Exposed: Laid Bare (2 page)

“I think you’re right,” I agreed, smiling at all the flowery and frilly detail everywhere.

Stepping over to one of the many floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the walls, I let out a sigh of relief.

But when I took in my reflection—seeing only disheveled auburn hair and green eyes with lashes in dire need of a mascara touch-up—I murmured dejectedly, “Damn, I’m glad he didn’t catch up to us. Ugh. Look at me, Veronica, I’m a mess.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” she said.

But, quietly, after a beat, I disagreed and added, “No wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

My cousin stepped over to me and leaned her head against my shoulder. Lovingly, she adjusted the ruby red spaghetti strap of my silk dress. “You look beautiful, as always, Dahl. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Maybe,” I mused, leaning my head to hers. “Too bad no man wants me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

Veronica sighed. “You’re gorgeous, hon, but you are a little too picky for your own good.”

Now, it was my turn to sigh, because, sadly, she was correct. I was mighty choosy. A few dates, a couple of vanilla kisses. That was my experience in the areas of love, lust, and men. And it was all because my standards were pretty much unattainable.

Not that I had any standards defined, not exactly. Still, it was as if there was this little voice in my head urging me to wait.

I was waiting for something…or someone. I just didn’t know which one. In any case, I sure hoped that that something—or someone—happened soon.

Mostly because being a virgin at the age of twenty-six was beginning to feel downright embarrassing.

I
had successfully avoided Lucien at the Christmas party, but he was still on my mind.

Over the next few days, I busied myself with researching him, as per my process. Despite the fact I didn’t like to meet my future subjects, I did enjoy thoroughly researching them. Unfortunately, I was finding it surprisingly difficult to come up with much of anything on the elusive Lucien Chambers. Sure, I had all his basic stats—age, occupation, businesses he owned—but I needed to delve deeper. I wanted to find more info regarding Lucien’s early years. That task, however, was proving to be quite a feat.

Odd.

From the scant articles I was able to dig up I learned Lucien was born to a Spanish mother and an English father. He had no siblings, and his parents still lived in his hometown of London. They were wealthy—very wealthy—people. Business moguls just like Lucien.

And that was it.

Those few basic facts were all I could find on the Chambers family, leading me to conclude Lucien’s parents were just as reclusive and secretive as their son.

After a final attempt at digging, where I wished I was more of a sleuth like Veronica, I managed to stumble across one article that provided me with slightly more detail on Lucien. It seemed at the age of eighteen, the young Mr. Chambers was determined to make it on his own terms. Consequently, he immigrated to the United States, started an import-export business, and ended up making a name for himself rather rapidly.

The rest of that story I knew. Lucien was involved in all sorts of businesses—manufacturing, retail, and his most recent foray into magazine publishing. Lucent magazine, formerly known as Chicago Now!, had been failing miserably until Lucien stepped in. He changed the name and, over the course of a few months, turned the magazine around. It was a glossy must-have these days.

Fascinating
, I thought. It seemed everything Lucien Chambers touched turned to gold.

The other thing I found bizarre was that there were so few photographs of him. Lucien truly seemed to abhor the spotlight, despite the fact he was so incredibly photogenic.

The photos I could find of him—photographs that appeared to be re-circulated and used over and over again—were nothing short of stunning.

So, wow, what a coup it was for me that I was actually going to be photographing Lucien…and in only two days.

The only thing left was to finalize the logistics.

Picking up my cell phone, I called my agent, Shannon. She had secured the gig for me, and she was in charge of the details.

“Dahlia?” she said as she answered on the second ring. “Hold on a sec, dear.”

“Okay,” I replied

She was always putting me on hold, so I was used to it. I heard her mumble something to someone in the background, and then she got back to me.

“I’m glad you called,” she began. “I was actually about to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I heard from Mr. Chamber’s people and have directions to the shoot for you.”

“Great.” I grabbed up a pen and paper. “Okay, I’m ready.”

As I jotted down the road names and turns I’d need to make, I realized I was writing out directions that would lead me to an area north of Chicago. And that made no sense.

“Wait,” I interrupted, dropping the pen. “I’m not familiar with any studios up in that area.”

Having worked in Chicago for quite some time, I knew every photography studio in a hundred mile radius of the town, and this address didn’t ring a single bell.

Shannon cleared her throat. “Uh, Mr. Chambers didn’t like the studio idea.”

“Oh, he didn’t?” I let out an odd little laugh. Nervous or annoyed, I couldn’t be sure.

“No,” Shannon continued. “And he specifically requested
this
location as an alternative.”

“Okay.” I spoke slowly and shrugged as I picked up the pen I’d dropped to the desk. “So, where am I going? Where does Mr. Chambers want the shoot to take place?”

“At his house,” Shannon replied.

T
he day after Christmas, I discovered Lucien Chambers’ house was hardly just a house. It was more like a freaking mansion.

Driving through the gilt-edged gates and up along the long driveway in my little hybrid economy car made me feel small and insignificant. I couldn’t help it, as the driveway looked like a long, black asphalt tongue, and I half-expected it to roll up and spit me back out onto the street, screaming at me the whole way, “You don’t belong here! Get out!”

Obviously, though, that did not happen.

Despite my overactive imagination, I made it without incident to the entrance of Lucien’s Tudor mansion. But before I had the chance to turn off the ignition, a valet appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and strode up to the car.

Where had he come from?

The trim, gray-haired man motioned for me to roll down my window, and I murmured a startled, “Oh,” as I obliged him.

“Welcome, Miss Vaughn,” he said with a tip of his fuzzy charcoal beret.

With the window glass lowered, a bitter breeze blew in.

Ignoring the cold, I replied, “I’m sorry, sir, that I didn’t see you right away. Were you behind those bushes?”

I nodded to a long, bare hedgerow, but he gave me no response. Instead, he smiled kindly.

I blew out a breath, and started to open the car door. Mr. Valet quickly took over, swinging the door wide, and saying, “Do hurry, Miss Vaughn, Mr. Chambers doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I bet,” I murmured under my breath as I gathered up my camera cases. When I got out of the car my body began to shiver.

Noting the setting, low-in-the-sky winter sun, and in an awkward attempt to make conversation, I remarked, “Wow, the days sure are short this time of year, aren’t they?”

The valet nodded. “Yes, miss, indeed they are.” He then slid into the driver’s seat of my car, and continued, “Mr. Chambers is waiting inside for you. He requested that you proceed to the front door and knock once.”

I supposed that was my cue to go, so I gave the valet a small wave, hoisted my camera bags high on my shoulder, and walked away.

The wind roared and the trees creaked as I hurried across the driveway to the wide concrete steps leading up to the mansion. With a sudden, inexplicable chill that came from within, I reached the base of the steps and peered upward.

With trepidation, I started my ascent, and with every step I took it seemed the air grew colder and colder. The winds got in on the act, too, roaring and whistling through the bare trees. By the time I reached the massive, dark wood double doors at the top of the steps, my teeth were chattering.

“Shit, I’m freezing,” I bit out.

Tugging at the lapels of my heavy woolen coat made not a bit of difference, so I resorted to wrapping my arms around myself and bouncing up and down on my toes. The camera bags tapped at my right hip over and over, not unlike a nudging warning to flee.

But something made me stay, some inexplicable feeling.

I had on sexy, high-heeled black boots and a thin wrap dress in a festive holiday green that matched my eyes. The boots were okay, but the silky fabric of the dress was doing nothing to keep the icy air from nipping at my bare skin beneath. I’d foregone undergarments for this visit, which was very unlike me, and that omission was currently contributing to my freezing my ass off.

“What were you thinking?” I asked myself.

But I knew the answer—I wanted to feel sexy. Though, now, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. Perhaps my choice of attire was due to my reaction as I’d continued to research Lucien. Not being able to find much on the man made him mysterious and appealing. Not to mention, his great looks were a heady turn-on, even for a virginal girl like me.

I stared at the heavy iron knockers—roaring lion’s heads on each of the two doors—for what felt like an eternity. I supposed I was mesmerized by their strangeness. In fact, the whole place was kind of strange. Valets appearing out of thin air, plummeting temperatures, howling winds. And now the lion-head door knockers were appearing almost life-like, which was ridiculous since they were made of iron. So why, then, did it feel as if their eyes were watching me, assessing me?

“You are losing it,” I muttered to myself.

And that was the point where I began questioning the wisdom of coming to this house alone. Something felt off. The icy wind that continued to whip around me did nothing to soothe these unsettled feelings. But, for whatever reason, I also felt compelled to stay, to see how this evening with Lucien might play out.

“Be brave,” I whispered for encouragement as I reached for the iron ring attached to the lion-head on the right.

And then, suddenly, when my fingers wrapped around the iron knocker, I felt inexplicably soothed.

“This place is bizarre,” I said out loud as I commenced knocking.

Several minutes passed, and within that time, everything grew quiet. The property was secluded, yes, but even the branches on the acres and acres of surrounding trees seemed to stop creaking. They had been so loud earlier, as had the now-quieted whipping wind.

Maybe I should go…

But just as I was about to turn tail and leave, Lucien Chambers opened the door. “Miss Vaughn.” He had the slightest British accent. “Please do come in.”

He smiled at me, and he looked so amazing, so appealing. I couldn’t even move a muscle at first. I stood there and stared, taking in his casual attire of dark pants and a cream-colored, cashmere sweater, which contrasted beautifully with his coal black hair.

Interestingly, I noticed Lucien had on no shoes or socks. Even so, he seemed not one bit bothered by the cold.

But I spent no time dwelling on those oddities. Instead, I concentrated on Lucien’s wide shoulders, the breadth of his chest, and the appealing way his torso tapered at his waist. His sweater looked so soft against his hard frame, and I longed to reach out and touch him, to feel how the softness of the sweater contrasted with Lucien’s hard-looking chest.

Of course, I refrained from making any such bold move. Even so, when I peered up at Lucien from beneath my lashes, it was as if he knew what I was thinking.

The side of his luscious mouth curved up into a knowing smile, and I became flustered, my gaze skittering away.

God, he is angelically beautiful
, I thought.

But devilishly onto you
, I reluctantly added.

I questioned whether Lucien was really human, seeing into my head as I knew he was. But then I thought,
How ridiculous.

“Something wrong, Miss Vaughn,” Lucien asked, his dark, penetrating eyes assessing me for my reaction when I glanced up.