Bared

8

RAFE AND STONE SAT in Rafe’s backyard, at the patio table, looking at the proofs they’d spread out in front of them. January through April.

January and February with Amber were good, taken before she’d gone off to who-knows-where with who-knows-whom. They would fit into the calendar as planned.

Then there was March. Emma in Kauai in that sheer white number, her lush body surrounded by lush forest in a way that would make a grown man drool.

Rafe sure as hell was drooling.

Then there was April, and the desert shots. In that so-called hiking outfit she’d defined the word sexy. He looked at the very last shot he’d taken that day, where there’d been just a hint of a come-hither smile. He’d caught her just before she’d opened her mouth to nab a snowflake on her tongue.

Her innocent senusualness had driven him to dream about her all week. It was hard to concentrate on getting his new life in order, including finding some nice women to date, when all he could think of was Emma.

Not that she wasn’t nice, but she was not what he was looking for. First of all, she was in the business. The Hollywood business.

He knew it was wrong of him to judge her on that alone, but the fact remained that he knew what it did to a person. And he wanted out.

Then there were her little workaholic tendencies. Admirable that she worked so hard, but damn it, he’d worked hard for so many years. Now that he planned on cutting back, he wanted a woman he could actually see on a regular basis. Wanted someone who could and would give her all to both her job and a relationship.

Thinking that he might be judging her unfairly, he’d actually tried to contact her to talk. She hadn’t been available and hadn’t returned his call.

Not exactly a good sign.

“What do you think?” Stone asked.

“Not bad.”

Stone laughed softly. “Not bad, my ass. Those shots in Kauai, and especially those in the desert-they’re the best ones I’ve seen you do, and I’ve seen you do plenty.”

“The ones of Amber aren’t bad, either.”

“Nope, but Emma is better.” Stone grinned. “You don’t think Amber would be pissed to see these side by side? She’s going to know, too, though don’t count on her admitting it.”

Amber would know; she had an eye for such things.

“Are we set for the next shot?” Stone asked. “Local, right?”

“Poolside.” Rafe looked around him. “Right here, as a matter of fact.”

Stone nodded. “I could use a week off from traveling.”

So could Rafe. The cat that had been asleep in his lap lifted its head and looked around sleepily. Her brown-gray fur stuck up in spots and was missing in others. “Meow.”

Stone’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe you kept that mangy thing.”

“She kept me.” Rafe looked down at the cat.

The cat stared back at Rafe, then jumped down and padded over to a set of two bowls by the steps leading inside. One had water, the other was empty. She looked back at him balefully.

“I just fed you, Puddles.”

“Puddles?” Stone repeated.

Stone shrugged. “She’s the color of one.”

“A mud puddle, maybe.”

The cat batted at the empty bowl.

Rafe sighed and looked at Stone. “She’s a bottomless pit, I swear.”

Stone grimaced. “She needs a bath.”

“She’s not exactly fond of water.”

“She’s not exactly the cute little puppy you’d planned on, either,” Stone noted.

He grinned helplessly. “I keep showing her the door and she keeps refusing to get out.”

“It’s a cat,” Stone said. “You put your foot to its butt and push.”

He’d thought about it, especially that first night when she’d demanded to go out at three in the morning. He’d just fallen asleep when she’d started in again, from the outside this time, wanting back in. They’d had a little discussion that night, and ever since, she’d been more considerate about her hours.

And he couldn’t resist opening his door to her when she asked to come in.

Stone tapped his fingers on the pictures. “Forget the cat. These are good. Damn good. We’re well on our way to a great project. I think we can finish the entire fantasy calendar in the scheduled time.”

“Depends on the model situation.”

“You mean, if Amber comes back and pulls her usual shit on us?” Stone shook his head. “Maybe you’ll get smart and keep the right woman working for us.”

Rafe laughed mirthlessly. “The right woman?”

“Okay, maybe not necessarily the right one, but definitely the easy one. Emma.” Stone skimmed his gaze over the pictures again and let out a low whistle. “Man, she is something. You are going to go for it, right?”

“Why?”

Stone cocked a brow. “Because if you don’t…maybe I will.”

Rafe tried to decide why that bugged him so much. “Why?”

Stone laughed. “Because she’s nice on the eyes. Because she can hold a conversation and doesn’t appear to be chemically dependent. Do you have any idea how rare that combination is in our business?”

Yes, damn it. He did. He tried to shrug it off, say to Stone, What the hell, do whatever you want. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You going to tell me to back off or not?” Stone asked.

“Not.” But he ground his back teeth together at the look of glee on Stone’s face. “Okay, wait. Back off.”

“You hate models. You hate seeing people within the business. You hate-”

“She’s not a model. And she’s only sort of in the business.”

“She’s a writer, for God’s sake. That’s even worse, Rafe. They work all night, they talk to themselves and they’re all a little nuts.”

“Then, you won’t mind leaving her the hell alone,” Rafe said, refusing to acknowledge Stone’s laugh. He stared at the damn cat, who’d hopped off his lap and was busy sniffing around the wildflowers on the outskirts of his lawn. He tried to focus on the mangy thing, but all he could see was Stone’s annoying grin. “What is so damn funny?”

“You like her.”

“What is this, high school?”

“You really like her.”

“We need to pick one of those pics for April.”

“Admit it,” Stone said.

“Stone?”

He was still grinning. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

JUST AS KAUAI HAD, Joshua Tree threw Emma off.

Normally, her life was a series of routines. Up at six, she would shower, grab a bagel and either head into the studio for meetings or sit at home and write.

And write. Stopping only for scheduled breaks to feed herself and tend to business.

Lately, though, she’d been doing this with one eye on the page count, forcing herself to finish just one more page before she could get up and check e-mail. Just one more page before she could check the weather channel for the heck of it.

Apparently, she’d become afflicted with a serious attention deficit disorder. Because of her newfound tendency to leap on any diversion, all phones were pointedly ignored until lunchtime when, over a cup of noodle soup, she’d return the necessary calls.

And ignore any others, such as those from her mother.

After lunch, she had to exert tremendous discipline to sit and write, not getting up until it was time for dinner-whatever frozen dinner she had in her freezer-and watching E!, That’s Hollywood or some other gossipy celebrity show to which she had a secret addiction.

Before her stint as a model, she would usually write some more after dinner, until her eyes closed right there in her chair, and exhausted, she’d drop into bed. Now, more often than not, Emma simply stared at the blinking cursor, her thoughts shifting from plot problems in her script to how incredibly sexy she had felt posing for Rafe, knowing that he had watched her. Not Amber, but her. Funny how for most of the day she could keep the erotic thoughts at bay-or at the very least channel them into some steamy dialogue and even steamier actions for her characters.

But when night came, she only saw Rafe, intense and demanding, staring at her, wearing next to nothing, through the lens of his camera.

Emma wondered what her mother would think of the fact that she’d impersonated Amber on a photo shoot in less clothing than one might see in a Playboy ad…

And that Emma had liked it…

And was secretly hoping to do it again…

Would her mother still prefer Emma over Amber? Or would she think Emma had forsaken her brains for beauty and give up on her, too? For the first time she could remember, Emma didn’t care what her mother thought. She just wanted to feel that sexy, that sensual, again. She wanted Rafe’s hot gaze traveling all over her…

Lord, it was official, she’d lost her mind. She’d gone off her routine; she’d gone off the deep end.

She wanted to pose again. More than she wanted to work.

Which was why she hadn’t called Rafe back. She’d be crazy to do it again. Crazy.

So when the phone rang and her caller ID said “R. Delacantro,” her heart nearly stopped. But her finger hit the on button before she could prevent herself. “Hello,” she said, trying to sound normal when her heart was now beating so loudly, he surely could hear it.

He paused. “Emma.”

“Yes.”

He let out a breath. “Thought so.”

Only her mother had ever been able to tell them apart on the telephone. That had led to some interesting escapades when they were children, and even more when they’d been teens. Girlfriends, boyfriends, teachers…they’d fooled everyone.

“Were you trying to reach Amber?”

“Yes,” he said.

Oh. That deflated her a bit. “She’s-”

“No, wait.” He blew out a breath. “Hell. I called a few days ago.”

“I…know. To talk to Amber?”

“I’ve learned to personally call her before a job,” he said. “To make sure she’s going to be there on time. It’s poolside, you got the memo?”

So he hadn’t called for her. “Yes.”

“I have no idea which of you is coming tomorrow…”

“Amber promised to be there.”

“Ah.”

The tension that was always between them, the tension she knew was purely sexual-at least on her part-shimmered so thickly she could hardly breathe. She waited for him to say something, anything.

Why don’t you come instead, Emma would be nice.

Or It’d be nice to see you again.

But he didn’t say either.

And she didn’t say anything.

And after she’d hung up, she stared blindly at her computer for several moments.

Then she picked up the phone and called Amber. While it rang, she practiced her speech.

You’ve got to come back.

I’m swamped at work and can’t help you anymore.

Your photographer is doing things to my insides and I can’t take it.

“Hello?” Amber said, sounding just a little breathless, as if she’d run to find the phone.

Or as if she was busy being seduced by Ricardo.

“Amber.” Emma squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember the speech. You’ve got to come back. I’m swamped at work and can’t help you anymore.

Your photographer is doing things to my insides and I can’t take it.

Simple.

“You’ve got a shoot tomorrow,” she heard herself say. “Poolside. Need me to handle it for you?”