by Jill Shalvis
“Emma, turn toward me,”
Rafe demanded, not caring that he sounded abrupt. “Tilt your head down, eyes up at me.”
Without a word, Emma did, and he took those shots, too. Her slight stiffness actually worked in his favor, the slightly shy, outrageously sexy schoolgirl. It was wrong but he wanted her, wanted so damn much. By the time he put down the camera, his hands were shaking.
“Is that it?” she asked, still leaning against the lockers.
“That’s it.”
She pushed away and walked toward him, every sway of her hips a slam to his gut.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and backed up a step.
She didn’t stop until their toes touched. “I didn’t like that.”
“I didn’t, either.”
She cocked a hip and looked at him from carefully made-up eyes. “And I don’t like you.”
He waited, tense, for what she would say next.
“But I’ve never wanted you more,” she said in a frustrated voice.
That was all the invitation he needed….
Dear Reader,
I really wondered whether I had another Blaze story in me. The sexy premises always seem to escape me. Then my husband got this wildly sexy calendar from a friend—twelve shots of beautiful women in erotic poses—and I thought, surely, these women are just like me. Well, except for the perfect bodies and gorgeous faces, that is.
That calendar started me thinking how a woman would find herself posing for such pictures, and Bared was born. Take one hot, but slightly repressed soap opera writer and one sexy, but slightly attitudinal photographer stuck together for this job of shooting twelve months of fantasies….
Some of you might recognize my hero Rafe in this story. He briefly appeared in my February 2004 Temptation novel, Back in the Bedroom. I hope you enjoy reading his story!
Happy reading,
Jill Shalvis
Books by Jill Shalvis
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
804—OUT OF THE BLUE
822—CHANCE ENCOUNTER
845—AFTERSHOCK
861—A PRINCE OF A GUY
878—HER PERFECT STRANGER
885—FOR THE LOVE OF NICK
910—ROUGHING IT WITH RYAN*
914—TANGLING WITH TY*
918—MESSING WITH MAC*
938—LUKE
HARLEQUIN SINGLE TITLE
THE STREET WHERE SHE LIVES
HARLEQUIN DUETS
42—KISS ME, KATIE! HUG ME, HOLLY!
57—BLIND DATE DISASTERS EAT YOUR HEART OUT
85—A ROYAL MESS HER KNIGHT TO REMEMBER
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
63—NAUGHTY BUT NICE
HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE
5—NATURAL BLOND INSTINCTS
BARED
Jill Shalvis
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
1
RAFE DELACANTRO WAS IN HELL and, as usual, it was a woman’s fault.
The lush, vibrant green tropical forest of Kauai surrounded him. With the hanging vines and myriad trees and bushes, not to mention the buzz of strange and exotic insects and who knew what else, the place was a virtual paradise.
But all he felt was pent-up frustration and resentment, both of which he needed to get rid of in order to make this photo shoot work. It was his last photo shoot, at least for Hollywood, and he couldn’t wait to get it done. For ten years he’d been snapping images of the rich and famous, the spoiled beauties, the up-and-comers, working mostly in fashion and for magazines, making a name for himself as one of the best photographers. And it had been a good run. He was proud of all that he’d accomplished.
But at age thirty-two he was tired of the demands, of the games. Tired of being at the beck and call of people who had too much fame, too much money and not a clue as to what real life was about.
Rafe had a clue, and he wanted more of it.
Still, being a photographer defined him, so he wouldn’t—couldn’t—retire his camera entirely. After this last series of shoots, he’d use a camera for himself only, trying his hand at something other than people. Plants, landscapes, even animals—anything that couldn’t talk back, argue or con. Yeah, his retirement was well earned and it would be amazing.
As soon as this job was done—this one last favor for a good friend. It was a calendar spread, twelve months of fantasies…which, for Rafe, equaled twelve different, difficult shoots in various locales. They were working on the March page of the calendar today, and his crew stood by. The lighting seemed perfect at the moment, but given the rumbling in the sky, this would be temporary.
They really needed to get started right now, but they were missing one important, necessary element—the model.
Hence his frustration, resentment and seething temper.
Finally, just as the last of his patience vanished, she showed up, taking her sweet time sauntering through the muggy, steamy heat down the path toward the crew as if she had all day. Her eyes—a light amber color that matched her name—were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Amber’s hair tumbled past her shoulders free and unencumbered, as he’d requested. One thing going his way, at least. Her long, willowy body was covered by a wraparound skirt and a T-shirt, because he happened to be holding her costume in his hand. But he had no doubt that her mouthwatering form, the one that had graced many a B movie and more than her share of dubious-quality Web sites, would be perfect for what he had in mind.
He stood in the middle of the set that, thanks to the incredible beauty of the island, was comprised of a naturally mossy floor, a half circle of bushes and a hammock swinging gently between two trees. A gazebo completed the backdrop. It began to lightly rain and steam rose from everything, an effect that they couldn’t have created anywhere but here on the island. Just out of the camera’s range were the bulbs, the cords and the blocking required to capture the lighting just right—lighting they were losing as the fog lowered.
“About time,” he said, knowing she’d lower her sunglasses and flash him her impetuous grin, not caring about anyone’s schedule but her own.
Amber didn’t care about much other than herself, a fact he’d learned five minutes into their one and only date a few years back. She had no interest in anything other than her own reflection in a mirror—though she’d been both shocked and infuriated when he hadn’t wanted to continue seeing her.
They’d worked together occasionally since that disastrous date when she’d been late, needy, bitchy and pure trouble the entire night. And every single time since, she’d amused herself by messing with him on the sets in various annoying ways, so he expected no less today. But he’d promised Stone, his oldest friend and assistant, that he’d put both their names on this calendar because the studio behind it had promised to set Stone up for many more, launching his career as a photographer. So Rafe had to get past the urge to wrap his fingers around Amber’s pretty neck.
It was just too bad that giving Stone a foot in the industry door left Rafe stuck dealing with Amber, as the calendar would feature her likeness in each of the twelve fantasies. They’d already completed two of the months and Amber had been a pain his ass for each—arriving late, griping about the accommodations, wanting special treatment at every t
urn. Stone figured she wasn’t done torturing Rafe for not wanting to go out with her.
Rafe didn’t care. All he cared about was getting done. And with the French maid fantasy—January—and the Amazon jungle fantasy—February—both under his belt now, he was on his way.
Two down, ten more to go…
“Thank you for being only an hour late,” he said. “We’ve nearly lost the light I want, so hustle.” He tossed her the costume.
She caught it and looked down at the filmy white “virginal” negligee—with her dewy and unbelievably perfect skin, the images would be sexy, erotic. “What’s this?”
“Your costume. Go change.”
Amber held the two-piece outfit between long fingers. The bottoms were a couple of strips of white satin. The top had more material but in this case, “more” was relative. Basically she held a gauzy length of fabric that would be draped around her as she lounged on the hammock in that glorious Kauai setting.
As she stared at the costume, a few more raindrops started to fall. Big, fat ones. Damn it, he was not going to stay another day in paradise; he had his own paradise to get back to, his new house in the hills above L.A. “Hurry, Amber.”
She looked at the sky. “The weather—”
“Yeah, but if you hurry, we might get this done before suffering electrocution by lightning.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, nudging her toward the makeshift change room—really nothing more than a few bamboo poles and some sheets—off to the side of the set. He watched her move woodenly toward it and narrowed his eyes.
Please don’t have a tantrum, he thought, not today, not now. But something was off with her. She wasn’t giving him and everyone else around her usual I’m-so-hot-look-at-me strut. She wasn’t asking for anything special or calling for assistance.
If she was high, he’d have to kill her. No one did drugs on his shoots. “What’s the matter with you?”
She went still for one telling moment. “Nothing.”
He glanced over at Stone. Also accustomed to Amber’s usual antics, his friend just shook his head and lifted a shoulder. He was clueless, as well.
Then Amber turned back toward him, still dangling her outfit from her fingers as if it were day-old trash, which made no sense because she loved to show off her body and nothing would show it off more than that outfit.
A distant boom of thunder made her jump as if she’d never heard thunder before. “I think maybe we should cancel,” she said.
She didn’t want to show off her gorgeous figure to everyone within a five-mile radius? She didn’t want to preen, making everyone on the set drool with lust?
Why?
He racked his brain for reasons, the obvious being that he’d made her mad recently. But he’d done nothing that he could think of, except maybe when he’d refused to escort her to that party she’d wanted to go to after their last shoot in Hollywood.
Parties didn’t interest him any more than a night with Amber did. He didn’t want to hang around women in the business, didn’t want to hang around with women even remotely related to the business.
He had a different craving these days, for a real woman, with a real body and a real set of values. A woman who’d look at him and smile and melt his heart. A woman who had a life and hopes and dreams that didn’t involve an Oscar or an Emmy.
He didn’t care if she had her own career or logged more miles traveling the planet than he did. He just wanted a woman who would look at him not for what he could do for her, but for what they could do for each other.
Stone always laughed at this. He didn’t believe such a woman existed. Instead, he enjoyed working his way through the hordes that threw themselves at him on a daily basis.
Not Rafe. He was tired of that.
So damn tired of everything. He just needed out, in the worst possible way.
“Could we do this today?” he asked her in a voice that made her jump as much as the thunder had.
“But it’s going to—” she tipped her head up again and a raindrop hit her square on the nose “—rain.”
As if she’d conjured them, the drops started coming faster and harder. His associates scrambled to cover the equipment that hadn’t already been protected. Instinctively, Rafe moved toward her, grabbing an umbrella to shield her hair and makeup, but as he got closer, he stopped in his tracks.
The water soaked into her hair causing it to shine in the bright spotlights. Her face went even more creamy and dewy, if that was possible. And the way the drops clung to her lashes and lips…He handed the umbrella off to a lighting tech, staring in relief at Amber. “The weather will work to our favor. Let’s do this.”
Amber bit her lower lip. “But I don’t think—”
“Perfect. Don’t think.”
“Yes, but…”
Frustrated, he closed the gap between them and whipped off her sunglasses to see her eyes. If they were red or glazed over, he was going to—
Clear, light amber eyes lowered, shifted away as she again dragged her lower lip over her teeth.
And…blushed?
Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute. Amber had never blushed a day in her life. As a photographer, as a person who specialized in catching the secret nuances in every single thing around him, he suddenly saw the truth as clear as day.
This quiet, introspective woman was not the wild, outgoing, outrageous Amber he knew.
That meant one of two things. Either Amber had done a complete about face in the week since he’d seen her at the last shoot or…
Or this was Amber’s twin sister.
What had Amber called her—Queen Emma? Yes, that was it. Queen Emma. He tried to remember why, but as he’d long ago learned to tune out Amber’s long, meaningless, selfish ramblings, he couldn’t recall.
Nor could he think of one good reason why Amber would send her sister in her stead, when this calendar was a huge career-boosting deal for her. She’d campaigned every bit as long and hard to get it as Stone had.
“Amber,” he said, testing, figuring Emma would speak up any moment now and tell him why she was here instead of her pain-in-his-ass sister.
Her gaze darted to his. “Um…yes?”
Shit. He was right. This most definitely was not Amber. “Change,” he said in a low, controlling voice that would have had Amber flipping him off. “Now.”
He watched in disbelief as she nodded.
She really wasn’t going to tell him the truth? Ah, hell, this was bad. He didn’t need this. He glanced at Stone, who again simply lifted a broad shoulder. Clearly still as mystified as Rafe.
Okay, fine, Rafe thought. Amber and Emma were identical twins; no one could tell them apart. As long as he could get his shot and have no one the wiser, he honestly didn’t care why the hell either of them were playing switcheroo.
Besides, “Queen Emma” couldn’t possibly be any more difficult than the notoriously difficult Amber.
“Do it,” he said with another nudge toward the changing area. “The rain is good, but with you just standing there, we’re wasting the little light we have left.”
Seemingly, reluctant, she moved toward the bamboo poles and sheets, dragging her feet in a way Amber never would have.
Stone came up to his side, holding a light meter and a clipboard that was getting waterlogged. He was as blond as Rafe was dark, with a tough, medium build that reminded Rafe of a boxer. Stone looked as irritated as Rafe felt as they watched her go. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Hopefully nothing.”
Stone snorted his opinion of that, which made Rafe smile a bit grimly. With Amber there was always a problem, but how about with Emma?
The sheets shifted as she moved within them, and grumbling sounded on the stormy air, but she didn’t call out or reappear.
“She probably needs help,” Rafe said on a sigh, looking at his watch.
Stone clasped him on the shoulder. “I’ll go. You’ll just be tempted to kill her.”
�
�And you won’t be?”
Stone flashed a white grin. “She’s in there naked. I’m never tempted to kill a naked woman.”
Rafe listened to the muttering, watching the wild movements of the sheets. Amber never muttered. Nope, if that woman ever had an issue of any sort—and there were at least a million of those a day—she screamed them out for the world to deal with.
But not today.
Because it wasn’t Amber, but Emma who was currently ruminating about the thin material of the costume, which, in itself, was just another dead giveaway.
Amber had a body to die for, and she lived to show it off. What did she care about the thinness of the material? All the better to expose herself.
Stone waggled a brow at him, then ventured closer to the sheets. “Need any help?” he called out, reaching with one hand to peek in.
“No! I’m…fine. I’ll be right there.”
Stone glanced back at Rafe in surprise, because he also knew it was extremely unlike Amber to not require an entire posse, a minimum of ten people hovering around her, jumping to her every whim.
Then again, as apparently only Rafe realized, they weren’t dealing with Amber.
Hell if he’d lose time over this. Emma would suit his purposes just fine—his purpose being to get this shoot over with.
Assuming she came out of the dressing room sometime today.
2
