Red (29 page)

“You see,” he said softly, “I did not lie. The camera loves you.” He brushed one of her tears away, catching it
with his thumb. “But I had to work too hard to get these. We can't go on this way. You see how stiff and uncomfortable you look?”

She did see. For although Carlo and his camera had given her the miracle of beauty, only she could give the images of herself life.

“Can you let go and trust the camera? Can you believe?” Carlo searched her gaze. “If not, even though the camera loves your face, you cannot be a model. You must decide. Can you trust enough to give yourself over to me?”

I
n the end, as Carlo had known she would, Becky Lynn gave herself over to him. She learned; she grew. Before his eyes and in three short months, she transformed from awkward and uncomfortable in front of the camera to a bold, confident and self-assured model.

Carlo leafed through some of his shots of her, studying them as critically as he could but finding them nearly flawless, anyway. The difference between the first and the most recent shots of her was nothing short of amazing. Once she had conquered her fear and self-doubt, there had been nothing she couldn't do. From working with Jack, she had already known the tricks of the trade; she understood photography and what made a great shot. It had only been a matter of applying what she knew to herself and the art of modeling.

Carlo smiled to himself, gazing with pleasure at the photographs. He had begun, already and unbelievably, to choose shots for her portfolio. He hadn't a doubt that she would be signed by one of the top agencies; he had in mind either Ford, Elite or Davis.

He stopped on the first proofs of herself Becky Lynn had seen. He swallowed hard, remembering her expression, the way she had looked at him—as if he had given her the most wonderful gift in the world. He had never made anyone so happy before. He created beautiful pho
tographs, images and illusions only. Never anything so real, never anything so honest as the happiness that had shown from her eyes that day.

He had made a difference in her life. He had affected her, deeply, on a level he had never affected another person.

In that moment, and for the first time since finding his mother in a pool of blood, he had felt whole and hopeful. In that moment, the world had seemed like an all-right place, and life a series of opportunities.

That moment, too, marked the beginning of Becky Lynn's transformation. Seeing the photographs of herself, seeing how beautiful she could be, had given her the strength to face her fears—she had finally begun to believe.

He flipped through several more photos, stopping on a particularly fetching shot. In it, Becky Lynn looked both little girl and woman. The look had nothing to do with what she wore or the setting; neither were outstanding. He tipped his head and narrowed his gaze. Her photographs all had something special, a quality not many other models had, even the top girls.

It was in the eyes, he realized. A vulnerability. A softness that had nothing to do with physical beauty or photographer's illusion, but everything to do with the core of the person being photographed. He flipped through several more shots, comparing them. The vulnerable quality shone from her eyes in all of them, no matter how sexy, alluring or tough the shot. Becky Lynn couldn't hide it, and no viewer would be able to resist responding to it.

Carlo gazed at the photos, a catch in his chest. Becky Lynn was special. She was going to be a special model, one of the most special faces. As his mother had been.

He glanced toward the back of the studio, toward the makeup, hair and changing rooms where Becky Lynn was getting prepared for what he felt certain would be her last training session. She was ready for her first professional assignment.

He smiled to himself. When he told her, she would be terrified. But as always, she would conquer her fear. She was one of the strongest, most courageous people he had ever met. He had seen her strength in the way she had stood up to him, day in and day out, in the way she had battled her tears even when he had dished out his worst, in the way she had kept on fighting.

Jack had been a fool for letting her slip away.

With thoughts of Jack, Carlo's smile faded. Rumor through the industry held that Jack and Garnet McCall were immersed in a torrid affair. He wondered if Becky Lynn had left Jack because she'd found out about it. She'd never spoken of why she had left Jack, but that would explain her hurt and her fury.

Carlo drew his eyebrows together. Becky Lynn never talked about her past, where she came from or her family, and when he had asked her point-blank, she had lied.

Maybe others bought her story about a farm accident and a loving but poor family, but he didn't. He had seen the evasions, the untruths in her eyes. And when he had questioned her more, when he had pushed, she'd clammed up.

He heard her laugh and looked over his shoulder once more, frowning. What was so terrible that she felt she had to lie to him? He lowered his gaze to her photographs. No doubt she had told Jack everything about her. She and his brother had been lovers, yet she wouldn't let him touch her.
Anytime he even came close to her, she froze. Frustration balled in his chest. Why? What did Jack have that he didn't?

“I'm sorry, Carlo!” Jon burst into the room, his normally mild expression agitated. “I tried to stop him, but he—”

“Where is she?” Jack angled past the assistant and strode onto the set as if he owned it. “I know she's here.”

Carlo waved his assistant off and faced Jack, smiling, ready for this confrontation. He had known Jack would come for Becky Lynn, it had only been a matter of when.

“Well, well…if it isn't my little bastard brother.” Carlo arched his eyebrows in cool disinterest. “What brings you to the lion's den?”

“Cut the crap, Carlo. You know why I'm here.” Jack flexed his fingers. “Where is she?”

Carlo cocked his head. “Can you possibly mean
my
sweet southern flower? Can you possibly mean
my
beautiful Becky Lynn?”

Jack gritted his teeth. “I want to see her. Where is she?”

“You're presuming she wants to see you. She doesn't.” Carlo laughed softly. “But you should know that. She won't take your calls. She returned that pathetic little note.”

Jack's features tightened, and Carlo laughed again, delighted. “She's happy with me, Jack. I make her happy. Leave her be.”

Jack took a step toward him, jaw tight with fury, hands clenched at his sides. “If you don't let me see her, right now, I'll—”

“What?” Carlo arched his eyebrows. “Punch me? Offer to meet me outside? I see you haven't changed in all these years. Still a cowboy.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Jack advanced on him, and Carlo took a quick step backward. “Actually, she's not here. But I have something you might be interested in seeing.”

“I'm not interested in anything you have to show me.”

“Except Becky Lynn?” At Jack's expression, Carlo laughed. “Here, take a look.” He picked up the fetching shot of Becky Lynn, then dropped it to the table again. Jack's eyes shifted to it. His face went slack with surprise, then whitened with realization.

“She's quite something, isn't she, Jack? She has it all. Face, body, brains. She's going all the way to the top. Take a closer look if you need to.” Carlo picked up the shot again and held it out to his brother. “You never saw her this way, did you, Jack? She was right under your nose all along. Imagine that.”

Jack's throat worked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. He looked as if he had taken a knife to the gut.

“She's mine now,” Carlo said softly, twisting the blade. “Anything familiar about this scene?” He laughed softly. “You lose again, baby brother. Old habits can be a real bitch to break.”

Jack reached for the photo just as Carlo drew it away. It ripped in half.

“You bastard,” Jack said tightly. “You don't care about her. You're just using her to get to me.”

“What were you using her for, Jack? At least I'm giving her something in return. Something she only dreamed of before. I treat her like she's special. How did you treat her? What did you give her? Did you ever see her as a beautiful, sexy woman?” Carlo took a step toward Jack. “You were too blind, weren't you? You were too damn selfish.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. His face mottled with rage; a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Carlo could see the effect his words were having on Jack. But tormented wasn't good enough; he went in for the kill. “As beautiful and exciting as she is on film, she's ever more so in bed.”

Jack drew his fist and before Carlo could move, the fist connected with his jaw. Light and pain speared through his head, and Carlo reeled backward, knocking into a light stand, sending it and him crashing to the floor.

Carlo brought his hand to his jaw and shook his head to clear it. He looked at his brother, standing above him like a bull incited by a red flag, fists still clenched and ready. His brother would like nothing better right now than to kill him.

Jack was in love with Becky Lynn.

Carlo stared at his brother, stunned. He had never even suspected his brother's feelings for her ran so deep; he doubted the Neanderthal even realized it himself. This was too perfect, too good to be true.

He rubbed his jaw, again. “Feel better now, cowboy? Unfortunately for you, hitting me doesn't change the fact that she's mine now. And I warn you, hit me again and you'll hear from my lawyer.”

“Tell her I stopped by. Tell her I'm sorry and that I want her back.” Jack bent and scooped up the two pieces of torn photograph, then met Carlo's gaze again, eyes narrowed. “That is, if you have the guts.”

Carlo watched him stalk off, his smile fading, his brother's words resounding in his head.

“Tell her I'm sorry. If you have the guts.”

“What's going on?” Becky Lynn rushed out of the
changing room, wearing a pair of partially fastened jeans and clasping a hand towel to her bare chest. She saw the toppled lights, him on the floor, and stopped. “My, God, Carlo. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” He pulled himself up, then bent and righted the light stand. He rubbed his jaw once more.

“You've been hurt!” She raced over to him. “Someone hit you.”

“It's nothing.”

“It's something.”

She tried to inspect his jaw, and he jerked his head away. “Forget it, Becky Lynn. We've got work to do.”

She scowled. “Who did this to you?”

“Tell her I was here and that I want her back. If you have the guts.”

Carlo opened his mouth to do just that, then shut it again. If he told her, she would go after Jack. For all her protestations to the contrary, he doubted she could resist.

He swore silently, despising his own cowardice. “An old girlfriend stopped by to say hello. She packs a hell of a good punch, doesn't she?” He caught his assistant's eye and sent him a warning glance. “She heard that we're living together. She's pretty pissed.”

Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to the empty doorway. “An old girlfriend did this?”

“You think I'm lying?” He scowled. “What? Maybe you think it was Jack, come to beg your forgiveness and take you away from all this?” She flushed, and he took a step toward her, eyes narrowed. “You probably lie in bed at night and fantasize about how he's going to come for you, whisk you into his arms and promise his undying love. Don't you, Becky Lynn? You secretly
hope he's going to realize he loves you and can't live without you.”

“You bastard. I've proved I don't want to talk to him, that I despise him.” Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she blinked against them. “And I'm sorry I even worried that you were hurt.”

She spun around and stalked to the changing room. He watched her go, regret taking his breath. She was right, he was a bastard. A mean, sorry son of a bitch. He fisted his fingers. But she still loved Jack, despite what she said, despite the way Jack had treated her. If she had seen him, she would have gone with him. He, Carlo Triani, had given her beauty, he would give her fame, but she wouldn't have looked back even once in her hurry to get Jack.

The truth of that chewed and clawed at his gut until he couldn't see or feel anything but jealousy and hate.

He took a deep breath and followed her into the changing room, slamming the door shut behind him.

She whirled, the towel clutched to her chest. “Do you mind?”

She'd been crying; the tears had made tracks through her makeup, ruining it. Carlo leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “No, I don't mind. In fact, the view from here is rather nice.”

“Get out.” She glared at him. “Now.”

“I think we should become lovers.”

She took a step backward, eyes widening. “What?”

“I want us to sleep together.”

Her expression froze. He thought of a small, vulnerable animal trapped by a hungry wolf. He didn't particularly care for the image or the association. “It's the natural next step for us.”

She stiffened her spine and brought her chin up. “You want us to sleep together because it's the next step?”

“What's wrong with that?”

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then brought them back to his. “I don't know why you're doing this, Carlo. You don't have to, I don't expect it. And I don't want it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And just what's that supposed to mean?”

“You're not attracted to me, Carlo. I know you're not.”

“You're wrong about that.” He took a step toward her, sending her a slow, seductive smile.

“No, I'm not wrong.” She dropped the small towel, and reached for the silky chemise she was supposed to wear for the shoot. He lowered his eyes involuntarily to her naked breasts, then lifted them to her face once more, frustrated because he felt nothing.

And because she knew it.

He swore and swung away from her. He heard the rustle of silk as she slipped on the chemise. He fisted his fingers and fought to get a grip on his emotions.

She crossed to him and laid a hand on his arm. “It's okay, don't you see? I like the way it is between us.”

He met her eyes. “But that's not the way you wanted it with Jack, is it?”

She didn't flinch at the blow, but she felt it. He saw the hurt in her eyes, saw the regret. “It's not you, Carlo. I'm not interested in having sex with anyone, ever again.”