Читать книгу Double Exposure - Vicki Thompson Lewis - Страница 10

KATE DECIDED THAT WALKING to the sub shop would be faster than trying to maneuver her car through the dense traffic, not to mention the challenge of finding a parking spot once she got there. She set out at a brisk pace, enjoying the salty air and the cry of the seagulls overhead. Walking also gave her a chance to consider the idea that had lodged in her brain and wouldn’t leave.

Harry needed a massage. She had a basic knowledge of massage techniques. They’d have to work with the bed instead of using a massage table, but she’d had a little practice at that. She was no professional, but she was better than nothing. Besides, she’d had a massage nearly every week for the past five years, and then there was the crash course she and her ex-boyfriend Jonathan had taken last summer.

Although Jonathan hadn’t thrived in that class, she’d had a great time. Come to think of it, his lack of interest in the massage class had marked the beginning of the end, although she’d never thought Jonathan was the answer to her prayers in the first place.

But Harry…Harry had definite possibilities. She had only one quibble. A stupid and superficial quibble it was, too, and she was a little ashamed of herself. She wished he had a different name. A guy named Harry would be the kind who remembered to take out the garbage and put air in the tires, a nice enough fellow, but not the sort she’d associate with grand passion and undying love.

Yet everything else about this man seemed totally perfect. Maybe she’d avoid using his name for the time being, and if everything worked out between them she’d create her own special name for him later on. Maybe he had a great middle name she could convince him to use.

After reaching the sub shop, she had to stand in line for a few minutes before placing her order for two eight-inchers, one hot pastrami and one Italian meatball, and a couple of large Cokes. The twenty-minute wait for the order gave her enough time to run back to the combination souvenir shop and drugstore that she’d noticed on the way here. If she couldn’t find what she needed there, she’d take it as a sign that she was on the wrong track with this massage plan.

Inside the store, she stood and surveyed the display of T-shirts, miniature lighthouses and shell jewelry. The place was crowded, like everywhere else in Newport on this June evening. She glanced at her watch and waited with more than a little impatience for browsers to move out of the way so she could continue her search. She’d never meandered in her life, and it made her crazy when confronted with such a random waste of time.

Just when she was about to give up, the woman blocking a particular glass shelving unit walked to the far side of the shop. Sure enough, the top shelf held a set of three scented oils. Kate only needed the bottle of almond, but she didn’t mind paying for the other two.

As she took the shrink-wrapped basket containing the oils to the front of the store and handed them to the woman standing at the register, she glanced behind the counter and noticed a tube of antiseptic cream. That would be good for the cut on Harry’s forehead. Kate asked the clerk to add that to her purchase.

Then another item on the rack behind the counter caught Kate’s eye. She didn’t usually keep such an item with her, yet, under the circumstances, it might become essential. Still, buying it in advance seemed…weird. Of course, she considered herself a sexually liberated woman, so it shouldn’t seem weird. Yet she’d never bought this particular item before.

“Will that be all?” the dark-haired woman asked with a smile.

“Um….” Kate hesitated as she quickly reviewed the situation. She was about to give Harry a massage, assuming he agreed to that. She thought he would. Secondly, he was attracted to her, or else he wouldn’t have been fishing around trying to find out if she had a boyfriend.

If that attraction led to something more, she was open to that possibility. Yes, it was all happening fast, but Harry wasn’t some stranger she’d picked up in a bar. He was Stuart’s best friend, a respected medical professional, and a certified hero. He’d only be in Rhode Island for the weekend, so she didn’t have a lot of time to play the dating game. And she was dying to be swept away.

Yet she was unprepared in one very important way to be swept away, and she had to assume he was, too. Now was her chance to remedy that, if she had the nerve. Was she willing to lose a golden opportunity out of a stupid sense of false modesty? So what if she was buying massage oil at the same time?

The clerk waited expectantly.

Kate took a deep breath. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I’ll take a package of those.” She pointed toward the display.

The clerk turned toward the back wall. “Which package?” she asked.

“The…the red one.”

The clerk pulled the package from the display and laid it on the counter next to the basket of massage oil and antiseptic cream while she rang up all three purchases. The array was pretty damned suggestive, and Kate willed the clerk to proceed a little faster.

Of course the woman fumbled, hit the wrong keys, had to void out the tape and start over. Kate drummed her fingers on the counter and stared into space with as much sophisticated nonchalance as she could muster. But when the clerk finished ringing up the items and started to put everything in one bag, Kate stopped her.

“I’ll take those in my purse,” she said, snatching the condoms. With all the stuff already crammed in there, she had a devil of a time working the package to the bottom. Her bracelets jangled as she pulled out her wallet and moved aside her camera, compact, lipstick, lip pencil, mascara, blush, a pad of paper, two spare rolls of film, an emery board, a packet of tissues, breath mints and three ballpoint pens.

“Do you want your receipt in the bag?” asked the clerk.

“Yes. I mean, no, I’ll just take it.” Kate grabbed the receipt and stuffed it in her wallet the minute she realized that it probably spelled out exactly what she’d bought besides massage oil. She didn’t have the nerve to look at the clerk again as she snapped her wallet shut, crammed it into her purse and whisked the plastic bag containing the oil off the counter.

Ten minutes later she’d picked up the food order and was on her way back to the inn. The closer she came, the faster her heart beat. She’d complained in the past about the lack of excitement in her life. Now here she was faced with the possibility of genuine, twenty-four-carat excitement, and she was scared. For one thing, she might be rejected. For another, she might not.

But this was what she’d longed for ever since she’d read Gone With the Wind at the age of eleven. Time to put up or shut up. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the Townsend House and down the hall toward the back door that led into the rose garden. She wondered if Harry had shaved.

FIRST HUGH UNPACKED. Then, when Kate still hadn’t returned, he unzipped his shaving kit, stripped off his T-shirt and lathered up his day-old beard. As he stroked the razor through the minty foam, he started going over his pre-relationship ritual, the trick he’d used for years to keep himself from getting in too deep with a woman. He figured that most men ended up seriously involved with someone because they focused on all her good traits and ignored her flaws.

Hugh took time to appreciate a woman’s good qualities, but he searched for at least one flaw to keep him from going overboard and falling in love. Whenever he felt his objectivity slipping, he concentrated on that flaw until he no longer had the urge to spend the rest of his life with the current object of his affection.

He wasn’t shy about announcing his own shortcomings, either, so that the women in his life could take the same preventative measures. He wasn’t wild about cocktail parties and he didn’t like board games. He wasn’t much for cards, either, and if someone suggested playing charades, he’d been known to vacate the premises.

Even worse as far as some women were concerned, he had a lousy memory for special occasions. He liked giving gifts but they didn’t necessarily arrive on the appropriate day. But his biggest fault, at least for most of the women he’d dated, was his refusal to fall in love with them or talk about the possibility of commitment. He wasn’t into that, but a few had thought they could change his mind.

He understood where they were coming from. The atmosphere in Hollywood encouraged falling in love—not so much with a person as with the fantasy image that person projected. His friends were always doing it, from megabuck stars to bit players. Then they inevitably discovered the person behind the fantasy and fell out of love again.

If Hugh was convinced he’d fall out of love, he might risk it. His real fear was that once he let down his guard he’d end up in so deep he’d never get out. Whenever Kate smiled at him, that fear took him by the throat. He needed to discover a flaw in her, and he needed to discover it fast.

Unfortunately he didn’t have anything against photographers. He’d always admired the profession, because without it those who worked in front of the cameras wouldn’t have a job. He also liked the restless spirit that was driving her to build a portfolio of candid shots. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, she was ready to leave the confines of studio photography for a less controlled atmosphere.

He’d love to see her latest work. With some of his connections in L.A., he might be able to…whoa, bad sign. One of the safe things about Kate was her location, clear across the country from him. He definitely should not be dreaming up ways that she could eliminate that comfortable distance between them by landing some photo assignments in L.A.

No, he needed to find something wrong with her, and all he could see were her good points. She had such energy. He didn’t often find someone with energy to match his own.

Of course, she didn’t know he could match her energy, because at the moment he was operating at a low-battery level. If he’d known she was waiting for him at the end of the plane trip, he would have found a way to tune out the motormouth who’d sat next to him and kept him awake the whole flight.

No doubt about it, Kate was terrific. He’d become fascinated with the way her short hair created swirls of bright color each time she moved her head. Until this moment he hadn’t cared much for short hair on a woman, but it suited Kate perfectly. He wanted to run his fingers through all that riot of color—tongues of fire he’d love to bum his hands on.

And speaking of tongues, she had an adorable habit of sliding the pink tip of hers along her upper lip and tilting her head to gaze at him, which made her look both mischievous and sexy as hell.

He grabbed a towel to dry his face just as a sharp knock came at the door to the cottage. Grinning, he walked to the entrance. No timid little tapping for Kate Cooper. “Who is it?” he called out.

“Room service,” she called back, sassy as can be.

He swung open the door. “Took you long enough.”

She breezed in, bringing with her the aroma of hot marinara sauce. “You might as well know the worst thing about me.”

Good. She was going to announce a flaw, which he desperately needed to hear about. “What’s that?”

Her gaze flicked over his bare chest and her cheeks turned pink.

He hadn’t meant to be provocative, but her blush indicated that his semi-nudity was affecting her. “I’ll go get a shirt,” he said.

“No, that’s okay,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“I meant to put one on, but when you knocked, I—”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” She took a quick breath. “In fact, I thought after we finished eating I’d give you a massage.”

His pulse quickened. “You did?”

Her cheeks grew even pinker, but she rushed bravely on. “That’s the best thing for your neck and shoulders, better than the hot tub, and I have some training, plus I’ve had a whole bunch of massages myself, so I think I could do a good job.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” He was overjoyed. One particular part of his body was extremely overjoyed, and he’d have to work on keeping that bad boy under control. “I’d love it.”

“Great. Then let’s eat.” She put her other paper sack on the floor and began unpacking the sandwiches and drinks from the first one.

He had a sudden attack of remorse. “I didn’t give you any money for this.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” She motioned him to a chair. “Have a seat. I have hot pastrami and hot Italian meatball. You can have either, or some of both, or—”

“Some of both, and I want to pay for this. I invited you to dinner, remember?” He must really be tired to have forgotten the money thing.

She shook her head. “This is my treat, considering that I was so late picking you up. That’s what I started to tell you, the really bad thing about me.” She divided each sandwich expertly in half before pushing the wrapper containing his portion towards him.

He needed to hear this fatal flaw of hers. Later he’d figure out what to do about picking up the tab for this meal. Sitting down, he glanced across the table. “So what about you is so terrible?” He hoped it would be atrocious.

Before sitting down, she gave each of them a soft drink and a straw. “The main thing that drives Kim and my friends nuts is that I tend to run late most of the time.” She jammed her straw through the cup’s plastic lid. “It’s a bad habit that I can’t seem to break. I try to cram too much into my schedule. That’s why I was late coming to the airport. And I made a detour while I was getting the sandwiches, so that took longer than it should have, too.”

“You weren’t that late.” Damn. Lateness wasn’t a particular problem for him. He’d spent a great deal of time hanging around the set waiting for this actor or that one to show up, or for the director to arrive, or for the animals to do the stunts they were trained to do. He’d learned early that in order to stay sane he had to become patient and forget about the clock.

“Try having it happen all the time. You’d get irritated.” She bit into her sandwich.

“Maybe so.” He started in on his sandwich, too. He wished he could buy into this lateness problem of hers, but as a fatal flaw, it lacked punch. He was too good at coping.

“Kim’s threatened me with bodily harm if I’m late to the wedding, but I’ve promised her I won’t be. I mean, that’s too important to mess around.”

“Right.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was becoming damned near irresistible, and that wasn’t good.

“It’ll be a wonderful wedding. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the Newport mansions.”

He shook his head.

“They date back to the Gilded Age, when people like the Rockefellers and John Jacob Astor had homes here. We lucked out, because a bride who’d booked Belcourt Castle two years ago canceled at the last minute. We not only got it, but they gave us a deal.” She used her hands when she talked, which made her bracelets tinkle merrily.

She was so animated, so appealing, so downright sexy. He could sit and listen to her all night. Well, maybe not. Eventually he’d have to heed the call to action that was making his groin tighten and his pulse rate climb. “Sounds as if everything fell into place for Stuart and Kim,” he said.

She laughed. “Once they figured out they were meant for each other, it did. Before that, it was rough going.”

He’d never believed that people were meant for each other. If he had, he might be in more trouble than he already was.

As she described Kim and Stuart’s rocky courtship, he kept searching for that deal-breaking flaw. Sometimes he discovered that a woman’s voice grated on his ears, but Kate’s was low-pitched and melodious. He could imagine that in some situations her voice would be soothing. This was not that kind of situation. The sound of her voice made him think of cool sheets and warm bodies.

And with that voice she’d offered to give him a massage. She made it sound like a neighborly gesture, but he didn’t think it would end up that way. Before he agreed to this massage, he needed to have his game plan. At the moment, he had none, and they were finished with their meal.

She balled up her sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the bag with a jingle of bracelets. “Well, I guess we should get started on that massage.” The color in her cheeks deepened.

“I guess so.” A surge of adrenaline caught him by surprise. He usually felt this way before performing a particularly difficult stunt. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that way the moment he was alone with a woman. His chest was tight with anticipation.

She rattled the ice in her cup. “Are you finished with your Coke? I didn’t mean to rush you.”

“I’m finished. The sandwiches were great. Thanks again.” He crumpled his wrapper and aimed a shot at the open bag. Ordinarily he would have sunk the basket, no problem. He missed.

“Air ball.” With a smile, she retrieved the crumpled wrapper and tucked it in the bag.

“I must not have my head in the game.”

“I’m sure you don’t. You’ve been through a lot. I promised not to talk about it anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.” She leaned down and pulled a small box from the second bag she’d brought in. “I bought a tube of antiseptic ointment, too. I want to put that on your scratches. Are there any others besides the one on your forehead and the one on your arm?”

“I don’t think so.” He’d forgotten all about the scratches. Having her notice them and go to the trouble and expense of getting something to put on them touched him. He wasn’t used to having someone fuss over him. Correction—he’d never wanted anyone to fuss over him. He’d gone to great lengths to make sure everyone he worked with thought of him as indestructible and oblivious to pain.

Because Kate wasn’t part of that world she didn’t know the drill. And come to find out, he liked knowing she was concerned about his minor injuries. Besides, he could allow her to tend his wounds because no one would know about it and his image as an iron man wouldn’t be tarnished.

She took the tube out of the box and tossed the box in the sandwich bag. “I should probably wash those scratches before I put this on. Come on into the bathroom with me. We can do both things in there.” She stood and put on a good show of nonchalance as she walked past him toward the bathroom.

He didn’t buy it. If he had to guess, he’d say she was as keyed up as he was. He followed her through the bedroom and into the bathroom. As they passed the canopy bed, he controlled the urge to reach for her and draw her down onto the mattress. Forget the scratches, forget the massage. He wanted to feel her body against his. He wondered what she’d do.

She turned at the doorway to the bathroom, her gaze straightforward, as if she had no thought whatsoever of getting cozy on that big bed. “Coming?”

“Um, sure.” If Kate had been in the movie business she would have intended her question as sexual innuendo and foreplay. But she wasn’t from Hollywood. He needed to remember that.

To the right of the doorway stretched a marble counter with two sinks, and on the left was another counter which served as a vanity. The walls behind both counters were mirrored. Hugh’s shaving mug and razor lay where he’d left them when she’d rapped on the cottage door. The large oval hot tub beckoned.

Kate set the tube of ointment on the vanity counter and gestured to a velvet cushioned stool positioned in front of it. “This’ll be easier if you sit there.”

He did as he was told and watched while she ran warm water over a washcloth before lathering it with soap. Then she soaked another washcloth with plain water and laid it on the counter. Her back was to him, but he could see in the mirror, too. As she worked, her breasts shimmied slightly under the tight T-shirt.

Visually tracing the seams of her bra, he located the puckered evidence of hooks and eyes in the middle of her back. As snug as the T-shirt was, he’d be able to unfasten her bra through the shirt without stripping it off. Of course, that might never happen. There were no guarantees here, only possibilities.

When she leaned over, he got a glimpse of her cleavage in the mirror. Cleavage should be no big deal for him anymore. He’d seen the best Tinsel Town had to offer. Yet the gentle rise of Kate’s breasts beneath her shirt made his mouth water.

Her shirt rode up in back again, giving him his second view of bare skin above the waistband of her jeans. He was close enough to reach over and touch her there as he’d fantasized while she was checking him in. He gripped his knees, instead. She should set the pace.

She squeezed excess water out of the soapy wash-cloth and turned to him. “I’ll do the one on your forehead first.”

“Okay.” He sat very still as she combed her fingers through his hair and held it back, exposing the scratch little Dillon had accidentally given him as he flailed in the water. Somebody had forgotten to trim the kid’s fingernails.

But Hugh didn’t have much time to think about Dillon now. Kate’s breasts rose and fell mere inches from his face as she dabbed the soapy cloth over the scratch. The soap smelled like vanilla, but mingled with that was the spicy aroma of her perfume and an undertone of her basic scent.

Sure enough, that last was his favorite. He’d read about pheromones and had dismissed the idea because he’d never experienced that moth-to-the-flame effect the researchers talked about. He was experiencing it now. He wanted to bury his nose between her breasts and take a deep breath.

As she worked he listened to the soft music of her bracelets and the rhythm of her breathing. Her breathing was uneven, and that gave him hope that this encounter would evolve into an outstanding experience before the night was over. He wondered if pheromones worked both ways. What a bummer if he wanted to inhale her scent from top to bottom and she had no such urges.

“Does that hurt?” she murmured.

“No.” His nerve endings registered the sting, but he was so busy dealing with his growing arousal that he barely noticed.

“You wouldn’t tell me if it did, would you?”

“No.”

She sighed, which caused her breasts to tremble invitingly. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’d hate for these scratches to get infected. You of all people shouldn’t let that happen. You’ll set a bad example.”

He wasn’t sure exactly why an infected scratch would set any kind of example to anyone, but he decided not to question her reasoning. Now wasn’t the time to disagree with this wonderful creature and risk spoiling the mood. “Don’t worry. I heal fast.”

“Good.” She set the soapy cloth down, picked up the other one and rinsed the soap off his forehead. She wiped carefully, making sure she didn’t allow soapy water to drip into his eyes.

He gripped his knees harder. He’d never been this close to a woman he wanted without acting on his impulses.

Then she blew softly on the scratch, her breath sweet and cool, driving him right out of what was left of his mind. He closed his eyes and a sound escaped him—part moan, part whimper.

“I’m hurting you.”

“No.” What hurt was his penis, which was protesting the confinement of his jeans. He rested his left hand casually in his lap to disguise the evidence.

“Let me put the ointment on. That will take the sting out.” She smoothed something creamy over the scratch.

She must have leaned closer because he could feel her heat. He was afraid to open his eyes for fear he’d be looking directly into the scooped neckline of her T-shirt. A guy could only take so much before he cracked.

“That’s better,” she murmured. “Now for your arm.”

From the movement of air, he knew she was no longer hovering quite so close, so he dared to open his eyes.

She held the soapy washcloth in her right hand. “I guess you can stand, now.”

No, he couldn’t. Not without major groin pain. “How about if I just prop my arm on the counter?” He leaned over and rested his right forearm on the cool marble.

“That works.”

Instead of watching her doctor the scratch on his arm, he stared straight ahead and tried to will his erection back down. After the first aid would come the massage, and he’d better not start that procedure already fully aroused.

He tried to remember the last time he’d had such a quick response to a woman and he couldn’t think back that far. Maybe it was the environment he worked in. He’d heard that people who worked in a doughnut shop quickly got sick of the doughnuts because they were always available. Beautiful women were always available on a movie set.

Still, it didn’t make sense that he’d fly across the country and become instantly attracted to Kate simply because she lived and worked in Providence instead of L.A. He had to go back to the pheromone theory. She smelled…perfect. And he was so turned on he was about to embarrass both of them.