Читать книгу Hard to Resist - Samantha Hunter - Страница 7

LACEY COULDN’T QUITE stifle the riff of excitement that hastened her movements as she rushed back to her loft and jumped in the shower to get ready to meet Lieutenant Wyatt in thirty minutes.

She’d nearly had a coronary when he’d walked up behind her in the studio. The man moved like a big cat. She hadn’t heard a step on the hard acrylic floors, but how long had he been there? How much had he heard of Jackie’s conversation with her? She shrugged. She’d said nothing that she felt ashamed of…well, there was the thrusting thing…but Jackie had come up with that one.

Lt. Jarod Wyatt was astounding in real life. The picture had muted the overall effect of absolutely radiant masculinity. She’d completely forgotten everything else—who she was, where she was—when he’d reached up, tipped the brim of his hat and smiled at her…

Oh, my.

She wasn’t prone to fluttering around men, but Jarod Wyatt was fully deserving of it. He was stunning in person.

He also touched something deeper, a chord of comfort and familiarity. It seemed odd, having just met him, but he reminded her of the men she’d grown up with in Nevada. Big, capable men who put a premium on being gentlemanly, and who could be gentle. Like her dad, her uncles and cousins. Lacey had known plenty of good men, and only one bad, so she counted herself fortunate.

There was a sense of polish about Jarod Wyatt, too, though. He’d gone to college, for one thing. She knew from his profile that he had a master’s in criminology, and he had some background in forensics. It was probably why they’d pulled him in on 9/11, beyond the sheer need for manpower. He wasn’t just any cowboy cop.

It was why she’d asked him to dinner. That, and because she wanted to look at him more, to study him the way an artist would study any subject. He would be pure joy to photograph. Her mind was already placing him in poses, in settings.

A few of which were X-rated and included her bedroom.

She smiled, reaching for a towel and wiping down briskly. God, it was good to feel this way, if only for a moment. To look forward to a man’s company again, even though it was only business over pizza. Maybe this was a good sign.

Grabbing black, formfitting pants, she tugged on a pair of heels and a hot-pink T-shirt with a colorful, fringed vest, assessing herself in the mirror.

If she were honest, she knew it was an outfit meant to draw a man’s eye. A particular man’s eye in this case. She nibbled her lip, suddenly apprehensive. So he was a good-looking guy—she should still be careful. Was it smart to have agreed to meet him, a stranger, for dinner? What did she really know about him, after all?

She shook off the doubts and their chilling effect. It was just business, some pizza and conversation. She’d wear this same outfit if anyone had suggested meeting her for dinner that evening. A lot of her clothes were colorful and funky and often drew attention. She wasn’t going to second-guess it. This was who she was.

The phone rang, and she contemplated not bothering with it. She had to meet Jarod, and contrary to popular wisdom about keeping men waiting, Lacey was never late. She was obsessively punctual, in fact.

Making sure she had her wallet, she dug around to transfer her stuff to a smaller purse as she answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Lacey?”

“Yes?”

“This is Gena, from Legal Aid in L.A.?”

She froze in place. Legal Aid had handled her case back in Los Angeles, since she couldn’t afford a high-priced lawyer. Her family would have paid, but she didn’t want them to know what happened. She told them she’d changed her name for business reasons, to maintain privacy from her work. She hated lying to them, but it was better than having them worry about her.

“Hi, Gena, what’s up?” She tried to sound casual, cheerful, but it felt as if her stomach was in her throat.

“Listen, there’s no need to worry, I want to emphasize that first. You should know that Scott Myers was released from his sentence to finish his probation on house arrest. He’s out of prison, but he’s still in California, and he won’t be able to leave a predetermined schedule of home and work for fourteen more months.”

“No,” was all Lacey could breathe before Gena continued.

“Please, don’t worry. He’s wearing a personal monitoring device. He won’t be able to find you, and probably won’t bother, given his profile, the steps you’ve taken and your history. Still, if he attempts to contact you in any way, your restraining order is still in force, even under your new name, so let us know, okay? I don’t want to upset you, but we like to make sure you know what’s going on.”

Lacey’s breathing seemed cut off and she swallowed, her previous cheer evaporating as she found the air to mumble an answer before she hung up.

Scott was free.

He shouldn’t have been released for another eighteen months, she recalled. The night he left Lacey unconscious on her kitchen floor he’d gone to a local bar and started a fight there, causing several thousand dollars of damage and other injuries. Luckily, the combined charges had sent him away for a while.

Lacey breathed deeply, calming herself. She had to listen to Gena, who wouldn’t bullshit her. Scott wouldn’t come after her. Still, when he’d left her lying there, broken and bruised, he’d made it clear he thought she was dead. His only comment upon finding out she wasn’t was relief that he wouldn’t be charged with murder.

She was far away now, new city, new name. The calendar project didn’t really put her in the public eye—she was behind the scenes. Bliss wouldn’t give out her personal details. She was safe, she reassured herself, standing frozen with the phone in her hand for several minutes.

Eyeing the door, the dark city streets that she usually loved so much suddenly seemed ominous. Anxiety gripped her at the thought of going out. With a stranger, no less.

What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she learned anything from her previous mistakes?

She had no idea who Jarod Wyatt was, and just because he had an impressive official record, that didn’t mean squat. Plenty of cops, firemen, doctors—all kinds of men—were closet crazies. More dangerous because of their outward appearance, because they had power and liked to use it. That’s how it had been with Scott. Witty, handsome, successful…with all of that violence hiding under the surface.

She put her purse down, started to take her vest off, but stopped, pausing in the center of her living room.

This was important, her heart told her. She had a big choice to make.

Was she going to hide in her apartment and her studio for the rest of her life?

No. She didn’t want to be that person.

The fear was just an emotional response, a good response, so the counselor at the hospital had reassured her. It would keep her alert and keep her safe, but she couldn’t let it run her life. Good fear, bad fear. She had to remember the difference.

Jarod Wyatt was a man she’d be working with closely, and she couldn’t let her personal demons get in the way of her success on this job. His record was impeccable, and she’d been alone with him earlier and hadn’t felt the least bit afraid. She’d been excited about seeing him tonight—maybe a little too excited—so now she knew to throttle that back so she didn’t give the wrong impression. But she would still go.

She’d meet him in a populated, well-lit place for some pizza, talk work and welcome him to the city. Enjoy having his company for a few hours. She’d be friendly, professional and keep clear boundaries. Then she’d come home and put this all out of her mind.

She needed to keep things in perspective—it wasn’t as if Jarod had asked her out, and he hadn’t indicated anything other than casual friendliness. He was just a guy, another model.

No big deal.

JAROD STEPPED OUT of the elevator of the very nicely appointed hotel and smiled at a group of older women who watched him walk by. He smiled at them and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. The group seemed to get a kick out of it.

He saw the beacon of Lacey’s fuchsia shirt immediately as she stood poised by the entrance, looking around furtively. A glance at his watch told him he was five minutes early, and she’d obviously changed her clothes, so she couldn’t have been waiting long. After his surprise appearance earlier, he approached carefully, making sure she had ample time to see him. She turned, smiling falsely, overbrightly.

Did she regret making plans with him?

He was perfectly happy to explore the city on his own, but he also looked forward to some company, someone to share the sights with for an evening. She’d seemed interested and friendly at the studio. He wondered what had changed.

“Hi there,” he said casually, looking out at the streets bustling with early-evening traffic. The noises were muted here in the lobby. Though he could spend long days and nights in the desert enjoying nothing but the silence of the sand and the stars, he found the energy of the city stimulating, as well.

Or maybe it was the woman standing just a foot away, in spite of the tension stiffening her very nicely built form. Something about her had his blood circulating with a low, warm hum through his system, but he wasn’t sure she was having the same reaction.

“You okay?” he found himself asking.

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“You seem…strung a little tight.”

She frowned, and shrugged. “Just distracted. Busy day, a lot on my mind.”

The message underneath the cool reply really said “mind your own business” and wasn’t lost on him. If this was going to be the mode of conversation, he was in for a long evening.

“How about a drink first? I could use something to warm up. Chilly out there tonight.”

“I think it’s going to be an early winter this year.”

“You said you wanted to shoot seasonal photos—how is that possible when it’s already October?” he asked as they walked to the bar. She hadn’t said yes or no to the idea of a drink, but he wasn’t lying about wanting one. She didn’t object as they headed in that direction.

“Mostly we’ll use props, how you’re dressed, that kind of thing. Then the postproduction guys can work their magic, too. The photo will be mostly you and not so much background. So for a July shot you might wear trunks, and we’ll work it that it looks summery.”

“Even if I’m freezing my ass off in reality?”

“Yeah.” She smiled then, and laughed. “Welcome to the cruel world of modeling.”

He ordered a whiskey, neat, and asked her if she wanted anything, surprised when she ordered the same. His eyebrows lifted as they tilted their glasses toward each other and she swallowed hers in one throw, closing her eyes as if she’d needed it more than he did. He hadn’t realized how pale she was until the warmth from the whiskey infused her skin with a pink glow.

Something had happened between the time he’d left and now, but he didn’t feel free to inquire. He was a stranger, a visitor that she was nice enough to spend some time with because they had to work together. That was it.

Maybe not, maybe more, whispered the hum in his body. He ignored it. He wasn’t opposed to having some fun with a willing woman while he was here, but he wasn’t about to complicate matters with the prickly photog—unless she offered an invitation—but she wasn’t being too inviting at the moment.

So why was he enjoying the view of the very feminine swell beneath the stylish top, taking advantage while her eyes were closed?

“You want to get some pizza? I know a place that has the best in the city,” she said, opening her eyes just as he looked back up. Almost caught staring, he thought, feeling about seventeen.

Her green eyes were luminous, maybe in part from the whiskey, but she was a natural beauty, indeed. He waited before answering, questioning whether this was a good idea, but he’d already agreed. Jarod wasn’t in the habit of backing out on a woman when he promised to spend an evening with her.

“Pizza? That sounds good. Must be a hundred pizza places here, but you know the best one, huh?”

He winced internally. Small talk was not his strength.

She grinned, seeming more relaxed. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. It’s an amazing experience that will shift your entire perspective on what the dish means. The place is a hole-in-the-wall that tourists never find, so you’re in for a treat. We’ll pick up a bottle of vino on the way because they don’t serve drinks. You have to bring your own.”

“I like a lady with a plan,” he agreed, glad she seemed to be loosening up.

“If you want to go up the Empire State Building at night, we could do that, too, after dinner—we’ll be shooting up there. You afraid of heights?”

He shook his head as they walked out into the cool evening. “No. Heights aren’t a problem. But you don’t have to take me sightseeing. I figured this was a business dinner.”

Her cheeks became warmer, and he realized his statement didn’t quite come out the way he meant it.

“I meant—”

“No, no, you’re right—this is a business dinner,” she said easily, but didn’t meet his eyes.

How could things be so weird and awkward, hot and cold, with a woman he’d just met two hours ago? Jarod was usually good with women. He enjoyed them as friends and lovers, and never had such tension or foot-in-mouth disease before. This one had him tripping over himself, and it wasn’t a great experience.

They popped into a liquor store where Lacey seemed to be on a first-name basis with the owner and he handed her a Chianti that he knew she liked. Jarod insisted on paying.

“Fine, but the pie is on me,” she said, and while it wasn’t his habit to let women pay for a date, he agreed. It was her city, her pizza place, her expense account, he figured.

They walked a few blocks and turned in through a glass door painted white in order to be opaque into a deep, narrow room that was brightly lit, but nothing fancy. Small, round plastic tables hugged a stark white wall that featured signed pictures of various New Yorkers, many famous, others he didn’t know.

“Interesting spot. I would never have guessed from the street this was even here.”

“Best-kept secret.”

She must be right as they had to navigate the narrow space between the counter and the tables to the far end to find an open table. The place was packed, and the rich aromas and sizzling pies he spotted on people’s tables had his mouth watering.

Locating an empty table, they sat in plastic chairs that he hoped were sturdy as he settled his large frame into one. The napkins were paper, from a metal dispenser next to a small vase with some fake flowers. He wasn’t a fancy guy, but he had to assume all of the money and talent in the place went into the food, not the decor.

“So this is your favorite place, huh?”

“Isn’t it great?” She was all smiles again. If he were prone to it, her mercurial changes would make him seasick, she seemed to shift back and forth so often.

“I found it completely by accident. I was just passing by one night and someone opened the door. The smell of the sauce and spices had me making a U-turn to come in and see where it was coming from. It’s bare bones, but cozy. Warm. And the owners are really nice people.”

“Probably a gold mine, as well. Can’t be much overhead,” he commented.

“I bet you’re right. Locals call it the Pizza Room, though I don’t think it actually has an official name. If you get takeout, it’s just a plain brown box, no logo. They don’t do delivery and aren’t in the directory.”

He grinned, liking the simplicity of it. Lack of marketing was probably the best marketing of all in a world drowning in logos.

“I’m glad you decided to show me one of the city’s secrets,” he said, meaning it. This was much more his speed than some froufrou bistro or someplace where food arrived under silver domes.

“How hungry are you? One pie or two?”

“Are you going to eat?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What? Of course I’m going to eat. Why do you think I’m here?”

“I meant, you’re so thin, and given your profession, I thought you might be an ‘eat salad and smell the real food’ type.”

She looked as if she couldn’t believe his brashness, and then burst out laughing. At least he hadn’t upset her.

“Ranger, I can put it away. Don’t underestimate me there. I am blessed with what my father used to call a hummingbird’s metabolism—small animal, eats a lot. No animal has a faster metabolism. I can probably eat damned near my own weight in this pizza.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded and gave the waitress their order—two pies—after grabbing a few plastic cups from the counter for their wine and a conversation about the owner’s new grandchildren.

“You seem to know everyone—I always thought New Yorkers were cold and distant.”

“C’ mon, you’ve been here before, so you know different. But anyway, I’m not a native. It’s a big city, and it has its share of attitude, but I’ve found the people here to be some of the friendliest I’ve ever met. It’s huge and intimidating, but you find your own corner and settle in. I’ve known small towns a lot less friendly.”

He had to admit that was true. “Where do you come from originally?”

“Nevada. My parents owned a ranch there.”

“Seriously?” He sounded surprised, even though he’d heard her reveal that fact earlier. She seemed tickled by his feigned reaction.

“Yep. Grew up with the desert, rattlesnakes, horses and cattle—probably not unlike you, huh?”

“I actually didn’t grow up on a ranch. Just a small house outside Corpus Christi. I didn’t learn to ride until I took a summer job on a local cattle ranch and got hooked.”

“I thought everyone in Texas was born in a saddle,” she said, obviously teasing.

“My father was a good horseman, but he was all cop.”

“Law enforcement runs in the family?”

“Yep. My sister is a Federal Marshall, Dad’s a lifelong Ranger, though he’ll be set to retire next year. He’s not taking that well.”

“Your file said you were in the El Paso Division?”

“Yeah. I was transferred a few years ago. Dad is still over in Corpus Christi. My sister is based in Dallas, but she’s constantly traveling.”

“That’s a lot. How does your mother handle it?”

“She didn’t. She took off when I was about thirteen after putting up with it for as long as she could. I can’t blame her, not entirely.”

“Really?”

“The job is tough, comes with a lot of risks, makes having a family hard, just like any cop’s life does. My mother couldn’t take the stress. It happens.”

“I suppose. I’m sorry to hear it, though. Are you still in touch?”

“You writing an exposé or taking pictures?” he snapped back, and noticed too late that he shouldn’t have. She’d just hit a nerve.

He’d always felt responsible for his parents’ breakup, though as an adult he knew it wasn’t true. Still, it was hard for him as a boy to ignore that his mother had taken off shortly after he’d said he wanted to be a Ranger, just like his father. Hard to convince a kid it wasn’t his fault, even though his dad had tried.

“It helps me take better pictures if I get to know you,” she said evenly, but her eyes didn’t meet his.

“Apologies, Lacey. Sore spot. Shouldn’t take it out on you,” he said, and she looked up again, her eyes forgiving him. “But, no, we lost contact with her a few years after she left. She stayed in touch for a while, but I guess her new life took her elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry about that. And I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I know.”

Thankfully their pizzas arrived, taking up all of the space on the table and capturing their attention for a good while.

“Wow, this is amazing,” he said, his senses in heaven between the pizza and the wine. “I mean, my God…what do they do? I could eat only this for the rest of my days,” he crooned, meaning it.

“Told ya.” She smiled, as she kept her promise and put away her share of pizza. He couldn’t figure out where she fit it all.

“So, you want to talk about work?” he reminded her as they poured more wine. She wasn’t tipsy by any means, but she was more relaxed and he liked it. The glow she had was real now, and the buzz of attraction in his head became a little louder. She was fun, and good company when she wasn’t acting like something was about to bite her. Whatever cloud had been hanging over her earlier seemed to have lifted.

“That’s what we’ve been doing. I like to get to know subjects before I shoot them, so I can put you into places, settings, poses that are going to really show the real you, not arrange you in some contrived position.”

“I see. That’s interesting.” He was unsure of what else to say, slightly uncomfortable at being analyzed in this manner. He’d thought they were just having a good time. He sighed. “I’m not quite sure how all this model, photographer stuff works. It’s a first, and hopefully a last, for me.”

She grinned. “Maybe you’ll get hooked. You could get catalog ads, newspaper, maybe even hit the catwalks,” she teased. She was playful, something he liked in a woman, and in a bed partner. How playful would his pretty photographer be in the sack? He watched her lick some sauce from her fingers and thought about those long, thin fingers wrapping around him.

He had to stop or he wouldn’t be able to stand up safely, and grabbed his drink and took a long swallow.

“I said it’s time to go, dammit. I gotta get to work,” a rough voice growled, interrupting them. The jovial conversation in the place dulled to a murmur. Everyone looked toward a tall twentysomething guy who stood and grabbed the woman with him by the wrist, pulling her up. She tugged her arm loose, telling him she wanted to stay and pack the rest of the pizza for takeout.

There were several beer bottles on his side of the table and his words were slurred as he objected again. It was obvious he’d had too much to drink.

When the guy lifted his hand toward her, Lacey went very still. Jarod, on the other hand, moved so quickly the guy didn’t seem to realize he was there until he’d grabbed the man’s arms and pinned them behind his back before he managed to deliver the blow.

“This is a nice place, and we’re all enjoying a nice meal. You, however, are not behaving nicely,” Jarod said in a voice that was dead calm.

“Let me go, you moth—”

“Uh-uh.” Jarod yanked harder on the guy’s arms, choking off the curse. “There are kids in here. Watch your words.”

“Let him go,” the girlfriend demanded, her hands on her hips as she stared at Jarod as if he were the enemy.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

While the guy had gone still, the woman didn’t seem to be intimidated by Jarod at all, and walked up as close as she could get to him.

“Why don’t you mind your own damned business? Let him go so we can get out of here.”

“He looked like he was about to slap you. You sure about me letting him go?” Jarod asked.

She glared at him as if he were nuts. “Don’t I look sure? He don’t mean no harm. He just gets worked up.” She blew off Jarod’s concern with a dirty look that brooked no argument.

Others sat down and Jarod let the guy’s arms go, putting his hands up, backing off. When the thug turned on him with fiery eyes and appeared as if he might try throwing a punch, Jarod didn’t move a muscle, but just stared. Something in his posture made the kid think twice. He and his girlfriend charged out the door, cursing. They left their pizza behind.

Jarod returned to the table, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable. I kept him from possibly hitting her and she defends him.”

He sat down, eyes landing on Lacey. It was clear that something had changed. She was white as a sheet. Her irises were open and dark—a classic fight-or-flight response.

“Hey, you okay?”

She nodded, but when she put her fork down, her hand was shaking. Jarod reached across the table, put his hand over hers. It was ice-cold, he noticed, before she snatched it back.

“Want to talk about it? I can be a good listener.”

That woke her up, and she blinked, as if coming alive. “No, I don’t. I should get home,” she stated flatly, and he felt properly put in his place. Thing was, he’d been put in his place plenty of times, and he pretty much knew when he didn’t want to stay there.

“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” he offered, throwing down a few dollars to cover the bill.

“No!” she objected too strongly, and when she glanced at him he could swear she was afraid of him. Where had that come from?

“I just want to make sure you’re safe, is all.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just tired and have a bad headache, from the wine,” she explained, standing and walking rapidly toward the door. When they got outside, she took several deep breaths and seemed to steady. He wasn’t quite sure what to do or say.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding more normal, though she examined the narrow street, up and down, as if she were expecting someone. “I guess I was a bit thrown by that episode. I’m not great with confrontation. It was good of you to step in, though.”

“It’s my job.”

“Not here.”

“Doesn’t matter where I am. It’s still my job.”

She focused on his face, and studied him for a few long moments with those perfect green eyes.

He knew he wanted her. He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but he was going to make it happen.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you back?”

She paused, but then nodded.

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

It hit him then that she didn’t want him knowing where she lived. She was afraid of him—or afraid of men, in general.

There were only a few good reasons women had for this kind of reaction, and thinking about any of them made Jarod’s blood boil. The lady had some serious fear, and he knew he had to find out why. Then he’d make sure she had no reason to fear anything, least of all him.

“Fair enough, then,” he said, knowing when to give in and when not to. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for that appointment, and you can let me know more of what’s expected of me?”

“Yes. Thanks,” she said, though he wasn’t exactly sure what she was thanking him for. He just nodded.

She walked off without another word, and he veered off in the direction of his hotel—at first.

Within a minute he looped back, caught sight of that hot-pink shirt and didn’t take his eyes away from her the rest of the way. He kept his distance and watched. She checked her surroundings constantly, as if the devil himself were after her.

Jarod stayed with her until he saw her turn into a building. He waited, saw a light come on, didn’t see her come out. Walking up closer, he noted the address, the spot, and committed it to memory. Only then did he walk back through the dark street to his own place, quietly planning to find out what had Lacey Graham so spooked.