Exposure (5 page)

Probably just her nerves about Noah. Last
Friday night had thrown her world off its axis.

"Are you ever going to tell me how the
meeting with Hoan Dwell went? Are we doing an exhibit for him?"

Raven opened and closed her mouth, pushing
her Cobb salad around in the container. "We didn't get to discuss a
lot of business," she hedged. Noah had created a pen name and kept
that person a mystery to the world for a reason. Even if she didn't
know why, she would respect that. Had to if it was a safeguard.
Except Nicole was her friend and her assistant. If they did a
showing for…Hoan, then Nicole was a big part of the process. "We
have another meeting set up for later in the week."

Perhaps she should keep the tentative date
with Noah after all, if for no other reason than to discuss the
showing. They never did get to that during dinner, too wrapped up
in…other matters.

Nicole swallowed and wiped her mouth with a
napkin. "What was he like?"

God. Now she felt like she had to lie to
Nicole to protect him. This was spiraling out of control fast. "He
was…not what I was expecting." She almost laughed at the
understatement.

Nicole's eyes lit. "Is he handsome? Dark and
broody? Eccentric? I'll bet he's Hemmingway crazy. Am I right?"

This time Raven did laugh. "Not crazy or
reclusive. He's just very private."

"And handsome? Give a girl some hope
here."

Laughing again, she reached for a water
bottle. "Very attractive, yes." Understatement of the century right
there, since she was on a roll with them. Nicole would die if she
ever found out Hoan was Noah. They ran in the same circles, often
hanging out together, but Nicole harbored a secret crush on
Noah.

"Sigh," she said and flipped her long hair
over her shoulder. "I hope I get to meet him."

Raven bit the inside of her lip. Nicole was
Noah's typical romp. Pretty, curvy, and blonde. Noah didn't bring
his women around, but they talked about their trysts, and her
assistant was exactly the kind of woman he attracted. Not her. So
why his interest? Then again, Hoan wasn't particular with his
models. Thin, voluptuous, tall, short, dark, light…he didn't
discriminate. She wondered if he bedded all his models.

After lunch, she started playing with the
promotional flyers for their next viewing in a week until her two
o'clock arrived. Nicole sent him right up, so she closed the
program and rose to shake his hand.

Vincent Soreno was easily six and a half
feet tall, with a head shaved bald and muscles encasing muscles.
Mr. Clean meets Hell's Angels. He was younger than she expected.
Early thirties, perhaps? A sleeve of tattoos ran up and down each
arm. In one hand he held a leather jacket, in the other a portfolio
case. A white T-shirt molded to his massive chest like second skin
and his jeans were ripped. He certainly didn't dress up for their
meeting. This guy took wedding pictures?

Doubt niggled in the back of her skull but
she gestured to a chair. A quick glance told her Nicole was helping
customers on the show floor, so Raven was alone. Their security
guard, Duane, was near Nicole's desk, eyes watching both Nicole and
the second floor.

Raven sat down and forced a smile. "So,
you're from the east coast. Where, exactly?"

When he spoke, she swore the earth shook his
voice was so deep. "Queens, New York. My family owns a pizzeria. I
do the wedding photos gig on the side."

This guy was a walking contradiction. "What
brings you to Alaska?"

"I vacation here every year. Fishing and
whatnot."

She nodded. "Our gallery only showcases
Alaskan terrain, whether urban or scenic. If we were to do an
exhibit, one of your pieces would end up in our book collection we
publish yearly. It gets circulated around nationally."

He nodded.

This was like pulling teeth. "Let's see what
you brought and go from there."

She took the portfolio from his monstrously
large hand and skimmed through. A sense of unease washed over her
again when she noticed the vast difference between the event photos
and the scenic ones. For one, the clarity and lighting was stellar
in the journalistic style wedding portraits, but the edge was lost
in the scenery pictures. Like snapped by two different people.
Still, he had an eye.

Without looking up from her study, she said,
"If we were to do business, we'd need you to sign off that all work
is yours for copyright purposes. Will that be a problem?"

"No."

Okay, he wasn't getting the hint. "To be
clear, there would be a lawsuit if any work wasn't your own."

He tensed and her heart stopped. Ordering
herself to calm down, she sent him a level gaze when everything
inside exploded in fear. He made no movement, other than a chilling
glare that left her bereft of warmth.

Eventually, he nodded. "I took the
photos."

She let out a quiet breath. Talent or not,
and that was up for debate, she didn't want to work with this guy.
But she went into this business to help struggling artists, so what
did it say about her if she let silly feelings get in the way? And
wasn't she stereotyping him just based on appearance?

Sitting back, she chewed on her lip. "Let me
be honest, Mr. Soreno. You're much more intuitive and clean when
you study people. I'm going to hold my decision and give you the
opportunity to bring me some fresh shots. While you're visiting our
area, take some pictures and bring them back here. We'll talk some
more."

His jaw ground, but he nodded. "Thank you
for your time. I'll be back."

Trying to accept his words for what they
were and not a threat, she rose and held out her hand. "It was a
pleasure meeting you. We'll talk soon." With security in the room
next time.

Unsure whether it was the uneasiness from
her interview with Vincent Soreno or the bomb Noah threw at her
feet, Raven was jittery the rest of the week. She had this urgent
need to look over her shoulder wherever she went and she found
herself triple-checking the apartment locks at night. Crazy as it
sounded, she felt like she was being watched.

By the time she stood in front of her
full-length mirror on Friday night to size up her appearance, she
was about to crawl out of her skin. Back and forth she debated
whether to head to Noah's condo or skip it. To bail would send the
message she didn't want the offer of one month with him. They'd
resume things how they always had been before, as close friends
with mutual interests. To go meant…

She blew out a breath. "This is nuts."

She wore her skinny jeans with knee-high
black leather boots and a sapphire sweater that clung to her chest
and dipped low in the back. Sexy, but not blaring. Casual, not too
eager. Since when did getting dressed for Noah require five
wardrobe changes?

Fisting her hair, which she'd left down, she
turned from the mirror and paced. Hadn't she been stuck in her
routine? Sexually frustrated and climbing the walls? It had been
two months since she'd stepped foot inside the bar club to study
another partner for contact. Two months, no sex. No release from
tension and no control.

Noah would cure that. He'd offered. They'd
have to talk over logistics, but what would be the harm? He was
right. The way they viewed sex was reciprocal. The friendship, as
long as he held up his end of the bargain, would remain intact.

Screw this. She grabbed her purse and headed
to the front door, shoving into her coat.

The drive to his condo was roughly twenty
minutes. He lived in Anchorage in the wealthier area away from the
ports, so she used the time to think some more. Not that arguing
with herself solved much.

She sat inside her SUV for a few minutes and
stared at Noah's building, wondering why she had the suspicion
everything in her orderly world was about to drastically change if
she entered. Shaking her head, she exited the vehicle and stopped
at the security desk to check in. She recognized the attendant from
previous visits and smiled.

"Well, Miss Crowne. Long time no see." The
wrinkles around his eyes deepened when he grinned. Lyle, an elder
black man and skinny as heck, couldn't offer much by way of
security, she assumed, but guests needed a key just to enter the
building, never mind to use the elevators. He was probably there
for appearances.

"Okay if I go up?"

"Yes, ma'am. Good to see you again."

"And you, as well," she called over her
shoulder.

She keyed the pad to access the elevator and
did it again so she could hit the button for Noah's unit on the
twentieth floor. The car delivered her to the very top with a swish
and the doors dinged open. A short hallway stretched before her and
then his door. She hadn't realized she hadn't moved until the
elevator started closing on her.

"Stop being a baby," she muttered and strode
forward.

Instead of using her key, she knocked. The
soft strums of jazz pulsed from behind the solid oak. She preferred
blaring rock herself. Just as she was about to knock again, the
door swung inward and Noah's form filled the space.

His jeans were slung low on his hips. A
black tee clung to his defined torso when he raised his forearms to
the doorframe and leaned into them. In one fell swoop, his gaze
raked her from head to toe, leaving her more exposed than if she
were naked.

One corner of his mouth quirked. "I thought
I said to wear the red dress."

"When have you ever known me to follow
orders? Besides, I may not be here for your…offer. Maybe I came to
discuss Hoan's showing for Elements." Or maybe she could add lying
through her teeth to her resume on Monday.

After a short but intense study, he grunted
and stepped back. "Enter."

Noah's condo was excessively large for just
one person. Two bedrooms were through the living room and down a
short hallway. The master bedroom was in the opposite direction.
She toed off her boots, walked through the foyer and past the
ginormous stainless steel kitchen on her left, where something
zesty was cooking.

She set her coat and purse on a stool by the
high granite counter and glanced around while stepping down into
the living room. There was mahogany hardwood throughout. His sofas
were gray leather, the walls a stark white. Pictures hanging in an
orderly fashion were the only pop of color. All were shots of his
company, Gallivanting Adventure. Two were of his float plane flying
low over the mountains, one of his charter fishing boat near a
glacier, and several smaller photos of his ATVs and bobsleds.

The space spoke of wealth, but didn't flaunt
it. His company brought in a sizable amount without the commission
from Hoan Dwell, yet he lived in a three thousand square foot condo
instead of a mansion on the harbor. Maybe he was right in what he'd
said at Salvatore's last week. He was still the same guy who'd
befriended her on their first day of college.

Turning, she found him staring at her from
the kitchen. Palms flat on the counter and his gaze burning into
her, he didn't move so much as one tense muscle.

Wondering what he was thinking, she cleared
her throat. "You haven't changed anything since I was here last."
She was pretty sure it had been six months ago, when he'd had some
of the guys over to play poker.

His expression gave nothing away as he took
his time answering. Finally, he straightened and moved to the
stove. "Why would I change anything? The decorator did a hell of a
job."

She climbed on a stool and crossed her arms
on the counter. He looked strangely at home in a kitchen. Bare
feet, forearms flexing as he stirred, he was rather sexy, too. His
blond hair was carelessly disheveled, as if not bothering with it
other than to finger comb. Heat flared in her belly, traveling
lower as she watched him.

For ten years she'd shut off the part of her
mind that allowed herself to think of him as anything other than
just Noah. Now, she drank him in, considering. He was right about a
few things. It would be so good between them. It had been too long
since she felt this punch of lust.

Dizzying.

"You keep looking at me like that, Raven,
and we won't make it until dinner. I'll chuck it and take you right
there on that counter." He looked at her over his shoulder. "No
doubt you'd taste better."

She sucked in a ragged breath through her
nose and looked away, imagining them doing just what he said. There
was a problem in his scenario though, and damn if she knew how to
bring it up.

Stepping away from the stove, he poured her
a glass of wine and slid it across the counter. "Drink. You've gone
pale."

Taking a healthy gulp, she didn't even taste
the wine as it traced a warm path to her belly. "What are we
having?"

"Gumbo. My mother's recipe." He dished some
into two bowls and walked them to the table in an alcove, where a
basket of homemade bread sat between two placemats. A couple of
candles were flickering in the dim light.

He'd gone all out.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"That remains to be seen. I followed the
recipe, so we'll find out." He pulled out a chair, waiting for her
to accept.

Crossing the room, she took a seat and he
pushed her chair in, ever the gentleman.

He sat across from her and sipped his wine.
The candlelight made his turquoise eyes darker, like the cusp of
twilight. Shadows played over his face, the light scruff on his jaw
and the angular edges of his features, and she could see the inner
artist in him as if she'd been slapped. She didn't know how she'd
missed it before. His gaze took in everything at once, dissecting
and analyzing, as if seeking the perfect shot.

The silence was uncomfortable, laced with
everything unsaid. Nervous on how to begin, she picked up her spoon
and took a bite. Spice exploded on her tongue, both full-bodied and
rich. With only a slight after bite, it warmed her from the inside
out.