VAIN (The VAIN Series) (2 page)

"That sandwich was for the Noah Foster?"

"The Noah Foster?" I try to stifle a laugh as I stare at Sadie's face. "You sound exactly like him."

"He's a recluse." She leans back in her chair. "No one ever sees him anymore."

The image of the scar that covers his cheek flashes back into my mind. "Anymore?"

"He just disappeared from the public…" her voice trails as she studies the pile of linen napkins she's folding. "He used to be in all the papers dating this celebrity or that one. He dated a lot of models too. Then he kind of just went underground or something. You know how those artsy types are. What did you two talk about?"

I playfully scowl at her. "Once I read that he was selling nudie pics of women for thousands of dollars I high tailed it out of there."

"You make it sound so disgusting." She pulls her head back in a laugh. "He's a very famous photographer. His pictures are in demand. They're breathtaking."

"How do you even know that?"

"Everyone knows who Noah Foster is." She tilts her head to the side so quickly, her long brown hair flits across her face. "My mom has one of his images in her library."

"That gorgeous abstract picture of a woman's back?" I ask. I've long admired the beauty in that photograph but whatever interest I had in it was fleeting. I just remember being surprised that Sadie's conservative mother would have a picture of a woman's naked back and side boob on full display.

"That's the one." She nods as her gaze travels past my head to where her husband, Hunter, is standing at the front door to their restaurant.

"Was he good to you when I was away?" I ask it teasingly although the question itself is rooted in concern. Hunter and Sadie's relationship hasn’t been easy on her and now that she's married to him, I can't help but be worried about the best friend I've had since grade school. She's always been so focused on becoming a doctor, and now with a husband and
stepson I worry that her own dreams will get lost within what the family needs.

"He's amazing." Her eyes catch mine. "What about you?"

I know where she's going with this and I'm not about to travel down that road with her. I'd confided in her about my brief romance while I was in Paris. The man I'd gotten involved with was bad news from the start and Sadie has warned me that I'd get burned. I wasn't in the mood for a lecture on yet another of the idiotic man choices I'd made over the years. "Noah has a scar."

She physically shudders at my statement. I want a diversion but this is a touchy subject for her and it's not fair of me to throw it at her when she's not ready. I should have warmed her up a bit.

"Like my scar." Her hand leaps to her chest and her fingers fan across it. The large scar that is the ever-present reminder of her heart transplant has always caused her emotional pain. I know that. We've been almost inseparable since we were kids. Tossing Noah's scar into the middle of our conversation is something I instantly regret.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It's not like yours. His is on his face."

"His face?"

I nod. "He was all weird about it. He actually pointed it out to me."

"You didn't notice it?" She pushes the napkins aside and runs her hand over the tablecloth. "It can't be that noticeable then."

"I was staring at his cock so I didn't notice the scar." As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize they sound way too casual.

"What?" The question is more of a masked giggle than an actual query. The way she pulls her hand to her mouth to quiet the chuckling brings a massive smile to my face. Sadie's adorable and she's even more so when she's having fun.

I run my hands across my brow and push my hair back over my shoulders before I dive into the subject at hand. "He was naked when I got there."

"Noah Foster was naked?" The words bubble out from behind her fingers, veiling the overt giddiness in them.

I bite my bottom lip to curtail my own amusement. "He thought I was a hooker."

"A hooker?" There's no tempering her tone now. The question flies out of her with full throttle.

"Sadie." I reach across the table to grab her hand. "Don’t scream it."

She leans forward before speaking. "I can't help it. You just said you saw Noah Foster naked and he thought you were a prostitute."

I nod. "One showed up while I was there."

She shakes her head from side-to-side as if she's trying to clear out a wedge of something that's lodged in her ears. "Did you just say a prostitute was there too?"

"Briefly." I whip my hand through the air as if I'm swatting away a fly, or in this case, the memory of Noah's almost companion for the night. "She left right after he paid her."

"Did you watch them having sex?"

I almost have to close my mouth manually after that question. I can literally feel my jaw drop open. "Sadie," I say as I swallow the lump in my throat. "What? Why would you ask that?"

"Alexa," she whispers in a very high tone. "You said you saw him naked and he paid a prostitute while you were there." The way her eyebrows are dancing around is unsettling. It's as though she thinks she's got a clear view of what went on in Noah's apartment. I was there and I'm still not clear on what happened.

"He didn't sleep with the hooker." I'm hoping the relief I feel when I say that isn't transparent within my tone. Why do I care who he sleeps with? I had a brief, very enticing, encounter with the seemingly famous Noah Foster. It's over now.

"So nothing happened?" she asks, disappointment edging the question.

"He said he's been looking for someone like me for his next project." It's all I've thought about since I raced home from his place and made myself come in the shower. I can't stop thinking about him. I want to be his next project. At this point in time I'm game for just about anything as long as it doesn't involve a threesome with me and one of his call girl friends. I want that man all to myself.

Sadie freezes before she opens her mouth to speak. "Noah Foster wants you to be his next project? Do you know what that means?"

I don't. I can't think about it because if I do, I'm going to ride that elevator back to his penthouse and agree to whatever he wants. "What does it mean?" I ask, already knowing full well the answer.

"He wants to photograph you, Alexa." Her tone is way too excited. "Noah Foster wants you."

"This isn't funny." I push past him into the now familiar foyer of his penthouse. "Did you actually think it was funny to call the restaurant and ask for me to deliver your sandwich? I have plans."

"I tip very well." Noah reaches to pull the paper bag emblazoned with Axel Boston's logo from my grasp. "I don't like sandwiches."

I can't help but chuckle at the confession. "Why did you order one then?"

"Now or then?"

"You know you talk in riddles, right?" I turn to look at him and soak in how amazing he looks half dressed. His chiseled torso is still on full, and very welcomed, display but now he's wearing faded jeans.

"Are you asking why I ordered a sandwich tonight or two nights ago when you first showed up?" His brow pops up slightly as the words float across his lips.

"Either," I reply, unsure whether I can actually physically pull my gaze from his mouth.

"I like Bernie." It's a clear and very concise statement. That's not to say it doesn’t surprise me.

"You like the delivery man?" I don't want to sound as judgmental as I do.

He stares down at his hand, picking at the nail on his index finger. "He's a good soul."

"He'll be back at work tomorrow so you two can catch up then," I offer before reaching back to grab the handle of the door. "I need to take off."

"You have plans you said?"

It's a question that catches me off guard. It's becoming increasingly apparent that in Noah Foster's world all he has to do is ask for something and it magically appears. When Sadie texted me to tell me that he wanted me to personally deliver his sandwich I froze. Her insistence that I give in and help with his next project was a waste of her breath. I can't. I won't. After researching him more, and discovering the careless way he uses women, I know that I don't belong in his world.

"I do." I'm not going to fill in the blanks. Why should I bother? He's obviously got more than one call girl on speed dial. He doesn't need me here.

"Cancel the plans." His shoulders tense as he shifts on his feet in front of me.

I step forward, challenging him. "No. I won't cancel."

"You know more about me now than when you took off the other night." A ghost of a smile flashes across his face. "I take it you researched who I am."

"The Noah Foster." I pull air quotes about the words. "Photographer extraordinaire."

His eyes dance as his name skirts across my lips. "Tell me more."

I scowl at the request. He's so full of himself that he actually wants me to recite his life story back to him. "You're twenty-nine and very elusive. You have a showing once a year and your pictures sell for a lot of money."

"Impressive, Alexa." His eyes darken. "You also researched this, no?" The careless way his hand brushes over his cheek is telling. I've seen Sadie do it a million times before when talking about her scar.

"No," I lie. I had tried in vain to find out what happened to his face, but there was nothing out there. I couldn't find a drop of information about the scar or what had caused it. "That I don't care about."

"You're lying."

"It's just a scar, the Noah Foster." I bite the edge of my tongue to temper my amusement. "You don't actually think anyone cares about it, do you?"

His expression shifts as his eyes gloss over. "You wouldn't understand."

I'm not about to tiptoe around this. "I understand. My best friend has a scar."

"She'd understand."

I ignore the inference that I'm not compassionate enough to understand what he feels. "If we're done here I need to get to a club. I'm meeting friends."

"We're not done." He steps into my path. "I wanted to see you again before I made my decision."

"Riddles, Noah." I push on his chest, shaken by the energy that instantly flows between the two of us. "What decision?"

"There's a part of me that wants to photograph you for my next showing." He holds out his left hand as if he's offering it to me. "The other part of me really wants to fuck you." His right hand darts out.

Somehow I find my voice that is now buried in wanton desire. "You're assuming I want either." I want both. Can I have both pretty please?

"You want both," he counters.

I close my eyes tightly. I'm certain that something that has flashed across my expression is speaking to him the same way a bright neon sign would. "No," I whisper back. "I don't want either."

"You've researched me. You like my work." His tone is so confident and smooth. It's both irritating and alluring. Why the hell am I still standing here listening to him? Why haven't I bolted past him and hopped in a taxi to take me to the club?

"Your work is interesting," I say in a tempered tone. "I didn't know a thing about it until yesterday."

"I like that about you." His hand skirts over the hem of my white dress. "You don't give a shit about who I am, do you?"

I tip my brow in response. "You're right," I say coolly. "I don't give a shit about who you are."

"I want you to be the focus of my new show." He cocks his head as his eyes travel over my face. "You're perfect."

"I'm not interested." The sudden realization that this may actually be happening has dampened my desire to pose nude for him. That was just a fleeting fantasy I was having when I was masturbating to thoughts of him standing above me in all his naked glory holding a camera in one hand. I need to find a way to have less convoluted dreams.

"I'll pay you." Enticement skirts the words. "A lot," he adds for extra measure.

I hesitate. I know he sees it in my expression. I study his brown eyes, admiring the length of the lashes. There's a small mole beside his left eye, just above the scar. I stare at him wondering whether he'd be as seductive without the scar. It adds an edge to him that makes him utterly irresistible.

"Thousands, Alexa," he presses. "I'll pay you thousands of dollars if you'll pose for me."

My sex aches at the thought of diving into an arrangement like that with him. He must fuck the women he photographs. He's so raw and determined. "I'm going to be a teacher," I almost whimper. I can't do something like that.

"I don't photograph faces." His eyes follow the path of his index finger as it runs across my chin. "You won't be identifiable. It will be our little secret."

"No one will know?"

"No one." His breath hitches as his finger settles on my bottom lip. "You'll sign a non-disclosure agreement as will I."

"I can't talk about it to anyone?" My voice is getting higher with excitement. If no one is going to find out, what's the harm? I can definitely use the money and the idea of spending any time alone with him is too tempting a proposition to pass on. It's also the perfect way to chase away memories of Paris and the mess I'd made of my life there. I'm totally game for this.

He flashes a smile. "No one and there's one more thing before you agree."

My stomach drops. "What?"

"I don't fuck my models." The words are clear, direct and there's no compromise woven into them at all.

My heart lurches at the announcement. "You never fuck any of the women who model for you?"

"Never."

"Ever?" I ask quietly.

He stops himself just as his mouth opens to speak. He shakes his head slightly as if to ward off one thought to replace it with another. "Once you sign that form, it's all business, no pleasure."

"Where's the dotted line?" I hear my voice asking the question, although my body is begging me to turn him down.