Читать книгу Hot Spot - Debbi Rawlins, Debbi Rawlins - Страница 10

MADISON WASN’T ABOUT to argue. He would take off his shirt when the time was right. So far she’d been able to coax even the most reluctant subject to comply with her requests, be it to smile or show a little skin. Nothing too risqué. Just tantalizing. He’d be no different, as long as she didn’t blow it by shooting off her big mouth. She knew better than to bring up the issue. But for a moment he’d gotten her so damn flustered she couldn’t think straight.

It wasn’t just her. There was definitely a je ne sais quoi thing happening with him. A mysterious appeal that couldn’t be defined by mortal beings. It was just there.

“I only meant that if we take a shot with you in the pool or spa—” She shrugged and smiled when his expression darkened. “Forget I said that. Let’s go.”

She headed for the pool without glancing back, hoping like hell he followed. She didn’t have a lot of time to get her photos in to Today’s Man, and with his schedule he probably had even less time to pose for them. It wasn’t as if they had a contract. If he were to suddenly withdraw…

Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about that.

“Madison? Slow down.”

She swallowed and then turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Let’s skip the pool.”

“It’s just right there.” She pointed. “Have you seen the bottom? It’s a mosaic of black and pink tiles and the same Plexiglas roof—”

He didn’t look happy as he glanced at his watch. “I have only twenty minutes.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s go look at one of the suites.” She knew what he was doing. Warning her not to waste time with the pool because he wouldn’t be removing his shirt. Fine. There was always the spa.

The elevator trip down to the eighteenth floor was short and silent. His mood had definitely shifted, and Madison decided it would be wise to give as little information as possible for now. Once they started the shoot, she’d get him relaxed and more amenable to her suggestions.

Using the card key, she opened the double doors to the penthouse suite, three thousand square feet of sheer decadence. One night in this pleasure palace would cost her the equivalent of five months’ rent.

The foyer alone was huge, massive, and the floor an incredible Italian marble that made her want to tiptoe across so she wouldn’t leave a single mark. On the walls hung Warhol originals that Madison had already drooled over when Janice Foster, the hotel’s manager, had graciously given Madison the tour yesterday.

“Not bad, huh?” She grinned at Jack. “They call this the Pop Suite. Two bedrooms, three baths, with butler service.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have my arm twisted.”

He smiled and strolled over to look at the artwork. “I didn’t see this one during the opening.”

“I’ve only seen two other penthouse suites. One being the bridal suite, so I don’t think we’ll be doing a photo spread there.”

“I’m surprised.” Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I figured that would be your first choice.”

“You’re supposed to be the city’s most eligible bachelor. The last thing I want to do is dispel the fantasy.”

He turned away, the smile gone. Clearly he hadn’t considered that angle, and like a damn fool, she’d pointed it out. He went to the window and stared out at the skyline, and she quietly went to stand beside him.

“Amazing city, huh?” she said, glancing sideways at him. Great profile. Straight nose. Strong jaw. Her heart foolishly skipped a beat.

“That it is.”

“Are you from here?”

He looked at her, briefly, probably wondering if she’d read his bio…which she had, but now with his gaze on hers, she couldn’t remember detail one as he turned his attention back to the glittering symphony of lights. “Nebraska.”

“No kidding.”

“No kidding,” he repeated. “Know where that is?”

“Midwest.”

A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Close enough.”

“Do you miss it?”

He turned back to her again, an odd look on his face.

Oh, no. Now what had she said wrong?

“I had to think for a moment,” he said. “That’s not a typical question.”

“And here I thought I was being so cliché.”

He really smiled, causing that flutter in her chest again.

She silently cleared her throat. “So? Do you?”

“You’d make a hell of an interviewer. You don’t give up.”

“I’ve been accused of persistence on occasion.”

“Not a bad quality.”

“Depends on who you ask.” She shrugged and moved away from the window, becoming increasingly aware of his nearness. Of the way his chin was starting to shadow…of the attractive crease in his cheek when he smiled. “If you don’t want to talk about your family that’s fine.”

“They’re all still in Omaha and I go back to see them about once a year. My parents and I have a great relationship, so there’s no dirt to dig up.”

Nothing in the world annoyed her more than to be associated with paparazzi in even the tiniest way. “Frankly, I don’t care if you sleep with your sister. I take celebrity photos. The only thing that interests me is capturing your sex appeal on film.”

His jaw tightened, and at the moment he looked a lot angrier than he did sexy. He consulted his watch, probably to keep from shooting daggers at her. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one evening.”

Regret restored her common sense. “Don’t you want to look at the rest of the suite?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you have no objection to shooting in here?”

He glanced toward the bedroom. From their vantage point, they could glimpse the cherrywood four-poster bed.

“Come see in here,” she said, heading for the bedroom door. “It’ll just take a minute.”

“Why?” he asked even as he approached her. “How many settings do you need? How many shots will you be taking?”

She wasn’t about to tell him how many rolls of film she’d been known to take to get just the right shot. Instead she shrugged and continued toward the door. “This room is unreal. We’re already here. You should at least see it.”

Reluctantly he followed her into the huge bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat. The deep burgundy walls and velvet chaise should have made the room look more traditional, but somehow didn’t. It helped that the crystal chandelier was totally modern, a work of art, in fact, and that the room offered every convenience known to man.

And then some.

Her gaze automatically went to the armoire—a virtual treasure chest of adult toys, some of which even eluded her rather broad knowledge. She quickly looked away, not eager to point out that particular asset of the suite.

“Watch this.” She found the panel on the side of the sleek bedside table and pushed a button. In front of the chandelier, facing the detailed headboard, a slim screen lowered from a hidden recess in the ceiling. “Plasma. Awesome, isn’t it?”

Jack smiled and moved beside her to look at the panel. “What do the rest of these buttons do?”

His shoulder brushed hers, his faint woodsy scent so intoxicating, it took her a second to regain her senses. “Uh, lots of things.” She cursed herself for the inane comment. “Everything in the suite is controlled from here—the television, of course, the temperature, the drapes, the sound system, the lights…”

“Impressive.”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

He smiled again, and she realized that he probably already had a plasma TV, a comparable sound system, everything he needed at his fingertips. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford it.

“Ah, well, it beats having to slap the side of my ten-year-old twenty-inch to clear the reception.” She sighed. “So what do you think? Good backdrop, huh?”

His gaze narrowed, he surveyed the room. “Anything else in here I should know about?”

“Such as?”

His frown deepened, lingering on the armoire. “This hotel is known for more than its luxurious rooms.”

“Oh, you mean the sex stuff.” She grinned at his grimace. “I didn’t think you were interested.”

“I’m not.” He gave her a long stern look. Which didn’t faze her. He had the most incredible hazel eyes. She could stare into them all night. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I totally get it. No surprises.”

“I have your word.”

She tried not to laugh. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. “Today’s Wednesday, when do you want to start shooting?”

“Saturday?” She noticed his hesitation and quickly added, “Whatever suits your schedule. I know you don’t do the weekend shows so I figured—”

“You watch my show?” Amusement gleamed in his eyes.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Too perky. He had to know she was lying.

He smiled. “I’ll have to check my calendar to confirm Saturday, but I think that’ll work.”

“Great.”

They both moved toward the door. “My driver will be here at any minute,” he said.

She got nervous all of a sudden. Kind of a warm flash heated her face. Clammy hands. Just like when she’d waited for more than two hours for her one-and-only prom date. The bastard never showed. Her mom had spent half their rent on the stupid pink dress and rose boutonniere for nothing.

“You have my number?” she asked, annoyed that her voice sounded too high. “To confirm Saturday?”

“I do. What time did you want to get started?”

Before opening the double doors, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure they’d left the suite the way they’d found it. “The earlier the better.”

“Seven?”

“Terrific.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Hard to tell.” She closed the door behind them and then checked the doorknob to make sure it was locked. “Depends on how—What?”

He was trying to hide a smile but doing a poor job of it. “Nothing. You were saying…”

She stopped and frowned at him. “Come on. What?”

He absently shook his head. “You remind me of my sister. She always has to check the doors and stove twice before leaving the house.”

“I checked it once. That doesn’t make me neurotic,” she said, not sure which annoyed her more, the neurosis implication or being likened to his sister.

“I never accused you of being neurotic. Now if you always get a block away from your apartment and have to keep going back—”

“I did that only one time,” she blurted before she censored herself, and then as she turned back toward the elevator, muttered, “I thought I’d left the iron on.”

He laughed. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“You didn’t.” As soon as she depressed the down button, the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. He stood close, closer than was necessary in the empty car.

She breathed in slowly and deeply, tried to exhale without making too much noise, and stared straight ahead at the doors. His nearness meant nothing, of course. It wasn’t deliberate on his part, more an absence of thought. That certain knowledge didn’t stop her pulse from accelerating or her mouth from going totally dry.

Jack said nothing during the ride down to the lobby. Which suited Madison just fine. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Anyway, his thoughts had probably already strayed to whichever nubile young starlet he was meeting for dinner tonight.

Over the past couple of years he’d been linked to a number of actresses and models, from New York to Sweden. Nothing had seriously developed. As far as she knew. Obviously he subscribed to the variety-is-the-spice-of-life philosophy. But then again, who in their right mind believed the tabloids.

The doors opened to the lobby and its lush expanse of sea-foam-green carpeting, and he asked, “Need a ride?”

“Thanks, but I’m going the other way.”

His lips twitched. “How do you know where I’m going?” He put on his coat.

She sighed and turned up her collar in anticipation of the chilly fall air. “I like to walk or take the subway.”

“It’s cold out there.”

“I know.” She stopped at the front desk and dropped off the key. “Cold, dark and full of surprises.”

He looked warily at her as if she’d really creeped him out.

Grinning, she buttoned her blazer as they made their way to the door. “Good surprises, that make me want to stop and whip out my camera. The kind you miss when you’re riding in a car.”

“Right.”

She offered her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Jack.”

“Me, too.”

“Liar.” Laughing, she turned up her collar and headed home.

JACK SLID INTO THE BACKSEAT and leaned against the leather upholstery, watching her stride along Forty-sixth. No jacket, just her thin coat, even though it had to be only forty degrees.

“Where to, boss?” Dutch looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Your apartment?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He’d have dinner, something disgustingly healthy his housekeeper had left in the refrigerator for him. Then watch some boring television. “Dutch, I’ve changed my mind.”

The young man’s eyes instantly met his. “Okay,” he said, disappointment in his voice. Probably thought his day wouldn’t be over yet. “Where to?”

“Drop me at the studio, and then go home.”

“But how will—”

“I think I remember how to hail a cab.” Hell, maybe he’d even walk the three miles and skip the treadmill tomorrow morning.

“But, boss—”

“Dutch, don’t argue.”

The man said nothing, only frowned and then concentrated on pulling the black Lincoln Town Car away from the curb and into traffic.

Jack sighed. He hadn’t meant to sound short. “So how are Jenny and the kids these days?”

“Noisy and expensive.” Dutch snorted. “The three of them are gonna land me in the poor house.”

Jack smiled. He’d known the man for five years, and the litany had been the same. But everyone who knew him also knew he lived and breathed for his family.

“Yep, don’t ever have girls, boss. Too high maintenance. I ought to send them to Catholic school. Make ’em wear uniforms. No more whining for designer jeans.”

“I doubt that would stop them. Well, maybe when they’re forty.”

“I won’t care then. They’ll be somebody else’s problem.”

Jack chuckled, his gaze lingering in Madison’s direction, but she’d already disappeared. Laying his head back, he briefly closed his eyes.

Saturday was going to be hell. Why had he ever agreed to this absurdity? How could people regard him as a serious newsman with his face spread across the pages of a magazine? He understood why so many celebrities had to accept that kind of exposure. They had to promote their new movies and themselves. He’d interviewed enough of them himself. Most of them didn’t like to do it, but they understood that the hype was part of the business.

He didn’t fall into that category. He just investigated and reported the news. Not that he did half the amount of investigation he’d like. His main job was to look good in front of the camera each morning, banter with his cohost and, yeah, subtly flirt with his female audience. He knew all that, and he’d played the game. But it was getting old. Fast.

Sighing, he brought his head up and pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples were starting to throb. Probably from the scotch. He didn’t drink often and generally not on an empty stomach. He should’ve offered to buy Madison dinner. Better than going back to his apartment and eating alone. Just like he did most nights. Something he normally preferred.

Not tonight, though.

He looked out the heavily tinted window and watched two young women chatting as they walked, one of them tugging at the leash of a black Great Dane, who seemed hell-bent on stopping at every trash receptacle and tree. Other pedestrians gave them a wide berth, dodging out of the way when the dog started sniffing too intimately.

Jack smiled. He didn’t see many big dogs in the city. People mostly kept smaller dogs, which made sense because of the size of the average apartment. Small. Really small. He’d had one of those once. In the beginning, before he’d taken over the morning show. The bedroom and living room practically shared the same space, yet had escaped the label of studio apartment. But at least it hadn’t been a walk-up, and a doorman always monitored the building’s entrance.

Now, everything was different. He had a large, well-appointed three-story brownstone, a housekeeper who spoiled him and a house in Connecticut on the water. He even had Dutch to drive him wherever he wanted to go. So why wasn’t he happy? Hell, he knew why: he missed being out in the field. But was he really ready to give all this up?