Burning for You (11 page)

“Smart idea.”

She hadn’t put on her sunglasses, so facing west, she held up a hand to shade her eyes. She saw a flicker in his eyes. “Oh no. You’ve had those calls. They weren’t—”

“One was,” he confirmed, surprised he was sharing with her. “Two-year-old in his car seat.”

“Oh, Joe.” Her hand came down and touched his arm. He could see tears threaten in her eyes. He shifted, blocking the sun. “I’m so sorry.” She blinked, trying to hold back the flow.

He crooked a finger, tucked it under her chin. “It’s my job.”

“I couldn’t do it.” She bit her lip, put both hands on his forearms.

“But you did last night,” he reminded her. Her touch comforted him, broke through the shell he’d erected around himself. She was dangerous.

“But I know they can’t be saved.”

“So do we, before we even get the door open.”

She shivered as the tears escaped. “How does it not give you a form of PTSD?”

Any other woman who’d asked him this had met with anger. He was a protector. He didn’t need help. Didn’t need sympathy. Yet, with Taylor, he wanted to talk. Wanted to let her in, no matter how scary the prospect. “Maybe it does,” he admitted. “I’ve found physical activity is the best release. I’m rock climbing tomorrow.” He moved his fingers—wiped her tears away.

“I’d be afraid I’d fall off,” she said, stopping the sniffles.

“There are ropes. I’ll take you.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Afraid of heights. Made one attempt at rappelling during Girl Scouts and I was done.”

“So no jumping out of airplanes either.” He’d diverted her attention, and she laughed.

“Heck no.”

“You should probably go before you use all your gas,” Joe said. “It’s cool in there.”

“Or good enough,” she replied. She lifted her hands, missing the skin-to-skin contact. “Thank you for today. Thank you for the jobs. I feel like I have some egg on my face for being so stubborn about things at first.”

“It’s part of your charm,” he told her, reaching around her to open the car door. If she didn’t get inside soon, he was going to do something foolish, like kiss her senseless. “We’ll talk this week.”

“I look forward to it.” She slid into the car. “Tell your family I enjoyed meeting them.”

“I will.” He shut her door, stood rooted until she’d backed up and driven away. As he turned to head up the hill, Parker came down with a cooler and put it in a silver minivan two spaces down.

“Are we calling it a day?” Joe asked.

“Starting to,” Parker said. “We have to be at the early church service, so it’s almost past our bedtime.”

“I better go help clean up then,” Joe said.

Forty minutes later, he parked his pickup in the tiny parking lot of his St. Louis Hills apartment and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He dropped his keys and iPhone on the corner of the TV stand. Immediately his fat orange tiger-striped cat came to rub against his jeans. Brutus’s automatic feeder had gotten low, and Joe refilled the dry kibble and refreshed the automatic waterer. Brutus immediately stuck his head under the flow. When Joe worked, his sister Elaina, who lived across the hall with her roommate Megan, took care of the cat Joe had found as a kitten outside a burned-out building.

Sometimes Joe wasn’t sure who owned the apartment, him or Brutus. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, the stickiness of the day evident. He started the shower—the old building’s hot-water heater needing an extra minute to heat up—and stripped down, easing his jeans inside out.

As he did, his fingers eased over why he refused to wear anything but long pants, the real reason he’d joined the family profession, and the major impediment to his love life. He might be Mr. September from the waist up, but from midthigh down he sported puckered, wrinkled skin that would never feel smooth, never be anything but tight and discolored. His first girlfriend had blanched and brought her hand to her mouth when she’d seen him naked. Needless to say, he’d been a late bloomer in the sex department, and he’d never once turned on the light.

He stepped under the spray, letting the hot water wash away the day’s grime. Tomorrow he had a full day of rock climbing and at least two hours’ worth of boxing practice. The male-dominated ring was the only place he felt comfortable in shorts, but yet, when he competed, he wore a custom-made pair with a hem just below the knees. Add in his lucky socks, his legs were pretty much covered.

He ran shampoo through his hair, working the suds through the thick strands. He let his mind drift, picturing Taylor’s pretty face. He’d been so close to kissing her. He’d seen the interest flickering in her hazel eyes. All he would have had to do was lean forward and bring his mouth down on that perfect pink bow. She’d even parted her lips slightly. … Part of him quickened and he shook his head under the spray, sending a line of suds racing down his torso as he rinsed. As he ran soap over his scarred legs, the thought of kissing Taylor quickly fizzled.

He sensed she might be different, but deep down he knew that when she saw him, she’d be like all the others. First she’d be shocked. Repulsed. Then she’d turn sympathetic. Nurturing. Then overbearing and controlling, as if that could somehow save him.

It was twenty years too late for that.

He turned off the water, stepped from the shower, and wiped the steam from the mirror. He gazed at himself in the condensation-covered glass, his features distorted.

He needed to remain professional around Taylor. She was ten years younger than him. She didn’t need an older, damaged man. They had a book to complete, and despite any other interest in her, that had to be enough.

After a lifetime of rejection, he couldn’t risk anything else.

Taylor hadn’t expected Virginia to bring her entourage to Tuesday’s viewing, but given the gaggle of woman present at the photo shoot, she really shouldn’t have been surprised. However, the number of onlookers had doubled, and Taylor’s fingers trembled as she hooked up her laptop to the LCD projector. Unlike when she’d met one-on-one in Virginia’s office to sign the contract, today she stood in a big conference room of Perlow, Barker and Wayman, Virginia’s husband and son’s legal firm and home base for Virginia’s charity work. Taylor ran a hand over her best skirt, a black and white cotton checkerboard A-line Armani skirt that she’d paired with a black fitted top. She’d found both at the resale shop with tags still on for a fraction of the original price.

This must be the full committee, Taylor thought, as the LCD projected her laptop’s desktop onto the screen. She clicked the file and took a deep breath. “I’ve put these in monthly order, and given you a range of shots to choose from for each one.”

“Good, I’m glad of that.” Virginia leaned back in a leather conference chair that probably cost more than a month of Taylor’s rent. Virginia sat at the head of the table, closest to the screen and pressed a remote. The lights dimmed. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Taylor began. “This is Mr. January, Blaine Johnson. You’ll see I’ve put him in Carondelet Park at the Boathouse. I chose this instead of Forest Park so we could showcase the city’s third-largest park.”

“The lighting is fabulous,” said a woman near the end of the table.

“Look how good he looks,” said another.

“Too bad I’m married,” added a third.

“I like it,” Virginia declared, and with a wave, urged Taylor on. “Good choice. Let’s see the rest of Mr. January’s shots.”

Taylor inhaled, and moved to the next picture. As she progressed month by month, she slowly began to relax. The women seemed pleased, each making comments and notations on a sheet as to which photos they liked from each month’s set.

“Ah, here he is,” Virginia said as Taylor displayed the first of Joe’s photos. “He was our last one.”

“I remember him,” a woman down the table called. “Women will want to burn their houses down to meet this one.”

Blown up on the screen, Joe appeared larger than life. Taylor had fought with the backgrounds, finally settling for one of the plainer choices, an industrialized setting that was deliberately out of focus so that Joe dominated the frame. She swallowed. He was ratings gold.

“He wears that gear well,” a woman commented, reaching for her water glass. “He’s going to be a magnet for the calendar ball.”

“Oh yes, you are planning on attending that, right Taylor?” Virginia asked. “I’ll have my assistant get you the information now that we’ve set an early November date and locked in the Chase as a venue. We’ll be launching the calendar, and all the men will be present. You need to be there as well. Black tie.”

“I’d be happy to attend.” She’d have to start saving for an appropriate dress, but the event was months away. Plenty of time. She flipped to the next slide.

“It’s hard to decide on this one,” a voice called. “Can I see the first one again?”

“I liked the third,” someone called.

“I like them all,” added someone else. “He’ll definitely be a hit.”

A clamor began. “I’m glad you mussed his hair. Gives him an after-bed look.”

“If I wasn’t married, I’d take him to bed.”

“Didn’t you say that about that last few guys?”

“A girl can dream.”

“Ladies,” Virginia said, ending the chatter that was fast making Taylor uncomfortable. It had been hard enough editing Joe’s pictures. Often she’d zoomed in so he was simply a bunch of pixels, too close to see the full picture as she worked. The man took a great photograph. He was even better in person, and she could remember how his hair felt as if she’d just touched it, instead of two days ago.

“They’re all great,” Virginia said in a way that Taylor knew there was a “but” coming. “But these are missing something. There was a spark, a sexiness to the shoot. Let me see the raw images from the end.”

“I …”

“Show me,” Virginia commanded, and Taylor sighed and clicked on a different file folder.

“Let me show you this one.” Taylor dragged a photo into Photoshop and brought it up full-screen. An image of Joe flashed up on the screen, and immediately the women gasped.

“Yes. That’s the one I want,” Virginia said. “You should have shown me that one first.”

Taylor didn’t even attempt an excuse. While she’d digitally enhanced this photo, she hadn’t included it among the five she’d presented for the simple reason that it was her best shot, and upon seeing it finished, she’d immediately wanted to keep it private.

“He could grace the cover of
GQ
,” a woman tittered.

“Or
Playgirl
.”

Which was exactly why she’d held it back. His head was slightly tilted, and he had both hands on the edges of his jacket, as if about to rip it off. Those blue-gray-green eyes smoldered, and his lips inched in promise. The overall impression was that he was about to strip and join a woman in bed, and that when he did, it was going to be very, very good.

The photo was intimate, sexy. The part of him she longed to see, especially after being close enough to kiss him. Crazy women would come out of the woodwork after having him displayed on their wall for thirty days. He was a fixer, and this photo would thrust him into the spotlight in ways he probably hadn’t anticipated when he’d been coerced into being Mr. September.

“I knew you were the right person for the job,” Virginia said, giving Taylor a smile. “Now that month nine is settled, let’s see the rest.”

Taylor ignored the little fission of guilt. Even though he’d indicated he’d had no choice, Joe had agreed to the shoot and she needed the job. She began to show the other photos. Virginia and crew loved the rest, and soon the lights were back on and Taylor uploaded the chosen photos to a flash drive.

“Wonderful work,” Virginia said, passing over the check. Taylor placed the envelope in her purse. “You can be sure I will be recommending you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“What are you working on next?”

“Actually, I’m taking Joe Marino’s family portraits.”

Virginia pushed her reading glasses onto her head. “I
thought
he had a thing for you during the photo shoot.”

Taylor tried not to blush. “No, it’s nothing like that. He wanted help with a charity book for the Burns Recovered Support Group. He needed a photographer. Someone who would work pro bono. The family photo job is to make up for the pro bono stuff.”

“Well, he’s quite the hottie. Is that the current word?” Virginia laughed and shrugged. “You should pursue that.”

“We’re professionals.” Although Taylor’s face reddened.

“Did I ever tell you how my husband and I met? I worked in his office. I was a young paralegal. Basically in the typing pool. But I saw him and knew he was to be mine. Now I’ve got grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way and we just celebrated fifty years. So you go for it.”

Taylor couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll remember that.”

“You do that,” Virginia said, patting her on the arm. “Now, my son is taking me to a late lunch. It’s so kind of him to let me run my charity work from here.”

“I’m sure he likes having you close,” Taylor said as a forty-something man stepped into the room.

“Ready mom?”

“Just about,” Virginia replied, placing the flash drive in her purse. The entourage had somehow faded away, off to whatever woodwork they’d emerged from. “Thank you again, Taylor. I’m intrigued by your new project. Let me know if I can help. I’m always looking for another charity to support. And if you do win your man, you call me. I know the perfect wedding planner.”

Butterflies jumped in Taylor’s stomach as she held back a hiccup. “That’s very premature.”

“You never know.” Virginia shook Taylor’s hand, then followed her son from the conference room.

Taylor reached into her purse and turned her phone ringer on. She’d missed two calls and had one text, from a number she didn’t recognize. She swiped, read the text, and frowned. “I really need to see you. Please.”

He’d signed it.

Owen.

Her fingers shook as she deleted the text. Why was he bothering her? He’d clearly been on a date the other night. Joe had thought it appeared serious. Whatever Owen had to say, it didn’t matter.