Total Package (5 page)

Now she felt embarrassed; they were just playing as men do, as she and her sisters did sometimes. “Oh. I see.”

Danya’s blue eyes seemed to fill with her, to absorb her. The salty air seemed to shift a little, heat and still, and the crashing of the waves seemed to be inside her heart—

“Well, boys, now that’s settled, I’ve got a shoot in a little bit,” Sidney stated briskly as pulled herself out of whatever was happening between Danya and herself. She hurried to collect her duffel bag and place it in the house. She dug out her camera gear and wished she didn’t have to face the men.

Danya entered the cabin, and because she’d misunderstood
the situation, and because men sometimes got all huffy when a woman rescued them, Sidney said, “Um…sorry about that.”

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it into a hamper. “About what?”

“About butting in. Got to go. See you later.” The sight of his chest, all muscled and tanned and the peaks of his nipples on those rounded pecs caused her throat to dry. She ached to rummage her fingers through that wedge of hair on his chest and maybe follow that thin line downward—

She hurried out the door because in another minute, she’d be reaching to touch him.

The models were clustering on the beach, oiling themselves and reapplying makeup, tousling their hair, and Sidney gave herself to the artistry of nature and female form, the blend of light and water and wind. As usual, a small crowd had collected, watching her work.

When the light was almost gone, Sidney let the models go with an order to get plenty of sleep because they were shooting all the next day.

She sat on a driftwood log and relaxed, a peaceful moment by herself after a heavy concentration of arranging limbs and hair and best sides, and the continual suggestions and grumbling. Earl could be temperamental and she’d had to force herself to heap praise upon him—after he had balked at something minor she’d said like “Move your butt, Earl. I’m losing light.”

Danya came to sit beside her. “Tired?”

“Beat is more like it. There’s a lot of emotion in this, getting the right shot, working with models. I’d prefer natural shots, but this gig was pretty high paying. Plus, I didn’t want to meet up with Ben anywhere. Fluffy would be hanging all over him.” She caught the scent of soap and man and looked at him. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Dinner is ready when you are.”

Preparing dinner probably kept Danya busy and his mind off his lost love. They watched the setting sun, the bright bor
der of orange on the horizon. The waves slid softly upon the sand and Sidney sighed tiredly. “Ben would have liked this.”

“Mr. Rabbit?”

In the comradery of the moment, Sidney shared an insight with him. “His fast moves could have been my fault. There’s a lot of articles written about what pleases a man. I wouldn’t buy something like that…I get complimentary magazine copies because of my work for the publishers. I just didn’t take time to read them. I’ve always been pretty capable.”

“Sure.” He sounded disbelieving.

She eyed him. “You don’t believe me?”

He riffled her hair playfully. “Sure I do.”

“I could have done a lot better than you did out there in the sand today.”

Danya seemed to smirk. “I don’t think so. You’re small.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Sidney stood up and faced him. She made the “come and get me” motion with her hands. “Try me.”

“No.”

She reached to riffle his hair and Danya’s hand circled her wrist, easing it away. His eyes were dark, his expression grim. “Don’t. No wrestling.”

Sidney eased down to sit beside him. She wasn’t leaving him to brood about his lost love. They sat in silence, staring at the ocean, and she noted that he still held her hand, resting it on his thigh. Then suddenly, Danya said, “If you’re ready, let’s eat.”

He’d locked himself inside again, she thought sadly. “Sure.”

He held her hand on the way to his cabin, and waited until she opened the door for him to enter.

That gave her a chance to enjoy Danya’s truly admirable backside. That warm little ball seemed to lodge low in Sidney’s belly as she watched him; her throat dried and tightened and something had just peaked her breasts, though she wasn’t cold. He was graceful, like a powerful cat, broad shoulders
swaying just that bit, cords rippling down that T-shirt fitted so close to his body. She ached to take pictures of him, the blend of shadows and a truly sexy male.

He turned slowly and studied her with a half smile.

The hair on her nape lifted. She didn’t understand that smile, but it caught her heart and flipped it over; her body quivered just that once, not in fear, but in anticipation—of what? Why was he looking at her like that—his lips curved slightly, his eyes heavy lidded, that silvery gaze taking in her body from head to foot? What was happening?

She wondered what it would feel like, nipple to nipple, hers to his, and her body went taut and hot and quivery again….

Danya slowly stripped away his T-shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll take another shower. Make yourself at home.”

He didn’t move. She couldn’t move.

She could either call it a day and retreat.

Or she could—Sidney closed the cabin door behind her with a click.

Danya nodded slowly, then turned to go into the bathroom, leaving her alone.

Her knees shook; her whole body quivered. Whatever had happened in that moment had shaken her badly.

It was all in her mind, of course. Nothing had happened—not really.

Or had it?

T

Across the small table from her, Danya looked all shower-and-shampoo fresh and totally jumpable. His dark, shaggy hair was combed back from that hard, angular face, just reaching his shoulders. Candlelight emphasized the slant of his brows, the cut of his cheekbones, that sensual mouth.

That little quiver shot through Sidney again and she almost choked on the shrimp linguine he had expertly prepared. She lifted the wineglass and drank quickly.

“Okay?” Danya asked with concern.

He was such a nice guy, and she was thinking about that mouth and what it could do and what it would taste like—

Sidney reached for the bottle of wine and in passing, scorched her hand on the candle’s flame—“Ouch!”

She started to rub it on her thigh, but Danya’s hand took hers, his head bending.

His lips touched her hand, suckled the small wound slightly, and Sidney held her breath, fighting the sensations wrapping around her, tugging at her. “You can stop that. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered.

“Does it not?”

His voice was deep and intimate, with that bit of accent tugging at her—as if it were meant just for her. It hurt somewhere deep inside her, an unfamiliar sensitive part of her heart that she hadn’t expected.

On the other hand—she wanted to jump him, take him, work up a real heated froth and exorcise that taut ache within her.

But then, she would be taking advantage of a sweet guy. Danya hadn’t a clue, and he was still in love with his wife. Sidney watched him pour another glass of wine and noted that after he finished a sip, his lips were glossy and smooth.

She breathed deeply and quickly drank her wine. Danya leaned back in his chair. “Rough day?”

“I’m not a portrait photographer. It’s tougher than I thought. I’m not used to arranging bodies and waiting for makeup and hair to be corrected. Earl, the makeup guy, got insulted when I asked him to help me with the light meter. The reason they wanted me for this gig was that I’m pretty good at natural settings and using natural light. Freelancing world catastrophes does a lot for picking up the pace and spotting good shots. Once, Ben and I were on the cusp of this volcano and the lava river swerved right toward us—”

“I see. How about having our wine out on the porch? It’s relaxing to listen to the waves after a hard day.”

On the porch step, Sidney sat beside Danya. “I never should have taken this job. I’ll ship the takes to New York and they’ll be processed there. I just didn’t want to meet Ben and he doesn’t do these gigs. It’s more work than I expected—portraiture, I mean. Sometimes people freeze up and won’t let the camera in. Even the models sometimes do that, and they’re pros. I’ll be glad when it’s finished and I can see the finished
product. Everything looks different once they do the graphic work and crop it.”

Danya was holding her hand again, resting it on his thigh. He was silent, staring out into the ocean—probably missing his wife again.

He seemed so lonely and Sidney was glad that she was with him. “You’ve got to get out of this funk, guy,” she said softly. “You’ll meet someone and the first thing you know, you’ll be adding cousins to the list already here.”

“I would like children very much. Would you?”

“No. Rather, I never thought about it. Ben—”

“I would rather not hear about Ben, if that is okay with you.”

“Oh, sure. I’ve been talking too much. It’s boring, I know.” Sidney yawned; she had began to feel the effects of the hard day, the good dinner and the wine.

“Tired?”

“Mmm. But I don’t want to move. This is nice—the sound of the ocean, the tinkling of the wind chimes.”

“Then rest here, against me.” His arm came around her, easing her closer.

Just buddies in the night, Sidney thought, as she settled against him. “You’ll get over this,” she whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Danya returned unevenly as she slid into sleep with the ease of an experienced traveler, who took rest when possible.

Sidney awoke in Danya’s big bed to the sound of deep strained breathing. Danya was on the floor, concentrating on push-ups. “It’s still night, isn’t it?” she asked drowsily as she eased to sit upright. “I usually do those in the morning.”

“Morning is not far away. I am just getting a head start.”

Sidney stood, yawned, stretched and shimmied out of her cargo pants. She tossed them over a chair and reached under her T-shirt, unfastening her bra and drawing it out one of her sleeves. She tossed it onto her pants and yawned again. “I’m beat.”

Danya hadn’t said anything, but in the shadows, his stare
was hard and narrowed upon her. He returned to his vigorous push-ups.

Sidney took in that long taut length, his bare back, those bulging muscles, that hard backside clad in jeans. “You ought to pace yourself, Danya.”

“I am trying very hard to do just that.”

“I don’t remember getting into your bed, but I’ll move to my sleeping bag. Thanks for letting me sleep a bit.”

“Uh-huh,” he said grimly.

Sidney walked into the bathroom and braced her hands against the closed door. Then she flattened herself against it and breathed hard, trying to understand what was happening to her. Danya, working up a sweat, had caused that quivery something inside her to tighten and hum and ache. She opted for a really cold shower, changed into her comfortable boxer shorts and T-shirt and came out into the room. Danya, probably exhausted, was lying stomach down on the floor, his head resting on his folded arms.

She thought about that nipple to nipple thing and tried to push it away—it wouldn’t go.

Sidney lay down on her sleeping bag and covered up with her sheet. “Want to talk about it?”

He was lying very close on the floor beside her, and turned to stare at her. “With you? No.”

“Why not?”

He jackknifed to his feet, stood over her and slowly took in the length of her body. The hard bulge beneath his jeans told her that he was aroused.

She could make use of that—if he didn’t deserve better—some woman who would take good care of him.

On the other hand, waste not, want not—she thought as she stared up at him. “You’re having a sexual moment, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“I’ve got no objections.” It was the best invitation she could come up with and it had been good enough for Ben in close quarters.

Danya wasn’t Ben—his smile wasn’t nice, just a wolfish flash of teeth in the shadows. “But I do. We are friends, are we not?”

“Look, I know how it is with men. I was friends with Ben and we—”

“Just ships passing in the night, needs meeting needs, right?”

There was a taut, angry edge to his tone that caught her off guard, and caused her to feel guilty for some reason. She had the uneasy sense that if Danya wanted, he could be very dangerous. She wasn’t certain that she liked “dangerous”; “comfortable” was much better. “It would be over in a minute. No strings attached. You’d sleep better.”

“I would ‘sleep better’? So you would sacrifice yourself? Your body to me and ask nothing, so that I would sleep better? Is that what you think lovemaking is between a man and a woman?” His head had tilted, his silvery blue eyes challenging her and that rigid jaw said that someone had crossed invisible male-female protocol lines.

Sidney thought of what she would be getting in return—quite a sizable commodity. “I’d be fine with that,” she managed unevenly.

“I wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, your wife. I understand.”

“I doubt it. You see, I need a little bit more than Ben apparently did.”

Danya turned and walked into the bathroom and the shower began to run. When he emerged, he walked naked to the bed, and lay down with the sheet covering him, his back to Sidney. “Go to sleep, Sid.”

Restless now, unsettled by the sight of Danya’s naked body, it was a long time before Sidney could sleep.

He’d said “lovemaking,” not “sex.”
Lovemaking
had big connotations that Sidney did not want.

She had loved Ben, and she had been hurt.

Plain old sex served good enough in tight situations.

She tossed onto her stomach and fought the ache there and in her breasts. Sex was good enough, she repeated to herself. She’d leave “lovemaking” and “romance” to women who got soppy when they watched old movies and who wept at getting a bouquet of flowers. All those things were for people who had time for them; she didn’t.

Sidney’s restless turning, the muttering of Ben’s name, had caused Danya to leave the cabin early. He walked down the beach and out onto the tourist pier where the row of shops was quiet and shadowy, the bright flags overhead flapping gently in the breeze. His father was sitting in a camping chair, a bucket of bait on the boards beside him. Dawn caught the thin silvery line stretched from Viktor Stepanov’s pole into the huge dark waves.

“My son,” Viktor said quietly. “I like this peaceful time. It reminds me of the old country, before my brothers and I leave. I am glad to be here with Fadey and my sons—my new granddaughter, Danika Louise. Someday, she will come fish with me, just as you and Alexi did as boys…. You want this woman, Sidney, for your own? I am glad. It is time. Sit. Talk with me.”

“I want to marry her, Father. I want a home and children with her.”

The Russian language flowed freely between Danya and his father now, the intimate quiet talk. “What is the problem then, my son?”

“She has not left the love she feels for another man. She moves quickly and will soon be gone.”

“Then you will follow,” Viktor stated with a shrug.

“Of course.”

“Of course. But I think she fears what she feels for me. That it is confused with what she feels for this other man. I need time—”

“Give her what she needs. She will find you to be a good man and she will love only you, this I know. You bring her to your uncle Fadey’s home, my home now. You let her meet us,
see what we are. Pretty soon, you love, you marry, you have my grandchildren.”

Danya smiled at his father’s simple picture and looked at the gray sky foretelling morning and a clear day. The urge to make love to Sidney was strong, but he intended to move slowly, surely, into a relationship where she thought only of him—

Sidney had started working early, making use of wind and water to paste the model’s swimsuits against their curves. The salt-scented ocean breeze lifted those masses of textured and colored hair up and away from beautiful, sculptured cheekbones. Earl was at his best, bronzing faces and long, bikini-clad bodies.

Sidney shot automatically, focusing on the best advantage of each face. Marvelous Calendars wanted every shot possible, for potential use in other sales promotions. They also wanted natural shots, the behind the scenes stuff for a potential documentary.

While Earl was working on Miss November, a blue-eyed sweet farm girl type from Wisconsin, Sidney swung her focus to Miss June. Alice Ann Michaels, in a worn flannel robe and huge black rimmed glasses, was absorbed in a thick book on law; Alice Ann was worried about passing the bar exams and she crammed every available moment.

Miss April sat in a beach chair, crocheting something big and maroon that she hauled from a tote bag at every available moment.

Miss February was skimming her notebook with one perfectly manicured fingernail, and talking earnestly on her cell phone. She was probably trading stocks and building her portfolio.

They were a good bunch, even if they were models and did obscene things to enhance their beauty, Sidney decided as she snapped away at the various models, waiting their turn at the camera. The models weren’t so bad, really—if they didn’t
push to remake her into something she wasn’t. Bulldog had never liked primpers.

Sidney directed Miss November’s body draped over the light gray driftwood log. “Elbows back, face up, this way…just a little. Earl, get that strand of hair away from her face, and do something with that lip gloss—it’s picking up too much sun….”

Because the day was warm and she was moving fast, leaping upon driftwood for better angles, crouching on the sand for upward shots, Sidney had skimmed down to her comfortable cutoff jean shorts and a sturdy black sports bra that allowed more freedom.

Sidney granted a long lunch break and rest for the models; they would begin calendar work again at three o’clock in the afternoon. Meanwhile, she placed a shirt over her sports bra and strolled around Amoteh, taking in the sights. She shot the colorful shops on the pier, the seagulls high in the clear blue sky, vacationers strolling hand in hand.

She spread a beach towel on the sand, leaned back and closed her eyes. She tried to picture Ben, a blond scholarly looking man, and instead Danya’s rugged image came into her mind.

She thought she caught his scent, and smiled softly, then slowly opened her eyes to see Danya looking down at her. He was standing close and the wind had caught his hair, taking it back from those vivid blue eyes. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi. Tired?”

“Mmm. Just relaxing. Sit down and pull up a piece of sand.”

He sat beside her, staring out into the ocean, and Sidney studied him. “We were talking earlier about linking up—you know, men and women. What more do you need, Danya? I mean other than sex.”

He watched a seagull darting among the strands of seaweed lying on the sand and took his time in answering. “I am old-fashioned. I need romance, I suppose.”

“Kissing, foreplay, after play, et cetera. That kind of stuff?”

“Uh-huh.”

“French kissing? Open lips, tongue on tongue, that sort of thing?”

He sounded strangled and cleared his throat. His gaze lowered to her chest and Sidney realized that she was too warm—probably because of the afternoon sun, magnified by the ocean waves—and her nipples had unexplainably hardened beneath the spandex confinement. “That would be acceptable,” Danya agreed slowly.

“But all that would take a lot of time.”