Don't Tempt Me Read online

“Yeah,” he said, getting into it now. “So it has to be good. It has to last.”

  Samantha took a shot. Perfect. When she shifted, she accidentally bumped Rick’s forearm, remembering he was there, which was strangely reassuring, even as it put her on sexual alert. After a few more snaps, she needed to get down the ladder to try for some shots from beside the couple.

  She turned toward Rick, signaling her descent, and he moved slightly. Her butt brushed his chest as she lowered herself, and, once on the ground, she turned, hesitating in the cave of his arms.

  He struggled, too, for a moment, and almost seemed to force himself to step away from her. Whatever was percolating here was definitely mutual. She took a shuddering breath and went to crouch beside the couple.

  She looked up at them, framing their faces between their forearms. Nice shot.

  Rick moved to the Hasselblad and in a few seconds, he snapped a picture, setting off the strobe. She smiled her approval. She’d have two camera perspectives after all. Twice the photos in the five minutes they had before Joey lost interest.

  “Imagine you’re saying goodbye,” she said to pull a little more emotion from the couple.

  Angela pulled Joey in for a kiss.

  “Baby,” Joey murmured.

  Click. Perfect. Samantha looked over at Rick, who’d fired off more frames, and they smiled at each other. They’d made the most of a delicate moment, working as a team, in wordless sync. Which was surprising considering they were virtual strangers. Rick had potential as an assistant.

  But what about as a dinner partner?

  She watched her couple, moved by the way Joey cupped Angela’s cheeks with his entire palms, as if he couldn’t touch enough of her, and how Angela pointed her toes between Joey’s feet, utterly thrilled to be in his arms.

  Samantha wanted this intimacy, too. Eventually. After she’d been wild and free and wanton for a while. She would know when she was ready. In a couple of years. Maybe three. She had a lot of fantasies to live out.

  She caught Rick looking at her. He seemed puzzled, as if she’d somehow surprised him. What was that about?

  “Maybe we should go for a different position,” Joey said. “Move around, try some poses, mix it up?”

  In the end, Samantha had to stop him before he asked for a wind machine and baby oil to make his muscles gleam.

  She loaded the digitals on the computer, invoked the slide show and stepped back so the couple could admire themselves in peace. Rick stood beside her, looking on, too. She glanced at his profile, with its straight, masculine lines. He was deliciously male.

  She could picture him with her on the big bed in the fairy-tale studio. She would pretend to be asleep. He would wake her with a kiss. Or maybe they’d be on the tiger chaise in this studio…her hands tied with a red silk sash…no, the black velvet one. Please…don’t…stop…. More…more…

  “And bigger. More and bigger, right?”

  Samantha jerked back to the moment. “Bigger? Huh?”

  “And matte, not glossy,” Angela said. She meant print size, quantity and finish, Samantha realized. Whew.

  All three people were staring at her. Hell, she’d lapsed into a fantasy in the middle of a shoot. It was Rick’s fault. He was the living embodiment of her fantasy man standing right here beside her, so broad and tall and handsome.

  And he wanted her to hire him.

  This could be a problem. Or a gift. He could help her in the studio and the bedroom.

  “Many clients prefer matte,” she said, but she had to clear her throat to get out the words. “Less glare, but it’s up to you.” She babbled on about the proof book and the order, but she was thinking about Rick.

  Could he want more than the job? He seemed mysterious to her. Which was partly why he was so hot. He could be anyone she wanted him to be.

  Bedroom Eyes was the most important thing to her, right, and he could be a good assistant. She hadn’t counted on photography experience in her employee, but it could only help. Maybe she should give him the job and forget dessert altogether.

  She and Rick walked the couple out to Bianca. Joey and Angela strolled arm in arm, looking at each other every few seconds as if they couldn’t believe their luck. Like a bride and groom faltering in the middle of their vows, awed by the power of their symbolic act, appreciating each other anew.

  Samantha was so glad she’d given them this reminder of their love. Maybe couple shots were the best of all.

  The clients gone, Samantha turned to Rick. “So what do you think?” she asked, knowing his words would tell her what to do.

  “I’m impressed. You got those two from divorce court to a Hallmark card in two minutes flat. The digitals were great.”

  “The prints will be better. I combine flash with tungsten so the golden highlights are warm, not cloying.”

  “It’s more than the lights, Samantha. You have a gift.”

  He wasn’t about to let her hide behind her gear. She liked that.

  “There’s a lot you can teach me.” He stood a little closer, drawing her out, stretching the tension between them like a fine, tight wire.

  There was a lot he could teach her, she’d bet. Naked. “You did a good job of getting Joey to cooperate.”

  “Probably would help you to have a man around for that,” he coaxed.

  “We did have a nice rhythm going.”

  “Yeah. A nice rhythm.” And heat. They had heat going. His irises flickered with gold—candles shining out of all that green moss—telling her he wanted her.

  Her knees turned to flan.

  “It’s mostly clerical, Rick. Really. You might have to clean out drains and change AC filters for my tenants.”

  “I don’t mind. Like I said, anything you—”

  “Need. Right. You said that.” She held his gaze, her knees of flan jiggling beneath her.

  “And I meant it.”

  Did he really? Could he possibly? Could they work together and sleep together? Insane idea or time-saver?

  “Okay. We try it for a week,” she said, trying to be firmer than her custard knees. “But if it doesn’t work out—”

  “It’ll work out.” His eyes burned through her. He looked dark and dangerous, with stubble just emerging from his firm jaw, and he was so big. He’d have to bend down to kiss her, even if she went on tiptoe, and when he wrapped her in his arms, she’d be overpowered, overwhelmed, swept away.

  “How can you be so sure?” she breathed.

  “I am. Trust me.”

  “We give it a week,” she said firmly, showing him who was boss. But there was a flicker of something in his green eyes that made her think that maybe she wasn’t quite as in charge as she should be.

  Chapter 3

  Score. He was in. He had the job.

  Of course, he’d practically sworn to be Sawyer’s love slave with the looks and dripping hints he’d delivered. The worst part was that it had come out so easily. Like butter, like cream, like sliding into bed with a hot, hungry woman.

  Something about her dug at him—the yes-no vibe she gave off. Flirting, then backing away, as if she’d stepped too far out on a tightrope on a dare.

  He wanted to reassure her. Yeah, you’re hot. Yeah, I’d jump you if I could.

  He liked her. She had this bizarre business, but she seemed sincere. Forget liking her. He had to keep personal reactions under control. Constant awareness, attention to detail and neutral detachment were the secrets to successful undercover work. The less personal he got, the better.

  Except she wouldn’t trust him if he didn’t connect with her, so he had to engage in some repartee. Within reason. Work it for the case. He’d given her mixed messages, too, which wasn’t fair and hadn’t helped.

  God he hated being undercover.

  It made him feel out of control. He hated checking the rearview, doubling back over every story for consistency and cracks. Hated pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hated living with his lies. For now, he contented himself with his
success.

  Telling Sawyer he needed a bite, he headed out to his Jeep to phone his partner, grab a burger, then return so she could go over his duties.

  He crossed the lot, liking when the mild October breeze kicked up, promising change, just like the case. Adrenaline rushed his pulse and he felt primed for action. Easier to ignore that lust-pumped charge he’d gotten over the fact he’d be hanging around Sawyer for a while.

  Lot of good that did him when he had to avoid dessert at all cost.

  He climbed into his Jeep and took off for Jade’s, the squad’s favorite bar and grill just down the street.

  “Got the job,” he said when Mark picked up his call. “Tell the lieutenant.”

  “You lucky dog.”

  “What are you talking about, Trudeau? You’d hate this assignment. Gloria’d hassle you about the overtime and you’d miss your kids.”

  “But Sawyer’s hot,” Trudeau said.

  “So?”

  “I’m just saying, if the case calls for you to get sweaty with her…”

  “Are you nuts?” The idea sounded so damned good he had to sit down. He could picture those muscular legs wrapped around his ass, that curly hair falling over his face, that snapdragon mouth against his, that pink tongue doing things…

  “I’m trying to live through you,” Mark said. “Except you don’t do jack shit worth hearing about, letting alone tracking with binoculars.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve got a great life. And a wife you don’t deserve.” Mark was deeply devoted to Gloria, despite the studly bullshit he trotted out for the squad. No one bought it, but it made Trudeau feel invincible, when, in fact, he could be felled by a mere blink of his wife’s lashes.

  “I’m saying, make an effort, West. Quit hanging with us so much. Or at least bring over a woman when you do.”

  “I will, don’t worry.” He’d dated two women since he’d decided to look for a wife. Laura, then Theresa. Both nice enough, but the minute he’d dropped them off after a date, he’d felt the relief of a duty done, and they’d slid from his mind like minnows down a creek.

  Lately, he’d spent his free time throwing back brews with squad mates at Jade’s or over at Mark’s. Gloria made the best rib sauce and a terrific pecan pie. Their place was homey and Rick loved their kids. He should get back to the wife search, though. He’d do that. Sure. One of these days soon.

  “Alex wanted me to tell you he beat the top boss on Dragon of Doom 3.”

  “He didn’t download the cheats, did he?”

  “Nope. Worked it out on his own. Couldn’t disappoint Uncle Rick with his rules for every flippin’ thing, including video games.”

  “Good for him. I’ll check it out when I’m over next. This weekend, maybe?”

  “What are you, thirty? You act like an old married drone. When I was your age, it was a different woman every weekend. If Gloria hadn’t gotten pregnant, I’d have—”

  “You’d have begged her to marry you. She’s the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass.”

  Maybe that was what was missing in Rick’s search for a wife—a woman who made him feel the way Trudeau felt. The man nearly glowed when Gloria came into a room, even if it was just to rip him a new one, which she had to do from time to time. The man was in sore need of female guidance.

  Truth was that Rick wanted what Trudeau had—a settled place in the world, a wife and kids to work for, someone to help him sort out what mattered from what didn’t. Something Brian had never had the chance to have.

  “So now that I’m in,” he said, getting back to work, “I’ll be checking out all the shops, verifying IDs, seeing who’s connected. Looks like some of the photography customers came from the wife, not Darien, and are straight photo shoots, nothing crime related.”

  “Interesting. It’s good you’re inside. We can figure this out a hell of a lot faster.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “And on that other thing, you’ll be surrounded by naked women, West, so drool a little. Pretend you got a pair.”

  “The equipment’s intact, not to worry,” he said. His reaction to Sawyer was proof. He grimaced, especially because he got a rush when he thought about getting back to her now.

  He hung up with Mark and headed into Jade’s, determined to keep his mind on the job and forget how hot Sawyer was, no matter how many ways she reminded him with her twisty hip-walk and her teasing smile and flirty remarks and her tight backside, and that great set of—

  Stop it.

  Maybe he’d learn something from her, like he’d said, though he hated how personal portraits got. Samantha Sawyer sure knew what she was doing in the studio. She’d turned the shoot with that lowlife Balistero into a tender moment. And Rick couldn’t see her shooting porn, not from what he’d seen so far.

  On the other hand, sociopaths were skilled liars, so he’d stay on guard. Remain clearheaded, neutral and completely controlled. Evaluate all evidence, examine all options, ask and answer all questions.

  And stay way clear of dessert.

  “IS THE BOOKKEEPER spelled T-A-B-O-R or E-R?”

  “O-R,” Samantha said on a sigh. “I promise I won’t quiz you later.” Since Rick had returned from his lunch break, he’d asked a million questions about the center, dragging the twenty-minute orientation into a ninety-minute ordeal. It was as if he thought he’d have to run the place without her. Just now he’d honed in on the fact that Darien loaned Samantha his bookkeeper.

  “Let’s get going, Rick,” she said, “so I can introduce you to the other shop owners.” The day was nearly over and she’d promised to help Valerie after work.

  On the way out the door, Rick paused to rattle the loose counter. “I’ll bolt this first thing tomorrow.”

  “The construction crew should handle it, but thanks.” He was obviously trying to reassure her of his usefulness. His tone had changed over lunch. When he’d left, there had been flirtation in the air, but he’d returned all facts and figures.

  Which was best, she realized as the time passed. Rick’s role as her assistant—and a photographer at that—was far more important than any sex they might share. Samantha would find her fantasy lover elsewhere.

  She led the way to Healing Touch, Mona’s massage studio, where there was an AC problem. The delicate bell over the door tickled Samantha’s ear as always, pouring calm through her. She associated the sound with her once-a-month gift to herself of a Mona massage.

  Mona’s was the smallest shop, consisting of a tiny reception area, two small massage rooms, a restroom and overlarge closets—Darien and his storage space.

  Mona emerged from the first massage room. “Hello,” she said, smiling at them. Short and curvy with open brown eyes, she moved in an eddy of palpable warmth that Samantha loved. Her massages melted worries and fears, along with knots and kinks, and it was worth every word of her usual lectures about Samantha accepting herself as she was to experience Mona’s tension-melting skill.

  “This is my new assistant, Rick West. Rick, Mona Munro. We’re here to deal with your air problem.”

  “An assistant already? How wonderful.” Mona shook Rick’s hand, then slanted Samantha a look. She hadn’t believed Samantha would actually hire anyone. She thought Samantha was clinging to the excuse of being too busy. If you’re going to break out, sweetie, break out.

  “I act fast when the time’s right,” Samantha said, returning her look. Now she had an assistant. Soon, she’d find a man. Hit a brunch at the Phoenician or cruise a singles watering hole and reel one in. No problem.

  “It’s this way.” Mona led them to the second massage room.

  Samantha breathed in the lemon–ylang-ylang of the candle burning on the counter beside the CD player in the cozy, golden-hued room that featured a massage table covered in saffron sheets.

  “The air just sinks. No movement,” Mona said to Rick, waving her arms through the air above the table.

  Rick looked up, studying the register, arms
akimbo. “I’ll see what I can do.” He scooped off his shoes and climbed onto the table, reaching up to twist something on the vent, which made his forearm muscles tighten and glide.

  And look at that backside, so tight and round. Why, Handyman Rick, I think my wiring needs tightening, my pipes need, well, what pipes need. Fix me quick with your special tool. Samantha sighed.

  Rick banged the vent slats with the heel of his hand.

  “So, an assistant and a handyman,” Mona murmured.

  Samantha looked at her friend, Rick’s body rising between them. “He’d do whatever I need him to do,” she said.

  “Oh, well. That’s wonderful.” Mona grinned.

  Samantha blushed and changed the subject. “So how’s Mr. Regular?”

  It was Mona’s turn to blush. “Still regular.” Chuck Yardley, aka Mr. Regular, came for a massage five days a week, feigning rugby strains, but really to get to know Mona, who refused to budge on her no-dating-clients rule.

  Samantha understood her reluctance. Sleazy massage parlors gave legitimate therapists a bad name. Samantha had a similar problem with callers who asked for vulgar photos, using words she preferred not to think, let alone hear.

  But Mona could easily send Chuck to another therapist and go out with the guy. She claimed her people instincts went amok once chemistry kicked in and she had a rat of an ex-husband to prove it. So poor Chuck forked over hundreds a week in unnecessary rubdowns in a vain effort to coax his reluctant sweetheart that he was safe to date.

  Rick tested the outflow, then looked down at them. “That should do it.”

  Mona tilted up her face. “Mmm, feels better already.”

  While Rick climbed down, his back to them, Mona mimed licking her finger and touching it to Rick’s behind, then yanking the digit away as if burned.

  Samantha fought a laugh.

  Rick reached the floor and turned. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing,” Mona said, her eyes twinkling. “I just mentioned how nice it is that you’re so handy. I mean besides being an assistant.”

  “Whatever Samantha needs,” he said, winking at her, teasing, turning her nerves to hot wires.