“Who?”
“He’s the head man at Jordan Publications.” Jason sighed. “Elliot sent me an email saying Gregory offered them material for publication, then went to another paper with it. So Elliot did some digging, found me, and decided to cut out the middle man.” He gave a wry smile. “Not that it did him any good.” He shook his head. “Greg’s really hurled the shit at the fan this time.”
Cal frowned as he uncovered the torn shirtsleeve and the wound on Jason’s forearm. “How the hell did you do this?” He ripped the sleeve off the shredded shirt to get a closer look.
“I had a run in with a spiked railing.”
“Ouch.” Georgie took the brandy to Jason’s lips.
He drank it, his expression heavy with resignation.
Her fingers gently stroked his hair back across his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Georgie.” His fingers touched against her cheek. “It’s a mess I should’ve sorted out years ago.”
She turned her face and kissed the palm of his hand. “As long as you’re safe, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you just get rid of the photos?”
“That’s what I said,” Cal interjected.
Jason shrugged, his expression noncommittal.
“Finding them is the issue ... Greg and the rest of them seem to think I have them hidden in some handy stash, as if I was ever that organized.” He gave a wry smile. “I can’t believe it. All this for a few old snaps. If it comes out, it’s going to ruin Zoë’s life, and my career as a serious professional photographer.”
He grimaced as Cal cleaned the wound with an antiseptic swab.
“Look at you, a serious professio
nal photographer and you had to get into a street brawl with these guys?” Cal pointed toward Jason’s other hand, where the knuckles were grazed and sore. “I’ve got more to do with my time than keep you out of trouble.”
“You’re no angel yourself,” Jason snapped back. “Remember that fight in Berlin? It was because of you that kicked off in the first place.”
“Yeah, but who was the one that needed to be carried home afterwards?!” Cal was really annoyed. “You and I are not in competition, Jason. Just remember that.”
“I know,” Jason replied sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m just ... in a mess. This is really bad karma, you know.”
Cal noticed Georgie was observing the exchange, fascinated. He nodded, letting it go. Jason was clearly ashamed of himself. Cal shrugged at Georgie, offering her a lopsided smile, trying to break the atmosphere of male physical aggression. Men had their own way of dealing with situations like this. She had to know that.
“Is the wound bad? Will I be able to play guitar again?” Jason spoke as if he could barely bring himself to ask the question.
“Stop being so bloody melodramatic,” Cal replied tersely.
Georgie coughed. “I think you’ll be okay, Jason,” she interjected. “But I think it needs to be properly dressed. Perhaps you’d better take him down to get it checked out at casualty, Cal?”
He nodded at the suggestion. He was relieved she had made it. “Yes. I’ll phone for a taxi.”
* * * * *
“You look much better now.” Georgie fussed round him when they finally returned from the local hospital. It was only a minor flesh wound, but Jason was still feeling rather sorry for himself.
He lay back against the sofa and smiled at her. He pulled gently at her kimono with the fingers of his right hand.
“You were modeling when I got here ... Georgie girl?” Even through the troubles that veiled his expression, she could see his simmering passion. It tickled something inside her, seeing him feeling so vulnerable like this, and, at the same time, so sensual. She glanced at the small dressing on his arm. It was a superficial wound. It was his pride and his sense of honor that had been hurt most of all. Her hand went down to stroke his chest, smoothing the dark band of hair across his collarbone and down between his nipples.
Along for the Ride Page 7
