Intimate Portraits

by Cheryl B. Dale

  Something unconnected popped into Autumn’s mind. “I wonder if Sarita knows someone at the museum. Like maybe Danielle Huertole.”

  Rennie shifted beneath her.

  He could have been restless to finish what they’d begun.

  Or had her oblique accusation of Sarita purloining valuable jewelry upset him? He’d gone through high school with Sarita and dated her long before she became famous. When he’d left for California, still before Sarita’s early success, Kaneka had given him her address so he could find her and make sure she was okay.

  Had he? Reseda had never talked about him hanging out with Sarita while he was out there, and she would have boasted now that Sarita was so big.

  Or would she? Reseda never had approved of Sarita. Sarita had collected a lot of boyfriends and she loved to play them against each other. Reseda had disliked Rennie dating her.

  From behind her, Rennie sounded remote. “In Sarita’s line of work, she’s acquainted with a lot of people. But even if she knows someone at the museum, I’m pretty sure she’d never get hold of that necklace. The Louvre takes pretty good care of security for their things, I feel sure.”

  She was mistaken. He’d shifted at the mention of Sarita because he was uncomfortable with her sitting on him like this.

  And if he sounded cool, it was because Sarita didn’t concern him any more. Any tenseness was the same tenseness she felt having him inside her. It had to be. She moved on his hips, tightening her thighs, manipulating him in a way that brought on his gratified, “Oh, yes. Do that again.”

  Leave it alone.

  She couldn’t. “You don’t think that since Dani Huertole was responsible for the exhibit, she might have loaned the necklace to Sarita for the photo sessions?”

  “We aren’t even sure they know each other. I wouldn’t worry about Sarita or the necklace. What difference does it make whether she’s wearing an antique or a copy? You’ve got your photos safe in your van.” His hands that had been stroking her back, glided around toward her breasts.

  “I guess you’re right. And I’m lucky the thumb drive’s still there. If I’d taken it to the studio…”

  She shuddered. He buried his face in her back. His tongue flicked at the bottom of her neck.

  Sarita’s photos were safe. Though everything else left from fifty-eight years of hard work had gone up in smoke. “I dread starting over. The thought of pulling a studio together from scratch makes me want to cry.”

  “You can do it.” His hands went round her waist, drawing her back hard against his chest. “Don’t think about it now.” His hands crept lower. His voice thickened. “Think about this.”

  She lay back against him, happiness returning with his arms tight around her. “I hope you’re right, that I can build the business back up.”

  His caresses heightened her desire.

  He couldn’t be holding anything back from her. The Degardoveras never withheld, but gave freely to anyone they loved. She was the one who kept herself under such tight control that she’d almost watched Rennie walk out of her life rather than risk his rejection.

  She couldn’t stifle a gasp as he found a certain spot. But the necklace troubled her. “I wish you could see Sarita’s proofs. Then you’d believe me about her having that necklace.”

  “I do believe you. Maybe Sarita saw it, liked it, and had a copy made.” His tone said he was tired of hearing about the necklace while his hands said he wanted to discuss far more pressing matters.

  No sense in letting Sarita’s jewelry spoil the moment.

  Not with the wisps of excitement collecting and thickening in her belly as he lifted her and thrust her down hard against him, catching the sensitive place each time until her body involuntarily began to match his strokes and their rhythm quickened and their breathing quickened and his heat exploded within her and made her cry out in the midst of paroxysms.

  They went to bed later, but they didn’t get much sleep that night.

  ****

  Sam Bogatti didn’t get much sleep that night either.

  He’d driven straight through from Helen to Illinois, arriving home late Sunday night to hear about the hockey game—their team had won four to three and his kid had scored one goal and had two assists—and to endure his wife’s censure for missing church.

  “It’s my work, cupcake,” he placated her. “What can I do?”

  Later, after they climbed into bed, he curled up against her and patted her butt, laid his head on the pillow next to hers, and died.

  When the phone rang, he was lost in a dream involving a big Nordic blonde and summertime streams and white fleecy clouds over alpine mountains.

  His wife’s sleepy hello waked him before she turned over and punched him. “Sam. It’s that guy, says he’s gotta speak to you. Right now.”

  The clock said three-twenty. Bernie didn’t call him in the middle of the night for no reason. Not at home. Bernie hardly ever called him at home.

  Can’t be good.

  Wide awake, he took the receiver. His wife got up, slipped on her house shoes, and went into the bathroom.

  “Yeah.” His tongue felt thick and furry. His brain was still fried from the trip.

  “Call me on a cell.”

  Nope. Not good. Sam shut off the cordless. Not good at all.

  He got out a new throwaway cell and crawled back into bed. “Can you give me a minute?” he called to his old lady.

  She knew not to come out till he got done.

  Bernie was stressed. “You screwed up.”

  “I scr—? What you frigging talking about? I got it done, didn’t I?”

  “To the wrong woman.”

  “The wrong—No way.”

  “You did. You know who I just got off the line with? Our client. And he’s pissed. Real pissed. I don’t know who you did but this photog—uh, porn star is back at her place and the bird’s people will be home tomorrow and if the woman talks, we’ll be hurting.”

  The wrong woman. What the shit was Bernie talking about?

  Bernie got a little shrill. “I’ve got a plane chartered at the regular place for seven tomorrow morning. Get your ass on it and get back down there and finish the job.”

  Damn it, Bernie knew how he felt about charters. “I don’t like them frigging little planes.”

  “If this woman puts two and two together, she’s liable to mention the stuff. And my client’s poured a lot of money into keeping this thing quiet. Listen, we don’t want to screw around with this guy, Sammy, believe me, we don’t.”

  Shit, Bernie’s frigging terrified. Who’s he working for?

  Bernie was rushing on. “I arranged for a rental car when you land. You get on that plane tomorrow morning and get down there. Clean it up.”

  The connection was broken.

  Sam turned off the cell and looked at the dark night patterns playing on the ceiling.

  The wrong woman.

  Who the hell was Bernie’s client that had him so scared?

  Jeez. All these damned Hispanics running around with the photographer, and the wad of money he was making off this job…

  Had to be some of the bad news people from South America. The kind of people what made Sam real nervous.

  He had principles, Sam did. He didn’t mind doing people who needed it, but this job was beginning to bother him. First Sarita. Okay, maybe she was a druggie and a blackmailer. Maybe she did enjoy seeing men kill one another over her.

  But that voice couldn’t be replaced and he’d been the one to mute it.

  Now he found out he’d offed some woman he didn’t even know.

  All for the sake of some Latin gorillas buying a pathway for their drugs. If he’d known that was what was going down, he never woulda taken the contract.

  Sam didn’t approve of drugs.

  But he had taken it.

  His wife reappeared from the bathroom. “Did I hear you cussing out here, Sammy?”

  “What?” Had he? “Guess I slipped up, Rena. Sorry.�
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  “Hafta watch out in front of the boys. You agreed.” She sat on the bed and took off her house shoes. “You gotta leave again? When you just got in?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, cupcake.” Her disappointment washed over him. It took his mind off dangerous four-seater airplanes and rental cars and having to depend on people he didn’t know. He threw back the cover so she could crawl in. “Saved you a warm place. Hey, I’m rested up if you got something good in mind.”

  Shit, it stunk having to leave when he’d barely got home.

  ****

  On Monday, as a nervous Sam Bogatti sat bolt upright in the seat of his chartered plane flying toward Atlanta, Autumn and Rennie lay in bed. He was asleep but she was awake, nestled against him when the opal tinge of dawn strengthened into brilliant morning.

  She liked being with him as he slept. His chest lay flat and hard beneath her cheek. The muscles in his arm curved as his hand rested on her shoulder. His scent, of sex and vestiges of cedar cologne, suffused her.

  How great if she could lie here beside him forever, sated and content, letting her love reach out and enfold the two of them in their own cocoon.

  The phone rang.

  Oh, no. Not again.

  Rennie shifted. His eyes opened, blinked, found her watching him. A startled look gave way to a sleepy smile.

  He’d forgotten. He didn’t care enough to remember last night.

  Don’t be so hypersensitive. He’d been asleep. Sound asleep in a strange place. Of course he wouldn’t remember where he was or what had happened right away.

  Her cell rang again.

  “Why does someone have to call at the worst times?” she murmured.

  “Might be something about the fire.”

  She grimaced—he was conscious of responsibility when she least wanted to be reminded—but answered anyway.

  Fran’s voice glided out, sultry as drifting smoke. “Good morning, gorgeous. I hoped I’d catch you before you left. Did you see me on TV last night?”

  Did the man never drop his seductive charm?

  “Fran.” She snuggled back against Rennie. His expression revealed nothing but drowsy interest. “I did see you last night. You were wonderful. You did a great job. You actually seemed pretty intelligent. Did you have a script?”

  “No script. All me.” Fran’s chuckle, so like Rennie’s, sounded. “And thank you, thank you. All flattery accepted. I thought it went pretty well, too. Listen, I got Dani to wangle us some passes to the High Museum today.”

  “Passes?” She sat up. Where the jewelry is. The actual jewelry. “For the exhibit?”

  “Yep. Laney and Norma are taking late lunches and Paul may come over, too. With John, of course. I hoped you could join us. About two?”

  “Two? Sounds good.” She looked at Rennie, laid a hand on his chest when she saw the slight downward curving of his inner eyebrows that hinted he was tired. Or displeased. Or maybe not quite awake. “How about Rennie? Got enough tickets for him?”

  “Rennie?” Fran’s surprise came through the cell, underscored by an instant of silence. “Sure. Is he—did you have plans with Rennie for today?”

  “He’s going with me to talk to the fire investigators.”

  “Fire investigators?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard.”

  Strangely, losing her studio and possessions didn’t seem so devastating this morning. Maybe it was the night spent in Rennie’s arms.

  She filled Fran in about the fire and listened to his shocked commiseration, saying when he paused, “Yes, well, anyway I’m going over to talk with the investigator on the case this morning and I have no idea how long it’ll take. I’d think we should be through by two. If we aren’t at your office by then, we’ll meet you at the High Museum. How about that?”

  Fran hesitated. “Great.” His voice deepened. “Rennie isn’t coming on to you, is he, Autumn? I noticed in Helen that he was being kind of pushy.”

  “You’re the one who comes on, Fran.” She still wasn’t sure enough of Rennie’s intentions to advertise their new standing. Not to Fran, anyway. “To me and every other female around. Your brother is, and always has been, a perfect gentleman. Unlike some people who beg a cup of coffee after taking me to dinner and end up chasing me around the sofa.”

  Rennie tensed, and she smothered a laugh. When he opened his mouth, she put a hand over it.

  Fran was saying quite enough in her ear.

  “Yes, I’m well aware I’m so sexy you can’t keep your hands off me.”

  Rennie gave a rueful shake of his head, amazed.

  “And I know you’re wild to get me in bed. I’m sure it would be lovely for both of us, but face it, Fran. I’m too timid and you’re way too experienced for a shrinking violet like me. You’re better off finding somebody with no sexual hang-ups.”

  “I’ve got a surefire way to cure hang-ups,” Fran said, “but it involves active participation on your part. If you’ll—”

  “I’ve got to go, Fran. We’ll meet you. Either your office at two or the High Museum later. Okay?”

  “Okay. But—”

  She turned off her cell.

  He lifted both brows. “You have sexual hang-ups?”

  “Sure.” She put her arms around his neck. “I don’t seem to be able to make it with anyone but you.”

  That brought on a new round of nuzzling and whispered sweet nothings until she came up for air. “You don’t mind us going to the exhibit with Fran, do you?”

  That would give her a good chance to look at the necklace and compare it to the one Sarita had worn.

  “Going to the exhibit or listening to you bait my poor little brother?”

  “Going to the exhibit. And I wasn’t baiting Fran. I’ve told him and told him I wouldn’t go to bed with him.”

  “Why not?” His voice was husky.

  She searched for his eyes. “Don’t you know? How often do I have to throw myself at you?”

  He pulled her down beside him. His lips were soft. The heat rose, diffusing the most responsive parts of her body.

  “You can throw yourself at me as often as you like.” He was the one to come up for air this time. “We can take this week off and go to Athens later.”

  “We can?” She laid her face against his shoulder, put her lips against his chest and bit his nipples gently. One and then the other. “Do I get to go with you?”

  “Unless you intend to live in Atlanta while I’m in Athens.”

  Her tongue stopped tormenting his budded nipple. “Do you want me in Athens?”

  He shifted restlessly. “I had hoped you’d come with me. Yes, I know I’m taking a lot for granted, but you told me you loved me, Autumn. That meant something, didn’t it?”

  “You know it did.”

  Why did he look so unhappy? “Then sooner or later, we’ll have to move on to the next step, won’t we?”

  Pressing his stomach with her fingers, she nipped his taut nipple. Did he mean what he was implying, or was it simply his morning-after conscience prodding him to hint at something more? She wanted him but not enough to force him into something against his will or halfheartedly. “I’m enjoying this step. I think we should drag it out.”

  With long lazy motions, she circled his navel, stroked the hairs beneath, stopped short.

  His breath caught. He took her hand and moved it down. “I’m enjoying it, too. There. See?”

  “Then what’s the problem?” The touch of his arousal started excitement sparkling all over again.

  She would never get enough of him. Never.

  He rasped, “With me in Athens and you in Atlanta, it may be hard to keep in step. Distance does that to people.”

  He was remembering Jane. Her ardor faltered. This comparison of her to Jane and Jane’s choice of career over him meant he was afraid she would make the same choice as Jane.

  Maybe she shouldn’t be so honest with him. Maybe she should be a little stand-offish.

  No. Caution had never got her
anywhere. Not until she became reckless enough to risk rejection had Rennie noticed her. Not until she’d turned completely wanton—her face heated as she remembered her blunt confessions, her boldness—did he admit he cared.

  “Rennie.” She rolled over and sat up on her knees beside him. “Don’t you know by now that I’ll be as close to you as you’ll let me? I’ll go wherever you are, stay wherever you stay, for as long as you want me. I have no shame, no pride. Not where you’re concerned.”

  The graveness overlaying his features softened. “I wouldn’t let you throw your career away for me.”

  As Jane had refused to do, floated unsaid.

  “I’m not throwing anything away. Athens isn’t that far, and besides, one town is as good as another. The studio’s reputation pulls clients from all over the state. But if I do decide to throw it away, it’s my decision, isn’t it? I might like doing watercolors better than erotic photography.”

  He looked unconvinced.

  She shook her head before he could speak, caressed his unruly curls. “Rennie, you are everything to me. Please believe me, darling, you are.”

  The sweet fool.

  She’d give up her studio, cameras, negatives, reputation, everything.

  So long as Rennie loved her.

  Chapter 16

  Later that morning, after dragging herself out of bed with Rennie and taking care of the demanding Squeaky, Autumn called Iris. No answer on the cell, but her receptionist’s home phone rang only twice before Iris answered, breathless. “I was walking out the door, headed for work. Is something wrong?”

  Iris had spent the weekend with her daughter in Birmingham and knew nothing of the fire. The initial shock was followed by concern for her own welfare.

  Autumn soothed her. “Of course I’ll need you, Iris. I don’t know where we’ll be, but I’ll find a place as soon as I can.”

  Even if she lived in Athens with Rennie, she could take appointments here. She’d look for offices on the east side, show up two or three days a week. This might work out very well for Iris since the area she lived in lay on the Athens side of Atlanta. “Once we find a place, it won’t take us long to set things back up.”