Intimate (2 page)

Her fair skin blushed a deep rose as she apologized. “I'm sorry. Busy day. How can Top End Modeling help you?”

“Jacob Lowell, R. Jacob Lowell Photography.” He shot a quick glance at the wall of photos. “I'm looking for a model with a particular quality. I've been to a few other agencies, but had no luck. I'm not sure if you can help me or not.”

She smiled broadly and spread her hands. “I won't know until you tell me exactly what you're looking for. Man? Woman? Hands, feet, face, whole body, or other body part? Particular style? What do you need?”

He let out a frustrated breath. He'd been describing the look he wanted for over a week now, and it hadn't gotten him anywhere. He gave it another shot.

“Not the traditional look,” he said. “I've got a client who wants edgy, someone sort of dark and mysterious. Female, not necessarily traditionally beautiful, but someone unique, eye catching. Piercings are important. Ears, nostril maybe, or cheek. Eyebrow.” He shrugged. “The usual spots for those who do piercings. I want, you know, a sense of danger. I…” He shook his head. At least this receptionist wasn't laughing at him. “It's hard to explain. I'll know her when I see her.”

The office door behind the receptionist opened. Then it shut loudly as a tall, absolutely stunning young woman slammed it behind her.

The receptionist spun around in her chair. “Kaz? Are you okay? What happened?” She glanced at Jake and then focused on the woman.

He couldn't take his eyes off the model, because that's what she had to be. No woman this tall, this beautiful could be anything but a high-end model.

“The son of a bitch fired me,” Kaz said, ignoring Jake standing there, staring at her. “He's got a major issue with tattoos.” Her laugh was harsh and angry. “To make matters worse, I forgot to take the fucking stud out of my nose. The general was not pleased, to put it mildly.” Then she sighed, leaned over, and grabbed her tote bag. “The Smithum people dropped me and the agency because of my tat. A tat on my belly they wouldn't even have seen if not for a pervert employee checking me out in the dressing room. They're doing a freaking shoe ad! My belly's not even in the shoot.”

She stopped, finally noticed Jake standing there. “I'm sorry. Bad day.” She gave him an apologetic smile, then focused on the receptionist. Her shoulders slumped.

“My locker's already empty.” She held up the bag. “Guess it's a good thing I'd already planned to clean it out today. I'll see you back at the house, okay?”

“Oh, Kaz. I'm sorry, hon. There are other agencies, and they don't have Top End's stupid rules. As popular as you are…” She glanced at Jake again, but he was more interested in the model than anything Lola had been saying. “I'll come home as soon as I can.”

Kaz merely nodded, but she flashed another quick smile at Jake and said, “I really am sorry. That was totally unprofessional of me.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she added, “It's been one of those days,” and headed for the door without waiting for an answer.

Jake stared at the slowly closing door, fully aware he was actually aroused. The thrill of the hunt? Hell, he didn't know, but she was beautiful, she was edgy, and she was exactly who he was looking for. He turned to the receptionist. “Tat? What kind of tat's she got?”

Blinking, the woman straightened in her chair and gave him her professional smile. “A butterfly,” she said. “A beautiful monarch butterfly that runs across her hip and her stomach and up her rib cage. She got it to honor her sister.” She glanced once again at the door. Then she smiled softly. “Last year, before I knew Kaz, her little sister was killed. Some guy ran a stop sign, a stupid kid out joyriding.”

Jake's simmering arousal disappeared in a heartbeat, buried in a kaleidoscope of images that flashed through his mind—darkness and a rain-slicked road, faces locked forever in terror, the sounds …

He shook it off and focused on the young woman, on what she was saying. Consciously pushed the memories away. That was another time, another place.

He'd been a totally different person.

For all intents and purposes, RJ Cameron died almost twenty years ago, and Jake had no interest in resurrecting the body, though that text he'd deleted a while ago was a reminder that even the best-kept secrets had a way of getting loose. What the hell was that all about?

The receptionist was still speaking. He focused on her red lips, forced himself to pay attention.

“They released monarchs at her funeral,” she said. “Kaz got the tattoo in memory of Jilly. It was tough.”

Jake sucked in a deep breath. “A monarch butterfly across her torso?”

“Yes. It's absolutely beautiful.” She shuffled some papers on her desk and smiled at him. “Now, Mr. Lowell, back to business. I need specifics, exactly what you're looking for.” She reached for an album on the shelf behind her and pulled it out, set it on her desk.

Jake watched the receptionist, really looked at her, at the coal-black hair slicked back from her pale face, darkly drawn eyes, and blood-red lips. Upscale Goth? No matter—she was as sleek, as beautiful, and perfectly professional as a young woman could be. Then he glanced over his shoulder, at the door the tall, dark-eyed beauty had just exited.

He'd never felt such an instant attraction toward a woman—something he definitely didn't need. But she had piercings, and the tattoo was an omen. It had to be. Except …

Damn it all. She might be perfect for the job, but not for him. Not a woman he felt this kind of visceral attraction for. She could ruin everything he'd gained over the past ten years—his reputation, his career, his new life.

His anonymity.

He had too many secrets hiding in his own personal closet, secrets that were just fine when he left them alone. This morning's text was a reminder of how easily his hard-won sense of security could be shaken. There was no way in hell he could work with a woman he was attracted to—not if he wanted to keep the truth hidden. Hiring her would be the biggest mistake of his life.

No, he'd already made the biggest one—that long-ago night on a rain-slicked road—and two innocent people had died because of it. But damn it! She was perfect for Marc's ad campaign. And he owed Marc. Owed him more than he'd ever be able to repay.

“Her,” he said, still staring at the door. “She's what I'm looking for. I want her.”

“Kaz? But the general … uh, Mr. MacArthur, just fired her. I can't send her out on assignment if she doesn't work for the agency.”

He turned on the charm. “She's your roommate, right? I heard her say she'd see you at home later. Call her. Ask her if she's willing to meet me. I've got a hot assignment, one that could be a terrific career opportunity for her.” Not to mention what it could do for his professional reputation. “I don't care if I hire through an agency or independently, but I definitely want…” He paused. “Her name's Kaz, right? She's the one I want. She's perfect for this job.”

He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and dug through it until he found one of his cards. The corners were bent a little, but he quickly straightened it out and handed it to the receptionist. “My Web site's on there, and all my professional info is on the site. Check me out. I'm legit, San Francisco born and bred. Well, Marin, but close. There's a portfolio of my work, my Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter accounts and a list of the magazines I've done shoots for.”

He watched her as she studied his card, thankful that none of those social media sites mentioned the stupid kid he'd once been. R. Jacob Lowell was a successful photographer with an excellent reputation and a long list of professional credits. There was no mention of RJ Cameron on any of his sites. That kid belonged to his past.

But the model? He wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling she was going to be all over his future.

Whether that was a good thing or bad, he'd just have to find out.

Jake glanced at the door again. Maybe he could just chase her down. The sidewalk was filled with pedestrians headed in all directions, but she was tall and gorgeous. She'd stand out. Except he didn't have a clue which way she'd gone.

He doubted the suspicious receptionist would give him a lead.

“I don't know…”

“Please?” He tried the sad puppy-dog eyes. The look always worked with women, but this gal wasn't buying. He said it again, desperate now. Terrified he'd lose her. “She's the one I've been hunting for almost two weeks now. That honey tone to her skin, the cut and color of her hair, and those beautiful dark eyes. Right down to the stud in her nose. And the tattoo. Especially the tattoo.”

The receptionist didn't even blink.

“I'm serious. The art's like an omen—the company is new, their logo is a monarch butterfly. It doesn't get any better.”

The receptionist took a deep breath. Shook her head. Jake's gut clenched.

“I just don't know…”

That was better than a flat-out no, but not much.

He was clenching and unclenching his fingers. Not good. He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “This job is important to me and to my client. He's a successful guy with deep pockets, starting up another new business. The model who gets this job will be the focal point of an international media blitz on a big budget, but we're on a tight deadline. I need a commitment right away.”

He didn't tell her it was more than just a job—that this was the biggest job Marc had ever offered him. He already owed the success of R. Jacob Lowell Photography to Marcus Reed, but this would take him to an entirely new level.

A level that much farther away from RJ Cameron.

He didn't just owe his success to Marc; Jake owed him his life.

He ran his hand up the back of his head and stared at the door. Then he realized he'd just made a mess of his hair, which probably made him look disreputable as hell, so he tried to shove it back down, which only messed it up worse. He took a deep breath, fully aware he was acting way out of character. Not his usual manner at all.

“You've got my cell phone number. Tell her that if she's at all interested in the job, she has to call today.”

“Look.” The woman studied him like he was a bug on the wall. “I can't give you Kaz's personal number. I'll give her your card, have her call you, but you'd better be who you say you are.”

Score! “Who else would I be?” He chuckled and glanced toward the closed office door behind her desk. “I'm no general, that's for sure.”

She laughed, then glanced at the door. “Thank God,” she said.

The phone rang. Jake didn't hesitate. As she reached for it, he was flying out the door, searching for Kaz. Even as tall as he was, tall enough to see over just about everyone, it was the lunch hour, and the sidewalk was packed. He had no idea where to look, which way she'd gone.

With those long, long legs she could be blocks away by now.

“Crap.” Still watching for the model, Jake headed toward the next block where he'd parked. He'd take a run down Nineteenth, see if he could spot her. If he didn't, he'd have to hope like hell she called him.

Tires squealed. Jake spun to look, but the unmistakable scream of tires on asphalt had him leaping out of the path of a sliding car. The older sedan rammed a parked car just ahead of him. A policeman giving someone a ticket at the stoplight raced across the street, halted traffic with one arm raised, then reached for the car door where a guy was slumped over the steering wheel.

Jake kept walking, but his head was once again filled with images from long ago. The rain falling, his brother's face, the horror of death. The guilt. No matter how far or fast he walked, the reboot of bad memories stayed with him.

 

CHAPTER 2

Kaz had just parked her butt at the kitchen table with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the end of a bottle of really cheap red wine when Lola called. “Slow down, Lola. Who?”

“The man who was standing at my desk when you stomped out. Do you remember him?”

“Yeah, I got a good look at him. Very tall, very hot-looking guy, needs a haircut. Why? He looked sort of familiar. Has he hired from Top End before?” Kaz poured a little more wine into her glass and took a swallow, wishing she had something stronger. Better.

Who needed to worry about weight or red eyes? Models did, but she'd obviously screwed that gig. “He what? Wants to hire me? For what?”

She set the glass down. Listened to Lola, and jotted down the Web site and phone number.

Twenty minutes later, she felt like she knew the guy inside and out. R. Jacob Lowell, age thirty-five, single, successful—if she could believe all the credits on his Web site and his social networking pages—and well educated. Computer science, business and accounting, film studies. Was there anything the guy hadn't gotten a degree in?

She stared at the photo on his Facebook page and laughed. He was wearing the same shirt in the profile shot that he'd had on today, a San Francisco Giants shirt, black with orange logo. Then she checked out the pages he'd “liked” and decided the guy was a geek at heart. A geek who liked baseball.

Sort of like her.

She took another swallow of wine and picked up her phone. Thought about the rent, about the odds of landing a decent job—without references—with a different agency, and tapped in his number. Calling him was a no-brainer. It wasn't like she had all that many modeling options out there, and the thought of actually using her business degree gave her the cold shivers. Working in an office wasn't at all what she wanted out of life.

At least she could ask R. Jacob Lowell what he wanted.

*   *   *

Jake ordered a cup of black coffee and found a seat near the front window where he could watch people while he waited for Kaz. She'd called a few minutes ago and said she'd meet him here at this funky little coffee shop across from the modeling agency, but he was a few minutes early.