“I’m sure your agent called you,” she prodded.
Again he stayed quiet.
Spotting the open door to Bryce’s study, Lyssa grabbed Mike’s hand and pulled him into the room. The door made a solid
thump
when she shut it and turned to face him. “Don’t go all silent dom on me, Michael Jedadiah Halsey. I know you pulled something to mess with my photo shoot.”
“If you mean did I accept the job when the original photographer backed out, then yes, love, I knew about it.” Mike pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist as he stared down at her. “The suggestion, though, that I may have done something regarding the reason the man backed out of the shoot is unfounded. I wasn’t even aware of the assignment before my agent called me two hours ago with the job offer.”
She saw no subterfuge in his eyes. His cool gaze met hers without flinching. “You know I hate last-minute changes, Mike.”
And she always had. Surprises led to unplanned things, which led to feelings. As things were now, she had a pretty good idea what Mike would do at any given moment, and she could deal with it. In the last week, she’d worked very hard to maintain control over her emotions, despite the powerful pull Mike represented. Then there was the constant temptation to give in to her desire to submit to him. If he was upping the ante by horning in on her business, it would mean a whole new set of rules and behaviors. Not to mention requiring she keep up her guard, especially if she was to spend hours watching him flirt and ogle the models selected by
Upscale
for the shoot.
Before she could sink any lower into the morass of worries, Mike shrugged. “I know you dislike last-minute changes, hon, but this is not my fault. I only agreed to do it because you’re right here and my studio is available.”
There was more to it than that. Lyssa could see it in his eyes, but she wasn’t about to call him on it. “Did your agent tell you the models will be here this weekend?”
“Yes.”
“And did he elaborate on the subject matter of the spread?”
Again Mike nodded. “Wedding gowns.”
Lyssa swallowed, her lungs frozen at the expression on Mike’s face, the gleam in his dark brown eyes, and the way his fingers flexed against her hips and tugged her the slightest bit closer.
“Yes, wedding gowns. And a few formal and cocktail dresses for parties and special events.”
“Are any of them going to look like Mattie’s gown?”
Lyssa shook her head. No one would wear a gown designed by her that resembled the one she’d made for Mattie’s wedding. “No, these are dresses I’ve put together over the last few years.”
“Good.” Mike leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was soft, more a rubbing of his lips along hers than a full caress. “I don’t think another woman could carry off that particular style with the same panache Mattie did.” He chuckled. “And I sure as hell know no other man but my brother would be able to handle just how sexy it makes a woman look.”
Lyssa smirked, pride filling her at the reminder of Bryce’s heated looks and determination to get Mattie out of the dress as quickly as possible, to hell with propriety and tradition. “As I recall, Bryce did compliment me several times on the design.”
“But only after a very long and satisfying wedding night, if I recall.”
The comment reminded Lyssa of what she’d seen him doing when she’d entered Bryce’s studio. She stiffened in his arms at the thought of Mike taking pictures—intensely intimate pictures—of her sister.
Mike seemed to read her mind. Or perhaps the way she drew away from him was warning enough. “You don’t believe me about the paintings, do you?”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.”
Much to Lyssa’s disappointment, there was no argument from Mike. Instead he released her, took hold of one of her hands, and walked to one of the built-in bookshelves beside the broad fireplace.
His hand coasted along the edge of one of the dark wood edges. A barely audible
click
sounded, and a gap appeared at the edge of the shelf.
Lyssa blinked and stepped closer. “A secret passage?”
Mike smiled down at her. “Pirate, remember? You don’t honestly think old Cole Halsey would leave anything to chance. Especially where his family was concerned, do you, Lys?”
Mattie had read her some of the entries in the diaries written by Cole and Margaretta Halsey more than two centuries ago. “No, I don’t think he would have left any method of escape unused.”
Considering the dangers associated with his privateer occupation and the barely tamed land he’d won on the turn of a card from the original owner, Lyssa was quite certain Mike’s ancestor would have created several secret passages throughout his home.
Even as Mike led her into the narrow hallway behind the shelf, Lyssa’s mind pondered another question. “Are there any secret areas in the Club?”
Mike stayed silent. He pressed a switch on the wall beside them. A dim glow illuminated the tight hall. When they reached the end, Mike flicked two more switches and extinguished the light in the hall. Light filtered up from below, glowing along a flight of stairs that curved back toward the study and downward.
They moved down the stairs. At the bottom, the passage branched to the left and right of them. On the right, the path ended at a door. On the left, the hall continued for another ten feet or so before ending in a doorway as well.
Mike turned right and pulled a key from the top of the doorsill. He still held her hand, and once the door swung open, he led her through it and into the room. He flipped the light switch beside them and waited.
Lyssa couldn’t speak. The room was easily the size of the study above them, if not half again as long. The paneled walls with their subdued lights gleaming down on the individual frames reminded Lyssa of a portrait gallery she’d once explored during a trip to New York. In the open areas around the room, small tables and pedestals held sculptures of various materials, from wood to marble. Scattered around the room, set near groups of paintings or statues, were chairs and chaises. Comfortable areas to sit and rest. Or perhaps a bit more.
Mike said nothing. He merely let go of her hand and waited. Speechless, Lyssa was unsure what to say. The paintings were exquisite. It was easy to see they dated back to the years Cole Halsey and his family had resided at Pirate’s Folly. Then there were other portraits from eras following that of Mike’s great-great-grandfather.
And the paintings weren’t the typical portraits either. If Lyssa had complaints about Mike’s taking pictures of her sister and Bryce in flagrante, then she definitely would have to take issue with the subject matter of a few of the paintings. And it wasn’t just paintings hanging on the wall. There were also photographs. Some of the pictures dated back to the era when cameras were first developed.
The sculptures weren’t much different. There were several marble and stone pieces depicting sexual acts and embraces that increased Lyssa’s heartbeat. As she made her way back toward Mike, she halted near a group of paintings and photographs. One stole her breath, while a second brought tears to her eyes. Mike stepped up behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders.
He said nothing, but he seemed to read what stirred within her. One photograph Lyssa recognized from her sister’s wedding day. She recalled catching a glimpse of Mattie and Bryce as they stood near the picture window looking out onto the back lawn. The setting sun bathed them in gold and fiery red as Bryce held Mattie’s left hand in his, his right arm wrapped around her waist, her back snug against the front of his body.
The painting beside it showed Lyssa’s sister asleep in bed, her curly hair tangled around her face, with only a pale cream sheet draped over her hip. The open curtains beyond the bed showed the glow of the full moon, her left hand, wedding and engagement rings glittering in the moonlight, resting on the rounded curve of her belly.
“Tell me this is only sex, Lyssa.” Mike motioned to the painting of Mattie asleep.
Tears prickled Lyssa’s eyes; she blinked to stem them. Her throat burned, and she could hardly swallow for the knot that seemed lodged there. Every brushstroke screamed adoration and devotion. There was no doubt about the feelings of the artist for his subject.
Mike stepped between her and the painting. The look in his eyes and on his face sent her mind reeling. Common sense encouraged her to ignore the desperate desire to believe the emotions visible in his expression were real and not merely the temporary side effects of misread lust. It was so sincere, so stirring, the way he watched her.
His broad palms cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up to his as he lowered his mouth to hers. Against her lips, he vowed, “If you were pregnant and beginning to show, maybe even before, one of my cameras would never be far from my hand.”
The dark intensity of his gaze stilled Lyssa’s breath. Her heartbeat stumbled, then resumed at a faster pace. The gentle prodding of his tongue enticed her lips to part and coaxed her tongue into play. The warmth of one hand cradled her neck while the other skimmed along her jaw to the curve of her shoulder.
Dizzy from lack of oxygen and the slow buildup of passion, she swayed in Mike’s hold as he lifted his head. Unbidden, her hands clutched his waist, tugging him closer. The hand at her shoulder lowered onto her chest, cupping her breast, thumb stroking the rising peak of her nipple.
“I would capture images of you from the moment the little stick turned blue until they put our baby in my hands, crying and wet in the minutes following her entry into this world from your womb.”
It wasn’t hard for Lyssa to imagine him smiling at her, teasing her from behind the lens. After hearing the emotion in his voice as he described the scene, it wasn’t difficult to picture pain darkening his brown eyes if he learned about the baby she’d lost. She pushed the thought aside before it could fully form.
“With the precautions you’re taking, there’s little likelihood I’ll get pregnant.” She hated to ruin the fantasy he’d built, but if she stood any chance of remaining steadfast, she couldn’t allow her emotions to influence her. No matter how similar his dreams were to hers.
“True,” Mike admitted as he lowered his other hand so both moved to her waist at the same time. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to photograph you.” He tugged at the T-shirt she wore, scooting his hands underneath to stroke the warm skin on her belly.
“What?” Lyssa stammered. A whisper of memory surfaced as she rocked closer to Mike, edging her hands under his shirt to caress the smooth muscles flexing beneath her fingertips. A private little bet between Mattie and her that Lyssa had lost.
“Pose for me.”
A bet left unpaid until now.
The press of his mouth against her throat didn’t distract her from the fact that Mike had eased her shirt up over her breasts. Twelve years ago, when he’d first asked her to pose nude for him, she’d dismissed it as an attempt to tease her. Eight years ago, when her repeated refusals didn’t deter him, she’d begun to think his requests were only to keep her off balance. Four years ago, when he stopped making the request, she’d denied the disappointment that seeped through her. She berated herself for feeling saddened that the attention he’d paid her for so long was gone. It was simply proof that he had realized what he felt for her was infatuation and his purposes would be better served if he turned them elsewhere. At least that was the excuse she’d given herself.
“Pose for you? Why?” she asked.
Tugging the shirt over her head, Mike smiled down at her. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Warm, callused palms rolled over her shoulders and along her collar as Mike smoothed aside the straps of her white cotton bra. Lyssa snorted. “Liar.”
Mike made quick work of the hooks. “No, I’m not. You are beautiful.”
He looked so serious, so determined she believe him, Lyssa found it hard to fight the tingle of joyous satisfaction that filled her heart. “Okay, to you I am, but why waste film?” she argued.
He cupped her breasts and teased her stiff nipples with his thumbs. “I want to have something to look at when I can’t be near you. Not that I ever intend to be very far from you for the next three or four decades.”
Again that damned sneaky feeling tried to burrow inside, but Lyssa pushed it away. “Mike,” she started to warn him, but he cut her off.
“Come on, baby; you know you want to.”
Lyssa rolled her eyes and grimaced. “I do not.”
“But you do,” he assured her, his lips pressing against hers in soft, swift kisses as his hands lowered to the button and zipper of her jeans. Unfastening both, he continued, “You get so hot and flushed when I watch you. Imagine how it’ll be: me off on an assignment that ended up becoming an overnight. I’m missin’ you so bad. I pull out your picture.”
Caught up in his story, Lyssa remained oblivious to the fact that she’d toed off her shoes until she helped him shimmy her jeans and panties over her hips and off her legs.
“Oh yes,” he growled hungrily, stepping back from her to run his gaze over her naked body. “These soft, plump breasts.” His hands squeezed her before he dipped his head for a quick nibble of each hard crest. “These curvy hips meant to fit in my hands.” He palmed her hips, rolling his hands over them before reaching back to grip her bottom and pull her close. “A perfect ass, round and tempting. Then there’s your thighs; they hold me so tight.”
The words blended with his touch, which aroused her, sent reason into the ether, and placed need and passion center stage. It wasn’t like he was wrong; since the first time he’d asked, Lyssa had wanted him to photograph her.
Mike used a camera like he used his hands or his words. It was another tool capable of seducing both the subject and the viewer. The pictures he took evoked responses. She wanted a reaction, even if it was just from him and only fleeting. Much as the confession shamed her, Lyssa wanted to know that he might one day look back on their time together with pleasant thoughts rather than disdain.
“I want to be able to wrap my hand around my cock and see your pink, bare pussy so I can pretend it’s your hot, wet body clenched around me tight,” Mike whispered.