Maximum Exposure (12 page)

Yeah, those phone calls didn’t signal that this had moved way beyond a working relationship into…well, he wasn’t ready to say.

Saying would mean analyzing when and where and how the chemistry between them had taken on a life of its own. He supposed that was what chemistry did, all those molecules getting stirred and shaken and ending up with a big bang.

Really, he didn’t need to be thinking about banging and Olivia Hammond at the same time. Not if he was going to keep this job all about work.

Whether he could do that had been weighing on his mind now for days. He liked her. He liked her a lot. And he couldn’t deny there was some major lust fueling that like. Her body was amazing, and he was looking forward to seeing it again, seeing more of it, and seeing it often.

That was how lust worked. That much, he got.

It was the rest that wasn’t sitting with the same familiarity. The rest was telling him that she didn’t have any business showing off her body to anyone, no matter the justification she gave herself to explain her exhibitionist tendencies. He didn’t buy it for a minute.

There was a huge disconnect between what she did and her reasons—one he was still grappling with, one he didn’t think she was being honest about. Not with him. Not with herself. But until she got the second part right, the first was up to him to deal with.

He wasn’t so sure that staying in the room she’d offered was the best way to deal. But here he was, anyway, hauling his duffel and electronic equipment from his Jeep to the back door of her store, and hoping he didn’t run into anyone before Olivia had a chance to explain why he was here. Or at least that he was here with her permission.

He gave her cell a quick ring. She’d told him to call when he was at the door, and she’d give him a key later. He didn’t have to wait but fifteen seconds before he heard locks click and thump from inside, and the door opened. “Sorry to drag you in so early.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked and smiled for him. “Sloth does not a successful entrepreneur make.”

Sloth was his favorite pastime. Sloth was done best from a deck looking out over the beach, or from the shoreline, with a rod and reel in hand. He and sloth got along just fine.

But he knew what she meant. “Are you talking about your entrepreneurship or mine?”

She toyed with the bauble dangling from the delicate chain at her throat, a chain that brought to mind her others. “I thought you were just a guy renovating a beach house.”

He walked through the door, which she still held open, caught a whiff of her spicy, rich scent. “And that’s why I’m here. I’m still short on the lumber I need for the roof. It’s back to being an entrepreneur.”

She laughed, let the door shut, and stood there looking at him as if he was a delivery from Tiffany or Publishers Clearing House or one of those places that brought the best in good news. He didn’t think he’d ever had anyone so glad to see him, and the fact that she was, well, he’d look at it more closely later.

Right now he needed to unload his gear. “You want to show me where you’re stashing me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me carry your duffel and save a second trip.” She slung it over her shoulder as if she was wearing indestructible chambray instead of a tissue-thin fabric in greens, blues, and golds. “The staircase is just off the hallway.”

He nodded for her to lead the way and followed, her heels clacking on the hall’s hardwood once they left the storeroom floor’s sealed concrete surface. The staircase rose five steps to a landing, turned, and climbed fifteen steps to the next landing, before the final switchback and the last few steps emptied them onto the second floor.

Olivia gestured for him to accompany her toward the back of the building. She pointed out Penny’s office, a second that Roland and Carmen shared, and the spare room on the back wall, which he’d be using, opening the door and walking inside.

She stopped in the center of his home away from home and dropped his duffel there. “My office is at the front of the building, at the other end of the hall, as are the facilities. We have a wireless network, and Penny can explain the Internet log-in. She’ll also give you the key and the alarm pass code so you can come and go as you need. Other than that, you should be set.”

Yeah,
he mused. This would work. The futon had a thick mattress and plenty of pillows. A couple of blankets were folded and stacked in the lower cube of a boxlike end table.

The desk held the TV and sat against the opposite wall, next to the mini-fridge and the microwave. Another two cubes hung above on the wall and held Styrofoam plates and cups, paper napkins, and plastic utensils.

A near-perfect bachelor’s pad with a fantasy woman just down the hall. He left his equipment cases by the door, crossed to the long back wall, and peered through the blinds at the delivery access below.

“Well?” Olivia asked. “Will this do?”

He was surprised by the hesitation he heard in her voice. He was only camping out for a few days, not moving in. A little roughing it never hurt anyone. “It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“After Dustin’s place, this has got to be a letdown. I can’t imagine why I suggested it.” Her hands at her hips, she glanced around the sparsely furnished room, with a frown. “You know, the pillows at the Hyatt are fluffier, and they don’t require that you bring your own soap. Plus, there’s room service.”

She wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. Neither did she know him very well. “There’s also this thing called convenience. You’re here. I’m here. None of this coordinating schedules from half a city apart.”

She looked at him askance. She wasn’t buying it. “Coordinating schedules is hardly difficult. You’re just placating me.”

He moved away from the windows; came closer to where she stood, indignant; wrapped his fingers around one of her wrists; and gave her what assurance he could. “You’re worried that I’m not going to be comfortable. I’m telling you I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m moving in permanently. Besides, I’m living in a house with only half a roof. A few days on a futon won’t even register on my discomfort scale.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He heard the first-floor door buzz until the alarm code was punched. “You’ve told your people I’m here, right?”

“I haven’t yet.” She pulled free of his hand, rubbed at her forehead. “I’ll do that now. I’m sure that was Roland. He’s always in before Carmen or Penny.”

Roland.
The object of Dustin’s affection who wasn’t gay, after all. Who for some reason had convinced Olivia that he was…for the job? Finn didn’t get it.

Yeah, Flambé’s fashions were more flaming than not, but he couldn’t see anyone—not even a hetero clotheshorse—pretending to play for the other team to get an employee discount.

“Finn?”

He shook off thoughts of Roland. “I’m fine. I’m going to get situated. Then I’ve got an appointment to look at a place where I thought we might do the first shoot. If I like the looks of it, could you get away tomorrow afternoon?”

She nodded. “Sure. I don’t have anything scheduled.”

“Cool. I’ll let you know later, and I guess I’ll get the key when I get back.”

“That’s fine. We open at ten, so you’ll only need it before then and after hours.” When all he did was nod, she backed a step away, then turned for the door. “If I’m not on the sales floor, I’ll be in my office. I keep the door open. We’re not much on formalities around here.”

And then she smiled, and he wondered if she was remembering that she’d closed it once just for him.

She’d had more trouble than usual deciding what to wear. Usually, she dressed for the occasion and the outcome she was seeking. Today she was dressing for Finn. He’d told her he wanted bold colors. Something that wouldn’t wash out in bright lights. That wasn’t a problem.

Anyone who knew her, who knew Splash & Flambé, was well aware of her love of loud. And it wasn’t just patterns and fabrics that captured her heart, but cuts of cloth that begged for attention, and the pairing of spatters with brushstrokes with fine art.

Something that wouldn’t wash out in bright lights? That she could do. It was just that the pieces best suited to revealing her body were subtle sheers, delicate gauze or mesh, ones with no substance or made of little fabric, requiring only a soft breeze to stir them.

What she ended up wearing was an outfit she’d fallen in love with, but had never yet found an appropriate cause to wear. It was made primarily of fringe, which explained the appropriateness factor. Fringe, as an article of clothing, didn’t go over so well in public.

The fringe hung from the top edge of a bandeau to the bottom of her ribs, and like the sheer Lycra beneath cupping her breasts, it was a mixture of crimson and garnet, the deep blood reds both erotic and rich.

The hip-hugging skirt was designed similarly, the underskirt only covering her bottom, the longer fringe tickling her where it dangled to mid-thigh.

She had on a thong but no bra, and her legs were bare, her feet showing off an amazing pair of Manolos. She’d decided against any earrings but had worn the ring in her belly.

She’d also worn those piercing her nipples and the one at the top of her clit, forgoing the gold chains she usually looped between them.

It was an outfit perfect for Carnival or Mardi Gras, and she hadn’t given herself a break from work to attend either festival in years. Since Finn had told her to think bone-rattling music and wildly uninhibited fun, she’d hardly been able to wait to pull the outfit from her closet.

Now, she could only hope it worked for Finn, and that he and his big lens also appreciated all the time she’d spent on her hair and makeup, since both were as vital to the success of her look as the sexy party clothes’ fit.

Of course, she would never know if it worked for him or not if she didn’t get out of her car. This was so silly, sitting here, with the engine still running, her fingers molded to the steering wheel, anxiety causing such an upheaval in her stomach that she was afraid she was going to throw up.

Livia Hammond did not suffer from nerves when it came to men. She rarely suffered from nerves at all. She’d always had the confidence to go after what she wanted, to do what it took to get her way. Being the youngest of three siblings, she’d basked in the attention lavished on the baby of the family.

And she’d continued to bask, blossoming beneath the attention and encouragement of her family, her tutors, her coaches; going on to stretch the boundaries of her behavior in order to prove herself invulnerable, to prove that she was loved unconditionally, as everyone said, that she wasn’t a tease, that she hadn’t invited that thing that had happened, that it wasn’t her fault….

Dear, God,
she thought, her palms sweating. Why was she going there now? Revisiting that moment from her past? She could see her fourteen-year-old self so clearly from this distance, but she couldn’t see what any of what had transpired had to do with her feelings for Finn.

Except she was doing what he wanted, putting him in control and stripping away her own, which was as vital to her as breathing.

On the seat beside her, her cell phone rang. She jumped, then took a deep breath and answered. “Yes?”

“Are you on your way?” Finn asked.

Now or never. Do or die.
“Actually, I just pulled up.”

“Cool. There’s a table just inside the door. You can leave your purse and phone and whatever else there.”

“And then I do what?”

“Walk through the curtain. There’ll be a spotlight. I’ll see you there.” He hung up, leaving her frowning at the phone.

She grabbed her tote, her phone, her keys; tightened the belt of the summer-weight trench coat she wore, and headed for the door. Once inside, she slipped out of her coat, draped it over the table, and set all of her things on top. Then she smoothed the fringe and her hair, and stepped through the curtain, where her wizard and her spotlight were waiting.

At least she assumed Finn was waiting. He’d called her, after all. She just couldn’t see him. There wasn’t much she could see, for that matter. The spotlight aside, the room was pitch-black. And, she had to admit, a bit intimidating.

She made her way across the floor, to the small pool of light, her heels clicking, the echo hinting at the vastness of the space into which she was walking. Alone. Exposed. Vulnerable. In control of nothing but her own footsteps.

The curtain through which she’d entered the room had seemed to be black, a velvet or a satin, a stage curtain, she supposed. Had this space been used by a production company? Or had Finn arranged for the dark backdrop and the lights?

She’d ask him as soon as she saw him. She didn’t want him investing a lot of money in a project they weren’t certain would bring any of them a return. Right now, however, all she could do was follow his directions and stop gouging her fingernails into the skin of her palms.

The moment she stepped into the circle of light, it vanished, the loud, metallic whoosh as it shut down sucking the air from the room. She startled, but she stayed silent, waiting for Finn.

This was obviously part of his wildly uninhibited fun concept. Next photo shoot, she’d be in on the plan from the start. And speaking of start…

Her bones began to rattle as he pumped up the volume on a sound track with a decidedly hip-hop beat.

Then…Flash!

“I like the outfit,” he yelled at her, though he couldn’t be more than ten feet away.

If not for the music, she would have heard him, his shoes, his breathing, the adjustments he made to his camera. She hadn’t heard a thing. Not even the click of the remote he had to be using to work the lighting and the sound.

“Thanks for blinding me,” she raised her voice to grumble back, blinking to adjust to the darkness again. She wasn’t sure she liked this, though she was curious about his goal.

A click and another whoosh and the spotlight came back. This time he joined her in the circle of light. His eyes sparkled with life. His jaw was dark with the stubble of his beard, his hair a shaggy mess, held away from his forehead by a ball cap worn in reverse. His T-shirt was wrinkled; his blue jeans were worn thin.

And he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life.

“Are you going to explain to me what we’re doing here?” she said after he’d lowered the volume.

“You’re going to dance.”

“Dance?”

“You’re at a party. At a club. The Fifth, wherever. You’re surrounded by music and booze and bodies glistening with sweat.”

“I’m in a warehouse, alone, with nothing to drink.” She figured she’d be sweating soon enough.

“I’ve got plenty of water. Just say the word.” He nudged up the volume. “There’s your music, and I’ve got the lights.”

“Your camera’s flash?”

He nodded, his expression growing coy. “This was your idea, remember? Performing for me instead of for your usual suspects.”

He had her there. It was put up or shut up time, though she wasn’t going to do either without a groan. Why the hell had performing for him seemed like such a good idea when she’d come up with it last week?

Maybe because she hadn’t thought through what it would be like to let him look when she wanted him as fiercely as she did? God, this was going to be a disaster. “Okay then. If you think it will work.”

“I know it will work,” he said, his grin taking over his face. “The music will be loud enough that you won’t hear me, so the shots won’t look staged.”

“No, they’ll just show how much fun you had scaring the shit out of me.”

He laughed, the sound seeming so deeply and honestly felt that she laughed with him and breathed so much easier because she did. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just think of the flashes the way you would a strobe light or light thrown from a mirror ball. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so,” she said, shaking her arms and legs as if preparing for a sprint. He gave her a wink in response, then stepped out of the light and into the room’s shadows, maxing out the music’s volume once he was completely out of her sight.

She liked the music he’d chosen, and she loved to dance. This really shouldn’t be that hard, but all she could think about was Finn pulling her strings, Finn telling her how to dress, how to move, what to imagine while she danced. They were never going to get anywhere if she didn’t stop.

And so she did. She stopped thinking and let the music take her, let the feel of her body in motion drive her from one beat to the next. The first flash of Finn’s camera caught her by surprise, but others followed in quick succession, and she forgot he was there.

At least she forgot he was holding the camera. She didn’t forget about him; how could she? She was dancing for him, performing for him, letting him look because she wanted him to see her body, her emotions, everything.

She wanted him to want her, and what she wanted, she always got. Winning was her comfort zone. Being noticed her forte. She’d made her way through life as the center of attention, celebrated, cheered, desired….

The longer she danced, the more heated, the more aroused, and the more short of breath she grew, and the more she wanted him. Her nipples were tight when she reached up to unhook the bandeau and strip it away from the fringe.

She cupped her breasts, tugged on the rings, clenched the muscles of her sex at the surge of desire that rocked her. She reached down, slipped a hand beneath the tube of her skirt, found the hoop piercing her clit, and tugged.

She cried out. She didn’t mean to. She couldn’t help it. She was wet and she was wired, her body aching and ready, and oh, she hadn’t felt like this in years. This was Finn, because of Finn, the dampness seeping from her sex down her thighs.

And then she realized the room had gone silent. There was no music. No sound of the camera’s flash. No flash at all. She stumbled in the darkness, and Finn was there.