“So, what do you say?” he prompted, breaking into her troubled thoughts.
“About?”
“Letting me take your photo?”
Sammi thought about the difficult evening that stretched before her once she returned to the apartment she shared with her mother. Explaining that Ty had broken up with her would result in a lengthy lecture on her foolishness. Celeste was obsessed with financial security and saw her daughter’s relationship with a successful ad executive as a positive thing. In fact, without her mother’s pushing, Sammi would have ended things with Ty long before his resentment had led him to grow abusive.
“I don’t know,” she hedged, conscious that she’d already made her decision.
“You can trust me.”
And in a moment of sudden and shocking clarity, Sammi realized she did. “It occurred to me that I probably can’t afford what you normally charge to photograph people. Just out of curiosity, what do you charge for these private portrait sessions?”
“Usually a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Seriously?” She gaped at him. “No offense, but why are people willing to pay so much?”
“Privacy.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “I show them something no one else has captured before. Something they might not wish the world to see.” His self-assurance hummed like a high-voltage wire. Get too close to this man and it might prove fatal. “They are paying for my integrity. No picture I take of them will never find its way into the public domain unless they choose to release it.”
She gusted out a breath. “Well, I guess that means that this photo shoot isn’t going to happen, because I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars to give you.”
“I didn’t expect you did.” He gestured toward her purse. “How much money do you have with you?”
“Let’s see.” Sammi pulled out her wallet. “Twenty-three dollars.” She pulled out the bills and flashed them.
Oliver plucked the bills from her hand and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Then for twenty-three dollars, I will take one picture of you.”
“Photographers take hundreds to get the perfect shot,” she said, knowing he was doing her a favor but unable to stop herself from pushing back. Earlier when he’d spoken of capturing the essence of his subjects, she’d been both intrigued and filled with skepticism. Most people guarded their true selves and reluctantly gave up their dark secrets to their shrinks, much less allowed them to be exposed to a camera. “You’re going to do it in one try?”
“Are you challenging my ability as a photographer?”
Understanding dawned. This was the game he played. The challenge that he set for himself with each new client. It wasn’t enough for him to take amazing photographs for magazines. He had to do something that proved he was a master of his craft.
If Oliver seemed annoyed by her continued resistance, he gave no sign. They relocated to a cozy couch in the Grand Bar and Lounge, where Oliver ordered a sampling of small plates and a club soda for himself. Determined to keep a clear head, Sammi followed suit. While they ate, Oliver shared stories of the celebrities he’d photographed, and Sammi described her modeling experiences overseas.
He watched her with rapt focus. Not like a predator, preparing to pounce, but as if she was some rarity and he an avid collector.
“What?” she demanded, equal parts intrigued and terrified beneath his curious stare.
Was she imagining that something was happening between them? She no longer believed his sole purpose in approaching her had been to get her into bed. His mysterious behavior made him impossible to read, and that only enhanced his sex appeal. She wanted to be alone with him, to immerse herself in his kisses and let her body be in control for a change.
Something must’ve shown in her expression, because he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“I find you fascinating.”
The remark...the confession...or maybe the awe in his voice set her on fire. What had once been a teenager’s unrequited crush became the beginnings of a woman’s full-blown obsession.
The air around her grew too thin to breathe. Dizzy, she gripped the sleeve of his leather jacket to steady herself as his warm breath feathered across her cheek. She was on the verge of turning her head and meeting the lips that hovered so near, when he eased back. But even as disappointment flowed into her, Oliver stood and extended his hand to her.
“Let’s get out of here.” There was both command and entreaty in his tone.
“Where to?” Seized by something momentous and exhilarating, she grasped his long fingers and let him draw her to her feet.
“You paid me for a photo.” His deep voice rumbled through her. “It’s time I deliver.”
Neither spoke as they exited the hotel and strolled along the sidewalk. Sammi settled her hands deep into her coat pockets and resisted the urge to take his arm. She wasn’t accustomed to initiating spontaneous acts of affection. As Sammi grew up, her mother had often treated her more like a client than a daughter, claiming Sammi needed to develop a thick skin if she was going to survive in the fashion industry.
He escorted her into a building several blocks from the hotel and directed her toward the elevator. As the car rose, Sammi’s nerves begin to buzz like an angry hive of wasps. By the time the doors opened on the eighth floor, anxiety had completely overwhelmed the feverish attraction that had compelled her to accompany Oliver Lowell to his SoHo loft. What was she doing here? Yet she didn’t flee as he unlocked a door and gestured her inside. Instead, she hid her uneasiness behind a polite, practice smile, and entered the space.
Fifteen hundred square feet of open loft greeted her, looking similar to every photography studio she’d ever worked in. She surveyed the industrial vibe of the place, gaze roaming over brick walls interspersed with large windows, bleached-white walls and gleaming wood floors. The only furnishings were a couple of couches and some worktables. She spied computers, lighting equipment and a white screen.
Sammi exhaled, releasing the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. “This is your studio,” she said, surprise in her voice even as disappointment hung like a stone in her chest.
“Were you expecting something else?” He arched that sexy split eyebrow and made her heart flutter.
“When we first entered the building, I thought maybe you lived here.”
“I do. Upstairs.” He indicated an open staircase off to the left. “Do you want a tour?”
The offer astounded her. Given how little was known of his private life, she guessed he guarded his privacy zealously. Should she feel honored that he’d offered her a glimpse? But at what price?
“Maybe later.”
Turning her back to him, she set her portfolio and purse on a nearby table and stripped off her jacket while she sorted through her conflicting moods. What had seemed like a daring lark at the Soho Grand Hotel no longer felt inconsequential.
“Although I’m sure your mind is racing,” Oliver said, “I can’t for the life of me tell what you’re thinking.”
That I’m completely out of my depth with you.
Sammi trembled as he strolled toward the worktable that held the cameras. What would he see? What would she betray of herself? Her inner turmoil? Her failures? All her life she’d taken for granted that she was beautiful. When he cracked her psyche and exposed her soul, would she be ugly? What could possibly be more terrifying? She wondered how many of his photographs existed. How many people were strong enough to keep a visual representation of their greatest failures and most shameful secrets?
It was a struggle to keep from rubbing at the goose bumps on her arms. “Where do you want me?” she asked, needing to get this over before her courage failed.
“Where would you feel most comfortable?”
She didn’t hesitate before striding toward the white screen. After twenty-five years there was nowhere she
felt more at home than on set. Here, she became a girl next door, a seductress, a woman in love, a rag doll, a warrior, a free spirit, a crusader. Or any one of a thousand other incarnations. Finding the center of the backdrop, she turned to face Oliver and found him watching her, his right hand resting on a camera, as if halted amid the act of picking it up.
“How do you get people to open up so that you can photograph them stripped down to their essence?”
“It’s different for every person. The key is to find the trigger that allows their guard to fall.”
“How do you make that happen?” While Sammi never hesitated when asked to pose in the nude, contemplating the exposure of her inner landscape made her woozy with anxiety. “How do you break down their walls?”
“Before the subject comes in to be photographed, I do a significant amount of research on them.”
“What sort of research?”
“Background on their personal and professional lives.”
Sammi shivered as she considered what her complicated relationship with her mother revealed about her. “I imagine you know exactly what to say to bring up all sorts of negative feelings.”
The way his expression hardened to stone at her remark told her she’d made a misstep.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” he said at last, his flat tone not quite hiding his strong emotions. “The photoshoot isn’t successful if the client is unhappy.”
“That makes sense,” Sammi murmured. “So how do you use the information you gather?”
“I ask questions, get them to talk about pivotal moments in their lives.”
“What would you ask me?”
To her surprise he came away empty-handed from the table of camera equipment. “Why do you want to do this?”
“I want to see what you see when you look at me.”
As good as he was at controlling his facial expressions, her answer had obviously surprised him.
“Why do you care how I see you?”
“Because you make me feel...”
She moved in his direction, keen desire driving away common sense. She’d dated Ty for six months and never once slept with him, yet tonight she’d gone home with a virtual stranger, proving she wasn’t the frigid bitch he’d accused her of being.
“How do I make you feel?” Oliver prompted, hunger intensifying the bold blue of his eyes.
Lust tightened deep in her belly as she tunneled her fingertips beneath his bomber. Riding the hard muscles of his chest and upper arms, she slid the jacket off his broad shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
His strong fingers fanned over her hips, drawing her firmly against his hard planes. A hot ache flared between her thighs as her lower half settled against his. The hard thrust of his growing erection bumped against her as Oliver’s lips grazed along her neck. With a moan she tipped her head to the side and pressed her breasts into his hard chest, communicating her sharp need. Where she half expected anxiousness or doubts to surface, Sammi knew only the enticing shimmer of anticipation rising inside her.
“That tour you offered me earlier,” she said, one hand gliding beneath the hem of his T-shirt and discovering the hot silk of his skin while the fingers of her other hand raked into his thick hair. “I’m ready to take it.”
Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Return to Jackson Falls, where uncovered secrets just may lead to a second chance for Senatorial candidate Byron Robidoux and the woman he never stopped loving...
Read on for the first chapter of
Scandalous Secrets
by Synithia Williams
Scandalous Secrets
by Synithia Williams
CHAPTER ONE
BYRON WAS AT the top of his game.
His heart pumped with exhilaration. His cheeks hurt from the smile that refused to leave his face. He stared out at the crowd surrounding the stage, and the eyes looking back at him were bright with enthusiasm, hope and determination. Signs with the green and blue logo of his campaign flowed like waves in their hands. A blend of people from all races, economic classes and social backgrounds packed in the brewery he’d chosen to hold his watch party.
And he hadn’t let them down. The results were in. He’d won.
The fervor of his supporters was like a tidal wave. Bowling him over with its strength. He’d done this. He’d actually gotten this far. The primary win wasn’t a guarantee he’d make it to the Senate, but he had lasted far enough to beat out an opponent with experience as a state legislator and a much longer record of public service. The weight of responsibility to live up to the expectations of the people who’d voted for him, the people who were currently cheering for him, was something he refused to take lightly.
“I promise you,” Byron said into the microphone. In his periphery, Roy, his campaign manager, took a step forward. Byron could hear Roy’s warning in his head. Never make promises in a speech. They come back and bite you in the ass. Byron didn’t care about that right now. This was a promise he planned to keep.
Byron held up a finger and shook his hand with each word. “I promise you I will not forget the trust you all have honored me with tonight. We have gotten this far, and we will keep going all the way to Washington. No more waiting for tomorrow. The time is now!”
The crowd cheered. They held up and waved his signs and repeated his words. “The time is now!” The campaign slogan had come about during a debate after his opponent, state senator Gordan, insisted the time wasn’t right to try and fight the administration on progressive ideas. Byron’s immediate comeback had been that fifteen years was too long to wait, and the time was now.
A slim hand slid into his left one and squeezed. Byron turned from the crowd toward his fiancée, Yolanda. Her brown eyes were filled with pride. Tall, graceful and perfectly polished in a tasteful green blouse and navy pants—to match his campaign colors—she complemented him. As Byron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, anyone looking at them would see a young, optimistic couple deeply in love.
Byron didn’t miss how the gleam of triumph overshadowed the pride in her eyes. Yolanda was a woman on the way to making partner at the reputable legal firm she worked for. A position beneficial for the wife of North Carolina’s newest senator.
Byron leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. She placed a hand on his cheek. Her nails lightly scratched the beard he’d grown during the last weeks of the campaign. Her gentle reminder to cut the damn thing, before she pulled back and grinned wider. “We did it,” she said.
He slid his arm back and entwined their fingers. “Yes, we did.”
They waved and shook hands as they made their way off the stage. The band played upbeat music. Champagne corks popped throughout the building and more beer poured from the tap. The party would start now, along with the real work. He needed to finalize the strategy against his opponent. Brainstorm the best way to reach the digitally disconnected constituents in his district. Figure out the best way to utilize his family to spread his message throughout the district. Develop a plan to be more relatable to his constituents. Something even more necessary now that his best friend and former brother-in-law had plans to remarry into the family. This time with a different sister.
“I know that look” came a booming male voice.
Byron shifted and faced his father. Grant Robidoux had a Robidoux Tobacco cigar in one hand and the other slammed down hard onto Byron’s shoulder and squeezed. His dad was what Byron imagined he’d look like one day. Skin the color of dark honey slightly lined due to age, light brown eyes, and curly hair with just enough salt and pepper to make people say he looked distinguished. Pride radiated off him like sunbeams as he studied Byron’s face.
Byron took the glass of champagne Yolanda handed to him off the tray of a passing server. “What look is that, Dad?”
“
The I’m-already-planning-the-next-step look,” Grant said, pointing his cigar at Byron. “Not tonight. There is enough time for strategy tomorrow. Tonight, you enjoy the win.” He winked at Yolanda. “Enjoy the company of the beautiful woman at your side. The real fight is about to begin. Give yourself this moment to bask in the glory.”
Yolanda raised her glass and tapped it against Byron’s. “I agree with that.”
Byron forced the massive list of things he needed to do to the back of his mind. Taking a second to enjoy this milestone wouldn’t hurt. “Fine, I’ll sit back and enjoy this win, but I’m starting early tomorrow.” He glanced around the crowd and caught the fierce glare of his older sister. “Uh-oh.”
Grant’s brows drew together. “Uh-oh? What’s wrong?”
“Elaina is scowling. Do you know why?” Nothing good ever followed one of Elaina’s scowls. She’d just been smiling and clapping with the rest of his supporters.
Grant’s gaze shifted away. He brought the cigar to his nose and sniffed. “No idea.”
“You’re lying.” Byron didn’t hesitate to call his dad out. He loved and respected his dad more than any other man in the world, but he also knew when Grant tried to keep something from him. “What happened?”
Grant shrugged. “Nothing big. India and Travis ducked out right before your acceptance speech, and she’s worried they’ve run off and done something stupid.”
Byron relaxed. “They’re probably just getting out of here to spend a few minutes alone together. I don’t blame them after we spent the last few weeks pretending as if they weren’t together. You tell Elaina to do exactly what you told me. Enjoy the win and strategize tomorrow.”
Byron wasn’t concerned about his younger sister and best friend leaving his party early. They were crazy about each other—God help them—and they wanted to spend time together. Elaina being upset, well, that made more sense. Even though she’d given her blessing to India and Travis after discovering they were together, the situation was still awkward as hell.
Billionaire Behind the Mask Page 17
