Burning for You (2 page)

His eyes had darkened to blue steel, held a hint of something. … “Didn’t know we knew each other so well. Not that I minded. Was it good for you? If not, I could make it good.”

“I said I was sorry.” Taylor gave another embarrassing hiccup.

His deep, suggestive voice caressed over her in a smooth wave. His lips twitched. “Don’t be sorry.
I’m
not. Who knew modeling could be so … hands on.”

“Uh …” Her tongue tied into knots. In her favorite novel, the hero would have kissed her now. He’d lower his mouth to hers and …

“That’s better.” Virginia’s voice broke the intimacy, reminding Taylor that she stood in a rented ballroom, in clear view of the others, making unprofessional googly eyes with her subject.

“I’m much happier,” Virginia called out. “Very sexy, Joe. Just what we’re looking for. Now get the shots, Taylor. Didn’t he say he had to leave? Why are we still keeping the man waiting?”

“Yes, let’s get this done,” Joe replied. Aware of their audience, his grin widened and he lowered full lips to whisper in Taylor’s ear. “But you just let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to oblige. Maybe we should explore what else those expert fingers of yours can do. I’m a very hands-on kind of guy. Comes with the job description.”

The seductive way his words rolled off his tongue made no secret that he meant the double entendre. “Yep, more than happy to help you.”

As Taylor scurried back to the safety of her camera, his low chuckle burned her ears.
No way did she need more of him!

Joe Marino was bad news. The kind who ran into danger instead of safely away. If one glance, or one hand on that hard chest, had turned her into a heated wreck—and she prided herself on being a woman who was never, ever, out of control—what would touching him more do? He’d shattered her precarious control with mere words.

“He reminds me of that werewolf in
True Blood
,” her friend Marci whispered as Taylor refocused her camera. The black Canon SLR was like a security blanket, and she moved it in front of her right eye.

One thing was certain—the camera loved Mr. September. The lens captured all his hard angles, accentuating them and making them even more chiseled. Taylor swallowed the next hiccup, which came out as a faint, mouselike squeak.

“You know, the actor. What’s his name? He also did that firefighter dance in
Magic Mike
,” Marci continued.

A movie Taylor had sadly missed. But she knew the HBO show. Had seen every episode with her girls’ viewing group, read all the Sookie Sackhouse books. “Joe Manganiello.”

Marci snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s him. See what I mean?”

Eye to the viewfinder, Taylor could perceive the resemblance Marci claimed—both men had the same dark hair and super-cut body—but really, the generalities were where the likeness ended. The Joe in front of her was clean-shaven. She could probably crack an egg on that sculpted jawline. He wasn’t as broad in the shoulders. He stood taller. His hair was longer, wavier. And his deep, sexy voice definitely hadn’t been the same. “He might even be hotter,” Marci said.

Marci was dead on, one hundred percent correct, but Taylor ignored answering her flirtatious friend, who’d only volunteered to assist on the photo shoot so she could hang out with twelve, hunky single men.

Taylor, being too poor to hire an assistant, had welcomed the help, even though that meant Marci flitting from guy to guy, her search for Mr. Right as fickle as the number of times she changed shoes per day. Marci had shed her earlier four-inch heels for a sensible pair of Sperry’s. Despite Taylor’s Converse, her feet screamed for a warm footbath.

Mr. September planted his hands on his hips and widened his stance as Taylor pressed the shutter, catching his poses. “Now if you could just move your helmet …”

“Here?” He dropped it directly in front of his crotch, and she flushed.

Virginia let loose a giggle. “Oh Joe! You are so bad.” Narrowing her gaze, Taylor frowned. She’d sworn some of the women in Virginia’s entourage had swooned.

“Under your arm will be fine,” Taylor returned briskly as his wicked grin split into devilish laughter before he complied. She pressed the shutter and the camera clicked rapid-fire. She issued a few more orders, and Joe executed the subsequent positions without complaint or comment, much to her relief. The man was danger personified.

“Okay, we’re finished,” Taylor called. “Unless you have anything else?”

Virginia shook her head. She appeared a bit flushed. “I’m satisfied. And it’s hot in here.”

“Great. I always make sure a woman is pleased before I leave.” Joe strode from the dance floor and headed their way.

“He’s going to be a favorite,” Marci observed.

“He will,” Taylor agreed. She had well over a hundred fifty photos—surely Virginia would find something she liked. Taylor wiped a drop of moisture from her forehead. The hotel’s air conditioning had failed miserably in keeping up with the unseasonably warm June day. The temperature outside was ninety-nine; it had to be at least eighty inside. The large fans designed to give the men the windblown look had provided some relief, but not nearly enough. She’d clipped her long dark-blonde hair up off her neck and into a loose knot, but that hadn’t done much. Her unsecured natural curls had frizzed into a hellacious halo.

Joe reached the set of chairs. He shed his coat, slid the suspenders down. Six-pack abs rippled as he pulled on a navy T-shirt embossed with the fire department logo. Then he sat down and pulled off the boots. Rising, he slid the turnout pants down, revealing the blue work pants he wore underneath. She knew he had to have been uncomfortably hot wearing all his gear. But he hadn’t complained once, unlike a few others. After realizing that Virginia hadn’t planned on providing food and drink, Taylor had sent Marci to the nearest convenience store for two dozen cold bottles of water, a Styrofoam cooler, and a bag of ice. Her charge cards already bleeding, what was one more unplanned expense?

As the group began to disperse, Taylor grabbed one of the last bottles. Unlike those TV modeling shows with multiple computer monitors on tables, Taylor’s reality was a used light kit bought off Craigslist, the green screen, and her camera. She’d work on her MacBook later and process the images. Shot against green, she’d easily be able to Photoshop the men onto the various St. Louis backdrop photos she’d taken previously. Then, once done, she’d bring the disk to Virginia.

“Tuesday, my office,” Virginia reminded Taylor of the upcoming deadline as she and her entourage made to leave.

“Ten a.m.,” Taylor confirmed. Today was Wednesday, so she had almost a week to get the images ready. As she had double shifts at Presley’s Friday and Saturday and thousands of photos to process, she’d need every spare minute. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as a rich, sexy voice said, “Can I see?”

Taylor turned. Joe stood there, towering over her in the T-shirt that fit like skin. He gestured at the camera, the small Maltese cross tattoo on the inside of his wrist clearly visible. She’d kept the tattoo out of view during the shoot. Virginia’s orders—and what Virginia wanted, Virginia got.

“There are hundreds of images …”

“I don’t want to see all of them. Just the last few will be fine.”

“No one else saw theirs …”

That sexy irresistible grin slid into place, and Mr. September turned into Mr. State the Obvious. “I’m not like everyone else.”

No, he certainly wasn’t. No one else made her heart skip or her face flame. Now in the clothes he’d wear around the firehouse while waiting for a call, Joe shouldn’t be so intimidating. Shouldn’t be so alluring. Shouldn’t be calling to something deep inside, something primitive she’d buried two years ago, something too dangerous to allow out.

“Besides, you owe me. You had your hands in my hair and on my chest. Surely that gives me some leeway, a little extra.”

Ooh boy. “Fine.”

The devilish grin widened. “See how easy that was?”

As Marci went to roll up the backdrop and put away the light kit, Taylor turned on the camera’s preview mode and scrolled through the last few images. Joe leaned over her left shoulder and watched as she did. “That’s good work.”

She paused, surprised. “Thanks. You’re not going to make a comment about how I had a good subject to work with?”

“That goes without saying.” His now trademark smile came and vanished. He shrugged. “Seriously, though, I can tell you’ve got talent. I hate being photographed. I never look good in them.”

Add lying to his list of talents.
She scoffed. “Then why did you do this?”

He frowned. “Because I had no choice.”

Ha. Hardly. Somehow she couldn’t quite believe him.
“Everyone has a choice.”

He opened his mouth, checked whatever he’d been about to say, and instead returned to the wide sexy grin found in all the photos. “Perhaps I just wanted to meet you. Get to know you.”

“Oh please. You’re being a cad. Be serious.” Taylor threw a hand over her mouth, realizing she’d sounded like the heroine in the book she’d clearly needed to put down last night.
How embarrassing
.

Hands went on hips. Eyebrows arched. “A cad? Where does that word come from anyway?”

From a romance novel.
Face flaming, she turned the camera off, watched the screen go dark. The backup battery had done its job. She made a show of putting her Canon into the camera bag, but Joe didn’t take the hint. “I’m sure you have other places to be.”

“You called me a cad. That’s a low blow. I have to defend my honor.”

“Are you serious? I was joking. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He shook his head, that lovely hair caressing his jawbone. Her fingers longed to touch the thick strands again, run her fingers through them, and draw them away from his face. Clearly, the book’s steamy love scene was wiggled into her subconscious.

“Humor me. You had your hands on my chest—and good hands, by the way.”

“Part of my job.”

“Why’d you become a photographer?”

“Why’d you become a firefighter?” she returned.

“Not for the reason you think, and do you always answer a question with a question?”

Her chin jutted forward. She was intrigued but tired. “Why? Does it annoy you?”

Deep laughter erupted, and shoving his hands into his back pockets, he disregarded the bad habit that sent most men she met running for the hills. “I like challenges; I don’t scare easily.”

Not expecting that answer, her next inhale went down wrong, and she coughed.

His forehead creased. “You okay? Need me to bang on your back?”

The thought of him touching her made all her nerve endings go haywire again. “I’m good. No need.” She made a show of touching the base of her collarbone. At least the hiccups had stopped. “Hate when that happens.”

The easy grin returned. “You seem to have some breathing issues today. I’m a certified paramedic. I’m trained in mouth-to-mouth. Let me know if you require that.”

The thought of his lips touching hers caused her next breath to whoosh out. No man had ever made her react so viscerally. She would take charge. Put him in his place. “I’m fine. I really need to pack up. So if we’re finished …”

“Actually, I have another question for you.”

The directness of his answer made her stare, curious. “Oh? What is it?” Was he about to ask her out?

“I like the work you do, and today I saw how patient and kind you are with your subjects. I’m looking for a photographer to help me with a pet project. Interested?”

Damn. For a millisecond disappointment filled her and she wiped the back of her right hand on her forehead, the lack of decent air conditioning starting to get to her, or maybe it was simply his dynamic proximity. Of course he didn’t want her—just her skills. But, she’d hoped. Anticipated.
Get it together
, she chided herself. He hadn’t even really been flirting—just more annoying, right?—and she certainly couldn’t turn down business. “I’m willing to listen.”

“Perfect. Card?”

His entire demeanor turned serious, and she remained frozen, the change so abrupt she was certain her head would be spinning if not attached. “Yes. Hold on.” She dug into the front of her camera bag, took out a tiny piece of heather gray cardstock.

He plucked the business card from her fingertips, studied the words, and tucked it into a front pocket, the movement creating a crease in the pants near his. … She jerked her gaze away. “Great. I’ll call you in a day or two. That work?”

“Uh. Um. Yes.” She forced herself to be professional.

“Good. Can’t wait to talk then.” He thrust his hand forward, and unprepared for the gesture, she shook it awkwardly. Like when he’d covered her hands earlier, a sizzle fused her fingers to his, forcing her to pull away quickly. All day he’d had her off her game. She was drawn to him but wasn’t sure she liked him. After the huge ordeal of her breakup with Owen, she avoided anything or anyone that made her feel out of control, which was how she felt since his first wink. But she needed work. “Talk to you soon.”

With that, Joe picked up his gear and strode to the exit. Taylor stared, stupefied, unable to rip away her attention as she tracked his progress. She was no match for this man, this gorgeous chameleon who could charm his way into getting whatever he wanted. As for exactly what he wanted, he’d led her one way and then switched directions so fast she hadn’t been able to keep up. Did he really need a photographer? But why would he pretend otherwise?

“He is so hot,” Marci said, approaching with the gear. Her enthusiasm bubbled. “He took your card. Did he ask you out? God, I wish he’d have asked me. Are you going to go? You should. Especially since he’s single and you haven’t had a real date in ages. Not since Owen. It wasn’t your fault he was such a jerk and …”

As Marci rambled on, Taylor pressed her water bottle to her forehead. She was getting a massive headache. Time to get some real food and into some actual air conditioning—stat. As for Joe Marino, she dismissed him from her mind, although it took more effort than she’d expected. No matter how much her body liked him, she was a girl who’d learned the hard way to follow her head and not her heart. And her head said to stay far away from Joe. Even if he did make her mushy. And hot.