Nora Roberts - One Summer

She smiled for the first time, causing him to narrow his eyes and focus on her face. What kind of power was that? he wondered. A curving of lips, easy and relaxed. It packed one hell of a punch.

Bryan sprang up at the knock on the door. “At last.”

Shade watched her cross the room. He hadn’t known she was so tall. Five-ten, he estimated, and most of it leg. Long, slender, bronzed leg. It wasn’t easy to ignore the smile, but it was next to impossible to ignore those legs.

Nor had he noticed her scent until she moved by him. Lazy sex. He couldn’t think of another way to describe it. It wasn’t floral, it wasn’t sophisticated. It was basic. Shade drew on his cigarette and watched her laugh with the delivery boy.

Photographers were known for their preconceptions; it was part of the trade. He’d expected her to be sleek and cool. That was what he’d nearly resigned himself to working with. Now it was a matter of rearranging his thinking. Did he want to work with a woman who smelled like twilight and looked like a beach bunny?

Turning away from her, Shade opened a folder at random. He recognized the subject—a box-office queen with two Oscars and three husbands under her belt. Bryan had dressed her in glitters and sparkles. Royal trappings for royalty. But she hadn’t shot the traditional picture.

The actress was sitting at a table jumbled with pots and tubes of lotions and creams, looking at her own reflection in a mirror and laughing. Not the poised, careful smile that didn’t make wrinkles, but a full, robust laugh that could nearly be heard. It was up to the viewer to speculate whether she laughed at her reflection or an image she’d created over the years.

“Like it?” Carrying the cardboard box, Bryan stopped beside him.

“Yeah. Did she?”

Too hungry for formalities, Bryan opened the lid and dug out the first piece. “She ordered a sixteen-by-twenty-four for her fiancé. Want a piece?”

Shade looked inside the box. “They miss putting anything on here?”

“Nope.” Bryan searched in a drawer of her desk for napkins and came up with a box of tissues. “I’m a firm believer in over-indulgence. So…” With the box opened on the desk between them, Bryan leaned back in her chair and propped up her feet. It was time, she decided, to get beyond the fencing stage. “You want to talk about the assignment?”

Shade took a piece of pizza and a handful of tissues. “Got a beer?”

“Soda—diet or regular.” Bryan took a huge, satisfying bite. “I don’t keep liquor in the studio. You end up having buzzed clients.”

“We’ll skip it for now.” They ate in silence a moment, still weighing each other. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to doing this photo essay.”

“It’d be a change for you.” When he only lifted a brow, Bryan wadded a tissue and tossed it into the trash can. “Your stuff overseas—it hit hard. There was sensitivity and compassion, but for the most part, it was grim.”

“It was a grim time. Everything I shoot doesn’t have to be pretty.”

This time she lifted a brow. Obviously he didn’t think much of the path she’d taken in her career. “Everything I shoot doesn’t have to be raw. There’s room for fun in art.”

He acknowledged this with a shrug. “We’d see different things if we looked through the same lens.”

“That’s what makes each picture unique.” Bryan leaned forward and took another piece.

“I like working alone.”

She ate thoughtfully. If he was trying to annoy her, he was right on target. If it was just an overflow of his personality, it still wouldn’t make things any easier. Either way, she wanted the assignment, and he was part of it. “I prefer it that way myself,” she said slowly. “Sometimes there has to be compromise. You’ve heard of compromise, Shade. You give, I give. We meet somewhere close to the middle.”

She wasn’t as laid-back as she looked. Good. The last thing he needed was to go on the road with someone so mellow she threatened to mold. Three months, he thought again. Maybe. Once the ground rules were set. “I map out the route,” he began briskly. “We start here in L.A. in two weeks. Each of us is responsible for their own equipment. Once we’re on the road, each of us goes our own way. You shoot your pictures, I shoot mine. No questions.”

Bryan licked sauce from her finger. “Anyone ever question you, Colby?”

“It’s more to the point whether I answer.” It was said simply, as it was meant. “The publisher wants both views, so he’ll have them. We’ll be stopping off and on to rent a darkroom. I’ll look over your negatives.”

Bryan wadded more tissue. “No, you won’t.” Lazily, she crossed one ankle over the other. Her eyes had gone to slate, the only outward show of a steadily growing anger.

“I’m not interested in having my name attached to a series of pop-culture shots.”

To keep herself in control, Bryan continued to eat. There were things, so many clear, concise things, she’d like to say to him. Temper took a great deal of energy, she reminded herself. It usually accomplished nothing. “The first thing I’ll want written into the contract is that each of our pictures carries our own bylines. That way neither of us will be embarrassed by the other’s work. I’m not interested in having the public think I have no sense of humor. Want another piece?”

“No.” She wasn’t soft. The skin on the inside of her elbow might look soft as butter, but the lady wasn’t. It might annoy him to be so casually insulted, but he preferred it to spineless agreement. “We’ll be gone from June fifteenth until after Labor Day.” He watched her scoop up a third piece of pizza. “Since I’ve seen you eat, we’ll each keep track of our own expenses.”

“Fine. Now, in case you have any odd ideas, I don’t cook and I won’t pick up after you. I’ll drive my share, but I won’t drive with you if you’ve been drinking. When we rent a darkroom, we trade off as to who uses it first. From June fifteenth to after Labor Day, we’re partners. Fifty-fifty. If you have any problems with that, we’ll hash it out now, before we sign on the dotted line.”

He thought about it. She had a good voice, smooth, quiet, nearly soothing. They might handle the close quarters well enough—as long as she didn’t smile at him too often and he kept his mind off her legs. At the moment, he considered that the least of his problems. The assignment came first, and what he wanted for it, and from it.

“Do you have a lover?”

Bryan managed not to choke on her pizza. “If that’s an offer,” she began smoothly, “I’ll have to decline. Rude, brooding men just aren’t my type.”

Inwardly he acknowledged another hit; outwardly his face remained expressionless. “We’re going to be living in each other’s pockets for three months.” She’d challenged him, whether she realized it or not. Whether he realized it or not, Shade had accepted. He leaned closer. “I don’t want to hassle with a jealous lover chasing along after us or constantly calling while I’m trying to work.”

Just who did he think she was? Some bimbo who couldn’t handle her personal life? She made herself pause a moment. Perhaps he’d had some uncomfortable experiences in his relationships. His problem, Bryan decided.

“I’ll worry about my lovers, Shade.” Bryan bit into her crust with a vengeance. “You worry about yours.” She wiped her fingers on the last of the tissue and smiled. “Sorry to break up the party, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

He rose, letting his gaze skim up her legs before he met her eyes. He was going to take the assignment. And he’d have three months to figure out just how he felt about Bryan Mitchell. “I’ll be in touch.”