by Jolie Day
Besides, she needed to get going and start work for the day.
Liz limped back to her apartment building, where she found Tim sitting outside on ‘his’ bench, reading the paper. He glanced up as she walked by and gave her a casual wave. He was never one to ask her where she’d been or why they hadn’t played chess that morning. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. He was always respectful of her privacy and she was respectful of his.
She waved back as she entered the building and ran up the five flights of stairs to her apartment, ignoring the pain in her calf.
When she got inside, she rushed straight for the shower, dumping the remains of her latte into the sink as she went. After a quick shower, she was out by 9:05. A moment earlier and she might have caught the elevator before the doors closed and it dragged itself down to the lobby, where it stayed for several moments, causing Liz to get antsy and start tugging at her fingers. When the doors finally opened, she jumped inside, not bothering to check if it was empty as she relaxed against the far wall, letting out a deep breath.
“Are you stalking me?”
Liz jumped, practically giving herself whiplash as she stared up at the man before her. It was the same biker from the coffee shop, only this time he was dressed in an (unstained) white shirt—through which she could clearly see an eight-pack of highly impressive abs—and his leather jacket was slung over his arm. He was still wearing those ripped jeans that showed off an impressive backside and Liz had to force her eyes to rise above his waistline.
She couldn’t stop herself from admiring the tattoo on the side of his neck, though. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but the shape was oddly familiar…
“Hello?”
She jumped again, meeting his green eyes, which were filled with irritation. One of his eyebrows was raised in question and impatience.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “No. I’m not stalking you. I…I live here.”
“You do?” His eyes flitted down to the camera bag dangling from her neck. “Paparazzi? Hate to break it to you, but there’s nobody famous living in this building. Not that I know of, anyway. Then again, I’m new here.”
Liz furrowed her brows, feeling immediately insulted. “Paparazzi?” she huffed. “Excuse you. I’m a photographer.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t take up-skirt photos of B-list celebrities to sell to gossip rags,” Liz said. “I’m an artist.”
“And yet you can afford to live here?” he snorted. “You must have a rich daddy or something.”
“My father’s financial situation is none of your business, actually.”
“So that means yes.”
Liz took a deep, calming breath and straightened her spine, staring at the numbers above the door as they went down. When the ‘2’ changed to an ‘L’, she looked back up at the infuriating biker with his broad shoulders. She wanted to be annoyed at him, but she only found him arousing—which, in itself, was highly irritating.
“My father,” she said, as the doors finally opened, “is dead.”
“So’s mine,” the biker said, “but you don’t see me crying about it.”
He walked past her, leaving Liz stuttering as she followed after him, not quite done with this conversation. “I am not,” she said, as they reached the sidewalk, “‘crying’ about it; I was just making a point.”
“About…?” He didn’t stop walking and she had to lengthen her stride to keep up.
Liz rushed forward to block his path, realizing that she was nearly a foot shorter than him. She didn’t let that intimidate her as she stared directly into his eyes. “That you can’t judge a book by its cover,” she said, adding a little force to her voice as she tried to make herself stand as tall and straight as possible, even though this Adonis’ eyes made her want to melt into the pavement.
But that also could have just been the L.A. heat.
The biker studied her for a long moment, taking in everything from her thick thighs and muscular calves to the fire of her hair and the hazel in her eyes. But his eyes ultimately fell to her camera. Or her chest. She honestly couldn’t tell which he was more interested in until he opened his mouth.
“Tell me, then,” he said. “How do you possibly afford an apartment in this building if you’re not some spoiled little rich girl?”
“How do you?”
“Nice deflection,” he said, with barely a chuckle. “The apartment I’m staying in belongs to a friend, actually. He’s subletting it while he’s away for work. Your turn.”
Liz pressed her lips together for a long moment before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes again. “Have you ever heard of Emmett Morgan?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “He took all those famous photos of lighthouses, didn’t he?”
“Yeah…” Liz said, her eyes widening in surprise. Was he a fan of photography? “But it wasn’t just lighthouses,” she added, playing it cool. “It was also sunsets and beaches and the ocean and…that’s beside the point.” She shook her head, waving her hand like she was swiping the idea away. “I’m his daughter, Elizabeth Morgan.” She held out her hand, but he ignored it.
“Ah, so you are a rich kid.”
“My dad wasn’t what I would call…rich. He had wealth, yes, but a lot of it went to charity. I do have a trust fund. But,” she interrupted before he could open his mouth again, “it’s only enough to pay half my rent here. I used most of my overall inheritance from my parents’ death to travel after college. I started making money by becoming a photojournalist. That’s what I did to afford this apartment.”
“What you did?” He lifted his eyebrow again, waiting for more.
“I still do that,” she informed him, “but now my work goes up in galleries all across the country. I get paid a couple thousand per piece.” Why am I telling him all this? I don’t need to impress this guy.
“What do you take photos of, though? There aren’t many lighthouses on this coast.”
“As strange as it may seem, there’s a lot more in this world to photograph besides lighthouses.”
“Like what?”
Good question.
“Tourist attractions.”
Okay, that’s actually not as impressive as I thought it might be.
The man laughed. “What?” he said. “You’re like, a commercial photographer?”
“Not exactly,” Liz groaned, rubbing her temple. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. It was almost 9:30. “Look, I have to go. I’m already behind as it is.”
Besides, I really don’t know how to explain it. It’s…difficult.
“Where are you headed?” the biker asked. “Maybe I could give you a ride.”
He motioned to the bike a few feet in front of them and Liz gave herself a moment to marvel at the glossy surface of the Harley. It looked expensive and well-kept. Her father used to have one like that.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I prefer to walk. Besides,” she added, already heading up the road, leaving the biker behind, watching her, “I don’t even know you.”
*****
“My name is Carter.”
Liz had been in the middle of a long exposure at the Disney Concert Hall when she heard the voice behind her and nearly dropped her camera. She spun around, finding the biker from before. It had been hours since she last saw him, but in this light…was it possible that he was even more good-looking than before? It couldn’t be. How?
“Are you stalking me?” she asked, only half-joking as she repeated his words from earlier.
“No,” he said. “I was just heading to lunch and I saw you standing here like a tourist.”
“And you recognized me, surrounded by all these other people with cameras in their hands? The real tourists?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “You’re not that hard to miss, actually.”
“Is that a fat joke or something?”
He glanced down at her body, so quickly she almost thought that sh
e had imagined it, but she was sure that she hadn’t. Either way, heat seemed to flood her system at the mere thought of his admiration of her.
“Definitely not,” he said. “So, you wanna join me for lunch or what?”
Liz rolled her eyes as she slipped her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. It was a quarter to two. “It’s not time for lunch,” she said. “I need fifteen more minutes.”
“Fine.”
“Because I always break for lunch at two, and I did sleep in this morning...”
“Okay, no problem. I can wait another fifteen minutes.” He started to turn around but then seemed to do a double take, looking back at her. “Wait, didn’t I see you at, like, eight? Is that what you call sleeping in? What time do you usually get up?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Carter?” The flirt was past her lips before she could stop it. She tried to play it off as a small tease, but his eyes darkened ever so slightly.
“Actually,” he said, leaning in, “Carter is my first name.”
“Huh?” Liz said, furrowing her brows as the spell was broken.
“My name,” he repeated. “It’s Carter McIntyre. Carter is my first name; McIntyre’s my last.”
“Oh,” Liz said, feeling disappointed as he moved away.
“And, just for the record,” Carter added, “I’d very much like to find out the time you wake up.” The heat flashed in his eyes for half a second, but it did not go unnoticed by Liz.
“But first, lunch. Come on.” He grabbed her free hand and tugged her after him. Liz didn’t resist, but it took a moment for her to realize what was happening. Her brain had apparently been shocked when their fingers met, leaving her confused and…something else that she couldn’t quite name.
But she didn’t hate it.
Chapter Two
As soon as they walked through the door, Liz was greeted by several of the employees, by name.
“You come here often?” Carter asked as soon as they were seated by the hostess, Amara, who shared new photos of her granddaughter and asked Liz how she was doing, as always.
“Is that a pick-up line?” Liz retorted, teasingly. Carter did not look amused. She sighed. “Yes,” she said. “When I’m in this part of town, I drop by for a burger. They’re the best in the country.”
“I highly doubt that,” Carter murmured as he surveyed the colorful diner menu. “You ever been down to Austin?”
“Yes,” Liz said. “And I stand by what I said. Nobody makes a cheeseburger like Pat’s.”
“You’ve never been to Moonie’s.”
“I have. Several times.”
“And you think these are better?”
“See for yourself.” She raised her hand, gaining the attention of a nearby waitress. “Lorraine, can we have two cheeseburgers?”
“Deluxe?”
“As always.”
“You got it, Liz. Anything to drink?”
Liz looked to Carter. He shrugged. “Anything’s fine.”
“Two Cokes,” Liz ordered. “Put it on my tab.”
“You have a tab here?” Carter snorted. “Rich girl.”
“Jealous?”
“Very,” Carter snarked. “Wish I could afford an open tab at a hole-in-the-wall burger joint like this one. I am green with envy.”
“You have a very dry sense of humor; did you know that?”
“I guess that’s what the Navy does to you.”
“You were in the Navy?”
“Still am. Sort of.” He pulled the neck of his white tee to the side, revealing the anchor tattoo and Liz’s eyes widened. “I’m on leave.”
“To do what? Join a biker gang?”
“I was injured in battle,” Carter informed her and Liz’s lips clamped shut for a long moment as Lorraine approached with their drinks, setting them down on the table between them.
When she had gone, Liz let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“Why would you?” Carter asked. “We just met.”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he assured her. “It’s just not something I really talk about. It wasn’t that bad, anyway.”
“Bad enough to send you on leave.”
“That was mostly so the government can cover their own asses. Besides, it’s required after an injury to take some time off. I haven’t exactly been discharged, but I don’t have to return until I’m called to duty again.”
“And when will that be?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” he said, taking a long sip of his Coke. “Why? You looking for a fling?”
“N-no!” Liz exclaimed, her cheeks flaring. Her brain was screaming at her, however, yelling at her to say yes. A fling with Carter McIntyre actually sounded perfect and every nerve in her body agreed.
“Too bad,” Carter murmured, tilting his head as his eyes raked over her form. “Would have been great.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Liz purred before she even knew what was happening.
Where did that come from?
Carter’s lips curled up in a smile and he opened his mouth to, presumably, say something about getting the hell out of there (if this was a cheesy 80’s movie, anyway) but before he could get out a single syllable, Lorraine was setting down their burgers in front of them.
“Enjoy!” she said, chipperly as she sauntered away to take the next order.
“Oh,” Carter said, his heated gaze never leaving Liz’s face, “I plan to.”
*****
“You were right,” Carter said, as they walked, side by side, out of Pat’s Diner. “That was one fine burger.”
“Told you so,” Liz said, a wide grin on her lips. It was a quarter to three. She was ahead of schedule for once. She hadn’t seen that coming. “So where are you headed to now?”
“Well, I’d say we should go for a drink or something,” Carter said, giving her a sidelong glance, “but seeing from the way you’re clutching that camera, it looks like you still have work to take care of.”
“Yeah,” Liz replied, trying not to sound mournful about it. She loved her work, but she never had to remind herself of that before. “I do, actually.”
“When do you get off?”
“Excuse me?” Liz’s eyes widened at that and her entire body turned into a flame as her fingers tightened around her camera.
“From work, Liz,” he explained.
“Oh.” She felt the embarrassment wash over her, putting out any semblance of fame. “Um, usually around eight. Why? You wanna meet up later?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Well, maybe…maybe I could come around,” she suggested.
“I’d be happy to see you. If you’re still interested later on, come by.” Carter replied, casual.
“Maybe I will.” There was that flirt in her voice. There was a barely discernible lift in Carter’s lips, but then it was gone. He nodded and started to turn again. “Wait!” Liz called and he looked back to her. “What apartment?”
“609.”
And with that, he turned and headed toward his parked Harley. Liz watched his back, her eyes running over every muscular edge and curve of him. His ass was fantastic and she couldn’t fight the urge to rub her thighs together. She thought about saying ‘screw it’ and running after him. She had enough photographs to make her clients happy, anyway. And there were two more gallery shows in the next couple of weeks to bring in money, so it wasn’t like one afternoon was going to break her.
Before she could come to a decision, however, Carter McIntyre’s Harley was already roaring away from the curb. She had missed her chance.
Raising her camera in front of her face, Liz stepped out into his vacated parking space and pointed the lens at Carter’s retreating back, just as his body was perfectly set aglow by the afternoon sun. She snapped several photos of the way his fists clutched the handles of the bike; the way his shoulders tensed when his body turned as he switched lanes; the way his
helmet caught the sun…
He truly was a gorgeous creature, Liz thought to herself, and she might have just found her first recurring human subject. If he decided to agree.
I’ll just have to find some way to convince him, a naughty voice in the back of Liz’s mind whispered as the woman herself bit her lip and turned on her heel. She had a few hours to kill before she arrived at Carter’s door, and she wanted to make the most of them.
*****
It was half past eight when she finally willed herself to walk up the stairs to Carter’s apartment. She’d gotten home an hour earlier than usual and had prepared herself for their…oh, what could she call it? A date? An encounter? A sexual exploit?
Everything sounded wrong to moment it popped into her mind. It was better to leave this thing between them—whatever the hell it was—unnamed. To just enjoy it. Especially since she was planning to ask for his help with her newest project.
She wondered how much convincing she’d have to do as she spritzed on her most expensive and alluring perfume. It smelled of vanilla and almonds and made even her hair stand on end. She wondered if it would have the same effect on Carter. She also slipped into a pair of dark purple lingerie that she kept in the back of her dresser for such occasions.
Not that she really did this a lot. Barely any of her nice underwear had seen the light of day since her travels after college, when she not only toured the U.S. but also wandered through Europe. But she wasn’t a virgin, either, so she knew that Carter would appreciate the effort.
Or she hoped he would, anyway. The man was aloof and almost…cold. Were it not for the way his eyes sparked with heat whenever he looked at her, she would think that he didn’t actually feel anything toward her except indifference.
But she was a photographer. She was taught to look deeper, to take in every slight change, every tiny hint of life in front of her. And she knew she saw something in Carter McIntyre; she just needed to get him to let whatever it was out.
