by Dawn Atkins
“What’s up? You look like you ate something a week old and ugly. Did she hit on you? She did. She hit on you! You dog.”
“Keep it down.” He looked around, but everyone else seemed busy and no one looked up.
“What do you know. You do the deed?”
“No. I stopped it. Would you forget it?” He knew he must look as guilty as hell.
“Hey…it’s cool. No worries. Whatever the case calls for.”
But Rick could tell that Trudeau was completely blown away. And no wonder. He couldn’t believe he’d let things go that far himself. “It was a mistake, okay? It won’t happen again.”
“Sure.” But Trudeau grinned at him as if Rick had just sold his soul to the devil and Trudeau was the welcoming committee at the door to a happy hell. “We all make sacrifices for the greater good.”
“Cool it,” he growled, hating that he’d sunk so low. Even now, he realized Samantha made him want to forget all about the case, screw the rules, and be with her. What was happening to him? If he wasn’t who he thought he was, then what?
“I’m just glad you have more than yarn balls and a sock puppet between your legs.”
“Let’s stick with the case, all right? And try not to have any more heart-to-hearts with any suspects about me.”
“Deal.”
“The bookkeeper comes in a couple days. I’ll see if he’s running double books.”
Mark nodded. “Craig says half a dozen of the massage clients are connected. Costa’s gun? Clean.”
“What about Chuck Yardley…the guy who gets a daily rubdown?” he asked, happy to focus on the details of the case that didn’t concern Samantha.
“Accountant. Not even an outstanding parking ticket. Bean counter with a jones for massage, I guess. Full-release maybe?”
“Doubt it. Mona’s legit.”
“And how do you know?”
“I just know.”
“How? Wait. You got a massage?”
He felt himself redden.
“Shit. You should look a hell of a lot happier than you do right now, West. What a racket.”
“What’s up?” Rocky Marston called over to them.
“West here. Getting massages. Taking pictures of buck-naked hookers.”
“How do you rate?” Marston asked him. “My last undercover was pizza deliveries on 110-degree summer nights.”
“Rick deserves it,” Jessie said, looking up from her file. “Unlike some cops I know who take advantage of people’s good nature and drag ringers into a friendly game of ball.” Jessie and Rocky played basketball with a coed league.
“I can’t help it those guys went to college.”
“On basketball scholarships?”
The pair settled into bickering, ceasing their harassment of Rick, thank God.
“What’s happening with the upstairs space?” Mark asked him.
“Still building out. Counters and cupboards this week. I check in with the crew every day. What about the Sylvestri horse property? Anything unusual there?”
“Retired racehorses and manure. Nothing out of place in the barns. Not even a small plane. We’re keeping an eye on the store in Scottsdale, too.”
“Bianca’s knit shop. I can’t imagine Sylvestri’d do anything there. He’s pretty devoted to his wife.”
“The only thing Darien Sylvestri’s devoted to is lining his pockets.” Mark stopped, studying him. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing. Bianca’s at the studio a lot. Raves about all Darien does for her.” He shrugged. Was he getting sucked into sympathy for the suspects he’d grown to like? When the shit hit the fan, what would happen to everyone at Mirror, Mirror?
He didn’t want anyone to get hurt—Valerie with her G-strings and genital lollipops and Blythe who wanted to bleach his hair, plus Mona, who’d done something to his spine that made it easier to breathe. Would they be forced out of business by all this?
He shouldn’t care so much. Which was exactly why cops weren’t supposed to get involved with suspects. Innocence could twist into guilt in a heartbeat. He knew that to his soul.
He was suffering from the confusion of living two lives. He had to focus on the case. Get that bastard Sylvestri behind bars and leave Samantha the hell alone.
9
“NEED ANY HELP?” Rick’s words were weighted with meaning. He stood in the doorway of studio two looking in at Samantha, where she crouched, trying to snag a velvet pillow from beneath the chaise. She was instantly transported to the previous afternoon when he’d stripped her naked and kissed her there on this spot.
“Just trying to grab a pillow that fell.” The blue one you chose to match my eyes. She ached at the sight of him. He looked as desolate and lost as she felt.
But that was only natural. Everyone longed for what they’d denied themselves, right?
He came to crouch beside her, dropping the lab envelope he carried onto the chaise between them. “The proofs,” he said, running his palm across the striped surface until his fingers connected with hers. I remember, too.
“Thanks.” She couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t stand the heat swelling between them, so much swifter after what had happened.
He’d seen her naked, heard her wild cries, kissed her breasts and her sex. She’d felt him behind his zipper, the hard length of him, proof of his desire for her.
“I can’t quite reach,” she said, bending again.
“Let me.” He leaned down, the tendons in his neck rippling beneath the clean line of his crisp haircut. The animal power of him made her feel faint. She was like a young girl with her first crush. Grow up. You had your fantasy. Be content.
Rick nabbed the pillow and when he put it in place, she could see that he’d gotten himself under control again. Rick seemed to be able to turn his lust on and off like a light switch.
She could do that, too, dammit. She grabbed the envelope and plopped onto the chaise, turning it into a seat, not a spot to make love. “Let’s see how they came out.”
Rick sat beside her, while she scanned the pages, mentally noting her favorites. She’d take the loupe to them under better light, but it was fun to get a preview. The Trudy Norton shots were especially great….
There it was. The picture Rick had taken of her. Sitting right here just after her shattering climax.
She looked…wonderful. Satisfied and still eager and as sexy as hell. The light was golden even without the tungsten, as if the warmth of the moment had colored the air around her.
She felt Rick waiting, so she lifted her eyes to his. “This is a great photograph.”
“I thought it came out good.”
“You really caught me.” She realized abruptly that his shot was better than the one she’d taken of herself. She grasped her locket, toyed with the clasp and looked at Rick. The photo was her personal treasure, but Rick deserved to know how good he was.
Holding his gaze, she pried open the locket and cupped it in her palm like a butterfly for him to admire.
He looked, then lifted his eyes to hers. “This is the one you took?”
She nodded.
He studied it. “It’s very good.”
“Not as good as yours.” She pulled the chain over her neck and held the locket next to the proof, angled so they could compare the two images. “In my shot I look nervous. In yours I look happy and hopeful.” Eager, really. With a sigh, she closed the cover and put the chain over her head, adjusting the locket between her breasts.
“You wear that every day.” He tapped it and she felt the vibration in her bones.
“To remind me to go for what I want, to never settle.”
Rick cupped her cheek with one hand. “You deserve to get what you want, Samantha.” His words made her feel like releasing a breath she’d been holding for years.
But I want you.
There was a velvet sash on the shelf a few inches away. She could hand it to him and her willing ravishment fantasy could happen right here. Tie me up, Rick. Make
me beg.
Except that ship had sailed. They’d both agreed. There were other guys out there, just as hot, just as worthy, just as in tune with her body.
She sighed.
The door buzzer sounded, breaking the tension.
“That’s probably our one o’clock. Mary Jane Sizemore,” she said.
“Which studio do you want to use?”
“One. She wants a romantic shot.” She glanced at the stack of proofs. “I should really organize these orders. Why don’t you go ahead and handle her? I’ll assist, but you run the sitting.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“Sure you are. We just saw the proof.” She tapped the envelope that held the shot he’d taken of her.
“That was different.” His voice was low, serious and his green eyes crackled. Lord, she wanted him.
“I certainly hope so,” she said, struggling to keep it light. “You can’t be seducing all my clients or they’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s only you I can’t resist,” Rick said with a rueful smile. At least it had meant something to him, too.
“You’ll do fine. Make suggestions on positioning and talk her into the right mood.”
“Easy for you to say. Just don’t leave me hanging long. Who knows what awkward position I can get the woman in.” He pushed to his feet, straightened his shoulders as if he faced an unsavory duty and marched off.
She started for her office, but she heard Bianca’s smoke-rough cackle instead of Mary Jane’s voice, so she changed direction and headed to the reception area. “Bianca,” she said in welcome. “You look gorgeous.”
“You like? It’s my own design.” Bianca did a quick twirl in her gold-threaded knit suit with a leopard-spotted collar, cuffs, belt and pillbox hat. “I call it ‘Sheena, Businesswoman of the Jungle.’”
“It’s perfect for you.”
“Bianca has good news and great news,” Rick said, winking at Samantha, clearly fighting a grin. The woman had charmed him, too, when she’d popped in for a few sittings, and Samantha could tell Bianca adored Rick.
“More business for you!” Bianca said. “One of Joey’s buddies is getting married and they want you to do bedroom shots. I’m talking the entire wedding party—bridesmaids, groomsmen, ushers. Twenty-five people!”
“Wow,” Samantha said. “That is great news, Bianca.” She winked at Rick.
“No, no, no. That’s only the good news,” Bianca said. “The great news is that I’m taking a photography class.”
“You are?”
“At Phoenix College. Darien’s idea. I was telling him about helping out at Bedroom Eyes and he said, ‘Why don’t you take the blankety-blank pictures, baby, instead of talking about them all the blankety-blank time?’ He has a potty mouth, my Darien, but, anyway, he got a catalog from the college and there was a class so I said, why not?”
“You’ll do great, Bianca. You have a great eye.” If she had the patience for the technical aspects of the craft, Bianca would make a respectable hobbyist.
“And you’ll give me tips and show me tricks?”
“I’ll help you however I can.”
“I knew you’d say that. I wouldn’t have the nerve to do any of this stuff—the knit shop or the class—if it weren’t for you.” Bianca lunged at Samantha for a bruising hug.
“I only took your picture, Bianca.”
“You did more than that, hon. You unleashed me.” Still hugging Samantha’s shoulder, she turned to Rick. “Isn’t this woman amazing?” She shook Samantha so hard her head wobbled.
“Yes,” Rick said softly, his eyes warm. “She is.”
“See that you remember that.” Bianca wagged a finger at him. “Or you’ll answer to me. And my husband knows some pretty tough customers, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure he does,” Rick said in an odd tone. Then he looked out the window. “Looks like our client’s here.”
Rick took Mary Jane down the hall and Samantha blocked off most of the following week for the wedding shoot, while Bianca leaned over the counter, making it jiggle, watching her work the mouse.
“All set,” she said, standing straight.
“Now tell me what’s going on with you two, Sammi. The looks flying back and forth almost melted the gold in my suit.”
“He works for me, Bianca, that’s it.”
“And this is real leopard skin, hon.” Bianca tapped her hat. “Come on.”
“Real or not, the hat’s gorgeous,” she said to change the subject. “Are you going to sell your designs in the new shop?”
“That’s the plan,” she said, successfully distracted. “Though Darien’s gotten so involved lately. He helped me with the yarn order, if you can believe that.”
“That’s nice of him.” The man seemed to have too much time on his hands since he’d retired, Samantha thought. He was always popping in at Mirror, Mirror, too.
“He’s full of surprises these days, my Darien. So tight with a dime, but he insists I order the exotic yarns. He doesn’t care about the price. Lightweight is important, he says.” She sighed. “He’s even talking to the carpenter about the shelves—he wants them all deep and wide.”
“Are you getting excited about the opening?”
“Oh, yes. The only tragedy is the shipment comes in next week, so I’ll be so busy I don’t think I can help with the wedding shoot. I’ll buy the flowers, though. I want you to use them in each shot. The colors are garnet and goldenrod and I’m thinking of red-grape clumps, huh? Luscious as the blushing bride.” She kissed her fingers. “So symbolic. The perfect motif.”
“We’ll be fine with my silk flowers, Bianca. You have a lot on your hands, it sounds like, so don’t worry about—”
“I insist. And I’ll pay. But I am busy, that is so true. My class starts next week, too.” Her gingersnap eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamonds on her fingers, which flashed as she talked. “Oh, I almost forgot. My niece Elisha will help with the costumes for the wedding pictures.”
“I don’t think we need any help, Bianca.”
“Sure you do. You won’t have me, so Elisha’s my stand-in. This is a big job, hon.”
“But I don’t really—”
“Okay. Truth time. Darien promised Elisha’s daddy he’d get her a job and I said I was sure you could squeeze her in. Pay her something token—say ten bucks an hour?—and up your rates to cover the cost. Kenny can afford it.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine without—”
“She’s very bright. She had a little attitude problem—kids, what can you do?—but she’s turning that around. Will you help me out here? Please? As a personal favor?”
“We’ll work it out. Sure.” Bianca had done so much for her, Samantha could hardly refuse. Though she had noticed that Darien had a remarkably large family, and they all seemed to owe or be owed tons of favors.
“Terrific, then. You’d better hurry back to Rick now.” Bianca patted both her hands, smiling affectionately. “I’m so glad this all worked out.”
“Rick’s been a big help.”
“Oh, I’m sure he has.” She winked. “I’ll just tell my nephew never mind.”
“Your nephew?”
“The single, handsome one? Duke Dunmore? Owns a bar?” She winked again. “I’ll just tell him the position’s been filled.”
“If you mean the assistant position, you’re correct. Because that’s all that Rick is. My assistant.” The woman would not let go of the impossible idea.
“Don’t say another word, hon. Might jinx it.”
“There’s nothing to jinx, Bianca.”
Bianca just winked and smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile as if she knew something Samantha didn’t. For just a second, there, Samantha wished Bianca was right. She said goodbye to her and headed down the hall to see how contorted Rick had Mary Jane.
THE SETUP WAS FINE, Rick realized, looking at the shot through the viewfinder. The fake-fur throw offered texture, the translucent lace b
ackdrop gave an ethereal effect and the hair light made Mary Jane’s dark hair gleam golden. The combination of tungsten and a reflected fill-flash would give a warm white glow. The setup was great.
The costume was fine, too, if a little hokey—a short red robe with a deep vee trimmed with white lace, making Mary Jane look like a Valentine heart.
But the woman needed work. She looked morose and miserable, and her position was far too tense.
This was the hard part. The part where he had to position her and talk her into the right mood.
He went to crouch beside her, cupping the camera in a palm. “How about if you lean toward me and let your, uh, chest come forward.”
She shifted as he’d asked. Better.
“Now, move this thigh a few inches to the left.” He tapped the stocking-covered knee of that leg and she moved it. “Great. Now tuck one arm this way.” He demonstrated on his own body.
She hesitated, tried, but didn’t get it right.
“May I?” he asked.
She nodded permission and he moved her arm. It felt purposeful and professional, not at all like with Samantha, where merely placing a palm on her body had set him on fire.
“Do I look okay?” Mary Jane asked.
“Getting there.” He had to do something about her wooden smile. “Tell me who this photograph is for.”
“My husband Bo. For our anniversary. We’ve been married seven years.” But she looked wistful, not happy about it. Maybe Bo was bored or had the seven-year itch.
Rick hated being this close to personal pain. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face and along his ribs. “That’s a long time to be married. It’s good to, uh, remind yourselves why you got together.”
“You think so?” She sounded so hopeful.
“Sure.” Samantha would be working her romantic magic about now, so he decided to give it a try. “How about you close your eyes and think about a special time with Bo?” Let it not be sex. He couldn’t take that.
“A special time?” Mary Jane closed her eyes, frowned, then a smile spread. “I know. Our honeymoon at the Princess. Bo made the arrangements and he had roses for me and champagne and he’d made a heart of chocolates on the sheets. No drugstore sampler, either. Gourmet truffles.”
