Picture Me Sexy

by Rhonda Nelson

  Delaney’s small hand grasped his and he pulled her up off the chaise. She landed right up against his chest and, to his immeasurable delight, she didn’t retreat so much as an inch. Those lush breasts were enticingly pressed against him and her sweet, floral scent swirled around his head. Heat pooled in his gut, slithered through his groin and goose bumps pebbled his skin.

  Her eyes twinkled with a knowing humor. “That sounds like an intriguing wager. Care to make it interesting?”

  Uneasiness suddenly camped in the back of his neck. Why did he feel like he’d just sprung some sort of trap? Still, he knew better than to show any fear. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  “I bet that I can point it out first.”

  He drew back a smidge. “So you agree with me, then?”

  “Yes. I never disagreed with you.” Her eyes twinkled. “I just think that I’ll be able to point it out first.”

  In other words, Sam thought, she intended to make him beg first. Well, that was certainly a challenge he couldn’t resist. Clearly, she didn’t know whom she was dealing with. Fine. He would teach her a lesson they both would enjoy.

  “And if you don’t?”

  “If I don’t, then you get to make those pictures you were talking about.”

  “And if you do?”

  That wicked element he’d detected in her gaze infected her smile as well. “If I do, then I get to make a few pictures of you.”

  A disbelieving chuckle bubbled up his throat, and he inwardly blanched at the possibility. “W-what?”

  “If I win, then I get to take pictures of you,” she repeated with a laugh. A mischievous twinkle danced in her eyes. “I get to tell you what to wear, where to sit, lay, whatever. And when this weekend is over, that roll of film is mine to keep.”

  Sam’s earlier confidence took a dramatic nosedive. He’d never been on the other side of the camera, and frankly, the idea didn’t appeal to him at all. He didn’t know why, precisely. He took good care of himself, made faithful trips to the gym and stayed fit. He’d also never had any problem attracting the opposite sex, so he’d assumed that he had to be somewhat appealing. Though it might sound conceited, he wasn’t the least bit concerned with looking bad on film. Furthermore, he didn’t have a modest bone in his body.

  But he still didn’t want to do it.

  Go figure. How weird was that? He made his living taking boudoir photos of women—and the occasional gay man—yet when it came right down to it, he apparently didn’t have the balls to bare all and get on the other side of the camera. The realization made his gut fill with self-disgust and left him feeling more than a little uneasy.

  “Ah…this looks like a case where the shrink could use a little bit of his own therapy.” She squeezed his fingers. “What?” she scoffed. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

  “No,” Sam said immediately, because men never ignored a taunt, bet, or dare. It was against their nature, and most particularly, his.

  Still, nothing could be further from the truth. He was afraid he’d lose—lose control—because God knows he didn’t seem to have any where this woman was concerned. Then he’d lose the bet, and she’d gleefully take his camera and… And his brain seized. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the rest.

  “Good,” she replied cheerfully. “Then it’s a bet.”

  What? What had he just unwittingly agreed to? Oh, hell. Screw it, Sam thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. He’d just have to make sure that he didn’t lose. And he’d start tonight by putting her firmly in her place.

  On her back.

  In the meantime, he’d settle for something else. He lowered his voice. “It’s a bet. Now let’s seal it with a kiss.”

  Sam slanted his lips over hers, gentle yet firm, a kiss designed to mimic sex, promise heaven, weaken her knees and leave her gasping for breath. He loved to kiss her, could feast on this woman’s mouth forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough. Curiously, when he reluctantly dragged his lips from hers, he could barely stand, could scarcely force air into his lungs.

  A premonition, Sam feared, of things to come.

  11

  THREE HOURS LATER, Sam returned their digital audio equipment at the end of the tour, then laced his fingers through hers and led her out to the coffee shop that had been housed in what used to be the stable area.

  Delaney’s mind was awhirl with information and images. The opulence and splendor of the estate and its furnishings were beyond her scope of imagination. The design, the intricate architectural details and workmanship, combined with the lavish silk-draped walls, gilded fixtures, priceless art, and turn-of-the-century pieces was almost more than she could take in.

  She’d seen things today that she’d only read about in books. Fifteenth-century Flemish tapestries, paintings by Renoir, Whistler and more. Grecian friezes. An eighteenth-century Pellegrini canvas, an ivory chess set that had reportedly belonged to a legendary French emperor. She’d been awed, filled with quiet appreciation and excitement.

  Delaney peered at Sam over the rim of her café au lait. And the entire experience had been made all the more enjoyable by being with him. She’d felt his tall presence, equally reassuring and stimulating, alongside her every step of the way. He’d kept a hand at her waist, at the small of her back, or his fingers threaded through hers for the duration, hadn’t broken that calmly distracting contact once.

  Though he’d been through the tour countless times, his fascination seemed every bit as fresh as hers and he seemed to take great pleasure in simply enjoying her reactions. She’d caught him staring at her with a slightly bemused smile a couple of times and seeing that curiously fascinated look had made the warm tinglies swirl in her belly.

  Truth be told, she was enjoying herself entirely too much for comfort, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Delaney had considered dredging up the remembered pain and humiliation of recent events—knew she should use it to keep from making another potential error—but no matter how many times she mentally chanted men-sucked, baby-steps, little-victories, she couldn’t seem to work up any real indignation or enthusiasm for the process.

  She liked Sam Martelli.

  Swearing off men in general seemed like a good, sensible plan in theory, but keeping that mentality when faced with a guy like him—a guy who made her heart stumble and her panties wet—well, that was a completely different story.

  Delaney wasn’t foolish enough to let herself fall in love with him—she knew better than that. But she had fallen seriously in like with him and planned to take advantage of this dream weekend he’d given her. This weekend was about fun and sex—nothing else. No sticky emotions, no wistful if-onlys or what-ifs.

  She wouldn’t allow it.

  This man, for whatever reason, tempted her out of her comfort zone, made her momentarily forget her insecurities. She forgot about that mocked fat child, forgot about the pain of being a misfit, of not being perfect, because, against all reason, she felt perfect with him. Furthermore, he enticed her into doing all the wicked, wonderful things she’d always dreamed of doing—the very things that inspired her lingerie—but that she’d never had the guts to try, or the right partner to try them with.

  She’d funneled every bit of that sexual energy into her work, into a safe unemotional outlet. Why had she done that? Delaney wondered now. What had made her put everything she had into her work, without leaving anything left over for herself? Was it her modesty issues, or had something else been the cause? She didn’t know. But she was grimly determined to find out.

  With him.

  With every second she spent with him, she could feel herself swiftly growing less guarded and more wickedly confident. More comfortable in her own skin. For whatever reason, he seemed to be the antidote to her modesty and she firmly intended to have him inject her with as much of the wonder drug as possible. After all, he certainly possessed a fine…syringe.

  “Have I missed something?” Sam asked.

  Delaney blinked. “No. Why?”r />
  His eyes twinkled. “Because that grin you’re wearing looks a little…lurid.”

  Delaney felt a blush stain her cheeks, thankful that he wasn’t privy to her ridiculous medical metaphoric musings. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was woolgathering.”

  Sam gave her a slightly bemused, probing look, and when it didn’t readily reveal anything, he blew out a small breath. “So what was your favorite part of the house?”

  Delaney smiled, grateful for the change in subject, and absently swirled a stir stick around her drink. “Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I don’t know if I can pick a favorite part. Every bit of it was wonderful.”

  “Still,” he insisted lightly. “There has to be a favorite room, a favorite piece.” He licked a little whipped cream from his mocha.

  “Well,” Delaney hedged, suddenly mesmerized by the way his tongue lazily lapped at his drink. She instantly imagined it licking her in woefully neglected places. “If I had to pick—”

  “You do,” Sam interjected matter-of-factly. His dark eyes twinkled. “It’s part of a little thing I like to call post-tour etiquette.”

  Delaney chuckled, though a tense heat had begun to wind its way through her body. “Well, in that case…I suppose the library would have to be my favorite.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair and grinned knowingly. “I thought as much. Why?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “Because it served more of a purpose than simply being beautiful.”

  And it was beautiful. Two stories, a muraled ceiling, huge fireplace and carved walnut bookcases that were works of art in and of themselves. Still…

  “Over ten-thousand books, in more than eight different languages,” she told him, her voice quietly intense. “Think of the knowledge in that one room. Consider the time and energy that went into each of those books, then the passion behind amassing such a collection.” Delaney sagged against the back of her seat and a sigh of admiration slipped between her lips. Her gaze tangled with his. “Someone loved that room. Truly loved it. It’s the heart of the house.”

  Sam wore another one of those curiously bemused looks, not easily read, and a smile gradually worked its way across his lips. “I agree,” he murmured.

  “What about you?” Delaney asked brightly, in an effort to lighten the moment. Something strange had just passed between them, an altogether too intense something that didn’t belong in her plans for the weekend. “What’s your favorite room?”

  He laughed, shifted back into his chair. “That should be a no-brainer.”

  Realization dawned. “Ah,” Delaney said knowingly. “The Billiards Room.”

  That slumberous, heavy-lidded gaze twinkled. “That would be correct.”

  She rolled her eyes, heaved a put-upon breath. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Hey, that room is awesome,” Sam said, obviously compelled to defend his opinion. “The walls are covered in hand-tooled Spanish leather, and the plasterwork on the ceiling is incredible. Not to mention that huge fireplace and that gorgeous old humidor.” He nodded indignantly. “There’s a lot of character in that room.”

  Delaney harrumphed. “Be that as it may, the only reason you think that room is awesome is because no women were allowed in there.”

  He’d readied his mouth for a defensive retort, but couldn’t pull it off. Instead, he quirked a brow and offered her a slightly repentant grin. “There is that,” he conceded. “Shallow, huh?”

  Delaney chuckled. “Mildly, yes.”

  His eyes widened in mock astonishment. “Only mildly. Wow. I thought for sure I’d get roasted for my beastly sexist opinion.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There are feminine touches throughout the rest of the house—it’s the only room out of two-hundred and seventy-five that’s completely masculine. It’s only natural that you like it best.” She paused, injected a note of grim sarcasm into her voice. “It’s probably every man’s favorite room.”

  Sam winced dramatically and rubbed his jaw. His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Ouch. That was a nice compliment…until you backhanded me with it.”

  “What can I say?” She chuckled. “I just expected more originality.”

  “Ouch again,” he said with an outraged, semi-wounded laugh. “So now I’ve lost points for originality?”

  Delaney lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and offered him a tiny smile. “Sorry.”

  Suddenly, a promising gleam underscored the humor in those gorgeous bedroom eyes, and his smile turned almost…predatory. “Well, I’ll just have see about earning those points back, won’t I?” He lapped at his mocha again, gazed at her over the rim. “Redeem myself, so to speak.”

  Oy. If earning those points back lived up to the innuendo in that sexy rasp, she’d undoubtedly end up giving him an award for ingenuity.

  That playfully intense gaze tangled with hers. “After all, I have no desire to disappoint you. I’m only interested in your complete satisfaction.”

  Sweet heaven, the temperature around their table had suddenly spiked. Delaney resisted the urge to fan herself. “That’s reassuring,” she managed, despite the sudden flash of warmth burning the tops of her thighs. “I have a vested interest in my satisfaction.”

  “So do I,” she thought she heard him murmur, and his voice held a curiously grim element.

  Delaney blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  His expression cleared and he abruptly checked his watch, then the corner of his mouth tucked into a tsk of regret. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to get back to the hotel and set up. Do you want to stay here and do a little more exploring, or would you like to catch a shuttle with me?”

  Fatigue settled in her shoulders. Between the long drive and the excitement of the house, she’d about run out of get-up-and-go. Sam had said he’d be gone for a couple of hours. That would give her time to take a bath and a much-needed nap. She had a feeling that she was going to need every bit of energy she could muster for tonight, particularly in light of Sam’s recent quest to reclaim his originality points.

  Mercy, she hoped she survived it…but she looked forward to trying.

  SAM FINISHED THE SET-UP for tomorrow afternoon’s photos, bid the happy couple good-night, then slung his camera bag over his shoulder and headed back upstairs to join Delaney.

  Just the thought of her made his lips slide into a grin, made his step quicken in anticipation, made his groin tight with unequalled lust. The trip through the estate this afternoon had been a major revelation, one that inspired a great deal more confidence in the relationship he’d almost blindly decided to build.

  Even without the “quickening”—after this weekend—Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would have recognized her as the one for him.

  Delaney Walker simply got it. Got him.

  If he looked from now until the end of time, he knew he’d never find another female who suited him any better.

  Delaney’s tastes mirrored his own, they thought along the same lines, appreciated the same things. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt the connection, felt the vibe.

  For lack of a better description, they were attuned to one another. For instance, he didn’t have to look to know where she was, he could feel her. Could sense her, like radar. And, while he couldn’t read her mind—though she’d laughingly accused him of that very thing earlier today—he did seem to possess the uncanny ability to anticipate her thoughts and actions. To know what she wanted, when she wanted it, and react accordingly.

  A frown pulled at his lips. Regrettably, he still sensed that she didn’t want him. Not permanently, anyway. She wanted this weekend—wanted sex—but as far as really wanting him—nada, nothing, zilch. The idea inspired no small amount of panic, made his belly twist with anxiety. With any other woman, this attitude would have been like a dream come true. Guiltless sex? What man didn’t want that? Men and women had been at odds over it for centuries. Men wanted sex with no commitment. Women wanted
a commitment before sex. It was the perfect form of irony.

  Just his luck he’d finally meet a woman he wanted a forever with and, in exchange for his heart, she wanted to borrow his dick for the weekend. It was damned disturbing. And to top things off, just when he’d begun to make a little headway with her, he’d had to give up his advantage and go to work.

  Hell, who knew what she was thinking about now? She’d had hours up there alone. Hours to think all sorts of wrong-headed thoughts. To eat chocolate and think men sucked. And he wanted her to think about him, dammit. Sam boarded the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. He wanted her to think about his hands on her body, his mouth on her breast, and his rod rooted firmly between her thighs. He wanted her to think about him as a potential husband, as a father. He wanted her to think about rocking chairs and grandchildren. He wanted her to think about making him a part of her life.

  Sam expelled a heavy breath. Right now she only wanted him in her bed and he supposed that was as good a place as any to start. She’d agreed to come with him, and he knew that had been no small decision on her part. It had been a tremendous step in the right direction. Now if only he could convince her that he didn’t want to be just a weekend lover—he wanted to be her last and only lover. More importantly, he wanted her to reciprocate the sentiment.

  Sam exited the elevator and made his way down the long wide hall to their suite. He knocked lightly and, when she didn’t readily come to the door, he fished his keycard out and planted it in the lock, then quietly let himself in. The living room was empty, however a low light shone from the bedroom. Sam moved silently across the carpet to the bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb. His lips slid into a slow grin and a curious sensation commenced in his chest.

  Delaney was fast asleep on top of the comforter, her head pillowed on her arm. Soft light from the bedside lamp bathed her face in a golden glow, picked up the slivery shimmer in her silky moonbeam hair. Long lashes painted shadowed crescents on her cheeks and there was something so heartbreakingly beautiful, so utterly vulnerable about her that he could scarcely draw in a breath. His chest had grown inexplicably tight and his throat had clogged with some nebulous obstruction. Every hair on his body had prickled again and his rod had instantly swelled to full mast.