by Julie Kenner
“Yes. Personal. Anyway, just do what comes naturally, and we’ll be finished in a few minutes,” she said somewhat breathlessly, to her dismay.
“Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and simply noted her with a steadiness that made her pull back the zoom, taking more comfortable, wide-angle shots.
God, he was gorgeous. The thought would not be denied, and the heat inside picked up intensity. She was in some kind of trouble.
“When do we start doing this for real?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Here?”
“No, our first stop is Central Park.”
“Do I get to keep my clothes on?” he asked cheekily, with a naughty sparkle in his eyes. She fumbled the camera, messing up the shot and frowning.
“Depends on whether you mean during or after the shoot,” she said off the cuff, shocking herself. It was something the “old” her would have said without a second thought, and she couldn’t repress a smile as she watched his rapid reaction.
Score one for Lacey. She still had it, apparently.
He didn’t say anything else, and she finished the last roll of film, pleased with herself for the shots and for finding her own spark. Temptation quelled doubt for the moment.
Lieutenant Wyatt had something special, a mysterious quality that reached past her fears and sparked her former, playful spirit to life.
Did she dare?
This tall Texas cop might be good for her after all. He might be worth the chance, she thought, focusing hard on her camera, but she wasn’t really paying attention to what she was doing; her hands moved automatically.
Maybe. Just maybe.
4
“THAT’S PERFECT, thanks,” Lacey said, giving the thumbs-up on the props put in place by the small crew the magazine had sent out to get their first official calendar session under way.
It wasn’t complex; she wanted natural photos that emphasized the masculine power of the models. The most handsome heroes in the country against the backdrop of the most powerful city in the world. She didn’t want a lot of hokey items drawing attention away from Jarod. As if they could.
She noticed he hadn’t arrived yet and peeked at her watch. He still had a few minutes, but he did like to cut it close, making her punctuality nerves bristle.
She wondered if he’d been as affected by their time in the studio the day before as she’d been, then chastised herself for the thought. How could he have been? She was the one with the camera, watching his every movement up close and personal through her lens. The details of his eyes, the shape of his mouth had followed into her dreams that night.
She’d almost called him, but had talked herself out of it. Instead, she stayed up late developing the pictures she’d taken, memorizing each one, telling herself they were no different than what she did for any other model, any other shoot. Details were her business, and Jarod happened to have particularly nice ones.
“We’re all set,” one of the prop guys told her after they’d set up some barricades fencing off the area to keep bystanders out of the shot and had raked colorful leaves into strategic positions. Thank God there wasn’t any wind today.
A colorful blanket was positioned on the ground among the leaves, two wineglasses and a bottle poised perfectly, waiting for Jarod to complete the picture. A fall picnic in the park with a handsome Texas Ranger. It had been Jackie’s idea, and pure genius. He’d sit alone, as if waiting for someone—and millions of women looking at the calendar would imagine they were the one he was waiting for. Exactly what Lacey intended. She wasn’t sure if it was her own fantasy driving her direction, but as long as the shot worked, that’s all that mattered. She wanted every woman in America thinking about joining Jarod on that blanket.
She played with the fantasy of sitting down there with him, herself, sheltered from view by the trees and the large boulder, the skyscrapers looming in the background sky… What would happen?
“A few of the prop guys are grabbing lunch. The stylist will prep Jarod as soon as he gets here, and we should be okay. Did he know the way? Should we have sent a car?” asked Jackie.
Lacey shrugged. “I offered. He said he’d get here on his own power—oh, wait—there. In the nick of time.”
Both women turned to watch Jarod striding down the walk, emerging from one of the park’s many tunnels into the dappled sunlight, looking like…well, Lacey wasn’t sure she had the right words. Good thing she took pictures for a living.
“Wow,” was all Jackie said, and turned back to tell the stylist their model had arrived.
You’re a professional, cool it, Lacey lectured herself silently, her hormones begging to stand up and salute.
She’d asked Jarod to wear his official uniform today, and he’d informed her that unlike other police or fire departments, there really wasn’t any official Ranger uniform. So, he’d come in the clothes he used as a dress uniform. Western-cut white shirt, dark tie, gray pants, belt and cowboy boots. A white hat. The clothes weren’t that unusual, but the man who wore them made them seem more…elegant.
Powerful.
Lacey’s fingers itched, and she lifted her camera, taking a few shots of him as he crossed the grass.
There wasn’t a set of female eyes in the park that could turn away, and several guys looked on, too, for that matter. Some whistled. Several started gathering around the edges of the shoot as he arrived.
He seemed to have eyes only for her, though, and she had to admit that set her on fire, especially when he smiled. She might have smiled back, but couldn’t risk it.
“Hi, there. Didn’t know there’d be an audience,” he said casually enough, hands on hips, peering at the gathering crowd through narrow eyes.
Lacey grinned a little wider. “It’s New York. Something’s always going on, and someone always wants to watch.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Whatever you say. So how does this work?”
“We have the set put together, we’ll use that first, with you in your dress uniform and then your casuals. Later, we can walk around the park and I’ll get some candid shots. It will give me a variety to select from later.”
“Casual?” He frowned. “I didn’t bring any change of clothes.”
“No problem—we have stuff we want you to wear, designer labels that paid to be in the calendar. Product placement, you know. You can see Jen, the stylist, for any last-minute touch-ups, and then we’ll get started. You can change after.”
“Stylist?”
“Yeah. Hair, makeup, clothes—she’ll get you all set.” Lacey felt a twinge of jealousy as she thought about the young, pretty stylist with her hands all over Jarod, and squelched it. Stupid.
“Makeup? I am not wearing makeup.”
Blinking at him, she frowned. “Why not?”
He looked down at her, but didn’t say a word.
Lacey stared in the face of his stalwart refusal to wear makeup, her aggravation rising—what was the big deal? But as she saw Jackie behind Jarod pointing to her watch, and then upward toward the sun, Lacey let it go. They were going to be dealing with shadows crawling across the scene if they waited much longer.
“Don’t blame me if you look blotchy,” she warned.
“I’ll deal with it.”
Actually, she knew he wouldn’t look blotchy at all, which was why she hadn’t insisted more strenuously. The studio light had been more controlled, but she knew that the soft, indirect sunlight would be kind to Jarod’s desert-tanned skin.
She watched Jackie instruct him about the shot, and cursed as her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She’d forgotten to shut it off, as was her habit when she was shooting.
Unknown name and number. Again.
Her fingers turned cold as she ignored it, only to have the phone ring again a few seconds later, with the same result. Finally, she answered it. Nothing. Someone hanging on the line, not saying a word. Then, a soft male laugh, and a click. Her knees felt watery, and she turned her back to Jackie and Jarod.
She took a minute, pretending to be on the phone, but really getting her bearings.
It was hard to tell from just a laugh, and the scratchy connection of what was probably a cheap, disposable cell phone didn’t help. It could be anyone, but it was most likely Scott. It had to be.
It was only a phone call, she reassured herself. He was far away, under house arrest, and he couldn’t do anything to her over the phone. If it continued, she’d call her lawyer and make it stop.
She didn’t want to start anything, or give Scott any more reason to come back at her, so she’d wait and see. He was just baiting her. Letting her know he was out there. That was all. As if she’d ever forget.
She turned back around, blowing out a breath that teased her bangs, and shot a bright smile at Jarod, who was watching a little too closely with those hawklike eyes. She glanced around, gave a short nod.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get to work.”
JAROD HAD ONCE SPENT eighteen hours with his leg jammed in between rocks when he’d slipped while he’d been searching for a fugitive. His dad always said it was the little things that could kill you. Like slipping at the wrong moment while climbing rocks you’d been scaling since you were a kid.
He’d had enough water to keep himself going, but had dropped his radio about ten feet away and crushed his cell phone when he’d fallen. Basically, he’d been completely screwed; if not for keeping his gun, he might have been snake or wildcat bait, as well. Luckily, when he hadn’t checked in, they came looking for him, saving him from death or having to do something unspeakable to free himself. He’d been hot, sunburned, dirty, sore, hungry and nearly dehydrated when they brought him back.
Still, that had been more fun than he was having right now, being primped and poked in public, bent this way and that, holding up a champagne glass to the camera and having to look…well, deserving of the wolf whistles and other comments that floated over from the crowd.
Lacey had actually used the phrase “come hither” until she realized it made him glare, not smile.
He’d have to get his gun and go shoot something when this was done, just to get his self-respect back.
“You’re doing great,” Lacey reassured him, changing out her film again and then switching over to her digital camera. How the hell many pictures did she need to take just to find one good one?
“Can you change clothes, and we’ll finish up here and then head out around the park?”
“Sure,” he half growled and thought he might have seen her smother a grin. She’d done that a few times and it was pretty enough to distract him from his pain.
Actually, in the few moments when he could focus only on Lacey and forget everything else around them, he didn’t much care what she did, as long as she was focused on him, too. He’d had several imaginative thoughts about his pretty photographer in response to the command, “You’re waiting for your date. You’re anxious for her to arrive. You haven’t seen her for a while, and you’re thinking about what you’d like to do when she gets here.”
He wondered what she’d do if she knew what he was thinking he’d like to do to her. That he’d like to stretch her out on the blanket he sat on alone, and maybe take some of the honey in the picnic basket and drizzle it over her breasts, sucking the sweetness off the dusky nipples that were just barely visible under the thin cotton of her top. That he’d like to work his way down from there, stripping off those sexy, low-cut army pants she was wearing, and taste the secrets she held between her thighs.
Her camera started making noise, and she smiled. “Oh, that’s good, just like that, Jarod,” and he nearly exploded with a boner right then. Did she have any idea how sexy she sounded, urging him on, and how she was feeding into his fantasy as if she could read his mind?
Still, there were question marks, he reminded himself, trying to get his desire and his body’s response under control. Her rigid body posture when she’d turned, pretending she was taking a phone call. Half of knowing what was coming at you was being able to read body position, expressions…and Lacey had not been happy or relaxed as she had pretended to be when she’d returned. In fact, he’d say whatever she’d picked up on that call had scared her.
Who did she think she was fooling, and why was she trying?
On her signal for a break, he ducked into a small changing station, stripping out of his dress clothes and putting on the designer duds that they provided, surprised when they fit. Thank God they let him keep his boots on.
When he reemerged, he was a little surprised to see the prop guys already throwing their stuff in the back of a small car. The shoot was completely torn down and everyone was leaving. They came over and took down the changing tent almost as soon as he stepped foot out of it. He was glad that they had given him time to get his pants on.
“They’re on their way to another shoot, and have to hustle,” she said, as if reading his mind. “It’s just you and me, now, cowboy.”
“What about my clothes?” He looked down at the getup he was in.
“They’ll leave them back at the studio, don’t worry.”
The urban metrosexual look wasn’t his usual taste, but he supposed he could live with it for the afternoon. He felt naked without his hat, though, and gazed wistfully at the car that was leaving with his clothes.
“More pictures?” He wasn’t sure if he growled, but maybe.
“It will be easy now. You don’t have to do anything. I just want some natural shots, nothing formal, so relax. We’ll grab a hot dog and enjoy what’s left of this gorgeous afternoon, okay? My treat—you were a good sport back there.”
“It was easy with you taking the pictures,” he said tactfully. It was true in part, because watching her work had been a pleasure. Pure pleasure. “What if I drop mustard on this shirt?”
“You’ll owe Bliss about fifteen-hundred bucks,” she said seriously, making his eyes bulge before she grinned and said, “Gotcha.”
He shook his head, laughing, unsure what to make of her. “Does this seriously cost that much? It’s just a…shirt.”
“Yeah, it would go for that much retail, but it’s given to Bliss so they can use it in shoots. The price is because of the designer’s name, and the way it fits, the quality of the material, which is pure silk, by the way. If you could see yourself in it, you’d see how it affects the contours of your body, and even changes the effect when you move, when you walk… That’s what people pay big bucks for.” She grinned as she watched some women watching him. “That shirt with those jeans makes you sex on legs, cowboy.”
“I think I feel objectified,” he grumped humorously, but he didn’t mind in the least if she wanted to make him into her sex object.
“That’s what sexy calendars are all about,” she said, laughing. “Though the proceeds from this one will go to a worthy cause, too, so you can take comfort in that.”
“It’s the only reason I’m here,” he said honestly. Well, that and he was under orders to be here.
“I can understand that,” she agreed. “For someone who’s not used to being in the limelight, and who doesn’t look for recognition from his work, this must be kind of awkward, but that’s what makes a hero a hero, right? And you guys deserve to be recognized. It’s good for people to know there are still heroes in the world, Jarod. People need them.”
As they walked underneath a tunnel, he didn’t answer, hardly considering himself a hero for doing the job he was trained to do. But was Lacey talking about herself, too? Did she need to believe there were heroes out there? If she knew the thoughts he had about her with her clothes off, she might think him less than heroic.
He was willing to risk it.
As they emerged from the other side of the tunnel under one of the park’s many bridges, he saw a yellow ball go rolling across the road. A young girl, no more than four, raced after the ball. Jarod, however, saw the bike rider whipping around the corner toward her, the cyclist hitting his brakes, veering, wheels screeching on the pavement.
Jarod acted on reflex, lunging forward to step in front of the little girl, her mother calling her name in a panic from the grassy lawn. Jarod scooped the child up, though he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and the cyclist grazed him as he screeched to a halt, nearly riding into the stone curve of the bridge.
The little girl wiggled in his arms. “My baaaaalllll,” she cried, struggling furiously to be let loose.
Jarod set her down, but didn’t let go as her mother rushed to them, apologizing, and white as a sheet.
“Delilah! You know better than to ever run off on me like that, ever!” she scolded. The mom’s eyes brimmed with tears in delayed reaction to her daughter’s close call.
Jarod spotted Lacey talking to the cyclist, and made sure Delilah was firmly attached to her mother before jogging away and retrieving the ball.
“Is he okay?” Jarod asked.
She nodded. “Just shaken up. It was a close call for everyone, but he’s fine. You?”
“I’m good,” he responded, turning back to give the crying child her toy.
The mother, much calmer, smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much. You could have been hurt, too. You might have saved her life, thank you so much.”
Out of habit, he went to touch his hat, but it wasn’t there, and he smiled wryly. “No problem, ma’am.”
“Play?”
He looked down, and Delilah held her ball up. “Play.” She giggled, running off into the grassy lawn, beckoning him.
“Do you mind?” he asked the mom.
“Not in the least. Her dad is in Afghanistan, and I think she misses him playing ball with her. She says he throws it different than I do,” the woman said, smiling warmly. Jarod’s jaw clenched against the surge of emotion he felt, the respect he couldn’t help but feel for the sacrifices others made. He was no hero, not compared to what others were doing in the world.
He was suddenly aware of the whirring sound of the camera, and felt his muscles tighten, then relax again. It was just Lacey doing her thing. He still wasn’t used to it.
He caught the ball one last time and brought it to the little girl, smiling. He hoped to hell her dad made it back to play ball with her soon.
