Exposed to Passion (Five Senses series Book 3)

by Gemma Brocato

  “If it had been her own camera, it wouldn’t piss me off as much.” He frowned. “Well, yeah, it would’ve. Equipment like this is expensive. I don’t like to lend it out. I had to beg the school board to purchase even second-hand cameras. Funding has been tight.”

  He gestured toward the shore, and they began walking toward a group of kids clustered around a large boulder.

  “Many foundations are willing to offer grants and aid. Have you tried to approach any of those?” She slid him a sideways glance, her eyebrow twitching up.

  “Yeah, I’ve tried. I’ve applied to all of the known foundations and a couple not-so-known places.”

  “No luck?”

  “Nope. We’ve been turned down because of our location and the average income and housing costs. Granite Pointe High is in an area too affluent to be considered needy. I’m still waiting to hear back from one of the more famous ones.”

  “That’s their reasoning?”

  He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Just thinking about his latest attempt to get a sponsorship raised his ire. He continued to run into bureaucratic nightmares, red tape, brick walls, and arrogant attitudes. Out of dozens of phone calls he’d placed, not once had the head of the foundation been in the office.

  Time to change the subject. He’d just met this woman and didn’t want her thinking he owned permanent real estate on a soapbox. “What kind of business brings you to Granite Pointe? You mentioned you’ll be working along the coast for a few months.”

  “I’m the curator of a traveling art exhibit. We’re producing shows in twenty cities.”

  “That’s ambitious. What kind of medium?”

  She lifted the camera slung around her neck and grinned. “Photography.”

  He put a hand on her arm, drawing her to a stop. “Wait a minute. Are you talking about the Silas Sims exhibit?”

  “Ah, you’ve heard of it. Our first show is scheduled in two weeks at the Maritime Museum on Front Street.”

  “Do you know Marguerite Sims?” He frowned—angry steam hissed through his system the way water sizzled over molten lava. Ms. Sims had been a huge pain in his ass, and the target of his anger about foundations in general.

  “I’m—”

  He interrupted. “I’ve been trying to reach her for the better part of the year. It’s like she doesn’t have time for small schools. She’s so high and mighty, so out of touch with the needs of high school photography clubs. In my book, it’s rude not to respond to an email. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s probably another high-class princess who doesn’t want to waste any effort doing her job. Probably has mountains of shopping to do.”

  “Hey, that’s not true.” Rikki’s eyes narrowed and lips thinned, as if annoyed.

  Okay, he’d landed square on the soapbox again, but he couldn’t help himself. He drew a deep breath and continued. “Doesn’t the Sims Foundation have a provision for grants for small- and mid-sized schools? I’m sure I read that on their website.”

  “Of course we do.” Rikki took a step backward and shoved her hands into the pockets on her fleece, staring at him through squinted eyes. “It’s a matter of applying. The forms are on the website.”

  “Oh, I’ve done that. Three times, in fact. Followed up with emails and phone calls. Her assistant always replies that Sims will get back to me.” Jeez, he sounded whiny. No wonder Rikki had backed away. He modulated his tone and continued. “Each time I’ve tried to reach her by phone the woman is too busy to take my call, or conveniently out of the office. What the hell does she do with her time—? Oh hell, she’s your boss, isn’t she?”

  Rikki shook her head, a scowl etching the brows over her slanted eyes. She pulled her hands from her pockets and crossed her arms over her chest. “The Marguerite Sims I know is nothing like the woman you’re talking about.”

  He quirked his eyebrow. “It’s a non-profit organization. How busy can it be?”

  “You’re right, Sims Foundation isn’t as busy as say, The American Heart Association, but there is always plenty to do with only a bare-bones staff. Maybe she wears a lot of different hats. There are only so many hours in a day, you know.”

  He’d hit a nerve. Her defensive tone changed the timbre of her voice—now it sounded like hot summer nights with heat lightning accents.

  The wind gusted and she grabbed her hair in a tail at the side of her neck. Strands of it licked at his shoulder. It was hard to concentrate on their conversation when all he could think about was twining his hands through the dark silk.

  “Yeah, but it’s still common courtesy to at least reply that my application is under consideration.”

  “Maybe your paperwork got lost. We’ve recently upgraded our website and for a while the online application process was messed up. I’m not sure they’ve fixed it yet. I’d be happy to call and check for you.”

  “You would? That would be great. I need all the help I can get.” Her offer meant he’d get to see her again, to learn more about this intriguing woman with her smiling, whiskey-colored eyes.

  “Sure, I’ll make a call tomorrow and let you know.”

  Her plump lips spread in a wide grin, outlining even white teeth. He’d love to see that smile from beneath him.

  A seagull screeched again when she took his arm and turned him toward the water’s edge, pointing to where Suzannah slogged out of the surf. “Uh-oh. You’ll need help. Looks like one of your student’s bodysurfed with her expensive equipment. I hope that camera isn’t one of yours.”

  “Son of a—” Propping his hand on his hips, he dropped his chin to his chest and heaved an exasperated breath. “Better go. Thanks for coming by.”

  He lifted his hand in a farewell gesture and did an about-face, trotting toward his waterlogged student.

  “Hey! I have your jacket. From the other day.”

  Sam spun around and continued walking backward, praying he wouldn’t fall on his ass and embarrass himself. “I’ll get it from you next time.”

  “When?”

  “Meet me for drinks tomorrow at Red’s Tavern. Best burgers in town. You can tell me what you find out from the foundation.”

  Chapter 3

  Rikki jabbed her assistant’s phone number into her cell and fumed while she waited for Jenni to answer.

  Sam Kerrigan thought Marguerite Sims was a pampered, spoiled, rude woman. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Marguerite was a dedicated worker who ran the Sims Foundation, curated traveling exhibits, and worked tirelessly to get her own photography noticed without piggybacking on her famous grandfather’s name.

  And Rikki would know; she was Marguerite. She’d tried to tell Sam, but he’d cut her off. Then he’d launched into a rant that had left her speechless. And defensive. Her lips compressed into the thin line her brother had dubbed “bitch lips.” Sam thought she spent her time shopping, for heaven’s sake.

  He had no way to know Rikki was also Sims. The only time she ever introduced herself by her given name was when she conducted foundation business. Her grandfather insisted on it, the same way he’d insisted her parents christen her with his own mother’s name. She’d had countless arguments with Silas about her name, but he’d held fast to his position, even though he knew she hated the formal, prissy name. It didn’t suit her.

  For her own photography, she’d chosen to use her mother’s maiden name. It only seemed right, since she’d gotten her Mediterranean coloring from Mom as well. Her father and brother were pure Sims: white gold hair, ice blue eyes, and vanilla cream skin.

  Thinking about blue eyes sparked a memory of Sam’s deep summer-sky tinted ones. And that made her temperature rise in more ways than one. She clenched her fist on the arm of the chair she’d plopped into as soon as she walked in the door.

  The call went to voicemail after six rings. “Dammit. Hey, Jenni. Call me when you get this.” She cleared her throat to remove the terse sound from her tone, then continued. “I’d like you to check on a Foundation grant application.”
<
br />   She dropped the phone on her desk and slouched even farther in her leather seat. Staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest, she tapped an impatient finger against her lower lip. Okay, she admitted Sam’s harsh words had hurt her feelings. But why?

  She’d become immune to ugly words and taunts since she’d hit puberty. But Sam’s words weren’t about her physique. No, he’d judged Marguerite a frivolous, pampered person and found her lacking, a phenomenon that rarely happened. His words had hurt a whole lot more.

  True, he only knew her as Rikki Salerno. Even when he’d asked if she knew Sims, she’d been comfortable with her answer. She didn’t know the woman he’d spoken about. That person wasn’t her at all. Rikki was thorough in her job, religious about calling people back, and made a habit of adhering to social customs requiring respect and acknowledgement.

  Rikki had already scoured her emails for messages from Sam Kerrigan or Granite Pointe High School, but hadn’t found anything. Logging on to the company’s website, she’d checked to see if any applications had been trapped in the spam filter. Nothing. Her only remaining resource was Jenni’s call logs. God, she hoped her assistant remembered Sam and would have a good explanation.

  Her phone chirped with an incoming text. She leaned forward and grabbed the iPhone, consulting the display. Ah, her brother, Gunnar, had finally surfaced.

  Hey, Rik. Silas is in rare form today. What’d you do to piss him off?

  Damned if she knew. When wasn’t her grandfather irritated about something with his grandkids? He’d been cantankerous from Rikki’s first memory of him. She and Gunnar joked that when God passed out patience, Silas had declined the offer, and probably not politely. She pressed the return call link.

  Gunnar picked up on the first ring. “I knew you’d call back.”

  “That’s me, predictable. And apparently spoiled, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t seen Silas in two months, so if he’s pissed, it’s your fault.”

  “Hell, Rikki, you don’t have to actually see him to make him mad.”

  “True, but honestly, it wasn’t me this time. At least I don’t think it was.”

  “Shit, it probably is me. Since I got the summons.”

  “Nice, Gunnar. Next time lead with that so my heart can stay in my chest, instead of my throat.”

  Her brother’s chuckle floated across the line. “Aw, Rik-a-rak, you know I have to wind you up somehow. It helps deflect the pain of the summons.”

  She smiled at his pet name for her. It was something he only called her in private, meant as a reference to pretty decorative trim, not the size of her chest. But others might not understand the inside joke. “He’s probably put out because you keep disappearing when he wants to talk about joining the family business. Where’d you go this time? Tibet?”

  “Nah. I was exploring my options on how to spend my trust fund when I come into it next month.”

  “Right! You’ll be turning thirty soon. Look at our little boy, all grown up. What are you gonna do with your ill-gotten gains?”

  “I’m thinking about buying into a chain of boutique gyms.”

  Good for her brother—striking out on his own. Pursuing his dream. She wished she had the courage to defy their grandfather the same way. But since her dreams revolved around photography, sneaking out from under his thumb was not in her future.

  “Seriously? No wonder Silas is pissed, Athelstan.” Rikki used Gunnar’s given name and laughed.

  “Don’t call me that, Marguerite.”

  Hearing Gunnar call her by her given name reminded her of Sam’s ire. Heaving a giant-sized sigh, she jumped topic. “I met a guy—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I let you out of my sight for a few days and you go off and meet someone? Jesus Christ. I unloaded your junk in Massachusetts less than two week ago and boom! You’ve got a new boyfriend? Where the hell did you find time?”

  She snorted. “I don’t have a new boyfriend, idiot. I met a man who has a beef against Marguerite. Except he doesn’t know I’m her. He only knows me as Rikki.”

  “I thought you preferred it that way.”

  “I do, but I’m still Marguerite, head of the Sims Foundation. Apparently that witch hasn’t been very efficient about returning his phone calls.”

  “So explain it to him.”

  “I tried, but he cut me off. He really doesn’t like me…her. Oh, you know what I mean.”

  Gunnar gasped loudly, his breath audible through the phone connection. “Ah, and you’re distressed because you fancy him.”

  She laughed when he made smooching noises. “Shit, Gunnar, I thought you were turning thirty, not thirteen.”

  “Now Rik, you can’t really blame me. Seems to me you referred to my last girlfriend as the flavor of the month.”

  “I forget, was she strawberry or chocolate?”

  “Kiwi. How could you forget she was from New Zealand?”

  Rikki rolled her eyes at his bad pun. Yep—thirty going on thirteen. “What do I do about Sam? The man I mentioned.”

  “You gonna see him again?”

  “Supposed to have drinks with him tomorrow. I promised to check on a grant he submitted to the Foundation. His high school photography club needs new equipment.” She scrunched up her eyes and checked the wall clock. “I’ve been waiting for a call from Jenni. I’m afraid the application got lost in cyber hell.”

  “I’d say meet him and give him a paper copy. You can rubberstamp it right away. Make sure he sees you sign it as Marguerite.”

  “The problem is… twice bitten, once shy, you know?” Rikki hated the mousy tone of her voice. But dammit, memories she thought she’d buried for good had surfaced in light of the entire Marguerite situation.

  Gunnar tsked. “That again? Your break up with Aron-the-douchebag happened a long time ago, Rik. Jesus, you were what—nineteen years old when those photos surfaced? I thought you were over it.”

  The summer after her freshman year in college, she’d traveled with Silas to an international photo exhibition. A slightly older man had taken a liking to her and made sure he stayed glued to her side, despite her efforts to ditch him. At a media cocktail party one evening, the guy did a nose dive into her cleavage and motor boated his way into the tabloids, taking her along with him. After Silas had lectured Rikki about propriety and not besmirching the family name, he’d dismissed her from his sight without sparing a minute to listen to her defense.

  If the pictures and banishment hadn’t been enough, Rikki’s boyfriend had blamed her—had called her a trust-fund brat and a lousy Marguerite-turned-Jezebel, had saluted her with his middle finger and then dumped her unceremoniously. Aron had been her first love—hell, her first lover—and his behavior and words had crushed her. It had been ugly and damaging, and from that point, she introduced herself only by her nickname.

  “I was…I am. It’s just… Oh God, Gun. You don’t live through shit like that without a few scars.”

  “I get it, but you have to get over it. Besides, I figure approving the grant will clear up any residual animosity he might suffer because your name is really Marg.”

  She mulled the idea over. “It might work. Except…Grandfather has insisted on reviewing all applications prior to me approving them.”

  “That could be a problem. I’ll have to think on it a bit.” Gunnar cleared his throat. “I know one surefire way to stop obsessing over this guy in the meantime. You could call Silas and make him debate the merits of film versus new-fangled digital photography. Plus, it would take some of the heat off me. Pretty please?”

  Good Lord, her brother had always known the right thing to say to distract her. Affection for him rippled through her. “Yeah, you’re on your own there, Athelstan. Foundation work is calling my name, plus I want to edit some of the pictures I’ve taken in Granite Pointe.”

  “Did you go to the Spit?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I managed any good shots. I had a bit of a mishap.”
>
  Memories of Sam’s hands on her breasts heated her cheeks. They’d warmed her when she was wet and cold. God, they’d be white lightning if she was wet and hot. She bit off a frustrated exclamation. It had been too long since she’d last slid between the sheets with anyone to keep her warm.

  “If you snapped any pictures, they’re bound to be great. You have a gift, Rikki. It won’t be long until the world recognizes it the way I do.”

  “I don’t really care about the rest of the world. I’d like Silas to recognize it.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, Rik-a-rak. Blue is not your color.”

  After a few more minutes discussing Gunnar’s potential status as a gym owner, Rikki hung up, less anxious about the disappearance of Sam’s grant application. Gunnar had hit on a good idea for letting Sam know she was Marguerite. She walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cold Diet Coke and thought about his suggestion. She’d have to figure out a way to make it work.

  Sam’s face had turned red while he’d griped about her public personae. His eyes had darkened to a stormy blue, his dark brown eyebrows had needled together, his lips had compressed into a thin, disgusted line. She’d been breathlessly grateful when his sexy dimples reappeared and he’d invited her to meet him for a drink. She’d wanted to trace those small creases in his cheeks with her tongue.

  She laughed out loud about the obvious tongue in cheek pun, then shook her head and made her way back to the desk and her laptop. Putting her soda on the farthest corner, away from the computer, she opened the machine and booted it up.

  While waiting for Photoshop to launch, she opened her equipment bag, pulled the Nikon body out, and connected cables between the computer and camera. She’d wandered all over the small tourist town during daylight hours this weekend, taking frequent breaks from working on the photography show, unpacking, and organizing her personal effects.