Exposure (2 page)

"He saw the article on your gallery in
Architectural Digest this past fall. He came to one of your
showings last month."

The information rattled around in her brain,
and she came up blank in connecting the dots. She didn't know what
the man looked like, so she wouldn't know if she'd seen him. "He
didn't introduce himself."

One corner of his mouth quirked, not
including her in the joke. "He's a private man."

"So private he can't strike up a
conversation with someone he wants to do business with?"

Slowly, he unbuttoned his suit coat and
reached inside the breast pocket, pulling out a business card. He
slid it across the desk with one finger. "My card, Miss Crowne.
Call me if you'd like to set up a meeting. Mr. Dwell is
unconventional. I'm instructed to tell you he'd like to arrange
dinner with you, at a restaurant of your choosing, to
discuss…things. Soon." He rose from his seat and nodded. "Good
day."

Good day? That was it?

She stood. "I need more information than
this, Mr. Hawthorn. I don't just meet men I don't know for
dinner…"

"Consider it a business transaction, Miss
Crowne. You'll be meeting in public."

His tone suggested he knew about her fear of
strangers, men specifically. And why. A bead of sweat trailed down
her back. Yet this could be huge for the gallery. Bringing in Hoan
Dwell would not only secure Elements financially for quite some
time, it would bump up their prestige, too.

"I'll meet him. With the understanding that
there will be no promises."

Mr. Hawthorn turned to face her fully.
"Where?"

Her gaze drifted over his shoulder as she
ran through the options in her mind. It would have to be a location
close to Anchorage, with a well-lit parking lot. Italian was too
messy, but Salvatore's had booths spaced pretty far apart so they'd
have a semblance of privacy. Gino would let her park right out
front and see her to her car if necessary. She'd used him before
for catering an opening.

She looked up and gave Mr. Hawthorn the
address. "I can't make it this week, not until Friday."

He nodded once. "Friday at seven. I will
relay this to Mr. Dwell." He reached into his breast pocket once
more. "I've been instructed to give you this if you agreed to
dinner."

He held out a small pink envelope,
non-threatening in nature, but her heart stopped on a dime. Cold
sweat broke out on her forehead, a contradiction to the heat that
churned in her gut. All pretenses of professionalism gone, she took
it from him with trembling fingers and whispered a thank you.

She stood for several moments after he left,
staring blankly at the envelope. She'd gotten others like it by
carrier with no return address and no signature. One every year on
her birthday for the past five years. On occasion, for seemingly no
reason, she received three others. Eight in total, and all eight
knocking her thoughts straight into orbit without gravity for
anchor.

They'd been anonymous, hand-written letters.
Until now. Did this mean they'd been from Hoan Dwell all along? She
pressed a cool palm to her forehead. What was someone like her
doing on his radar? She stared at the envelope, wanting to tear it
open and read the sensual words she knew would be inside.

Nicole rushed into her office. "Well? What
happened?"

Raven cleared her throat and drew in a deep
lungful of air. "Mr. Dwell wants to set up a showing. We're meeting
for dinner on Friday."

"Shut the front door! Seriously?"

"Yes." The envelope weighed heavy in her
hands. She needed to get out of here. The letter couldn't be read
where anyone could see her reaction. Besides, Noah was coming for
dinner tonight and she still needed to stop by the market. "I'm
going to head home early. Why don't you lock up and call it a
day?"

"Will do." Nicole paused. "Why aren't you
more excited?"

"I am." She laughed nervously. "Just in
shock, I guess."

Nicole grinned. "I can't wait to find out
what happens on Friday. Happy Birthday to you! Best present ever.
Showing Dwell's work will put us in the black for years."

A smile curved her lips. "I'll see you
tomorrow. Thanks again for the bracelet."

Nicole had shown up for work today with a
large mocha and a small present for Raven's birthday. The two
people who never forgot were Nicole and Noah. The greatest friends
a gal could ask for. Her mother had yet to call but, judging by
history, she'd ring at ten tonight as an afterthought, her mind too
scattered to remember sooner.

Bundling into her coat and scarf, she
stepped out into the biting January wind and walked the few feet to
her SUV. The seemingly eternal dusk for this time of year would be
pitch black in a couple of hours. After hitting the market to pick
up fresh crab legs, she made her way to the edge of town and parked
in her apartment complex's lot, directly under a street lamp and
closest to the entry.

Once inside, she stripped out of her dress
clothes and into pajamas. Noah wouldn't care. They'd been best
friends since day one of college when they'd literally slammed into
each other rushing to class. He'd seen her in worse getups and
she'd known him before he made his millions with his tourism
recreation company. There were no pretenses with him. For that, she
was grateful.

After putting everything away, she started
dinner and stared again at the envelope on the counter, teasing her
to pick it up. When the first letter arrived six years ago, she'd
been frightened at first. Even though arousing in context, it still
was an unknown. Unknown sender, unknown admirer, unknown reasoning.
She didn't like the unknown. Not even a little. The one surprise
party Nicole threw for her birthday a few years ago created a panic
attack that Noah had barely managed to calm. The rest of the party
had been nice, once she got over the shock.

Noah had found the letters amusing, claiming
she should be flattered. Raven wasn't so sure. But then time passed
and nothing more than letters came. Except now she knew who they
were from and he wanted to meet.

Unable to take the suspense anymore, she
lifted the flap of the pale pink envelope and drew out the
embroidered card. The stationary was always the same, a
cream-colored embossed card with a lace overlay. Simple and
elegant. Feminine.

Miss Crowne,

The time has come. I've watched you from
afar for many years. You are beauty personified and sexual desire
emblazoned. I've kept my distance, imagining the day I could claim
that clever mouth in a kiss and ravage you the way you deserve. I
believe we're both ready. I know you, and now you will know me.

Ever Yours.

He always signed them that way.
Ever
Yours
. There was never anything threatening about the letters,
other than him blatantly stating he'd watched her. The sensual
quality of his words washed over her, leaving her hot and aching.
And embarrassed. They were just words on paper but, for someone
like her, who hated attention, it was a rare treat to know she'd
been desired by a man to this degree.

He was probably eighty years old and
hideously scarred. Or had bodies buried in his yard. Hoan Dwell.
What could she possibly have done, or how had their paths crossed,
to enlist this kind of response?

Noah knocked and strolled in, closing the
door quickly behind him. He chucked his coat and shivered. In his
hand was a mountain bouquet of wildflowers, his customary birthday
present. Where he got them in January in Alaska was a mystery, but
with as much money as he'd acquired, he could afford the
luxury.

A thick grey Henley stretched across the
muscles of his shoulders and chest. His jeans were faded in all the
right areas and low on his hips. He kicked off his boots and
offered a grin, sexy as all get out with the light stubble on his
jaw.

It really was a crying shame they never
slept together when they first met. Just to test the waters. After
all this time, though, it would be awkward. He never seemed
interested in her that way, and her curiosity had been fleeting
back then. Noah was the only man in existence she trusted. It would
be unwise to focus on anything other than what they had. Soul mates
in best friend form. She wondered what made her think of old
memories now. Perhaps the manifestation of another letter. It
always threw her off-kilter.

Shoving his sandy blond hair off his
forehead, he walked deeper into her apartment, blue eyes scanning
her kitchen.

"Happy birthday. Whatcha cooking?"

She accepted the flowers and buried her face
in them, inhaling the bit of spring she missed. "These are
perfect."

He shook his head. "Most women want roses
and diamonds. You want wildflowers and pajamas. You're easy to
please."

She wasn't easy to please, and that was part
of her problem, why she'd been stuck in this rut the past few
months. Or years. Nothing ever felt…satisfying. "We're not dating.
If we were, you could buy me roses and diamonds. I'm happy with
these. You can drain your bank account on the revolving door of
women you sleep with." Grinning for effect, she reached for a vase
and filled it with water, setting the flowers inside. "Seriously, I
love them."

Ignoring her jab at his dating life, he
peeked at the stove. "And I love your food. I repeat, what are we
having?" The last part of his sentence was spoken in a whisper as
his gaze landed on the letter she'd set on the counter. "You got
another one." His jaw tensed.

She leaned against the counter. "I know
who's sending them, too. Remember me talking about that
photographer, Hoan Dwell? I have one of his earlier prints."

His gaze didn't meet hers. "Yeah. A bigwig
who snaps pictures of women rolling in grass or fondling a tree
stump. They're from him?"

His lack of surprise was interesting. From
the moment the first letter arrived, Noah had been as interested in
her response to them as the mystery of the notes themselves. He
knew her well. They'd go to hell and back for each other. She'd
told him things she wouldn't dare repeat to anyone. So he knew she
needed control in most things, especially her private life and who
she dated. But he didn't know how dark, how deep that control
brought her at times.

The conversation she wanted to have with him
about the matter would need to be treaded lightly. As much as she
loved Noah, no way was she going in the metaphorical bedroom with
him. She wanted,
needed
his advice, though.

"He wants to meet."

Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. Saying
nothing, he picked up the letter and skimmed it before tossing it
down. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm curious, I'll admit, but…"

"But what?"

She shrugged. "He could be a mass
murderer."

Noah crossed his arms. "He's taken six years
to initiate a meeting. Odd serial killer behavior if he was one."
He took a step forward as if to touch her, but retreated quickly
and braced his hands behind him on the counter.

For whatever reason, they didn't touch. They
hadn't hugged or kissed on the cheek or even patted each other on
the arm in all the years they'd been friends. If it was strange,
she appreciated the oddity in it. Raven had the distinct impression
they had this unspoken rule for her benefit, though it was never
anything they'd discussed.

"What should I do?"

He studied her in that intent way she'd
grown to be comfortable with. For all his banter, he'd had a
serious side since his parents died shortly after sophomore year.
"Are you going to do it? Meet him?"

She turned and pulled the roasted potatoes
from the oven. "I said I would. I told his agent so when he came to
the office today."

"Doesn't mean you won't back out."

"My word is golden, Noah. You know that."
She lifted the steamer from the pan and placed the crab legs on a
serving platter. When he didn't respond, she looked at him.

His jaw muscles were getting a workout. "I
also know that anything that puts attention on you scares you to
death. Whoever this guy is, whatever he ultimately wants, you
should at least think about it." He paused a beat. "You can't keep
the world at arm's length forever. Your depression is under
control. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

She moved the buttered asparagus to the
small kitchenette table, ignoring his words. He cared. She got
that. But he had no idea how much every day was a struggle just to
get out of bed. And all because of some long ago nightmare she
didn't even remember, outside of small flashes in her memory.

With tense movements, she set the table. "As
my friend, shouldn't you be scared he's going to chop me up into
tiny pieces and feed me to the bears?"

He sighed. "No."

She turned to glance at him.

"My security team will drive you to and from
wherever you're going."

His security team. Well, that was new. She'd
never actually seen the men herself, other than Max, who'd been
Noah's guard since…She scratched her head. Since forever.

Noah was an only child to a former New
Jersey state senator who'd hit the wrong end of an ice patch doing
eighty with his wife in the passenger seat. The family had left him
money, but Noah accumulated more than he knew what to do with after
college when his adventure startup took storm. His time and
resources were valued. Some people took advantage of that. Plus,
that much wealth brought out the crazies. Two years ago, Noah had
been shot at over the watch he was wearing. As beautiful and scenic
as Anchorage was, the drug abuse rate was near the highest in the
country, as was the suicide rate. People were desperate.

He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses,
handing one to her. "I'd never encourage you to do something that
would put you in danger. I care about you." Before she could
respond, he sucked in a breath and drained half his glass. "And as
someone who cares, one of these days you need to let me take you
out to dinner. It's really crappy you're cooking on your own
birthday."