Forbidden Fantasies Bundle

by Dawn Atkins

“Hang on,” she shouted, leaping out of bed. She hopped into her shorts, yanked on a tank top and ran out of her bedroom.

  Scurrying for the door, she smoothed her hair with one hand and scrubbed her teeth with an index finger.

  Rick buzzed again.

  “Just a sec!”

  Buzz.

  She twisted the knob and yanked open the door. “I’m here, okay?”

  “Hey, there.” Rick looked completely relaxed and hotter than hell in a khaki vest over a plaid shirt with rolled sleeves and he held two to-go-cups from Starbucks. He took a lazy, appreciative survey of her body. “You’ll want jeans and long sleeves for a while,” he said, handing her one of the coffees. “Two creams, no sugar, right?”

  “Perfect.” He’d noticed how she liked her coffee. The idea warmed her as much as the cup in her palm. She backed up, letting him in. “I was up earlier, but I drifted back to sleep.” Imagining you as a dangerous highwayman. “Do I have time to shower?” She sipped the coffee, though she hardly needed caffeine. One look at the man had adrenaline pounding through her veins.

  “Not if we want the best light. I have a spot in mind for sunrise.” Early morning and dusk were best for outdoor shots, she knew. Full sun offered harsh shadows.

  “Let me brush my teeth and pull on pants.”

  She rushed through basic hygiene, slipped 501s over her shorts, a chambray shirt over her tank, and yanked on socks and hiking boots. She’d packed her camera gear the night before at least.

  In the dim living room, she found Rick studying the portrait of her parents on the mantel over her small fireplace.

  “You take this?” He turned to her.

  “Yes. And they weren’t happy about it, either.”

  “They look a little—”

  “Stiff? Disapproving? And that’s on a good day.” She shook her head, then caught his questioning look. “Let’s just say their opinion about the proper way to live is carved in stone.”

  “So they wouldn’t like you splashing around, making waves?”

  “Not really, no.” They wouldn’t like her studio and they wouldn’t like her plan to sleep with more than one man, either. Or any man, for that matter, without a ring on her finger.

  “You look nice, by the way,” Rick said. “Should have my camera. First rule of outdoor photography—always be ready. Good subjects don’t hold still.”

  “I’m a mess,” she said, pushing back her tangled curls.

  “You look great. Soft and warm and fresh from bed.” His eyes held longing. “That your bag?” He nodded at her canvas satchel.

  “That’s it.”

  He leaned forward to grab it, then went to hold the door for her.

  He held the Jeep door, too, and waited for her to get comfortable before he closed it. Such a gentleman. The truck was clean and orderly and smelled of him. She was still inhaling greedily when he climbed in beside her.

  He smiled—had he caught her?—but didn’t say anything, just put his coffee in the holder and started the car.

  “Will we be using four-wheel drive?” she said, taking a sip of the rich blend, hoping there wouldn’t be a lot of hiking involved.

  “No. I thought about taking my other car—it’s more fun to drive—but I just painted it and don’t want scrapes.”

  “What kind of car is it?”

  “A 1969 Firebird 400.” He sighed with pleasure.

  “Oooh. Muscle car. Runs on testosterone and rocket fuel, right? What color? Let me guess. Black or red.”

  “Red.” He smiled. “Same model I rebuilt in high school.”

  He’d been wild in high school, she remembered. “So, you’re reliving your youth?”

  “No guy grows out of his first love.” Rick grinned that self-mocking smile she liked so much.

  “What kind of hell did you raise in high school, anyway?” she asked. Might as well launch her plan to make Rick more ordinary by getting to know him better.

  “Nothing too terrible,” he said. “Drinking…drag racing…minor vandalism. Borrowed a car once and got arrested, but that was a misunderstanding—my buddy’s stepdad hadn’t actually okayed the use of his Corvette.”

  “An easy mistake to make, I’m sure. What man would object to a joyride in his expensive sports car?”

  “You see our problem.” He nodded, his grin spreading.

  “Anything else?”

  “We built a bomb and set it off in the desert. That was a close one. It didn’t go off right away, so I volunteered to check. Luckily it blew before I got close enough to lose anything vital.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested for that.”

  “Yeah. That was before the Corvette incident. I stayed clear of illegal stunts after that one. Couldn’t stand making my mom cry.”

  That was sweet. She pondered what Rick must have been like as a bad boy. Sexy as hell, no doubt. He probably had girls falling all over him. She remembered what he’d said about living down his brother. “Did you resent your brother? For being perfect?”

  He shot her a look. “Why would I? I loved him.” She wasn’t surprised. Of course he’d been jealous as a kid—who wouldn’t be—but he’d pushed past it. She’d sensed a rock-solid loyalty in Rick. When he swore to love, honor and obey the woman he married, he’d mean every word of that vow.

  This was no way to make him less attractive. She had to look for warts and flaws and bad habits. He probably had tons.

  “I packed us lunch, too,” he said. “Hope you like whole-grain bread and I got a nice merlot.”

  Lord. Not only had he planned lunch, he’d planned a quality lunch. “Love it. So, after you got arrested, you straightened up?”

  “That was later. After my big brother died.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry, Rick. What happened?”

  “He got shot by a drug dealer. A client. Brian was a defense attorney.”

  “How terrible. And your parents must have been—”

  “Wrecked. Yeah. It’s been five years and they’re just now coming around. I keep them busy, take them out. Anyway, we’re about to take some great pictures.” He rolled a shoulder, clearly wanting to change the subject.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she said.

  “Sedona is unique because there are three different life zones within twenty minutes of each other—desert to woodland.”

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “Now if we were serious, we’d set up a blind and camp out so we could catch some nocturnal action.” He shot her a look, checking her reaction.

  “Camping’s not my thing.” She shuddered. There was a wart. He was a camper. “My idea of camping is when the Hyatt only has basic cable.”

  “Come on. You’d love it. Well, maybe not love it. But you’d find it worthwhile. Overnight outdoors really lets you fit into the setting.” He told her about the time he’d spent three days in a creek-side blind just to catch a shot of ringtail cats, about the great blue heron who’d allowed him within a few feet after many cramped, mucky hours, and the prairie falcon, rare in the Arizona desert, he’d surprised from atop a saguaro.

  She was surprised how chatty he was. She barely had to ask a question before a new story rushed out. Of course, these were photography stories, not personal stories, but he seemed so relaxed and comfortable with her it made her grin.

  Meanwhile, her attraction hummed along, steady as the Jeep’s engine propelling them toward the red Sedona hills.

  As dawn lit the sky, Rick pulled off at a lookout point and they took pictures of the lacy tangle of mesquite, rim-lit saguaro sentinels and high breaks of wispy cottonwoods that decorated the Verde Valley.

  Rick let her try his 500 mm lens. She was stunned to pick out a Harris’s hawk soaring over the ridgeline, the image crisp enough she could detect the white underfur on the rodent in its claws.

  “That was amazing,” she said. She turned abruptly toward him, surprising him, and she got the impression he’d been breathing her in. That made her smile. He l
iked how she smelled, too.

  They climbed back into the Jeep and, after a few more miles, Rick turned onto a narrow dirt road.

  “Are we close?” she asked.

  “Getting there.”

  This wasn’t so bad, even with the early hour. They’d had a nice companionable drive. Now they would walk a short distance, take some shots, eat lunch and head home. She was an indoor girl all the way—in her recreation as well as her photography.

  The winding dirt road dwindled to nothing and Rick parked.

  “We’re there?” she asked hopefully.

  “Now we hike.” He lifted a backpack from behind his seat.

  “How far?” She swallowed.

  “Not too far.” He fished sunscreen from a pocket, opened the lid and squirted some onto her palm. “Don’t skimp and rub it in thoroughly.”

  Two hours later, sweaty and miserable, Samantha took a gulp of the water bottle Rick thrust at her. “Are we even close?” she asked. So much for the quick jaunt to a shady spot she’d envisioned. Where the hell was Rick’s precious meadow?

  “Soon,” Rick said. Again. He put a hand to her back in support. “Where’s the intrepid lady who wants to splash around in life?”

  “That’s figuratively splashing around, pal,” she said and decided to buck up. Ignoring the blisters, the blackberry-thorn scrapes, the mosquito bites and the sting from her brush with a prickly pear, she pushed away from Rick’s support and marched faster, her mud-caked boots squishing with each step. Running from a bumblebee the size of a VW, she’d slipped off the creek rocks and gotten wet to her knees.

  At least they’d gotten some good shots. Rick had spotted a small flock of wild turkeys and had insisted they wait silently in the itchy grass until the birds had gotten close enough for a full-frame shot of a tom, feathers spread in pride.

  The secret to wildlife shots was patience. She’d heard that before, of course, but watching Rick work, she realized how true it was and how absolutely great Rick was at waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

  That was not her style. She preferred to manage a photograph, arrange everything to happen her way on her time line, control every aspect of the light and shadow and angle and movement.

  At least she didn’t need patience to get some great shots of the red cliffs rising around them or the variegated water of Oak Creek. But now she was tired and hot and hungry and Rick kept on like a buff and brawny Energizer Bunny with a backpack instead of a drum.

  She shaded her eyes and watched him mount yet one more hill. God, he made it seem easy, moving with effortless grace. Her little digital felt like an anvil after all this walking. From the top, he leaned down to offer her a boost.

  “Maybe you should just leave me here to die.”

  “Come on. It’s worth it. Trust me.”

  “Okay.” She grabbed a tree root and yanked herself up, her calves burning, her lungs screaming. Three more painful steps and she reached the top.

  She looked down and caught her breath. Spread out before her was a clearing surrounded by ghostly white aspens, the ground covered with dusky grass. Red cliffs climbed straight up on either side of the creek that gurgled, blue-green with depth, to the left. The scene was so rich with color and calm and beauty, she could hardly take it all in. “It’s gorgeous,” she finally said.

  Rick was looking at her as if this place were a gift he’d been dying to give her. “Worth muddy boots and a few scrapes?”

  “Even mosquito bites and cactus rash.”

  He smiled, then went still, pointing at something behind her. “Check it out.”

  She turned and had to stare for a while until she realized there were two coyotes on the far side of the creek. This wasn’t the first time Rick had spotted an animal she’d had trouble distinguishing from the busy blur of rocks and trees. He had a great outdoor eye. “Oh,” she whispered.

  Soundlessly, Rick lifted out the camera with the 500 mm lens and handed it to her. Through the big lens, she could see the streaks of brown and yellow in the gray fur, which was as wispy as feathers around the coyotes’ muzzles and their eyes were bright with intelligence.

  She held her breath, focused, altered the f-stop to blur the background, shifted her angle a little for a better composition. If she moved a few feet closer, she’d like the shot more. She started to move.

  “Take it now. They’re off,” Rick whispered, his other camera to his eye. He fired off several shots.

  Sure enough, before she’d adjusted focus, the coyotes were gone. “Damn.”

  “You’ll get the next ones,” he said. Always be ready, he’d instructed her. Another secret to wildlife shots. “Let’s go down.”

  They trekked down to the meadow and she contented herself with some still-life shots—more her speed—catching a lovely glow on some season-worn blackberries.

  “Hey,” Rick whispered, pointing up at the cliff. A long-legged bird poised on a narrow ledge above them. “Gray heron,” he whispered, catching it on the wing like he’d read the impulse to fly in its brain. She knew it wasn’t coincidence that he was getting far more animal shots than she was. His skill was obvious in everything he did. He could switch cameras and lenses in seconds flat and used minimum equipment to save weight. He’d brought just two—one with the big telephoto and a monopod he’d retooled himself—and only a couple of filters. He used molding putty so they could be attached to both cameras. And no Velcro anywhere to maintain silence.

  Rick motioned her to the creek bank, where he set his camera low on the monopod and got on his belly. She joined him, aching, mucky and miserable, but trying for as much cheer as she could manage. Meanwhile, Rick practically glowed.

  “How come you look so good?” she said. “Your shirtsleeves are still creased.”

  “It’s a gift, babe. What can I say?” She loved his grin. She snapped a photo of him. He was in his element. She was lost.

  She took more photos, snapping a shot of water streaming over silver-flecked granite while tiny black minnows formed an attentive semicircle below, waiting for dinner or maybe a show?

  Something buzzed near her head, then banged the edge of her ear. She tried to wave it away, but it went straight into her ear, tickling and buzzing away. “Ooh, ow, ouch!” She rose to her knees, bent her head to the side and banged her ear, trying to knock the thing out of there.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A bug! There’s a big bug…help!”

  “Let me see.” Rick grabbed her head, peered into her ear, flicked something and the buzzing ceased.

  “What was it? It sounded huge.”

  He held up his index finger. A tiny beetle took off. “Your ear amplified the sound.” He was clearly trying not to grin.

  “It could have laid eggs. I could have bugs eating a path to my brain in a few hours.”

  “Only on the sci-fi channel.” He wiped her cheek free of dust or mud or algae, his fingers gentle on her skin. Then he took a step backward and aimed his camera at her.

  “What? You’re making a poster for survivalists?”

  “You look great.” He snapped a photo. “Like you belong out here.” He held her gaze for a long moment.

  “You’re just trying to cheer me up. Look at you. You don’t even have any mud on your boots.”

  “That’s an old trick. Don’t run from bees.”

  “They weren’t chasing you.” She slugged his firm shoulder.

  “That’s right. It’s your own fault for smelling so sweet.” He smiled so warmly her heart lifted. “So, are you hungry? Shall we eat?”

  “Sounds great,” she said.

  In a shady spot, they unrolled the thin blanket Rick had carried in his pack, removed their boots and socks and Samantha peeled off her jeans and long-sleeved shirt.

  She caught Rick watching her, rapt. He flushed, then turned to his backpack, where he lifted out the food.

  They were soon eating sandwiches of smoked ham, goat cheese, spicy mustard and baby spinach on multigrain
bread, munching blue-corn chips and drinking a lusty merlot.

  Being outdoors made everything taste remarkable. She relished every delicious bite of moist sandwich and crisp chip and loved the rich wine.

  She finished her sandwich and watched Rick ball up the discarded plastic and paper and pack everything away, glancing at her, adding to her wine. He seemed so easygoing, his usual tension completely gone, as if he had nothing to hide anymore. She liked him even more, dammit.

  “You seem so different out here,” she said. “More open. You laugh more.” His grin was so broad it was almost childlike.

  “It’s not just being out here,” he said, hesitating before he finished. “It’s being here with you.”

  “Rick…” She was so touched she didn’t know what to say.

  “I wanted you to see all this.” He waved out at the distant creek and the high red rocks. “I knew you’d like it, too.”

  This trip to outdoor hell was suddenly worth every miserable minute. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Why don’t you lie down?” he said, patting her camera bag, as if it were a pillow. He snugged his own against it and lay down himself.

  Happily hazy from the wine, she joined him. Ignoring the lump of the lens under her skull, the rocks digging into her back through the blanket, she noticed instead the way the sunlight came through the aspen leaves, how the breeze lifted her hair from her forehead, cooling the sweat on her face and how close Rick lay beside her. Their arms almost touched and their chests rose and fell in time. The intimacy was as cozy and warm as a hot bath.

  “So what do you think of outdoor photography?” he asked, turning his face toward her on its canvas pillow.

  She turned to him, too, liking his warm breath on her face. “It’s different than studio work. Quieter. Messier. In some ways faster, in others slower. You could wait all day and never get a decent shot.”

  “Timing is everything. True.”

  “Or you could sleep in and miss it altogether.”

  “But when you get that shot it’s worth it all.” He gave a sleepy smile of pure pleasure. He’d shown himself to be infinitely patient when he showed her what to do. She imagined he’d put up with a lot from the woman he loved. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt, lavish all the attention she could stand. Lucky woman.