Caught on Camera

by Law, Kim

  He glanced over at her, and his lips curled up in that sexy way that always flatlined, then just as quickly kick-started her heart. “You suck at small talk, babe. And yeah, I’ve been here since we bought the building. Five years.”

  She nodded, unsure what else to say to fill the void.

  “And I’ve never brought another woman up here,” he said, his words spoken quietly as he faced the front of the elevator. “Only my mom and sister.”

  Wow. Her heart thudded. She hadn’t expected to hear that.

  The elevator finally pinged, and the panels slid silently into the deep pockets on either side of the doors.

  Before either of them moved, she asked softly, “Aren’t you worried I’ll leak the information, JP? About the boy. All it would take is one tweet, and the world would know within minutes.”

  Of course, she would never do that.

  He eyed her silently, and she was unable to read anything from him at all. He held the door with one hand and her lighting equipment in the other and nodded for her to step out in front of him. But he didn’t answer her question. She inhaled as she passed him and got a warm thrill down to her toes for her efforts.

  Stepping into the foyer, she scanned the area. Everything on this floor was as immaculately decorated as what she’d seen of the rest of the building. Stone sculpture in the center of the space, expensive art decorating the walls, and a comfortable, welcoming beige with occasional splashes of deep red covering the remainder of the space.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured, almost to herself. Though it didn’t say much about him other than that he maintained the same image up here as he did everywhere else.

  Everywhere except in the Caribbean under a poor excuse for a disguise.

  And in the front of a roomful of students looking for someone to give them a reason to believe in themselves.

  And in his car.

  He’d looked her in the eyes, as honest as she’d ever seen him, and said the kid wasn’t his. And she was one hundred percent certain he’d been telling the truth.

  He opened the door, and her heart stopped beating, then a smile spontaneously bloomed on her face as she discovered that the man she’d gotten to know so well this past weekend actually lived here.

  “JP,” she breathed, then set her camera down on the table inside of the door and moved into the room. “This is so not what I expected.”

  The room opened to an enormous living room edged in windows overlooking the city, but it was the feel of the space that tugged so hard on her heart. It was as classy and well decorated as anyone would expect of a Davenport, but the formality was gone. The public persona was nowhere to be found.

  There were throw pillows skewed to one side of the overstuffed leather sofa, an imprint on the cushion indicating he spent many nights stretched out in that very spot. A remote rested on the arm of the couch, and a half glass of water sat on an expensive, but not designer, end table. The overall feel was comfort. Not the stilted perfection he typically wore so tightly around him.

  The best thing in the whole space was the grand piano sitting on a platform by the balcony doors, with a well-worn seat shoved up under the edge of the keys. The whole area reminded her of the piano sitting in the living space of that old Kelsey Grammar sitcom, and though JP’s furnishings were much nicer, the rest of the room reminded her of the father’s comfy recliner from that show. Worn in and comfortable. Livable.

  He followed her to the middle of the room and touched a hand to the spot between her shoulder blades. His fingers lingered there. “I take it you like it?”

  She smiled over at him, unable to keep from it, and finally felt like she had him a little bit figured out. This was the real man. Not the stiff suits and hard-as-nails attitude. Underneath all of that, he was real. And she probably would have been better off not knowing that.

  Though this side of him would be fantastic for the show, she couldn’t as easily hold herself apart from this version. This was who had been with her in the Caribbean. This was who she loved.

  “Let me show you the rest.” He held out a hand, his gaze daring her to take it, and she laughed out loud at the relaxed man before her.

  She was powerless to resist him.

  “Okay.” She slid her palm across his. “But I’m not forgetting that we have a conversation to finish.”

  He held her hand tight and pulled her in to him. “I’m not either. I promise to explain everything before you leave tonight, but let me show you my home before we have to get back to reality.”

  The way he said that was odd, as if his home wasn’t his reality. Then as he took her from room to room, showing her little pieces of himself, she began to realize it wasn’t his reality. Not one he ever presented to the world, anyway.

  They stopped at the threshold of his bedroom, and she stared in at the largest bed she’d ever seen. The enormous king-sized bed was framed with a thick, heavy headboard on one end, an antique chest on the other, and looked out over a view of the city that rivaled the one in the living room.

  “Wow.” She could totally imagine making love to JP under the rumpled navy spread, with the city lights twinkling down on them.

  Or out on the connected balcony with the breeze licking the sweat from their bodies.

  “Glad you approve.” His deep voice said he’d like to show her more if she’d allow him. “Feel free to look around.”

  She turned loose of JP and entered the room, wanting to explore the man’s most private quarters, all while knowing she really didn’t need to know this much about him. The shelves in the corner held pictures of Cat and the kids, along with black and whites of what were most likely their grandparents. There was also a formal portrait of his mother and father from their earlier days.

  She scanned the shelves and took in the books shoved in tight to fill every empty hole. There were tomes on business, management, dealing with people, and… She cocked her head to get a better look and read the titles of the others. Psychology. Most of them relating to self-confidence or self-esteem in some way. She pivoted to where he remained standing in the doorway and narrowed her gaze on him. His eyes burned steadily back at her, but he didn’t utter a sound.

  Fine. He didn’t want to explain. No problem.

  But she couldn’t help wondering if these were used in learning to work with the kids at the school, or if the man who projected such a powerful image to all who met him had once had issues of his own. Because no way did he have problems now. She’d never met a more self-assured man.

  Since he clearly had no plans to answer her silent questions, she moved on around the room, circling it as an animal would its prey, but knowing all the while what she wanted to explore most was the chest at the foot of his bed. It was a style she could imagine the rich once used as they boarded ships like the Titanic to make long, cross-Atlantic journeys.

  She wanted to know what he valued so dear he kept tucked away within arm’s reach.

  Stopping beside the chest, she had her hand on the clasp before better sense prevailed, reminding her she shouldn’t be so rude. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder and asked with a look. He nodded his consent.

  * * *

  JP watched from the doorway as Vega lifted the lid to his grandmother’s chest. His great-grandmother had passed it to her daughter when she’d been a teenager. She’d then given it to him the year before she’d died.

  He loved it. It was the first thing he’d moved into his penthouse.

  The lid creaked from lack of use, but it opened as smoothly as he knew it would, and Vega straightened to stare down into the cavity. He didn’t want to close the space between them and risk touching her in his bedroom, but he needed to look at the contents, same as she.

  “Go ahead,” he spoke in her ear, and she jumped as if unaware he’d moved to her side. A stack of blankets his grandmother had made filled up most of the chest, but tucked into the left corner was a metal tackle box, in pristine condition, that he’d gotten from his fathe
r on a long-ago fishing trip. He nudged his chin toward the box. “Take it out if you want.”

  Brown eyes blinked up at him. “It looks personal.”

  He nodded. “It is.”

  Worried eyes peered down into the space. “Are you sure you want me to see?”

  The silence lingered between them as he contemplated her question. Yes, he wanted her to see. Showing Vega his past was the only way he could think to prove he wanted forever with her. But he was equally afraid that what she found would lead her to find him lacking.

  He took a deep breath and surged forward. “To answer your question back in the elevator, no, I’m not worried about you tweeting my personal business.” His hand reached for her and stroked a finger along the inside of her arm. “Because I trust you not to leak it.”

  Her eyes widened, and her teeth edged out to sink into her bottom lip. He was letting her know his life was in her hands, and he could tell that she got it. If she picked up the box, she would be acknowledging she wanted that, as well. He held his breath and waited.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and continued staring down.

  “What is it?” she asked. “It looks similar to the tackle box my dad used for fishing.”

  “My father purchased it for me the time we went fishing.” He pursed his lips. “It was more of a photo op than a fishing trip, though.”

  “Oh.” Her hand rubbed back and forth over her upper arm. “So there’s tackle inside?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?” She grinned over at him. “Love letters from your youth? Panties from the first girl you slept with?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Not quite. In fact, I haven’t put anything in there since I was ten, so I guarantee there are no panties to be found.”

  Her smile waned as she continued staring down at the box. Suddenly, she shook her head and took a quick step back from the chest as if she’d just figured out what she was about to do. She glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

  “What time is everyone getting here? I need to get shots of you throughout the apartment and get set up to do their interviews. And I need to—”

  “It’s okay.” He held up his hand to stop her panicked ramble. Now wasn’t the best time to get into his past anyway. But they would get into it tonight. “We can do this later. Plus, I need to start dinner.”

  She blinked at him. “Dinner? You’re cooking?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured you’d have something brought in. Or maybe hire a chef for the evening.”

  “Nope.” He turned from her to go, then glanced back, noticing that she seemed more like the fragile woman he’d first met than the strong woman he was coming to know very well, and wondered if he’d somehow put that cautious look back in her eye. He hoped not. He reached out and pulled her after him. “Let’s go. I actually love to cook, and I’m very good at it.”

  They wandered back through the house, her hand in his, and he couldn’t help but smile at the crazy turn his life had taken. He was about to commit to politics, something he’d dreaded his entire life, but at the same time he planned to have the woman of his dreams by his side. Something he’d almost given up the idea of finding.

  He stopped beside the piano and gazed down at her, unable to keep from tugging her closer. With mere inches separating them, he lowered his voice so she’d lean even closer, and said, “I hope you’re ready for this evening, babe. I’m going to do my best to show you exactly who I really am.”

  Her throat rippled with a gulp. She nodded, but her words didn’t match her actions. “Honestly, I’m not sure I am.”

  Then he would do whatever he could to change her mind. He closed the space and touched his lips to her luscious mouth but pulled away long before he wanted to stop. His pulse raced, and when her eyes darkened, he knew that she wanted more as well.

  They had a lot to learn about each other tonight, and he was determined to make it happen. He had to. He intended to have her by his side from the press conference forward, and he had only two days to get her there.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Vega finished arranging the seating so she could conduct individual interviews with the family, then went in search of JP himself. He’d changed back into a suit, then had been in the kitchen since they’d parted, whipping up something that smelled incredible.

  She lugged her camera with her, needing to capture him in his element, but rolled her eyes at the thought that the kitchen was his element. Of course, why should he be anything less than perfect at every aspect of his life?

  Speaking of perfect. She didn’t know why she’d gotten such a feeling, but for some reason, she was completely certain the box in his room proved that he wasn’t perfect. It hid something he didn’t show the world.

  Yet he had wanted to show it to her.

  Her chest had filled with a mix of love, tenderness, and outright fear. Because if she looked in that box, she would get a piece of him he’d never shared with anyone. And she was pretty sure it was the piece she wouldn’t be able to turn away from. It was the piece that would open her heart. She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

  So she’d changed the subject and would continue doing so until she came up with something better to do. Right now, the plan was to watch the hottest man she’d ever seen stand at a stove and cook for his family. Not the picture she would have imagined a week ago, but now she understood how perfectly it fit him.

  She entered the kitchen with her camera on her shoulder and smiled at the sight. JP—tall, dark, and six-plus feet of awesomeness—stood at the stove with a “Kiss the Cook” apron tied around his neck and the top of his designer slacks. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his suit jacket and tie nowhere to be found, and the man was softly humming under his breath.

  She zoomed in as he lifted a spoon from one of the pans to his mouth then sprinkled a couple spices into the mix. “You cooked dinner that first night, too, didn’t you?”

  Twinkling eyes turned in her direction, and a half-smile brightened his face. Her heart thumped. She loved that look. The viewers would, too.

  “Of course I cooked for you. Why would I invite you for dinner and do anything else?” He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Who did you think cooked?”

  “I don’t know.” She hated to admit she’d at first assumed he’d hired a chef. “Cat?”

  He laughed, his head thrown back and his white teeth gleaming, and she struggled to remember she needed to pull back from what they had. “Cat and the kids would never get home-cooked meals if it weren’t for me. Her husband was the cook of the house.”

  “So, cooking for your family is a common occurrence? That’s pretty cool. I wouldn’t have expected it from someone like you.”

  “Why not?” He turned back to the pans. “Because I’m a man?”

  She stepped farther into the room, watching him through the eyepiece all the while. “Because you’re a Davenport.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t look her way. “You think we don’t cook?”

  “I think you don’t need to cook.” She zoomed in until only his face filled the screen and fell a little more in love. She pulled the view back out. “Doesn’t your family employ a chef? Why isn’t he cooking tonight?”

  JP tasted the sauce one more time, then flipped the burner to low and faced her full-on. His strong jaw and wide frame made her think about what he looked like naked. He held his arms out to his sides. “This is me. I cook.” He winked. “And I cook damn well.”

  Man, this was good stuff. He could certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to. “I can vouch for that. You definitely know how to make a mean steak.” It was a good thing her words would be edited out. “Care to share who taught you?”

  He chuckled. “What makes you think I didn’t teach myself?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess that could be the case. Is that what happened? You got tired of eating out all alone because poor you, you never have da
tes, so you taught yourself to cook?”

  A wry smile curved his mouth, and she almost begged him to kiss her then and there.

  “Not exactly.” Without warning, he moved in her direction with a spoon held out to her. “Taste this.”

  She shifted the camera to the side and let him feed her. Their eyes connected as she closed her lips over the spoon, but she quickly forgot the look in his eyes when her taste buds picked up on the delight now in her mouth. “Mmm…” The moan slipped out on its own. She swallowed and gaped up at him. “That’s amazing.”

  He used his thumb to wipe the corner of her lips then licked the spot off his thumb. “I know. Even better than the steak, right?”

  “Amazingly, yes.” She marveled at the fact he had such hidden talents. “Seriously, where did you learn this?”

  He shrugged. “I hired Wolfgang to teach me.”

  “You went to classes with Wolfgang Puck, and no one spilled the news on that? You’re better at keeping the press out than I thought.”

  “Not quite.” He went back to the stove and scooped up a taste of the first sauce. “This one is a traditional Italian, but with a secret ingredient or two.”

  She tasted it and almost begged him to marry her right then and there. This was a way of life she could get used to. She licked her lips before he got the thought to use his fingers again. “What do you mean, not quite?”

  “I hired him to personally come to my home and teach me. Six months, one night a week, and I can now cook most anything as well as anyone in the city.”

  “Probably in the world.” She edged closer to the stove and motioned to the first sauce she’d tasted, indicating she wanted more. “Seriously, this is amazing. If you weren’t already capable of getting any woman you wanted, this would be all it would take.”

  He slipped another bite into her mouth. “Is it working for you?”

  Tension thickened the air, and she realized she now stood chest-to-chest with him, and she didn’t want to move away. Yes, it was working. If she didn’t have so many faults against her, she’d throw caution to the wind and say a silent prayer that he could somehow fall in love with her too, and that they could live happily ever after.