Intimate (3 page)

He checked his phone. No more texts. That message he'd gotten earlier really bugged him. Who the hell could it have been? And why were they contacting him now? RJ had been gone for almost twenty years, though Jake was pretty certain a good scandal never died.

He'd check into it later. The coffee shop was almost empty. A couple of women sat near the door, an older dark-haired guy had just come in, ordered, and then sat at a table across the room from Jake, staring at his iPad. Other than that, there was no one but the cute little barista manning the counter.

No one paid any attention to Jake. He loved the anonymity of this older self, but today it felt as if the Fates had conspired to drag him back to that period when everything had gone so wrong. During the Olympics and then through the ensuing media frenzy after the wreck, the trial and sentencing, he'd been hounded by the press. As a public figure, there'd been no chance of keeping his name out of the papers. The paparazzi loved his looks, and his face had been splashed on the cover of every cheap tabloid around.

He'd been RJ Cameron then, thanks to dear old Mom, who'd thought RJ had a better ring than Richie. Cameron was her maiden name, and while she was all about making at least one of her sons famous, she had no problem inserting a little bit more of herself into the equation. She thought the name was classy, he'd thought it was stupid, but as an adult he'd learned to appreciate the anonymity of having screwed up so badly under a fake name.

Until today, no one had made the connection between R. Jacob Lowell and RJ Cameron.

Who the hell sent the text? How could anyone see the man he was today and recognize the stupid kid he'd been almost twenty years ago? He might have been almost as tall as he was now, but he'd been a lot thinner, his body lean and muscular from hours of training, his hair short, spiky, and blond—bleached by both the sun and his mother in her ultimate quest to make him a star.

She'd sold him like a damned product.

She'd only cared that he look good. Winning was expected, but her goal was Hollywood. She figured he had a better chance getting in as a sports star—win big at the Olympics, then the studios would come calling.

And, suck-up little jerk that he was, he'd gone along with everything she wanted, and he'd been good enough to make it work.

Up until he blew it.

Thank goodness his hair was naturally dark brown. Now, with it loose and curling around his face, he looked nothing like that manufactured image his mother had nurtured.

Who had found him? Who remembered RJ? He drummed his fingers on the table, pissed off and frustrated.

A shift in the flow of people on the sidewalk caught his eye, and Kaz was there, impossible to miss as she drew closer. He pushed the damned text message out of his mind and watched her. She was a good head taller than the pedestrians around her, and she moved with an easy stride, like a woman perfectly at ease in her own skin. He liked that, the sense of purpose as she got closer to the coffee shop.

His heart rate picked up when she stepped through the door and headed straight to the counter. The barista, a tiny blonde, met her with a hug and proceeded to build some sort of coffee with froth and stuff all over it without Kaz even ordering.

The two women talked nonstop, quietly enough that he couldn't make out what was said. Still, it was fun to watch the various expressions crossing Kaz's face. Damn, she was really something.

Absolutely unique. He'd never seen anyone like her.

It wasn't until she took her cup and paid the bill that she turned and, without having to hunt for him, headed directly to his table.

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him before he had time to stand. She held her hand out. “Kaz Kazanov.”

He shook her hand. “Jake Lowell. Thank you for agreeing to meet.” He didn't want to let go. Her hand was as beautiful as the rest of her, the fingers long and slim, nails trimmed short with clear polish.

Glancing up, he met eyes like dark chocolate, a wide smile in an angular face that was far from traditionally beautiful, but one he had trouble looking away from. High cheekbones, a long, sharply bridged nose, full lips, and a firm chin. Her hair was a short, dark brown cap, cut in a jagged, off-balance style that merely accentuated the angles and shadows of her face, her long, slim neck, the deep hollows at her collarbones.

She wore an oversized white cotton man's shirt over a pale blue tank top. He'd noticed when she walked in that her belly was covered. Damn. He'd really wanted a look at the tattoo.

She had turquoise studs in both ears and a tiny matching stud in her left nostril.

This was looking better and better.

“Seen enough?” She tilted her head and smiled at him, but there was a bite to her words.

“Actually, no, but I must admit I like what I see. What nationality are you?”

“Does it matter?”

Yeah. She was definitely pissed, but why? He shrugged. “Only because I want to know if your skin color is all over or if you've got tan lines we'd need to cover.”

“Oh, crap.” She slapped a hand to her forehead and just left it there, covering her eyes as she laughed. Jake grinned as a dark burnt umber flush spread across those outstanding cheekbones. After a minute, she peeked through her fingers. “I am so sorry. I was treating you like a bad date getting a bit too personal.” Then she snorted rather inelegantly, which had him biting back a grin. “I totally gapped out this was a job interview. My apologies. Obviously you're aware this has not been one of my better days.”

He was still smiling when he answered her. “I know. I heard what happened, and then I wasn't sure if the receptionist would give you my number. She's very protective of you.”

“Lola's one of my roommates. She's a really good friend. She was there for me through some very dark times. She's just watching out for me.” Kaz shrugged and glanced away. The emptiness in her eyes sent a chill through him. He thought back to what Lola said to him and he knew Kaz was thinking of her little sister—knew it as clearly as if she'd told him—but then she sort of shook herself and smiled at him again.

It felt like a punch to the heart.

“I don't know what I am,” she said. How was it she could so easily rock his world and yet remain totally unaffected? She was chatting away as if nothing had happened.

“Dad's fairly dark,” she said. “Hispanic maybe, or Middle Eastern. He was adopted at birth, an abandoned baby, so he has no idea what his genetic background is. My mother was mostly white, almost as tall as me, but with some Native American in her background. It shows more in me than it did in her. She was a natural blonde. I get my hair color from my father.”

“Past tense? Your mother?”

Kaz sipped her latte, glanced away and said, “She's dead. A long time ago.”

“That's pretty tough, losing someone you love.”

She cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “You say that as if you know.”

He merely nodded, repeated her comment. “A long time ago.”

She watched him a moment longer and then lowered eye lashes much too thick and long to be real—except he knew they were.

“So, you thought I was a bad date, eh?” He chuckled, changing the subject, and laughed when she gave him a snarky look out of the corner of her eye—and then blushed again. She was absolutely intriguing, exotic rather than beautiful, and her appearance changed with each movement, every smile, every glance. He couldn't wait to photograph her, to see what he might discover with his lens that was hidden within her rapidly changing expressions. After only a few minutes in her presence, he saw endless possibilities for the ad campaign—and more. Beyond her amazing looks, everything else about her was just as appealing—the low, husky voice, the broad smile, the easy laughter.

“I hate to admit it,” he said, “but I wish this wasn't strictly business. I haven't had time for too much play lately.”

“Tell me about it.” This time she merely smiled, but it was another expression that changed her entire look.

He took another mental snapshot, framing her in one more perfect shot. “Yeah,” he said. “Relationships are totally out, and dating isn't penciled in on my schedule for, oh, about the next ten years or so, but this is actually a job that could be a lot of fun as well as good for both our careers. The shoot is for a new line of jewelry, called Intimate. Very expensive, unique designs, many for intimate piercings, hence the name, though they've got more traditional designs as well. You have exactly the look I've been searching for the past couple of weeks. I was just about ready to give up before I saw you. I noticed you've got ear and nostril piercings. Are there any others we could use to display some truly beautiful pieces?”

She blushed again, and he wished he had his camera with him, but he'd dropped the equipment off at his apartment. He wondered if the camera on his phone could catch that beautiful burnt umber shade, but then she was laughing, her color was back to its perfect warm honey, and the moment passed.

“Why the blush?” He took a sip of his coffee and watched her eyes.

“I've done a few nude shoots, but very few.” She grimaced, but her eyes twinkled. “I'm not real comfortable posing nude, if that's what you're looking for, but beyond my ears and nose, both of my nipples are pierced, my navel, and the hood of my clit.” She laughed. “I'm not sure I know you well enough to model all the available options.”

He had to consciously will himself away from thinking about those piercings if he was going to function at all as a professional. “I'm guessing you're okay with the nose and navel piercings. Maybe the nipples, once you get to know me, feel more comfortable?”

Before she answered him, he added, “I'm especially interested in seeing your butterfly tattoo. The company logo is a monarch butterfly. The receptionist at the agency told me that's what your tattoo is. A monarch.”

Her lips parted and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes when she nodded. “I would love to show you the tat, though this probably isn't the best place.” She glanced over her shoulder at the line of people at the counter and then unexpectedly laughed out loud. “I might shock poor Mandy—she's the barista—right out of her Tevas.”

Resting his elbows on the table with his chin propped on his folded knuckles, Jake studied her, the curve of her lips, the shimmer in those dark eyes. Why did he feel such a strong connection to this woman? There was such a comfortable sense about her. So often the models he'd met and worked with had been more like mannequins without an ounce of personality, so caught up in their looks they had nothing else to offer. Kaz wasn't like that at all.

She absolutely sparkled, and that sparkle was contagious. Was it all Kaz, or was it his perception of her? He didn't know why, but something was happening.

Something well beyond the photo shoot.

Whatever it was, if he could capture it, he'd be shooting gold.

He fought a strong desire to grab on to her hand, as if holding her in place would make her decide to take the job. Instead, he wrapped his hands around his cup. His coffee had grown cold, but the heavy pottery mug anchored him.

“Here's the deal. I honestly think you've got the perfect look for the ad campaign. It's a new company, but with deep pockets. They're willing to spend money to make money. The theme behind the ad campaign is the link between jewelry and fine wine. Glitz with an edge for the younger moneyed crowd. I realize you don't know me and have no reason to trust me, but this is an important job, and you really are the perfect model.”

He was scheduled to be at the vineyard Thursday and Friday, but it was only Tuesday. Enough time for her to talk herself out of it, to change her mind? Before he really thought it through, Jake looked her in the eye and lied. Very convincingly. “I really want you for this job, Kaz, but we'll need to leave tonight.”

“Leave tonight? To go where?” She sat back in her chair and stared at him.

“Sonoma County wine country. If we can get close to the site this evening, we can start first thing in the morning. The owner of Intimate has a vineyard north of Santa Rosa, in a beautiful area called Dry Creek Valley. The plan is to do a series of shots in among the vines, maybe some in a renovated barn on the property. Mostly in the vineyard, though. Bud break was a couple of weeks ago, so the vines are just leafing out, and the leaves are a perfect shade of pale green with a lot of the woody part of the vine still showing. Beautiful texture for photography. Picture this—it's still green between the rows with lots of wildflowers. With your skin tone, the morning light, and some sparkling diamonds, I think we can get some killer shots.”

Resting his elbows on the table, his chin on his clasped hands, he studied her for a moment. “My original schedule had me doing the shots this coming weekend—arriving Thursday and working through the weekend, but now it looks like there's a chance of rain, which is why I want to go tonight. I'm under a real time crunch to get this series of photos done—I honestly didn't expect it to take me so long to find a model who was right for the campaign. I booked rooms for Thursday and Friday night, hoping I'd have someone by then, but with the weather in question I can't risk waiting.”

He shrugged. “If you agree to do the shoot, we'll need to find rooms for tonight and tomorrow night, but that shouldn't be a problem. Not midweek. I've got the jewelry and the cameras, and if you're willing, I've got the perfect model. What'd'ya say?”

She was frowning, obviously unsure, and why shouldn't she be? Strange guy walks in off the street and … Damn, he didn't want to lose her. “It pays really well.” He named the full sum he'd been given to work with, including his cut. If she didn't go for it, if she wanted more, he'd have to dig into his own stash, but he could afford it. He'd discovered a real talent for photography and he'd grown surprisingly successful in a relatively short time. He really didn't want to lose her.