Picture Me Sexy (15 page)

Sam imagined loosening those ties with his teeth, sliding his hands up and over her slim rib cage and thumbing the undersides of her breasts. Hot-pink marabou fur trimmed the hem and swirled tantalizingly around the tops of her thighs. She bent over the bed, offering him an exaggerated flash of bare-assed beauty, then looked over her shoulder and tossed him a saucy wink.

“I like wicked,” she told him. Her eyes flashed meaningfully. “Particularly with you.”

He could take her right there, Sam thought, as he fired away several succinct shots with his camera. Move that thong over a mere inch and slide right into her tight heat.

When he'd walked into their room this evening, she'd been waiting for him. Not naked as she'd promised, but almost better than naked, if there were such a thing. He'd found her sitting in the chaise with a sketchbook in her lap, wearing the most lust-provoking outfit he'd ever seen. She'd worn a black silk bustier, matching undies and fishnet stockings held up by a tiny garter belt. For inspiration, she'd told him when he'd stood and stared mutely at her for interminable minutes.

He couldn't argue that the outfit was…
inspiring.

He'd damn sure been inspired—inspired to take it off of her. Inspired to snap a few pictures of her. A few had led to many, and now they were working on outfit number three. She'd gone from being a timid little kitten in front of the camera to a confident hellcat in under a week. The transformation was damned astounding. The camera loved her, and she moved in front of it better than any woman he'd ever worked with. After a moment, he said as much.

“You're a natural,” he told her. “Utterly incredible.”

There'd been something different about her tonight, Sam thought consideringly, some indefinable something. She seemed less guarded, more open. Hopeful even, for lack of a better term. Progress, he realized with a pleased start, noting the warm affectionate gleam beneath that brazen sparkle.

Delaney rubbed sinuously against the bedpost and gave him another tempting smile. His heart slammed
against his rib cage. “Who wouldn't be for you? I don't think that I've told you yet, but I loved my boudoir photos. You're extremely talented.” She lay down on the bed and pretended to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle from her hose. She cast him a sidelong glance, chuckled softly. “In fact, I'd even considered offering you a job at the
Chifferobe.
”

“Is that right?” Sam said lightly as everything inside him mentally leapt at the possibility. He abandoned the idea of working for her when he'd realized that she was The One, had been sure that she'd find some sort of ulterior motive in his interest if she ever learned that he'd submitted his portfolio for her review. That's why he'd pulled it. Clearly, though, that wasn't the case, otherwise she'd have never brought it up.

Sam felt his lips slide into a hesitant grin. He'd been waiting for this opportunity, waiting for her to notice his talent. But it was almost too much to hope for, that he'd get the dream girl
and
the dream job.

“That's right,” she confirmed.

Sam paused and scratched his temple, offered her a tentative smile. “You know, it's funny you should say that…because, as it happens, my portfolio sat at the
Chifferobe
for several months.”

She stilled, and the instant she looked at him, Sam knew that he'd just made an incredibly stupid tactical error.

“Your portfolio's with my company?” she asked in a curiously flat yet significant tone.

Sam stilled, too, afraid to make any sudden moves. “Er…yes. It was.”

Her face became a pale emotionless mask, then she abruptly sat up, looked heavenward and smirked, a grim, pain-filled I-should-have-known expression that immediately turned Sam's insides to lead.

When she finally turned to look at him, the rest of his body turned to lead as well. Her eyes glittered with fury and unshed tears. “We've spent the last five days together and yet you never thought that it was important enough to mention?” She smiled without humor. “Let me guess. Waiting for the right moment?”

Sam swallowed. Panic had made his brain sluggish, and he couldn't get a single syllable past his lips. He opened his mouth, but apparently not fast enough, because Delaney quickly slid from the bed and began to stuff her things into her bag.

“You know what?” she said briskly. “Just save it. Forget I asked that question.” She laughed bitterly. “My God, I am such a fool. I know all I need to know.”

No, she didn't, dammit, Sam thought as his heart geared into overdrive. She didn't know that he loved her, didn't know that he couldn't live without her. His hands shook at his sides. “No, that's not true. You're not listening. I pulled the damned—”

Another choked laugh pushed from her throat. “You know, Sam, this is an all-too-familiar scene for me and I'd just as soon not play it out.”

Sam resisted the urge to tear out his hair. How in God's name had he gotten himself into this mess? He'd barely said a word and yet the few that he'd uttered were clearly the wrong ones. He swallowed tightly. “Delaney, just listen to me a minute,” Sam pleaded quietly. “If you'll just let me—”

Delaney held up a hand. “Sam, I mean it. Save it.” She paused, dragged in a shallow breath and he caught the slight quiver in her chin. “Please.”

Sam shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “Dammit. Delaney, just let me explain—”

She swallowed and he could tell that it cost her. “I think that you've said enough, and I'd really like you to leave me alone and just let me pack.” She blew out a shuddering breath. “I w-want to go home.”

It was useless, Sam thought numbly as he watched her quietly gather her things. He'd blown it. Pain clogged his throat and he tried to think of some way to make things right. To fix them. But that would want a great deal more time than he had at present. Besides, she wasn't in any frame of mind to listen to anything he had to say. She hadn't heard anything past him telling her that his portfolio had sat at her company for months. Past tense, but she hadn't noticed. Wouldn't listen. He needed to pull back and regroup.

Sam eventually sighed. “If you want to go home, I'll take you home,” he offered. “It'll only take—”

“No,” she said, clearly losing the battle with pa
tience. Her voice vibrated with tension, with hurt. “I don't want you to take me home. I'll drive myself. The best thing that you can do for me, Mr. Martelli, is to leave me alone.” Her voice was final, emphatic.

Sam's chest constricted painfully and he felt every bit of the blood drain from his head as her tone and what it meant fully registered.

“Delaney, please,” he pleaded, dangerously close to what felt horrifyingly like… The back of his throat burned, his eyes stung. The top of his head felt like it was about to blow off.

“Go!” she screamed, then her face crumpled pitifully. “Just go.”

With a helpless shrug, Sam turned and walked silently from the room. Unable to help himself, he paused at the door and turned back to face her. He let every bit of what he was feeling show in his face. Didn't try to hide a single emotion, including the love and pain. Leaving her felt like an amputation, like he was leaving a part of himself. And he was, Sam realized—his heart.

“You've got it all wrong, you know,” he said softly, then just as quietly let himself out.

Delaney's anguished sob followed him down the hall.

“A
RE YOU OKAY
,
BOSS
?”
Beth asked tentatively and carefully handed Delaney the packet of pictures she'd just picked up from the one-hour photo shop. Her assistant was treating her like an unstable bomb again, Delaney thought wearily, speaking softly with no sudden moves, obviously scared that she'd go off.

The effort was moot. Delaney was numb inside, completely without feeling. She didn't possess the necessary spark to go off. Didn't have the energy, the drive required to pull a Katie-kaboom.

“I'm fine, thanks,” Delaney said listlessly.

Beth's brow furrowed with concern. “Can I get you anything? A Big Block maybe, or a chocolate volcano from Dibley's?”

She should have been tempted, yet she wasn't. Incredibly, even chocolate therapy hadn't been effective. Delaney shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“If you're sure…” Beth said, lingering helplessly.

Delaney swallowed a small breath and met Beth's worried gaze. “I'm sure, Beth. But I appreciate the offer.”

Beth bit her bottom lip. “Okay,” she sighed. “I'll be right outside should you need anything.”

Delaney nodded her thanks, calmly waited on Beth to close the door behind her before she allowed herself to open the deceptively innocuous packet. Her fingers shook as she pulled the stack of photos out and her throat grew tight with unshed emotion as she stared at Sam's irritatingly endearing self-conscious expression. The look was completely at odds with that made-for-sin gloriously naked body. She studied him, traced the achingly familiar curves of his face with her gaze. Those slumberous dark eyes, the angular slant of his jaw, and those oh-so-wonderful lips.

Her eyes burned and a lump formed in her throat and, to her immeasurable irritation, need swiveled low in her belly, a painful reminder of all they'd shared and would never share again.

She flipped through the pictures in quick succession, watched those incredibly gorgeous eyes go from extreme discomfort to downright smoldering in a matter of frames. That hot gaze had been locked on hers, even as one hand idly stroked that impressive staff between his thighs. She'd never seen anything so damned erotic in her life, and just looking at him now brought the entire arousing experience back into sharp focus, made her breath hitch and her nipples bud. Her thighs quiver and her sex wet.

It didn't matter that he'd turned out to be just like everyone else—just another man who'd wanted something from her. Didn't matter that he'd had an ulterior motive—she still wanted him. Desperately.

The wanting she could rationalize—she'd become addicted to him over the past week and her body was simply going into withdrawal. And why wouldn't it? He'd made her blood sing in her veins, made her heart light, made her want to share the same air with him, the same space. It was a wholly natural, albeit miserable, experience, but one that she could easily understand and ultimately forgive.

But what filled her with self-disgust—what she couldn't forgive—was how she desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, wanted to paint him with a different brush…just so that she could give herself permission to have him back.

Because she wanted him back more than anything.

How screwed up was that?

It didn't matter that he wanted a job, didn't matter that he wasn't any different from any of the other men she'd dated in that regard, though he'd certainly been a one-of-a-kind in every other area. Disheartening? Yes. But when she weighed the pros and cons, being with him just seemed so much more important than hanging on to her tattered pride. Pride was a cold comforter, wouldn't keep her warm at night, wouldn't make her laugh, wouldn't haunt the estate sales with her and tour old homes. Wouldn't give her a family, wouldn't give her a child.

Good grief, Delaney silently railed. Hadn't she learned anything? Would she never learn? How many times did she have to get her heart trampled before she learned not to give it away? How many
times was she going to swallow her pride in order to hang on to a man? Hadn't she eaten it enough? Didn't it leave a bad aftertaste?

Not anymore, Delaney decided, though the decision painfully wrenched her heart. She couldn't do it. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she might want to just say to hell with everything, offer Sam a job, take back up where they left off and see where things went…she just couldn't do it. Doing so would make her an even bigger fool than she was before Vince, before Roger. She had to draw the line at some point and, regrettably, it had to be at this one.

With Sam.

A hot tear slipped down her cheek and she bit her trembling lip in an effort to stem the flow. The pain came from a broken place deep down inside her, a place that affected more than her heart—her fractured soul. Delaney knew that she should just let it go, should do exactly what she'd done the previous two times she'd been disappointed in a man, but somehow this time seemed different—the hurt more intense, more bittersweet. With Vince and Roger, heartache—while she never would have admitted it—had been a foregone conclusion. The potential for disappointment had been there.

Delaney swallowed. But for reasons she didn't understand, she'd expected more out of Sam. She'd really thought that he'd been different, had really thought she'd seen a real flash of genuine affection.
That last look that he gave her right before he walked out the door still haunted her, had plagued her all the way back from North Carolina. He'd looked crushed and confused, hurt and wounded. For one agonizing second, she'd wondered if perhaps she'd read things wrong, had somehow made a mistake.

But ultimately, she'd berated herself and deemed it wishful thinking. Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
She'd known better than to trust her judgment, had known that she was making a terrible mistake, but she hadn't been able to help herself. He'd smiled that come-hither smile and the promise to sin had lurked in his heavy-lidded gaze and something about him allowed her to be the kind of woman she wanted to be. She'd lost her inhibitions, her insecurities, had felt more vibrant and alive in this past week with him than she had in…Well, ever. He turned her on in more ways than one.

While their relationship had ended in disaster, she couldn't regret it. She'd learned that she was capable of being the kind of woman she wanted to be, had learned that she could be sexy and uninhibited, that she didn't have to be ashamed of her body. Granted, she knew she'd never find that kind of freedom with another man—only him—but at least she knew she held the propensity for sensual behavior, knew that she wasn't limited to simply designing her lingerie.

If she'd learned nothing else, that alone had made the whole experience worthwhile. True, she might have a broken heart, but she'd gained self-confidence
and self-awareness. Her lips curled with watery humor. There was something to be said for that, anyway.

Beth knocked lightly at the door, then poked her head in. “I've got a couple of things for you to look over,” she said.

Delaney drew in a bolstering breath, dabbed her eyes and hastily slipped the photos back into the envelope. She cleared her throat. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Beth said as she made her way across the carpet. She handed over a folder for Delaney's inspection. “This is the new copy for the
Inspiration
line.” Delaney perused the copy, instructed her to make a couple of changes, then nodded her approval. Done with that piece of business, Beth handed her a slim folder. “This guy called last—” she checked the Post-it note attached to the front of the book “—Wednesday morning and asked to withdraw his portfolio. I figured you'd want to have a look at it before I sent it back.” She shrugged optimistically. “It's really good.”

The fine hairs on Delaney's arms stood on end and her stomach churned as she accepted the folder. She opened the first page, wouldn't have had to look at the name accompanying the work, to know that it belonged to none other than Sam Martelli.

Delaney swallowed tightly. “He wants to w-with-draw his portfolio?” she asked, an unnecessary confirmation. She'd heard Beth correctly.

Beth nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her brow drawing
into a puzzled frown. “It was the oddest thing. He was adamant that I return it at once, but I knew that you'd want to see it first, so I held on to it. Should I send it back?”

Delaney's mind spun. Her mouth parched. “Er…when did you say that he called and asked to have it withdrawn?”

“Wednesday morning.”

Wednesday morning, Delaney thought faintly. But… Her heart skipped a beat and the air in her lungs thinned, forcing her to drag in short, unsteady breaths. If he called on Wednesday morning, then that meant he'd called and made the request
before
he came to see her. Before he'd asked her to go to Martindale.

Before she'd fallen in love with him.

Blood buzzed in her ears. Why had he done that? Delaney wondered as a hopeful explanation sprouted in her breast. If he'd wanted a job with her company, then why had he called and withdrawn his portfolio after meeting her? After making the connection? Her head gave an imperceptible shake and a curious winging sensation commenced in her chest. It didn't make any logical sense…but she'd never been good at thinking logically anyway. Her thoughts tended to run to the illogical and she illogically hoped that she wasn't reading too much into this revelation.

For instance, she illogically hoped that he'd pulled his portfolio because he wanted
her
and not just a job with her company. Illogically hoped that he'd
pulled it because he didn't want her finding out about it later and then jumping to the wrong conclusion.

Which was exactly what she'd done, Delaney realized with a sickening start. She'd heard the one sentence about his portfolio, then completely refused to listen to any explanation. She'd cut him off at the knees, had cloaked herself in anger, and hadn't let him say more than a handful of words. Hadn't been able to see past the immediate hurt.

What had he said?
You've got it all wrong, you know.

Oh, God.

And she hadn't believed him.

Nervous tension suddenly vibrated her spine and she shot up from her chair, grabbed the portfolio, the packet of pictures and her purse. “I'll see to this,” Delaney said in a somewhat strangled voice and strode briskly for the door. “I'm gone for the day.”

“O-okay,” Beth said, clearly dumbfounded at her boss' erratic behavior.

You've got it all wrong, you know,
Delaney thought again, remembering his bleak, hurt expression. She didn't know whether that was true or not, but she was grimly determined to find out.

And illogically…she hoped she had.

 

S
AM SLOWLY PULLED UP IN
front of Delaney's house and stared at her front door. Anxiety balled in his gut and tension settled in his backbone. Back again,
with no plan, Sam thought, his lips curling into the shadow of a smile.

It had only been a couple of days since he'd seen her and yet it felt like forever. Like a damned eternity. He missed her terribly, missed the damn “quickening” and all the maddening sensations that went with it. The gooseflesh, the tingling scalp, the whirling behind his navel. He missed all of it. Since she'd left Saturday night—she'd rented a car to make the return trip—he'd felt disconnected from himself, curiously numb. Pre-Delaney, he'd come to call it. Pre-life.

Sam had decided when Delaney left Saturday night to give her a little space, to let her calm down and rationally consider what had happened between them. He'd known that if she didn't come to realize he was different on her own—if she didn't make the distinction—then he'd ultimately pay the price. He would constantly be paying for the sins of others, and dammit, that just wasn't fair.

He wanted her to realize that he wasn't like every other guy, and figured if he left her alone long enough, she would eventually reach that conclusion on her own, without any prodding on his part. She'd see past her pain, past her anger and would eventually discover that what they'd had was special, couldn't be recreated, that ultimately
he
was different from all those other losers she'd previously been involved with. Bastards who weren't good enough for
her, Sam thought viciously. Bastards who'd used her to further themselves.

But that confidence had begun to rapidly deteriorate with each passing second he didn't hear from her. What if she didn't realize what they had was special? What if she didn't realize that, while he might have gone into her shoot with a business-related ulterior motive, he'd come out of it with a personal one—to have her?

Sam couldn't stand it any longer. He'd had to see her. He'd called her office and her assistant had told him that she'd left for the day. He'd assumed she'd be at home, yet her car was absent from her driveway. No matter. He'd wait it out. She had to come home sometime, right? When she did, he'd be waiting…provided Mrs. Carter—the pit bull in support hose, Delaney had called her—didn't call her son, Sam thought as he caught her glaring at him from over the privet hedge.

Sam smiled and waved at her, then laughed when she immediately scowled and retreated hurriedly into her house.

Five minutes later a police cruiser pulled in behind his Tahoe. Sam swore, saw Mrs. Carter's curtains twitch. A couple of minutes passed, then a large officer who looked like he'd been weaned on steroids exited the cruiser, sauntered up and tapped on Sam's glass.

Sam pasted on a smile free of irritation—no small
feat when he literally seethed with it—and lowered the window. “Yes, sir?”

“Is there any particular reason you are parked here on this street?”