Isabel Sharpe - Light Me Up

“You don’t—” Melissa sighed. Easier to play along. “Late afternoon.”

“I had a cancellation last week, so I could do that.” He grinned at her, charming as hell, and quirked an eyebrow meaningfully. “In fact, I’d love to do that.”

Ah. She’d just bet he would. It wouldn’t surprise her if a majority of his clients were females who’d fallen for how much Jack would love to work with them, too.

“Okay. Good to know.” She stepped back to leave, more disappointed than she cared to admit that a guy of his talent was free on Gretchen’s wedding day and they couldn’t use him. “We’ll give you a call if—”

“What’s your name?”

She stopped in surprise. Why did he want to know? Had Angela sent her to cult headquarters after all? “Sorry, but I really need to get—”

“You live around here?” He leaned against the counter, consummately casual.

She was immediately suspicious. Something wasn’t right. “Not far. Listen, thanks for the—”

“I was wondering why I haven’t seen you around more.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Because I haven’t been around more?”

He chuckled, watching her, the intensity of those brown eyes making it hard to maintain her calm—as if it wasn’t hard enough anyway. “That would explain it.”

Melissa looked pointedly at her watch. Whatever was going on in this building, she really didn’t like being the only one who didn’t know what it was. “I need to get to work. Thanks for the price sheet.”

“Let me get you a brochure with more information.” He looked under the counter and frowned. “Hang on, I’ll get one from—”

“No, it’s not necessary.” She waved the sheet. “I’ve got this, it’s all I need.”

“I have more in back.” He was already turning away.

“Seriously, don’t bother.”

He dismissed her with a wave. “It’s no prob—”

“We can’t afford you, Mr. Shea.”

There. Embarrassing, but that would put an end to it and she could make her escape.

He turned back with a half smile, eyes warm. Very warm. “Call me Jack. And you are …?”

She sighed impatiently. “Melissa.”

“Melissa.” By now the eye-warmth was positively inappropriate. “I’m sure we can work something out….”

What the—Melissa drew in a sharp breath. Was her insta-crush messing with her brain, or was this guy about to teach Bob Whatsisname what real sexual harassment sounded like?

She drew herself up into her best attitude of icy disapproval. “What kind of ‘something’?”

“Let me get the brochure. We can discuss it. Maybe over coffee.”

Coffee! Melissa was flabbergasted. Never had her icy disapproval so totally failed her. Jack hadn’t even noticed. In fact, he’d acted as if she was dying to take him up on whatever offer he flung at her. Good God, the arrogance. “You’re asking me out? ”

“Just to talk.” He winked and disappeared into the back, leaving Melissa halfway to exploding her arteries with outrage. If he thought she was going to sleep with him so her sister could have him photograph her wedding at a discount, he had another think coming.

She was about to whirl around and stomp her way out when the door he’d pulled shut behind him swung slowly open. Behind it, the line of prints again caught her attention. Melissa stepped closer, frowning. Why did they seem—

She gasped. The bakery bag dropped from her hand.

Hanging from a wire were print after print after print of a woman dressed in different outfits, which meant they’d been taken on different days. A lot of different days. The woman was doing yoga. In Cal Anderson Park.

They were all pictures of Melissa.

Blood Pressure: High

WHAT THE—

Melissa put a hand to her chest to calm her breathing, not sure whether to be outraged or terrified, so she settled on both, heart pounding, ears buzzing.

With one glance, all that good yoga relaxation this morning was shot to hell. This was exactly the type of upset Dr. Glazer had cautioned her to avoid. But she didn’t see any other way to react. Jack had been taking pictures of her—without her knowledge. And now he was being flirty with her and wanted her to have coffee with him. And he really seemed to want to photograph her sister’s wedding. Was that what he did? Skulk around spying on women? Was he a sexual predator? Was Melissa in some kind of danger? Did he know where she lived? Should she run right now and call the police?

Shhh, breathe, Melissa. She picked up the bakery bag she’d dropped, and put it on the counter next to Gretchen’s flowers. Then she set her gym bag down, stood in Mountain Pose and closed her eyes, forced her rigid shoulders to relax and took in a long, slow breath, letting it out the same way. She did it again and again—thank goodness he was taking a long time to find his stupid brochures—until she felt centered and stronger, and calm. Well … calmer.

Too soon to panic. Angela and Bonnie, both seemingly nice people, had obviously recognized Melissa from the pictures, and they hadn’t looked anything more than surprised and intrigued by her presence. Neither of them had warned her away. In fact Angela must have been trying to send her down the hall to Jack. Maybe he just wanted pictures of someone doing yoga and figured out that Melissa practiced alone after class. She could have been a tree or a rock or a building that caught his artistic eye. The easiest explanation was often the right one. She’d confront him. Any creepy vibes and she’d go straight to the police.

“Sorry, had to open a new box. First I had to find a new box. Here’s the brochure.” Jack stepped into the room, did a double take behind him and shut the door firmly.

Yeah, too late, buddy.

“You know, I just remembered what I came in for.” In spite of her struggle to sustain peaceful breathing, Melissa’s voice came out high and harsh. “I’m looking for pictures of a woman.”

His expression became wary. “Okay.”

“More specifically, I’m interested in pictures of a woman doing yoga.”

“Uh …” Jack began to look hunted.

“In fact, I’m looking for pictures of a woman doing yoga in Cal Anderson Park.” Melissa pointed to the door he’d just closed. “About my height. And weight. With my coloring. And clothes.”

“Uhhh …” He put his hands over his face, dragged them down and peeked at her over the tips of his fingers, his expression one of contrition. “I guess you saw them.”

“I guess I did.”

He swore under his breath.

“Busted?”

“I was going to explain over coffee.” He sent her an I’ve-been-a-bad-boy look that he must know was adorable. She would remain unmoved until he proved himself innocent. And maybe even after that. “This must be a shock, Melissa.”

“A shock?” She faked surprise. “No, no, not at all. Happens all the time. People spy on me and take pictures, oh, twice a week at least.”

“No, it’s not …” He shook his head, the hint of an embarrassed smile curving his masculine lips. “See, you were there and then I was, and then I, uh …”

Melissa scowled. Why did jerks always come in such fabulous packages? Her boss, Barbara, called them baby pools. Warm, inviting and totally shallow. Dive in and you’d get brain damage. Even her mother had warned her, one of the precious rounds of maternal advice she’d given Melissa before she died: really good-looking men—actually, Mom had said people —came first on their own priority lists, and thought they should come first on everyone else’s, too. “And then you what?”

“See, I was thinking you’d be …” He scratched his head. “That is, I was hoping you’d be …”