Intimate Portraits (12 page)

Footsteps padded down the hall.

She stiffened. Before she could
move, the bathroom door flew wide open, and she was caught with one leg up in a
pose that could have been used for a male magazine.

She gasped and pulled at the
towel to no avail. It stayed stuck beneath her foot.

Rennie, shock rounding his eyes
and mouth, stood framed in the doorway.

The towel wouldn’t come free, no
matter how she yanked.

“I’m in here,” she said unnecessarily.

“Madre de Dios,” he said as
unnecessarily.

The door didn’t close.

She gave up trying to conceal
herself, and made a tiny hopeless gesture with her head and shoulders toward him.

He stood suspended in consternation
and astonishment…and something else.

His mouth softened while his body
tightened, swelled, and smoothed the wrinkles of the faded jeans to accommodate
his bulk. His thighs flexed beneath the taut fabric, as if every muscle, every
cell, and every tissue of his body were preparing to run.

But his feet didn’t move.

Nor could hers. Despite her
deficient charms exposed to his critical eye.

Under his stare, a tingling began
deep inside her belly, despite its imperfections naked to his view. Her
upraised leg revealed everything, but she still couldn’t move.

The interminable moment ended.

“Sorry, Autumn.” The syllables
came out hoarse and choppy. He was as disconcerted as she. His hand fumbled,
found the doorknob and pulled it toward him. “I’m sorry.”

She bit back a scream as the door
closed and separated them.

Damn, damn, damn. Why had he
sneaked in like that?

She dried her body off with hard
scouring motions, detesting the hateful, straight, insufficiently female body
that he had now beheld in all its inadequacies.

“I’m sorry, Autumn,” he called
again through the door. His voice had regained its normalcy. “I thought
everyone had left for the restaurant.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be right out.”

How could she sound so composed
when her heart pounded like a jackhammer and her stomach felt like upchucking? Of
all people, why did it have to be Rennie who came barging in to see her naked,
without makeup and her hair in a towel and…?

Any hopes of stimulating romantic
interest were doomed after he’d seen what little she had to offer.

Damn, damn, double damn.

She yanked on a robe and zipped it
before compelling her jumpy hands to apply foundation and blush and lip gloss and
mascara and liner.

Better. That was her professional
face looking back from the mirror. Her heart had slowed. She wasn’t gulping for
breath.

She was back in control.

What was the big deal? He’d seen
nude women before. A lot better-looking women than me, she told herself as she
went out. Jane had been small but curvy, and there must have been others Autumn
didn’t know about.

Rennie would be okay with the
whole thing. He probably hadn’t noticed her flat breasts and skinny legs. And if
he had, he probably didn’t think a thing about them.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

In the great room, she found him
by the front windows where they’d glimpsed the deer that morning. A trace of
cinnamon sweetened the air. Coals rustled in the stove. He whistled some
unintelligible tune between his teeth, and one broad shoulder leaned against the
frame as he contemplated the dusky forest.

Gray twilight outlined pine trees
and bushes, changed them into large sinister splotches trying to smother the
night lights that marked the trail around the black waters of the lake.

An interesting scene, but not one
deserving of such absorption.

It was her. He couldn’t face her.

She cleared her throat. “The hot
water was used up by the time everyone showered,” she said to his back. “I had
to let it heat back up. That’s why I was late. I thought you’d gone on with the
others and I was here by myself.”

He turned his head enough for her
to see his profile. He still wouldn’t look directly at her. “Hey, don’t
apologize. My fault. I saw the cars leave and assumed you were with the rest. I
shouldn’t have burst in on you.”

“It’s okay. I’m through in the
bathroom if you want to get in.”

“Thanks.” He went down the hall,
carefully keeping his eyes to the front, but his consideration didn’t matter. She
was already scooting toward the stairs. He sounded strange, as if he was still
embarrassed by his intrusion.

Of course he was. Any nice guy
would have been embarrassed, and Rennie was definitely a nice guy. She was
being silly about the whole thing. If Laney or Norma had been in her place,
they would have shrugged it off. Why couldn’t she?

After drying her hair, she looked
for her hairbrush and realized it was still in the bathroom. She finished
dressing, donning slacks and her new holiday sweater before pushing the jingle
bell earrings through her lobes. Then she fastened her fanny pack around her
waist, pushed it to the rear out of the way, and taking a big breath, went back
downstairs.

Rennie wasn’t in the great room. Glancing
down the hall, she saw his tall form inside the bedroom door.

What was he doing in John and
Laney’s room?

To let him know she had seen his
trespass, she called, “Are you through in the bath?”

“Yeah.” He sounded absentminded,
but not upset at being caught among his sister’s things.

Not that it was her business what
he was doing. Autumn retrieved her hairbrush and worked on her hair.

“Autumn.”

She stepped into the hall. “Yes?”

“Would you mind helping me out?” He
was going through Laney’s bag. “It’s good you’re here. Laney doesn’t know it,
but John’s taken a room for them tonight at that hotel by the river.”

“Tonight? Oh, for their
anniversary.” Delight for Laney erased mortification. “How great. I wondered
why they wanted to spend their anniversary with us.”

“John never intended to. He
packed his things for me to take over there, but he wants me to get Laney’s stuff.
Can you pick out what she’ll need? Like, here’s her pajamas and toothbrush, but
what about underwear and all that for tomorrow?”

“Not those.” She took away the
flannel pajamas he held and pushed him aside.

So that’s why he and John had had
their heads together on the walk today. Nothing to do with Victoria. How stupid
she was. “Here, let me do it. Laney bought a gown just for tonight. I was with
her when she picked it out. It’s here somewhere.”

She found the new nightgown
hidden away in a side pocket. When she pulled it out, the black silk swirled
sensuously over her arm.

“That would suit you.” Rennie gave
her his sleepy grin that made her heart scrunch up in a tight aching ball.

Heat rose to her face. “You think
so?”

“With your hair and coloring, it’d
look great. Some blondes can’t wear black, but you can.”

Unaccountably pleased at the casual
compliment, she said lightly, “Thank you, kind sir. I’ll take you shopping with
me next time I go.”

“Just whistle. I’m good at sitting
outside dressing rooms. Mom and my sisters trained me well.”

She hadn’t thought her heart
could lighten, but it did.

In fifteen minutes, they had the
bag packed.

“We’ll drive over to town and
drop it off at the hotel after dinner.” Rennie hesitated. “Listen, I’m sorry
about barging in on you, Autumn. The house was quiet and locked up. I honestly
thought everyone had gone.”

“Hey, you’ve seen naked women
before. Forget it. I have.”

Her words fell between them, calm
and disinterested, sounding for all the world as if she meant them.

****

Rennie couldn’t forget.

The sight of her, one slender leg
bent as she pulled ineffectively at the towel caught under her foot, kept
running through his mind. He kept seeing the way the tiny waist flared into the
smooth butt and how the nipple on one small cone-shaped breast jutted straight
out as if shocked at his intrusion.

She had been all big eyes and
long legs and alabaster flesh.

He’d wanted to run over and throw
her down and spread her out and lose himself in that sweet area between her
thighs. And that was a hell of a way to be thinking of Autumn.

Autumn!

He put Laney and John’s bag in
the trunk of the Lexus.

She was like his kid sister. Not
to mention a part of Atlanta’s top circles, a past debutante, the kind of girl meant
for the boy most likely to succeed. A clean-cut old money Ivy Leaguer who’d
give her towheaded, blue-eyed children and a columned two-story white house for
living happily ever after. A man who’d take her to the opera and the ballet,
who’d buy her porcelain and caviar and diamonds.

Not a Degardovera. She would
never have a Degardovera. She would never eat sandwiches off paper towels or
visit relatives who lived in Mexican shacks with dirt floors.

He swallowed, mouth dry from
remembering the soft shoulders, the inviting thighs.

This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t
think about Autumn naked.

Had Fran seen her that way?

Hell.

* * *

Sam Bogatti had hung around Helen
all afternoon.

A nice little tourist trap. After
locating the pizza place, he’d wandered along the streets and browsed in the
shops where he bought his wife a candle and enjoyed a cappuccino. Then he’d wandered
some more. When he figured it was time for the photographer to put in an
appearance, he’d found a cold bench near the rest rooms and the pizza place.

There he waited.

And waited some more.

It was after seven before his
target walked by. A tall dark man trailed her, caught her elbow when she stumbled
on a rough sidewalk. She looked up at him and said something with a smile.

Pretty woman. Prettier than the
brochure picture.

Sam took his time getting up, and
then followed them into the building and down a corridor to the door of the
restaurant. When he entered, a gust of warm air blasted past him, air redolent
with marinara, sausage, beer, pine boughs, and wood ashes uncomfortably
reminiscent of the fire the night before. Country music moaned over the babble
of excited and inebriated hilarity.

He shouldered his way inside, but
couldn’t get anybody to seat him for fifteen minutes. What was up with that? He
hadn’t noticed a crowd coming this way. The line in front of him wasn’t that
long. He was a customer; they ought to be jumping to seat him.

Forget it. You don’t need the
stress.

These things happened, and he was
patient. He’d learned at the start you couldn’t be in this business and not be
patient.

As he waited, he chewed his gum
and looked over the restaurant. No, there weren’t that many customers but the place
was small. A male cashier did nothing but sit at the door and answer the phone
while a lone waitress in blue jeans and red-checkered shirt rushed back and
forth to the kitchen.

The harried woman did seating as
well as serving. When at last she motioned him toward a table between a
fireplace large enough to burn a small tree and the noisy party including
Autumn Merriwell, he didn’t hesitate.

What the shit. He hadn’t expected
the place to be full, and he certainly hadn’t expected to have to wait this
long to get inside, but here he was and he’d make do. Even if it did mean
sitting at a table where his back was against that of his target.

What frigging luck. A single man
at a table for four. His leather jacket and jeans might not stand out, but someone
could remember him.

His heart rate rose. Time for a
few mental stress exercises. Breathe, breathe. In, out.

Didn’t matter. Nobody’d connect
him to the people at the next table. He hadn’t spoken to them. They hadn’t
spoken to him.

Still, maybe he should change the
plan.

He chewed on his gum.

Nah, no need. He’d watch his
step, make sure he gave none of her group a reason to notice him.

He was good at fading into the
woodwork. Average height, average looks. His grasp of anonymity was one of the
skills that made him invaluable for these kinds of jobs. And when all was said
and done, this was one more routine assignment to wrap up before heading home.

Sarita, now. That wasn’t routine.
That woman hadn’t been anything close to ordinary.

He should’ve turned down the
contract.

But Bernie had given him plenty
of plum jobs in the past. He owed his old pal. Thanks to Bernie, he had enough
money stashed away for a comfortable retirement, and that day wasn’t so far away.
Another eight years—maybe ten; that would see his youngest kid out of high
school and through college—and he could swing it.