The Exposure (8 page)

As soon as they entered, she made a beeline for the two oil paintings he had displayed in the middle of the far wall. “I saw glimpses of these last week and couldn't wait to see them close up. They're obviously the real deal.” She looked up at him. “Maxfield Parrish.”

He looked at her with surprise. “You know of him?”

She nodded. “Art minor. I'd tell you these two pieces belong in a museum or an art gallery, but I have the feeling you know this.”

“I do. In fact, these spent the last few weeks in my gallery downtown. I brought them home so I could enjoy them before trying to find a buyer.”

She turned, clearly surprised. “You're going to sell them?”

“Yes, there's so much artwork I like, if I kept everything, you wouldn't be able to walk in the front door.”

Her resulting laughter took him by surprise. Had she ever
laughed at something he said before? He wasn't sure, but he didn't ever want her to stop.

But she did when she noticed him staring at her. “What?”

“Your laugh.”

“What about it?”

“I'd like to hear it more often.”

“I guess I'm not the kind of person who laughs a lot.” A strange look crossed her face. “I don't know why.”

Damn it. How could telling her that he liked her laughter cause all the joy to leave her face? That hadn't been his intent. “Hey, did I say something? I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It's nothing.” She exhaled and gave him a sad smile. “I wish I were the type person who laughed a lot, that's all.”

“Maybe you are and you've just been hanging out with the wrong people.”

“That's a definite possibility.”

“Let me show you the rest of the house.” He motioned for her to follow him out. No sooner had they stepped into the hallway than the kitchen timer he'd set for the bread went off. “Tour and then eat or eat, then tour?”

“Eat and then tour.”

“A woman after my heart. Let's go.”

They walked back to the kitchen where she insisted on helping him set the table. He wasn't in a mood to argue with her and he rather liked having her be all domestic in his house. She looked as if she belonged and the thought made him smile.

She put two bowls on the table. “You're looking at me funny.”

“Am I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How?”

“Like you're a dog and I'm a bone you've just been given.”

“I'd never look at you like you're a
bone
.” He leaned back on the countertop and crossed his arms. “Maybe a juicy steak.”

She smiled and he
thought
he heard a giggle. That was progress. Maybe it wouldn't be too much longer before he was getting full-fledged laughs routinely. He should make that a goal, to have her laugh,
really laugh,
once a week.

“I guess a juicy steak is better than a bone,” she said. “Though I can't imagine by much.”

“It is, trust me.” He pushed back from the countertop. “Let's eat and you can tell me all about how you went from cover model to TV executive.”

“Really?” She sat down as he brought the salads over. “Why would you want to talk about something so boring?”

“The camera loves you and you were once quite passionate about modeling. I'm trying to figure how it is you're satisfied sitting behind a desk.”

She took a bite of salad and, once she'd swallowed, replied, “What makes you think I'm satisfied?”

Her words struck his heart, just like she probably knew they would. “Aren't you?”

“Most days, yes.” She shoveled her lettuce around the bowl. “But then others . . . Like, take this invitation I recently received. One of the NNN anchors has been nominated for an Emmy and he invited me to his celebratory dinner. I helped him get his foot in the door eons ago when I was fresh out of college. Days like the one I got the invitation? I'm not so satisfied then. I feel unsettled.”

“Why?”

“Because I wonder what my life would be like if I'd made other choices. If I'd decided not to help him, that it was every man for himself. If I'd gone for the job instead of coaching him
for it. If I sat in front of a camera rather than sitting behind a desk.”

“Do you want his job?”

“I wouldn't turn it down. The invitation really shouldn't bother me the way it has. He's done a good job. He should be recognized for it. But, like I said, most days I'm content. Truly.”

There was so much more to life than merely being content, especially since from where he sat, she was trying to convince herself she was even that. He'd tell her that one day, but now wasn't the time. “Will you go to his celebratory dinner?”

“Yes, I will. Not so much because I want to, but because it would hurt his feelings if I didn't. I've always been there for him in the past. This is a big deal. I should go. Besides, if I don't, people will talk about how I'm jealous and couldn't swallow my pride enough to go to a lousy dinner.”

“Sounds like an absolute fright.”

“It will be.” She stopped shoveling her food around and tilted her head. “Will you go with me?”

Just as soon as the words left her mouth, she clamped her lips shut, as if she couldn't believe she'd asked the question.

“To the absolutely frightful celebratory dinner?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want
me
to go?”

“Yes.” She nodded, apparently having decided not to renege on her offer. “It'll be so much better with you there. I hate going to functions like that alone.”

Even though there had been less animosity between the two of them, he knew she wasn't asking him as a real date. No, she simply didn't want to show up alone. He would be acting as her support, not her date. Frankly, he thought she'd spent enough time by herself; she needed to get out more. Enjoy life.

“When is it?” he asked.

“Next Saturday night. Oh, I wasn't thinking. It's a Saturday. In Manhattan. Damn. We might need to move our session up so I . . . we . . . can go. If it's okay with you.”

Her words sent his imagination into hyperspeed. Forget having the session before. All he could think about was Meagan in the moonlight. First in her evening gown and then totally nude, bathed by the light of a thousand stars. “Yes, I'll go with you.” His voice sounded rough and he cleared his throat. “Except we'll do the session outside,
afterward.”

M
eagan looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her bathroom door and frowned. Not because she looked bad, but because she actually
cared
what she looked like. But it was more than that. She wanted to know what he would think. Would he like the gown she'd selected?

Normally, everyone wore black to these functions. There was the occasional woman who wore silver or red. In fact, she'd planned to wear a silver gown herself. But she had been window-shopping and this gown had caught her eye. She'd marched into the store and asked for it in her size, telling herself the entire time it had nothing to do with
him.
Luke.

But of course, deep down, she knew it had everything to do with Luke. She ran her hands down her sides and took a deep breath; then she looked at herself again.

The gown was a pale pink, with delicate sheer fabric covering one shoulder. And though the bottom of the gown barely
brushed the tops of her heels, there was a slit on the left side that rose dangerously high up her thigh. Luke had been right—the color was fabulous on her.

She turned to look at the back and gave a nod of satisfaction, right as her doorbell rang. She'd told Luke that she could meet him at the party, but he'd said no, he would come by her apartment and pick her up. Inside, she'd been secretly thrilled, even though she scowled at him and said, “Fine.”

Her heart raced as she made her way to the door and she waved her hands so she wouldn't get sweat on the gown. It was absurd she was nervous. She was a grown-ass woman. Attending a dinner party with a man shouldn't fill her stomach with butterflies. But maybe, if it were any other man, there wouldn't be any butterflies.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Luke's eyes grew wide, first with shock and then with something else. He didn't say anything as his eyes traveled over her body. She lifted her head just a bit, letting him look his share.

“My God, Meagan,” he finally said. “You are magnificent.”

He liked it. From the looks of it, he more than liked it. “Thank you. Someone told me I looked good in this color.”

“Someone has a good eye.”

She looked him up and down, not sure she'd ever seen him in a suit and tie. He looked sexy as hell and then some. “Someone has a good everything.”

He made a noise that sounded like something between a moan and a growl. He took a step closer to her, but didn't touch her. “We'd better be on our way before I'm tempted to rip that gown off you and show you just how good my everything is.”

Promise?
danced on her lips, but she bit it back. “Let me grab my purse.”

As she turned to get her things, he gave a low moan she couldn't help but smile at.

Oh yes, the back of the gown was almost nonexistent.

*   *   *

G
uy had rented out the entire restaurant for the evening and even though she and Luke were a few minutes early, when they stepped inside, she was surprised by the number of people present. Everyone had their nose in the air, as if silently judging the people around them. The decor was contemporary and uninspired. From what she could tell, the dinner appeared as if it was going to be just as stuffy and boring as she had feared. At least she had Luke to liven up her evening.

He took her coat and gave it to the hostess to check; then he placed his hand low on her back, right where skin met the fabric. The warmth of his touch felt good and her body relaxed. Yes, inviting him had been the best decision she'd made in the last few months.

“Do you know all these people?” he asked in a whisper.

“Only about fifteen percent.”

Across the room, Guy saw her and waved. She put on her fake smile and waved back, groaning softly when he spoke briefly to the people he was standing by and headed her way.

“What?” Luke asked, but there wasn't time to tell him anything because within seconds Guy stood in front of them.

“Meagan.” Guy gave her cheek an air kiss and looked her over. “Wow, you look great. And who is this?” he added with a nod toward Luke.

“I'm Luke DeVaan, an old friend of Meagan's,” he replied before she could get anything out.

Luke stood about two inches taller than Guy's six feet, but
Guy still looked her date up and down in appraisal. “Old friend? I'm one of Meagan's old friends and I don't remember her ever mentioning you.”

“Isn't that funny?” Luke asked by way of an answer. “I don't remember her ever mentioning you before, either.”

The two men kept on staring at each other as if silently trying to determine who'd known her the longest. Meagan rolled her eyes. Men. Honestly.

“Luke, Guy and I met in college,” she said. Guy's smile got bigger seconds before she took him down a notch. “Guy, Luke and I met shortly after I graduated from high school.”

It was Luke's turn to smile big and Meagan decided maybe the dinner wasn't going to be so boring after all. She turned to Guy. “I never mentioned Luke to you because we only dated for a short while. In fact, I went out of my way to ignore him for the last several years.”

“But I'm persistent,” Luke added.

“That you are.”

Guy tipped his head. “I'm glad you could make it,” he said, but his voice didn't sound as if he meant it.

Luke started rubbing her back with only his thumb and she could have hummed in pleasure. How in the world had she forgotten how good his hands felt? More important, how had she managed to live without it for so long?

“Congratulations on your nomination,” Luke added.

“Thank you.” Guy lightly brushed Meagan's bare shoulder. “I wouldn't be here without Meagan.”

Luke tensed beside her. Because Guy touched her? He would have to get over it; they weren't in a club, after all. No one had to ask his permission to interact with her.

“Now, Guy,” she chided. “I just gave you a push. You did all the hard work yourself.”

“That's kind of you to say. What do you do, Luke?”

“I run an art gallery downtown and a few clubs in the city.”

“Oh, diversified. Interesting. What kind of clubs? Maybe I've been to one.”

“Trust me. You haven't.”

Guy opened his mouth to reply, but Meagan beat him to it. “Luke, come with me over to meet Mr. Black. He's the CEO.”

She dragged him a few feet away. “What are you doing? What was that?”

“What was what? I simply told him there was no way in hell he'd ever been to one of my clubs.”

“He may have. You never know.”

“He hasn't. I know.”

Whatever. It wasn't worth a fight and she didn't want to ruin the evening. If that meant breaking up their little testosterone battle, she would. She peered around the crowd, trying to find Mr. Black, but he was so short, he often got lost in groups. “Well, I seem to have lost my boss.”

“No worries. We can go pick on Guy some more.”

“No, we can't. Honestly, what's gotten into you?”

“I didn't like the way he looked at you and then touched you. More than that, you let him kiss your cheek. You haven't even let me do that.”

“It was an air kiss. You want to give me an air kiss?” She lifted her head slightly, offering him her cheek.

He dipped his head, as if he was going to take her up on the offer, but instead he simply whispered, “No, thanks, sweetheart. I have my sights set on a different kind of kiss. I'll bide my time until then.”

“You sound sure of yourself, Mr. DeVaan.”

“I like it when you call me Mr. DeVaan.” His hold on her waist grew rougher. “And I—”

“Meagan Bishop, you sly dog. Who do we have here?”

Meagan held back a sigh and turned toward the office flirt. “Robin, this is my old friend Luke DeVaan. Luke, this is—”

“Robin Skye.” The petite woman with curly hair the color of wet sand held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure's mine.”

“Not yet, but the night is young.”

Meagan coughed. Robin batted her lashes. Luke looked faintly amused.

Meagan was getting ready to suggest to Luke that they go get a drink when a server came by with a tray of shrimp. Robin picked one up and held it up to Luke's lips with her other hand cradled underneath. To the casual observer, she would appear to be preventing spills, but in reality, she was probably getting ready to touch him the minute he opened his mouth.

“Want a bite?” she asked in a way that suggested she was offering a whole lot more.

Meagan felt certain if she looked in a mirror, she'd have steam coming out of her ears. Seriously? Was the woman drunk or just immature and stupid? And Luke, what the hell was going through his mind?

“No, thank you.” He turned his head, his voice flat. “Shellfish allergy. Though I would love a glass of wine.” He held out a hand to Meagan. “Come with me?”

She placed her hand in his and heard his sigh of relief as Robin headed for her next victim.

“Damn, Meagan. Who are these people you work with?” he
asked as they approached the bar. “First the man with the easy lips and then the woman with the easy everything else.”

“Television's a weird business.”

“I run multiple kink clubs. Television isn't weird—it's borderline harassment.”

“Guy was just being charming. Robin is . . . well, Robin.”

He didn't say anything else about the guests. He ordered two glasses of wine, passed one to Meagan, and downed his own in three gulps.

And she'd thought the dinner would be stuffy and boring.

“Want another?” Meagan asked him, eyeing the empty wineglass, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice.

“No, I'm good now.”

*   *   *

D
amn, but he had anticipated a much quieter evening. Between the man who obviously had eyes for Meagan to the petite woman who'd made no doubt about how much she wanted him, the night was shaping up to be interesting.

“What time are we actually eating?” he asked.

There were tables set up in the back of the restaurant. From where he stood, it appeared there were name cards at each seat. He never understood why people thought name cards were necessary. Weren't they all adults? Couldn't they be trusted to pick out their own seats?

Meagan looked at her watch. “Probably in about thirty minutes.”

“Did you tell anyone I was coming as your guest?”

“No.”

He groaned inwardly. “Great.”

“What?”

“The tables have name cards. If you didn't tell anyone I was coming, I either don't have a seat or I'm seated next to
her
.” He smiled over at Robin, who was watching them. She lifted her hand and waved.

“Truly a fate worse than death,” Meagan said in a deadpan voice.

“Sweetheart, if I didn't want to sit next to you at dinner, I wouldn't have agreed to come tonight.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I've been looking forward to this all week—don't pawn me off.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He told himself it was probably the alcohol, though really, she'd had only the one glass.

“I have an idea,” she whispered.

“What's that?”

“Let's leave.”

“Before dinner?” At her nod, he replied, “Scandalous.”

She opened her eyes. “I'm game if you are.”

“Think anyone will miss us?”

“Robin.”

“Let's go.”

She giggled and he took her hand as they made their way to pick up her coat.

“You aren't really allergic to shellfish, are you?” she asked.

They stepped outside and he helped her slip her arms into the sleeves. “No, it just seemed to be the quickest way to get rid of her. Most people aren't going to argue with a food allergy.”

“Quick thinking on your part.”

“Speaking of quick thinking, we need to eat. Let's grab something quick and eat it in the park.”

“A picnic in Central Park?” She raised her eyebrow. “Dressed like this?”

“Where's your sense of adventure?”

He knew that'd get her. She threw him an
I know what you're doing
look, but replied, “Let's do it.”

“Excellent. I know just the place. It's right off West Fifty-seventh, not far from here.”

Tucking her arm against him, they started off. But, of course, she was full of questions.

“Are we going to sit on the ground? I really don't want to get all dirty. Should we get a blanket? Where can we find one? Maybe we just skip the picnic and go back to your place. You still wanted to fit a session in today, right?”

He pulled her out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and brought them both to a halt. “Meagan. This is supposed to be fun. Stop stressing out about it and leave the details to me. All the details. To me.” She started to say something, but he hushed her by bringing a finger up to her lips. “I mean it. I'll take you over my knee right here.”

And though her eyes darkened with desire, she only nodded. But he wanted more.

“Say, ‘Yes, Sir.'”

Her entire countenance dissolved into sweet submission. “Yes, Sir.”

Fuck, what those two words did to him when they came out of her mouth. He wanted to take her in his arms and crush his lips against hers. He wanted her lips and her kiss so badly he could taste it. And he wondered, not for the first time, if her lips still tasted the same.

Damn it all to hell, he was going to find out. Not right this
second. Maybe not even tonight, but soon. Soon, he'd taste her kiss again.

Using all the self-discipline and self-control he could muster, he lowered his head, bypassed her lips, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Meagan. I've never heard sweeter words.”

Was it his imagination or did she look
disappointed
that he hadn't kissed her?