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Bared
Jill Shalvis


Emma Willis never saw herself as a model–especially for a sensual fantasy calendar–until she has to do a photo shoot in her twin sister's place.When Emma puts on barely-there lingerie in front of the photographer, hottie Rafe Delacantro, she feels sexy…and more uninhibited than she's ever been. Before she knows it, she's enticing him to let off a little steam with her! The minute Emma shows up, Rafe knows she's not the model he's expecting. She's too fascinating, too tempting for him to resist.Fine. They'll share a steamy fling that will end when the shoot is finished. But the more time he spends in Emma's seductive presence, the more involved he gets…and the more he wants of her. He now has to convince her that their affair can last after the camera is put away….









“Emma, turn toward me,”


Rafe demanded, not caring that he sounded abrupt. “Tilt your head down, eyes up at me.”

Without a word, Emma did, and he took those shots, too. Her slight stiffness actually worked in his favor, the slightly shy, outrageously sexy schoolgirl. It was wrong but he wanted her, wanted so damn much. By the time he put down the camera, his hands were shaking.

“Is that it?” she asked, still leaning against the lockers.

“That’s it.”

She pushed away and walked toward him, every sway of her hips a slam to his gut.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and backed up a step.

She didn’t stop until their toes touched. “I didn’t like that.”

“I didn’t, either.”

She cocked a hip and looked at him from carefully made-up eyes. “And I don’t like you.”

He waited, tense, for what she would say next.

“But I’ve never wanted you more,” she said in a frustrated voice.

That was all the invitation he needed….









Dear Reader,

I really wondered whether I had another Blaze story in me. The sexy premises always seem to escape me. Then my husband got this wildly sexy calendar from a friend—twelve shots of beautiful women in erotic poses—and I thought, surely, these women are just like me. Well, except for the perfect bodies and gorgeous faces, that is.

That calendar started me thinking how a woman would find herself posing for such pictures, and Bared was born. Take one hot, but slightly repressed soap opera writer and one sexy, but slightly attitudinal photographer stuck together for this job of shooting twelve months of fantasies….

Some of you might recognize my hero Rafe in this story. He briefly appeared in my February 2004 Temptation novel, Back in the Bedroom. I hope you enjoy reading his story!

Happy reading,

Jill Shalvis




Bared

Jill Shalvis







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue




1


RAFE DELACANTRO WAS IN HELL and, as usual, it was a woman’s fault.

The lush, vibrant green tropical forest of Kauai surrounded him. With the hanging vines and myriad trees and bushes, not to mention the buzz of strange and exotic insects and who knew what else, the place was a virtual paradise.

But all he felt was pent-up frustration and resentment, both of which he needed to get rid of in order to make this photo shoot work. It was his last photo shoot, at least for Hollywood, and he couldn’t wait to get it done. For ten years he’d been snapping images of the rich and famous, the spoiled beauties, the up-and-comers, working mostly in fashion and for magazines, making a name for himself as one of the best photographers. And it had been a good run. He was proud of all that he’d accomplished.

But at age thirty-two he was tired of the demands, of the games. Tired of being at the beck and call of people who had too much fame, too much money and not a clue as to what real life was about.

Rafe had a clue, and he wanted more of it.

Still, being a photographer defined him, so he wouldn’t—couldn’t—retire his camera entirely. After this last series of shoots, he’d use a camera for himself only, trying his hand at something other than people. Plants, landscapes, even animals—anything that couldn’t talk back, argue or con. Yeah, his retirement was well earned and it would be amazing.

As soon as this job was done—this one last favor for a good friend. It was a calendar spread, twelve months of fantasies…which, for Rafe, equaled twelve different, difficult shoots in various locales. They were working on the March page of the calendar today, and his crew stood by. The lighting seemed perfect at the moment, but given the rumbling in the sky, this would be temporary.

They really needed to get started right now, but they were missing one important, necessary element—the model.

Hence his frustration, resentment and seething temper.

Finally, just as the last of his patience vanished, she showed up, taking her sweet time sauntering through the muggy, steamy heat down the path toward the crew as if she had all day. Her eyes—a light amber color that matched her name—were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Amber’s hair tumbled past her shoulders free and unencumbered, as he’d requested. One thing going his way, at least. Her long, willowy body was covered by a wraparound skirt and a T-shirt, because he happened to be holding her costume in his hand. But he had no doubt that her mouthwatering form, the one that had graced many a B movie and more than her share of dubious-quality Web sites, would be perfect for what he had in mind.

He stood in the middle of the set that, thanks to the incredible beauty of the island, was comprised of a naturally mossy floor, a half circle of bushes and a hammock swinging gently between two trees. A gazebo completed the backdrop. It began to lightly rain and steam rose from everything, an effect that they couldn’t have created anywhere but here on the island. Just out of the camera’s range were the bulbs, the cords and the blocking required to capture the lighting just right—lighting they were losing as the fog lowered.

“About time,” he said, knowing she’d lower her sunglasses and flash him her impetuous grin, not caring about anyone’s schedule but her own.

Amber didn’t care about much other than herself, a fact he’d learned five minutes into their one and only date a few years back. She had no interest in anything other than her own reflection in a mirror—though she’d been both shocked and infuriated when he hadn’t wanted to continue seeing her.

They’d worked together occasionally since that disastrous date when she’d been late, needy, bitchy and pure trouble the entire night. And every single time since, she’d amused herself by messing with him on the sets in various annoying ways, so he expected no less today. But he’d promised Stone, his oldest friend and assistant, that he’d put both their names on this calendar because the studio behind it had promised to set Stone up for many more, launching his career as a photographer. So Rafe had to get past the urge to wrap his fingers around Amber’s pretty neck.

It was just too bad that giving Stone a foot in the industry door left Rafe stuck dealing with Amber, as the calendar would feature her likeness in each of the twelve fantasies. They’d already completed two of the months and Amber had been a pain his ass for each—arriving late, griping about the accommodations, wanting special treatment at every turn. Stone figured she wasn’t done torturing Rafe for not wanting to go out with her.

Rafe didn’t care. All he cared about was getting done. And with the French maid fantasy—January—and the Amazon jungle fantasy—February—both under his belt now, he was on his way.

Two down, ten more to go…

“Thank you for being only an hour late,” he said. “We’ve nearly lost the light I want, so hustle.” He tossed her the costume.

She caught it and looked down at the filmy white “virginal” negligee—with her dewy and unbelievably perfect skin, the images would be sexy, erotic. “What’s this?”

“Your costume. Go change.”

Amber held the two-piece outfit between long fingers. The bottoms were a couple of strips of white satin. The top had more material but in this case, “more” was relative. Basically she held a gauzy length of fabric that would be draped around her as she lounged on the hammock in that glorious Kauai setting.

As she stared at the costume, a few more raindrops started to fall. Big, fat ones. Damn it, he was not going to stay another day in paradise; he had his own paradise to get back to, his new house in the hills above L.A. “Hurry, Amber.”

She looked at the sky. “The weather—”

“Yeah, but if you hurry, we might get this done before suffering electrocution by lightning.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, nudging her toward the makeshift change room—really nothing more than a few bamboo poles and some sheets—off to the side of the set. He watched her move woodenly toward it and narrowed his eyes.

Please don’t have a tantrum, he thought, not today, not now. But something was off with her. She wasn’t giving him and everyone else around her usual I’m-so-hot-look-at-me strut. She wasn’t asking for anything special or calling for assistance.

If she was high, he’d have to kill her. No one did drugs on his shoots. “What’s the matter with you?”

She went still for one telling moment. “Nothing.”

He glanced over at Stone. Also accustomed to Amber’s usual antics, his friend just shook his head and lifted a shoulder. He was clueless, as well.

Then Amber turned back toward him, still dangling her outfit from her fingers as if it were day-old trash, which made no sense because she loved to show off her body and nothing would show it off more than that outfit.

A distant boom of thunder made her jump as if she’d never heard thunder before. “I think maybe we should cancel,” she said.

She didn’t want to show off her gorgeous figure to everyone within a five-mile radius? She didn’t want to preen, making everyone on the set drool with lust?

Why?

He racked his brain for reasons, the obvious being that he’d made her mad recently. But he’d done nothing that he could think of, except maybe when he’d refused to escort her to that party she’d wanted to go to after their last shoot in Hollywood.

Parties didn’t interest him any more than a night with Amber did. He didn’t want to hang around women in the business, didn’t want to hang around with women even remotely related to the business.

He had a different craving these days, for a real woman, with a real body and a real set of values. A woman who’d look at him and smile and melt his heart. A woman who had a life and hopes and dreams that didn’t involve an Oscar or an Emmy.

He didn’t care if she had her own career or logged more miles traveling the planet than he did. He just wanted a woman who would look at him not for what he could do for her, but for what they could do for each other.

Stone always laughed at this. He didn’t believe such a woman existed. Instead, he enjoyed working his way through the hordes that threw themselves at him on a daily basis.

Not Rafe. He was tired of that.

So damn tired of everything. He just needed out, in the worst possible way.

“Could we do this today?” he asked her in a voice that made her jump as much as the thunder had.

“But it’s going to—” she tipped her head up again and a raindrop hit her square on the nose “—rain.”

As if she’d conjured them, the drops started coming faster and harder. His associates scrambled to cover the equipment that hadn’t already been protected. Instinctively, Rafe moved toward her, grabbing an umbrella to shield her hair and makeup, but as he got closer, he stopped in his tracks.

The water soaked into her hair causing it to shine in the bright spotlights. Her face went even more creamy and dewy, if that was possible. And the way the drops clung to her lashes and lips…He handed the umbrella off to a lighting tech, staring in relief at Amber. “The weather will work to our favor. Let’s do this.”

Amber bit her lower lip. “But I don’t think—”

“Perfect. Don’t think.”

“Yes, but…”

Frustrated, he closed the gap between them and whipped off her sunglasses to see her eyes. If they were red or glazed over, he was going to—

Clear, light amber eyes lowered, shifted away as she again dragged her lower lip over her teeth.

And…blushed?

Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute. Amber had never blushed a day in her life. As a photographer, as a person who specialized in catching the secret nuances in every single thing around him, he suddenly saw the truth as clear as day.

This quiet, introspective woman was not the wild, outgoing, outrageous Amber he knew.

That meant one of two things. Either Amber had done a complete about face in the week since he’d seen her at the last shoot or…

Or this was Amber’s twin sister.

What had Amber called her—Queen Emma? Yes, that was it. Queen Emma. He tried to remember why, but as he’d long ago learned to tune out Amber’s long, meaningless, selfish ramblings, he couldn’t recall.

Nor could he think of one good reason why Amber would send her sister in her stead, when this calendar was a huge career-boosting deal for her. She’d campaigned every bit as long and hard to get it as Stone had.

“Amber,” he said, testing, figuring Emma would speak up any moment now and tell him why she was here instead of her pain-in-his-ass sister.

Her gaze darted to his. “Um…yes?”

Shit. He was right. This most definitely was not Amber. “Change,” he said in a low, controlling voice that would have had Amber flipping him off. “Now.”

He watched in disbelief as she nodded.

She really wasn’t going to tell him the truth? Ah, hell, this was bad. He didn’t need this. He glanced at Stone, who again simply lifted a broad shoulder. Clearly still as mystified as Rafe.

Okay, fine, Rafe thought. Amber and Emma were identical twins; no one could tell them apart. As long as he could get his shot and have no one the wiser, he honestly didn’t care why the hell either of them were playing switcheroo.

Besides, “Queen Emma” couldn’t possibly be any more difficult than the notoriously difficult Amber.

“Do it,” he said with another nudge toward the changing area. “The rain is good, but with you just standing there, we’re wasting the little light we have left.”

Seemingly, reluctant, she moved toward the bamboo poles and sheets, dragging her feet in a way Amber never would have.

Stone came up to his side, holding a light meter and a clipboard that was getting waterlogged. He was as blond as Rafe was dark, with a tough, medium build that reminded Rafe of a boxer. Stone looked as irritated as Rafe felt as they watched her go. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

“Hopefully nothing.”

Stone snorted his opinion of that, which made Rafe smile a bit grimly. With Amber there was always a problem, but how about with Emma?

The sheets shifted as she moved within them, and grumbling sounded on the stormy air, but she didn’t call out or reappear.

“She probably needs help,” Rafe said on a sigh, looking at his watch.

Stone clasped him on the shoulder. “I’ll go. You’ll just be tempted to kill her.”

“And you won’t be?”

Stone flashed a white grin. “She’s in there naked. I’m never tempted to kill a naked woman.”

Rafe listened to the muttering, watching the wild movements of the sheets. Amber never muttered. Nope, if that woman ever had an issue of any sort—and there were at least a million of those a day—she screamed them out for the world to deal with.

But not today.

Because it wasn’t Amber, but Emma who was currently ruminating about the thin material of the costume, which, in itself, was just another dead giveaway.

Amber had a body to die for, and she lived to show it off. What did she care about the thinness of the material? All the better to expose herself.

Stone waggled a brow at him, then ventured closer to the sheets. “Need any help?” he called out, reaching with one hand to peek in.

“No! I’m…fine. I’ll be right there.”

Stone glanced back at Rafe in surprise, because he also knew it was extremely unlike Amber to not require an entire posse, a minimum of ten people hovering around her, jumping to her every whim.

Then again, as apparently only Rafe realized, they weren’t dealing with Amber.

Hell if he’d lose time over this. Emma would suit his purposes just fine—his purpose being to get this shoot over with.

Assuming she came out of the dressing room sometime today.




2


EMMA WILLIS STOOD NAKED, surrounded by a few flimsy sheets and bamboo poles, somewhere on the northern tip of Kauai, all courtesy of her sister Amber.

It was unbelievable that she, a known anal-retentive workaholic, had landed herself in this position. But she had and she’d have to deal with it.

Just as she’d dealt with every other Amber emergency over the years. And there’d been far too many to count.

Emma looked at the little triangular patch of white silk in her fingers that made up the bottoms of the costume. Just put the thing on, she told herself. But how did it go on? There was no way this would come anywhere close to covering her. Hoping against hope, she shook it out and held it up, but nothing changed.

It wasn’t meant to cover her.

She could see now that the thin strap of silk was actually a thong.

A thong.

She was sure Amber Willis, actress, model and all-around hell-raiser, would love wearing such a contraption, but Emma Willis, lowly soap-opera scribe and all-around pansy, hated thongs.

Amber was going to owe her big.

She had to laugh at that. Amber always owed her big, and hadn’t paid up once. What did that say about her, Emma wondered wildly, that she just kept saving her sister, no matter what? Far too much to contemplate at the moment, she decided, and reached for the top.

Which turned out to be even worse than the bottom.

She’d had high hopes for the filmy material because there was a lot of it, but when she placed it against her skin, she might as well have been as naked as a newborn. She supposed that was the idea of the thing. Virginal sacrifice was the theme of this shoot and she was about to look the part.

She certainly felt it. The rain drummed the sheet around her, soaking through so that water ran down the sides of the changing area. Still, the air felt refreshingly cool, not cold, and in an odd contrast, the ground beneath her bare feet was warm.

Amber had called her two days ago from some island in the Caribbean, where she’d been lounging for a few days with her latest boy toy. “This guy can give me an orgasm from the next room,” she’d exhaled dreamily over the thousands of miles to Emma. “I think he’s The One.”

Right. The One.

There was no The One and after years of watching Amber make a fool out of herself over and over again, Emma just wished Amber would realize it as well and stop falling in love at the drop of a hat.

Or a nicely filled-out pair of Levi’s.

But before Emma could sing that old refrain and remind her sister how many times “love” had turned out to be sheer lust, the kind that always faded, Amber had begged Emma to take on this job, the one that Amber had already signed to do and had been paid for, because this calendar was going to “launch her as nothing else had.”

There had been many such declarations over the years from Amber, but Emma still had such high hopes for her sister, who despite all her wildness was still her sister.

Who couldn’t handle responsibility to save her life.

But Emma could, even if she couldn’t see how parading half nude in filmy white material would boost Amber’s acting career, when not even a bunch of real acting jobs had done that.

But love and stupidity kept Emma wishing. And hoping.

And helping.

Besides, maybe this job would be the one to launch Amber’s career, maybe this guy would finally be The One. Who was Emma to decide they weren’t?

And, anyway, how was this any skin off her nose? She was in Kauai, a place she’d seen only in pictures, getting drenched by the daily rain she’d wanted to see so badly. In Los Angeles, she could only dream about daily rain. And for once, she wasn’t holed up in her small office, fingers cramped from all the pages she’d produced for the soap opera she wrote for.

How many times had she promised herself she’d do something fun for herself? This could be that fun. Yes, she was worried about missing two days away from her script, but they were weekend days and, theoretically, her own.

“Theoretically” because the soap opera and the studio who owned it had taken complete advantage of her over the years, and she’d let them. She worked directly beneath the head writer—a coup for any twenty-six-year-old—but the head writer was a tyrant who worked her people to the bone.

And still Emma did it, week in and week out.

Well, it was time for a little break. Hard as it was to believe, she really was going to put this itty-bitty costume on, and use her beauty instead of her brain. Just because the design was everything she wasn’t, and just because being in front of a camera made her nervous, and just because she was shaking in her bare feet, didn’t mean a thing.

In the name of Amber, in the name of having some of her own “fun,” she’d do this.

“Let’s go,” came the forceful, impatient voice from the other side of the sheet.

At the sound of him, her heart leaped into her throat. She didn’t have to see him to remember how potent he’d been upon first sight. He was everything Amber had said he was—tall, imposing, with a set of dark, dark eyes that she had a feeling saw just about everything. Though he’d looked unhappy to see Amber, Emma supposed she couldn’t hold that against him. She knew exactly how difficult Amber could be, and imagined he had braced himself for a nightmare shoot.

He wouldn’t take lightly to being fooled—if he found out. Telling him now was out of the question. Her sister had been clear on that. If Rafe knew Amber had bailed, he’d bail, too, and then the calendar would be cancelled and she’d be back to square one.

This job was a coup and she needed it.

Emma had agreed, so she stepped into the thong. She tried to adjust it, but there was no adjusting to be made. The thing was going to ride up her butt no matter what—and it did—and yet…not so bad.

Laughing at herself now, she held up the “top.” Looking at it, thinking about how it would look on her, made her feel—this was such an embarrassing admission, even to herself—sexy.

Bring on the fun, she thought. She was on an island far from home with no one she ever planned on seeing again. She might as well enjoy it.

“Come on, damn it,” Rafe growled from the other side of the curtain, apparently out of patience. The sheets ripped apart, leaving her staring one irritated, wet photographer in the face. All six feet two inches of him. His hair was slicked back from his forehead, his lean jaw tense as more than a few drops of water ran off his cheeks and down his throat. His plain dark blue T-shirt stuck to him like a second skin and was tucked into a pair of faded Levi’s, both of which exhibited a body in its prime.

The costume was definitely getting to her if she was thinking about him that way. She hurriedly wrapped the filmy material around her torso and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not ready.” Not sure if she ever would be, now that the moment was at hand.

“But I am.”

Clearly Amber had managed to annoy him in the not-too-distant past. Emma would have to deal with that, and the fact he was startlingly handsome, so much so that he could be in front of the camera.

Except, she couldn’t imagine him looking virginal.

“Not that you care, but I need the light that we’re losing with each passing second.” Without so much as a glance at her body—so much for the ego she hadn’t even realized she had—he took her wrist and tugged her out of the protective covering of the sheets.

He walked quickly and smoothly on the rough path, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. She ran alongside while simultaneously trying to keep the material around her and her thong in place. By the time he got her to the set, she was huffing and puffing.

She really had to find the time to exercise more thoroughly than the occasional yoga tape. But she knew she wouldn’t. If she wasn’t writing, she was sleeping and if she wasn’t sleeping, she was plotting.

Work ran her life.

Work was her life.

So how she’d ended up in paradise half-naked still boggled the mind, but here she was, determined to save Amber and have fun for once, with Rafe and his assistant staring at her, waiting for her to pull some model magic out of a hat she’d never worn before.

The rain still fell, big heavy drops sparse enough that they felt nice and cool landing on her hot, steaming skin. If she could have, she would have loved to take a long walk in it, alone, soaking it all in, getting drenched, cooling off—

The other man came forward as Rafe went to his camera. What had Amber told her the tall, gorgeous blonde’s name was? Stone. Stone didn’t like Amber, but her sister hadn’t cared and said Emma shouldn’t care, either. Now Emma wondered at that, sensing a long story behind the casually made statement, and wished she’d found out the reason for the animosity.

Stone’s light blue eyes were cool but kinder than Rafe’s as he pointed to the hammock. “There. Give us some good stuff quickly and we can all get out of here.”

Good stuff. Right. No problem. Her skin was damp, and her hair…God knows how bad it had gotten. A woman came close and introduced herself as Jen, the makeup and hair artist.

“I’ll just—” She started to play with Emma’s hair, but lowered her hands when Rafe called out to her.

“She’s perfect,” he said, holding three film canisters. “The skin’s got a fabulous glow and the hair is good. Leave it.”

Odd how just those words, spoken so impersonally and not even directly to her, caused a flutter in Emma’s belly.

He thought she was perfect.

Before today, it had never occurred to her to go into modeling. You’re too smart to waste your life that way, her mother had drilled into her at a young age.

And agreeing, Emma had always been the studious one. But there was something to be said for being told she was perfect by a stranger. She wondered what her mother would think of that, as she’d never imagined her daughters perfect at all.

Emma got onto the hammock—no easy feat in itself—and pulled the material tighter around her, keeping her arms crossed over her breasts.

Stone reached toward her and Emma tried not to wince. He was going to arrange her, touch her—and this would be the hardest part. Amber loved to be touched, craved it like everyone else craved air.

Emma, however, didn’t. She closed her eyes. Tried to breathe.

“Stone, where’s the white umbrella?” Rafe called out from behind the camera.

“The white…” Stone looked at the blue one they’d used earlier and swore. “In my room.” He looked over the setting, the rain misting down on their model, the lighting, and sighed in agreement. “Yeah. I need to go get it, it’s just what you need.” He started jogging up the path Emma had just been tugged down by Rafe.

Emma turned back to the camera, but suddenly Rafe was standing right in front of her—tall, big and wet. As a few errant drops hit him they practically steamed right off his body.

“Hold still,” he said.

She held still and looked into his dark eyes, watching to see if he watched her. Saw her.

“Relax.”

No, he didn’t really see her, at least not as a woman. She didn’t know if she was relieved or insulted.

Relieved, she decided a minute later, realizing she’d never felt so utterly naked. Living her life as she did, with work being all she ever thought about, she wasn’t used to this nude thing. She’d had the occasional relationship, but given her schedule, occasional was the key word. It had been a good long time since she’d had so much as a kiss and even then, since she remembered being on deadline at the time and completely distracted, it hadn’t been anything to write home about.

Casual nudity had never become a part of any of those occasional relationships. She always rushed through her day, preoccupied, rarely seeing herself naked, much less letting anyone else see her. Being so exposed right now was like one of those dreams where she found herself on the school bus, without clothes.

It was horrifying, terrifying, mortifying—

“Perfect,” Rafe said, looking through his camera at her.

Her tummy fluttered again. Her nipples tightened. And her thighs clenched. Yes, she was horrified, terrified, mortified…

And somehow excited at the same time.

“Hug your knees.” He came out from behind the camera, moved close.

Ohmigod. If she weren’t so bared to the cool raindrops, she might have broken out in a sweat—

Silent, brooding, he wrapped his fingers around her ankles, lifting until she bent her knees. Then he took her wrists, dragging her arms around her legs. “Bend your head down, just a little—” He sounded gruff, frustrated, so it confused her when he suddenly softened. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “Just right.” He stroked her hair from her face, his fingers brushing her skin.

Her gaze jerked up to his as her nipples tightened even more, but he was completely lost in getting the pose he wanted.

She might have laughed at how impersonal it all was, except that she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t sound hysterical, so she kept it to herself.

“Set your chin on your knees,” he commanded, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “And look directly into the camera, as if you’re just a little nervous.”

A little nervous. Ha! If he only knew just how nervous she was. Her thighs were trembling now and she squeezed them tight.

“No, stay loose.”

She tried, but again he came out from behind the camera. This time he put a hand on her thigh.

Her body twitched.

“Loose,” he commanded.

Impossible. Despite the fear and embarrassment, that excitement was humming through her insides again. At the realization, she felt her face heat. How could this be? What kind of sick woman would be excited about being naked, in front of a stranger, having him touch her, toss demands at her? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t deny it. She was into this, and feeling so overwhelmingly sexy that she didn’t know how to handle herself.

Not paying any attention to her or her turmoil, Rafe pried the loose filmy material free of her hands and shook it out, leaving her completely bare except for the small triangle of her thong.

This was worse than the naked-in-the-bus nightmare, far worse, and at the same time somehow even more exciting, but she hunched over her knees, hugging them for all she was worth.

He handled the fabric like a pro, putting it back around her in a way that satisfied him, and left her feeling like she sat on a high wire without a net.

And still he just looked at her.

She squirmed, and as she always did when she was out of her element, she started talking—too much. “I know, I should have done sit-ups.” She crossed her arms tighter over her breasts, which were plain old B cups, but somehow in the forest, wet from the rain, they appeared closer to a C. “And a Thigh Master wouldn’t hurt, either, but—”

“You’re crazy.” He shook his head and stepped back, assessing her before pulling her arms free of her body to drape them over her knees again as he wanted, cocking his head to study her. “You know damn well you’ve got a body that brings grown men to their knees.”

Maybe Amber knew, but Emma rarely thought of herself that way. His praise made her nipples even happier, and her thighs were doing that funny clench and unclench thing again. She swallowed hard and stared at him, trying to get it together, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. Amber hadn’t told her how incredible-looking he was, how masterful, how utterly confident. She hadn’t said his touch would bring goose bumps to the surface of her flesh or that his voice would make her want to shiver.

Amber hadn’t said any of those things and, as a result, Emma decided she needed to get out more.

“Hold that position,” he said.

Holding. Her bent legs covered her in the front, but then he walked around the hammock, slowly, taking her in, and she could only imagine the picture she created from behind with her thong riding high—

“Hmm.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked shakily, resisting the urge to reach around and yank at the satin dividing her butt in a most intimate way.

“That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Did she have a zit? What?

“I’ve never noticed that freckle before.”

“F—freckle?”

“Yeah, this one right here—”

She nearly leaped right out of her skin when she felt the blunt tip of his finger stroke her right buttock and the freckle.

He’d never noticed it before because her sister didn’t have one. “Oh. Well…it’s usually covered.”

“Not when I’ve seen you.”

That deflated some of her exhilaration, oddly enough. So he’d seen her sister in far less than this outfit. She should have figured as much. And having his finger touch her so intimately shouldn’t matter, either, but her entire body felt so…aware. The lightweight material brushing and teasing her breasts seemed too rough suddenly, and her over-sensitized nipples quivered at her every breath as they rubbed against the material. “M—maybe it’s a new one.”

“Uh-huh. From all your nude sunbathing?”

Sounded good. “Yes.”

“Funny then, how creamy and pale your skin is.” He came around the front again, looking over every inch of her with his photographer’s eagle eye, lingering on her legs, which were up in front of her.

Could he see between them? She didn’t want to know, she really didn’t.

Being aroused like this was not only painful but embarrassing. As a writer she’d put her characters in situations that she’d thought sexy, but she knew now she’d been tame, and that was because she hadn’t had any idea of what sexy really meant.

Now she knew.

Rafe was still looking at her, which made her want to squirm again. Then there was the matter of the thong, tight in front, brushing against a sensitive part of her in a shocking, tantalizing manner with every passing second until she could hardly breathe.

“Shouldn’t you take the picture now?” she asked.

“Shh.” He took the material again, draping the transparent length of it over her head, bringing the ends down to the hands holding her knees and slowly tucking it in. “Nice. Hold.” He backed to his camera. “Holding on to the material, lift your hands and toss your head back to the sky.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

“But…I’ll be uncovered.”

“Your knees will shield your breasts from the camera.”

But what about from him? Holding her breath, trying not to picture how hard her nipples were or how her belly rose and fell with her every erratic breath, she did what he’d asked, she lifted her arms and tossed back her head.

A little.

“More,” he commanded in that silky voice that was so utterly captivating and tyrannical at the same time. “Expose your throat. Thrust your breasts out. Sacrifice yourself, Amber. You know you love to do that.” He peered out from his camera and gave her a long, assessing look. “Unless there’s some reason why you wouldn’t.”

Oh boy. “Of course not.” Breathing as if she’d been running, she “sacrificed” herself, throwing out her arms, tossing back her head, thrusting out her breasts, and over the roar of the blood in her ears, she heard a hiss of breath. She had no idea if it was Rafe—who else—and wasn’t sure if she wanted to know because it sounded so…primal.

“Hold that,” he said.

She tried not to think about how much of her he could see while she held the pose. All around her was the scent of the forest and above her came the sound of the rain.

And the clicking of his shutter.

“A little bit more.” His voice was both low and husky, and utterly hypnotic. “Open your eyes wide. Like that. Now your mouth, pant a little, like you’re both petrified and aroused beyond belief—Yeah, just like that.”

If he only knew she was petrified and aroused beyond belief, despite the fact that Jen and the other techs were still watching and that Stone had come back down the path holding a white umbrella in his hand—

A sharp bolt of lightning startled a gasp out of her, the following boom of thunder nearly stopped her heart and she hugged herself again, breaking out of the strange trance Rafe’s voice had put her in.

Rafe took one last shot of her like that before lowering the camera. “The rain I didn’t care about. But the electrical storm we’ll have to wait out. I don’t want to get struck by lightning. Break time,” he said when she just sat there staring at him.

She stood on legs that were still a little shaky, grateful when Jen came forward with a soft, silky white robe that she wrapped around herself as quickly as she could.

“Did you get it?” Stone asked Rafe.

Emma strained to hear his answer, hoping against hope that he’d indeed gotten whatever it was he felt he’d been looking for, that the shoot was done and over with so that she could fly home to her little world of work, work and more work, with only the occasional dream about this venture into a world she’d had no idea existed.

It had been shocking, being so exposed to perfect strangers. Shocking and erotic.

Amber would laugh at that. Her sister definitely didn’t consider what she did erotic, but rather manipulative. And she loved that—loved manipulating men into little panting puppies.

That didn’t appeal to Emma and, now that it was over and the cameras were being set into their cases, she was trying to tell herself that she hadn’t felt anything but humiliation.

But deep down, she knew the truth.

“I can’t be sure,” Rafe said with a frustrated shake of his wet head. “I want to come back when the storm passes.”

They were coming back.

She was coming back.




3


BY THAT AFTERNOON, they all realized the storm wasn’t going anywhere.

If Rafe wanted the virginal shot in the tropical forest of Kauai for the calendar—and he did—then he couldn’t take the chance by leaving now. He’d have to deal with the weather and work around it.

Fine. He’d do whatever it took to finish this job, to get what he wanted. Retirement. He could indulge himself instead of dealing with other people’s schedules and needs. He could ride his bike down the coast of California if he felt like it, maybe from Santa Barbara to his new home in Los Angeles, the one he’d bought three months ago and had hardly unpacked or bought furniture for. He’d catch up with old friends. He’d visit with his sisters Carolyn and Tessa, both of whom he was extremely close to.

He’d get himself a big, sloppy, happy puppy for his new place. Not exactly the wife and kids his family had been campaigning for, but he’d work on that as well.

But first up, dealing with Emma, the Amber substitute. And even though his gut said that the film he’d shot earlier would be breathtaking, he wanted more, just to be sure. With the rain now coming down in cupfuls, he stalked out to the set as the dark afternoon gave way to evening. The gazebo was empty, but he could see how she would look there on the bench, wet and dewy, surrounded by candles, glowing and just a touch nervous.

She had that last down and if anything had convinced him she wasn’t Amber, it had been the look in her eyes when he’d asked her to spread her arms and toss back her head.

Amber loved exposing her body and would have done so with abandon.

Queen Emma…she clearly wasn’t used to any such thing. She’d trembled and shivered, and he might have felt guilty, except that she’d come here of her own free will, for whatever reason.

It still made no sense. Why the hell didn’t she tell him who she was? Did she really think she could play him?

Nobody played him.

Why would she want to?

He didn’t know, didn’t care as long as she did the job. He pulled out his radio and called Stone. “The lightning is gone. Let’s do this.”



DESPITE THE DELUGE OF RAIN, the air was hot and humid, so, that when Emma got out of the shower, she couldn’t get dry. She’d been working on her laptop in her hotel room, taking her script on a wild and sexy turn she hadn’t seen coming. In a way, she supposed she could thank Amber and Rafe for that. This afternoon’s session had let something loose in Emma.

Then Stone had called her and told her to report back to the set, costume on. She hadn’t even hung up the phone before her heart had started a heavy beat.

She was going back. Costume on. For once, her own work flew right out of her head and she had a flash of what it would feel like if the people in her world could see what she was about to do.

Amber would get a big kick out of her uptight and slightly prudish twin blushing nonstop. Her mother, a prestigious author, would probably take one look at Emma’s costume and have a fatal heart attack, because in her eyes, Emma was already compromising her talents by writing for a soap opera. What was it she’d called Emma’s work? Oh yes, a waste of trees.

Seeing Emma now would just confirm what she’d always known—that her daughters were some odd and inexplicable mutation of the family genes. Her mother would blame Amber, of course, citing that she’d been a bad influence from infanthood, which indeed she had. Emma had gotten really good at being in the middle of those two. If her mother ever found out about this, Emma would manage to smooth it out somehow, as she always did. But she couldn’t concentrate on that now, not while looking at her costume lying innocently on the bed.

Stone had told her not to worry about her hair, that they wanted it long and loose and damp. Well, good, because that’s what she had to work with at the moment—long and loose and damp. Dropping her sundress, she slid back into the thong, grimaced at herself in the mirror as she wrapped the white material across her breasts like a bandeau, and then put on the silk robe Jen had given her.

Emma still felt naked.

She glanced back at her laptop on the hotel bed, where she’d worked all afternoon. Live And Love had been in a ratings slump for months, and she’d tried to help fix it by putting their fan-favorite leads in romantic pairings.

But oddly enough, fans didn’t necessarily want sweet, traditional romance. According to their letters—buckets and buckets of letters—they wanted steamy, hot sex. That had worried their head writer, which in turn had worried Emma a little—okay, it had worried her a lot, because she wasn’t very good at steamy, hot sex. But she’d given it a shot this afternoon.

Guess that meant she could use this trip as a research tax write-off.

Holding the robe open, she took another peek at herself in the mirror. Her sexy twin looked back—a tall, willowy brunette with wild, light amber eyes and a see-through outfit that brought to mind all sorts of wicked things.

Oh boy.

With renewed anticipation, she tied her robe, slipped into her sandals and braved the storm to head toward the set.

And her evening of research.

Walking through the hotel lobby in her white silk robe, she noticed that no one even glanced her way. So much for knocking people over with her newfound sexuality. Trying to get into playing Amber, she swung her hips a little more and tossed back her hair, but only succeeded in tripping down the front stairs as she headed outside into the falling night.

The path was lit but it was still an eerie and strange feeling, walking through the heavy, drumming rain with no one accompanying her but her own thoughts. The growth beneath her feet squished like a sponge as she moved. The night seemed noisy, with the sound of rain hitting leaves and the squawk of the occasional bird combining to bring chills to her skin.

Wet now, she reached the set. Protected by the gazebo, candles flickered on the floor, the benches, even hung from the arches, sending up a warm glow, and in the middle, bent over his camera, was Rafe.

The scene took her breath. He took her breath. His shirt was plastered to his big, tough body, his jeans looked as if they’d been made to fit him like a soft glove, though she doubted there was an inch of softness anywhere on him.

She hadn’t made a sound, and yet, he lifted his head as she came into the clearing. His dark hair was wet and wavy, hitting just past his collar. As she watched, he lifted a hand and pushed the hair away from his face. A face that was also wet.

His expression was shuttered and, not for the first time, she wondered at what his and Amber’s relationship was like. Clearly she wasn’t his favorite person in the world—not even close.

“You came,” he said.

She stepped beneath the protection of the gazebo. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Of course I did. I thought you’d make me rant and rave, or even beg, like you did in the Amazon.”

The thought of this strong, proud man begging was quite the image.

“In fact, I was so sure of it, I told Stone and Jen to take their time, that you certainly would.” He gestured with his head to the bench. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Where’s the lighting?”

“The candles will provide the only lighting this time.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, mesmerized by the glow, by the look of concentration on his lean, rugged face. As a workaholic, she had to admit to feeling attracted to any man who felt so strongly about his work.

Or maybe it was simply the power he held over her, the power to make her do as she normally wouldn’t, to bring out the sexuality and sensuality deep within her, two things she would have sworn she was lacking.

The rain was hitting the gazebo with a steady rhythm that was better than any music. With the darkening evening, a mist had rolled in, surrounding them, making her feel as though they were the only two people on the planet.

She shivered and had no idea what she felt, exactly. Fear? Nerves? Arousal?

All of the above?

He was looking at her, looking through her, or so it felt. What does he see when he looks at me like that? She wondered a little wildly. She hoped it was Amber.

Feeling self-conscious, she moved toward the bench, but he stopped her.

“The robe.” He held out his hand for it.

Oh yeah, the robe. She began to work her fumbling fingers on the tie that she’d knotted while back in her hotel room. But now the material was wet and that, combined with the way Rafe’s proximity unnerved her, meant she couldn’t get the knot undone.

With a rough sound of impatience, he brushed her fingers aside, his own warm and sure, and undid the knot in record time. He didn’t stop there, but tugged the robe open, then off her, and tossed it out of the way, toward an empty chair near his camera. “Loosen that,” he said, nodding to the way she’d wrapped herself.

Immediately she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. As a woman who felt funny in a two-piece bathing suit and who always wore a bra, she simply wasn’t used to being so exposed to a man, much less the great outdoors.

But neither the great outdoors nor the man cared. Rafe looked her over impassively from her long, damp and slightly tangled hair hanging over her shoulders, down her legs to her feet, which she’d slipped out of the sandals. Her body started that odd quiver thing again.

Then she thought she saw it—a flash of heat in his eyes, her only sign that she really did look good enough to pull this off.

There was some sort of forbidden excitement in that, and a sense of power as well, so that when he pointed to the bench again, she went to it.

But nothing could stop the little feeling that she was the lamb being led to the slaughter.

“Lie down,” he said in that demanding, yet somehow compelling, voice that could convince a nun to sin.

She lay on her back and studied the stark white ceiling of the gazebo. The bench was a little chilly beneath her, but since her body felt so inexplicably hot, it was okay, and at least her entire backside was covered.

“Arms up, over your head,” Rafe said from behind his camera, and when she complied, he lifted his head and just stared at her.

“What?” Her arms were still stretched over her head, her body laid out like a sacrifice. “No good?”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s good.” He kept staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s amazing, actually.” He looked through his lenses. Then he took the camera off the tripod. “Arch up, just a little.”

As she did, he came close, very close, shocking her when he put a knee on the bench near her hip and looked down at her through the camera from above. “This is the angle,” he whispered, and since he seemed to be talking to himself, not her, she remained silent.

“Remember that shoot we did in Fiji, Amber?”

His voice, so close, startled her, as did the question. “Um…”

“You played that prank on me. You’ve always played pranks on me, hiding my unused film, unplugging the lights, using makeup to create chicken pox, but Fiji…that was what led to our first and last date.”

They’d dated only once? Amber had insinuated there was much more than that. “Well—”

“You handed me your robe, and underneath it you—” He broke off with a little laugh and pulled away from his camera to look directly at her. “Well, I don’t have to tell you—you remember what you did.”

She only wished she did.

“You always screw with my head, knowing damn well that when I’m on a job, I’m on it one hundred percent, no playing around.”

She had the odd urge to apologize, to somehow alleviate his frustration with her, which was silly because he was talking to Amber, not her. But knowing that didn’t take away the urge.

He added a candle near her opposite hip and lit it, his eyes dark with concentration. He ran his work-roughened fingers up her outstretched arm, moving it slightly to the right, then stared down at her again. He adjusted her other arm as well, so that her fingers brushed each other high above her head. Then he slid his fingers beneath one of her knees and lifted it slightly.

Everything within her reacted to his touch in a way that shocked her. He was simply a photographer, simply a man doing his job. A man who hardly seemed to notice she was nearly nude—

He slowly rearranged the loose, white material, draping it over her torso, her belly, curling it between her hip and the candle, then over one thigh.

At the touch on her inner leg, she jerked and a sound escaped her, one that sounded…needy.

Lord, she was bad at this, bad at being cool, calm, sophisticated Amber, bad at being so blasé about what he could see of her. Her body hummed again, hummed and ached, and it made her close her eyes.

A slight breeze brought a few drops of rain to hit her face, for which she was grateful. Research. Fun. She was doing one and having the other, she reminded herself. One weekend pretending to be wild and open and sexy. One little weekend.

But really, this had to be the last time she bailed Amber out of trouble.

Her mother would be happy to hear that. Unfortunately, the knowledge was little comfort to her at the moment, lying here in practically nothing.

“Your eyes need to be open for the shot,” Rafe said, and when they flew open to stare at him, his shutter clicked.

People were going to see this—her stretched out so open and vulnerable and…bare. They were going to see it and—

“Remember New Mexico?” He was busy with his camera, not looking at her.

“Well—”

“It was our first shoot together. You were an hour late and hated your costume, so you staged that little tantrum that got me yelled at by the director.”

Sounded like Amber.

“You felt so bad you kissed me when we were done.” He stopped messing with his camera and looked right at her, still at her hip, still so close that now she could see that his eyes weren’t just dark, dark melting-chocolate brown but had little specks of gold in them that danced in the glow from the candles.

Eyes that were now waiting for…something from her.

“You said it would be our tradition,” he said. “Just you and me, and you promised to kiss me after every shoot.”

Oh God.

“You always have followed through on that promise, even when I didn’t want you to. So what I’m wondering now is, why haven’t you kissed me yet?” His vow was low and spellbinding, his eyes so fascinating she couldn’t tear hers away.

Research, she told herself. Simple research. She could lean forward, kiss him and chalk it up to the wild, sexy experience she needed for her script.

Oh, yes, it was quite the sacrifice, but she could do it. Closing her eyes, she waited. And waited.

Finally she opened them again.

Only to find his filled with amusement. “You’re supposed to kiss me, remember?”

Right.

Oh man, Amber, you have no idea what you’re asking of me…

He cocked a brow. “Problem?”

“No—” Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and then licked her lips. “No problem.”

His gaze darted to her mouth. “You always were a tease.”

That got her. Tease? Well, tease this…and lifting up, she went after him.




4


IF RAFE HAD HARBORED any doubts about which twin he had, they vanished now. Emma’s eyes were open, wide and unsure as she moved close, and though he felt the urge to laugh at her, he didn’t, because, for whatever stupid reason, he wanted the kiss.

He wanted it from Emma. Unsettling, that.

Her lips touched his, in a short, achingly sweet little kiss that was over before he could blink.

She lay back on the bench, shot him a nervous smile. “There.”

“Yeah. There.” He straightened and tried to collect himself, wondering why, when he’d hoped to catch her red-handed and humiliate her for this little stunt she’d pulled, he felt as though he had just won the lottery?

The storm was messing with his head. So was his need for this shoot to be over. He’d just talked on the phone to his sister Tessa, who was still in such a state of early marital bliss that it had been almost painful to hear. He was happy for her, thrilled she’d found someone to put that joy in her voice and yet, at the same time, it’d left him feeling a little…empty.

Damn.

Time to go home. Past time. “Stretch out,” he demanded, forcing himself to get back to cool and distant. He looked through the lens. God, she was beautiful—the setup, the location, the outfit…Everything was just right.

He knew within two minutes he’d already gotten all the film he needed, but he shot a little bit longer, if only to keep her there sprawled out for his eyes only.

Her nipples were hard. Was she cold…or excited? With Amber he’d had a shot at guessing, but with Emma, he had no idea. He’d teased her with his comments—“remember this” and “remember that”—hoping to startle her out of this ridiculous ruse. But in the end, he’d teased himself, for Emma hadn’t caved.

She did seem to be having trouble breathing and still looked a little wild-eyed, as if uncertain about what he would ask her to remember next.

It made him want to tell her Amber had come to his room for wild sex after every photo shoot.

When he finally set the camera down, she crossed her arms over her body. “Is that it?”

When he nodded, she sat up, still hugging herself. “Can I have my robe?”

He wanted to tell her to walk over and get it, exposing her hot little ass, but even he wasn’t that big of a jerk. He tossed it to her.

When he had his camera in its case and she was completely covered again, he looked at her. She’d done everything he’d asked, including things he shouldn’t have asked, and still a part of him wanted to push her.

“Good shoot.”

With a nod, she started walking, presumably back to the hotel room she’d taken under her sister’s name. He waited until she’d brushed past him before he took her arm, holding her back. “Amber.”

“Y-yes?”

He’d been going to tell her they’d never really kissed, that he knew who she was, but she looked so sweet, so damn unexpectedly sweet, that he got mad all over again.

Walk away, said a little voice. You don’t care. You’re one shoot closer to done. Just walk away.

“Rafe?”

“Nothing.” He let her go, and turned away.

“’Night.”

“’Night.”

By the time he got back to the hotel, she was nowhere to be seen. Just as well.

And when he checked out early and caught a late flight back to Los Angeles, he figured he’d never see her again.

Also, just as well.



EMMA WORKED THE ENTIRE NEXT WEEK around the clock. She’d figured it would be hard to forget Kauai and all that had happened there, but her writing distracted her.

Her writing always did. She nearly forgot to eat and sleep when she buried herself. Well, she nearly forgot to sleep, anyway, because, quite honestly, there was little that could make her forget to eat.

Not even one tall, dark and mouthwatering photographer with a voice that made her pulse leap and a touch that had nearly kicked her heart right out of her chest.

He hadn’t a clue, of course. Which made it worse, somehow. Was she that deprived of a man’s touch that his professional one could send her skittering toward orgasm?

Yes, she had to admit, she was that deprived and it had been self-inflicted. Her work was her life and she’d always told herself it was all she needed.

Still was, she assured herself.

And yet, if it had truly been just work for him, why had he wanted that kiss? Her heart leaped again, as she remembered how warm and firm and yummy his mouth had felt on hers.

Nope, she wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to think about him and what the weekend had done to her. How he’d gotten her into the smallest thong on the planet, how she might or might not have blown her cover.

Was it possible he’d guessed the truth?

She had no idea.

But if she thought about it too much, the suspense would kill her, so she didn’t think about it. Besides, what did it matter? She wasn’t going to see him again.

The week went fast. When she wasn’t at the studio making daily last-minute changes on the script for the network Powers-that-be, or in story meetings and staff meetings, she was at home, in her little house in the hills of Laurel Canyon, fingers pounding out page after page on her laptop, ignoring everything and everyone around her.

She had quite the new theme going for her storylines and it excited her so much that she spent most of her time at the keyboard alternating between grinning like an idiot and fanning her hot face as the pages flew out of her.

Apparently Kauai, and everything that had happened, had inspired her.

Ironic that she could thank Amber for helping her for once, however unintentionally. She’d definitely shaken up all the main characters on her show, putting more steamy sex into one week’s worth of stories than she’d put in all year. Her head writer was going to love it. The viewers were going to love it.

She’d even proposed introducing a new main character, a tall, dark and gorgeous photographer who had a voice of silk and a way with his hands—

The phone ringing at her side had her jumping a little and she laughed at herself when she picked it up, assuming it would be someone from the studio to yell, cajole or plead—

“Hey, sis.”

“Amber,” Emma said in surprise. “Boy do I have a lot to say to you.”

“Really? I heard Kauai was a big hit.” She sounded like she was amused.

She was always amused. Amber had that gift, she could find the humor in anything, even when life handed her a bowl of sour grapes, which it had often enough.

“I got word that those shots you took in my place are going to be the best of the bunch so far.”

Not a “thank-you,” not a “great job,” but then, Amber wasn’t known for her gratitude. “I wish you’d been more forthcoming with the details of the shoot.” Emma thought of that filmy white wrap and how many people probably had looked at those shots so far, including Rafe, and felt her face heat.

“If I’d been more forthcoming,” Amber said, “you wouldn’t have covered for me, and I needed you.”

“You always need me.”

“Oh, Emma. You have no idea what I’m going through.”

“Of course not, because I don’t have a life.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Look…” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “All I’m saying is, you could have told me I’d have to put on a skimpy little nothing.”

“It was a modeling job. Every modeling job is a skimpy little nothing.”

For Amber, maybe, but pointing that out would just cause a fight, and frankly, Emma didn’t have the energy to spare. The fact was, Amber counted on her because Emma always came through, always took care of everything, and this time, she’d done just that. So she sighed and forced a smile.

“How’s your trip?”

“Perfect. Ricardo is a dreamboat. We went skydiving today, and tomorrow we’re going snorkeling. He just loves it when I put on my bikini and snorkel. But speaking of my trip…” Amber paused.

Not good. Amber was up to something, which never worked out well for Emma. “You know what? I don’t mean to cut this short, but I’m in the middle of a scene…” She clicked her fingers over the keyboard as if typing. “So, I’ve really got to run—”

“You’re always in the middle of a scene. In fact,” Amber said on a laugh, “you work way too hard, sweet sister of mine. Way too hard.”

Something Amber had never bothered to notice before. Emma went on full alert.

“And you know what else? You never take time for yourself. You spend all of your time at your computer or at the studio with some ungrateful executive yelling at you. That’s just not right, Em, you know it isn’t.”

True, but at the moment, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except why her sister suddenly had taken notice of her work habits.

“That’s why I wanted to give you the Kauai job,” Amber said. “So that you could have some time away—”

“Whoa.” Emma leaned back in her chair. “Let’s review the facts. I went to Kauai for you. Okay? Because you called me in tears over this new guy, this new The One guy you couldn’t stand to lose. You said your career counted on this job and you couldn’t back out, but if you didn’t go to the Caribbean with Ricardo, you were going to lose him. So I caved, I went to Kauai and posed for those pictures to help you. Not for time off, because I didn’t actually take time off. I brought my computer—”

“You didn’t!” Amber laughed. “What am I saying? Of course you did. What are you working on for the soap right now? Something good? A murder, or some pivotal character realizing he’s bisexual—No, I know! A housewife has an epiphany—she hates her kids and her husband, right?” Amber laughed again. “You know what I think? You should just have everyone get into one big sex-fest. A big orgy. That’ll take care of all the ratings concerns I’ve been reading about in Soap Digest—”

“We’re doing just fine,” Emma said defensively. “That report was biased because they like ABC’s shows better.”

“I just think hot sex would help, that’s all. Shake the show up a little. You should try it.”

“Well, funny you should say that…” Emma entwined the phone cord in her fingers. “Because in Kauai I came to the same conclusion.”

“What was it, the exotic location or the fabulous cabana boys?”

Your photographer.

“A combination,” she said safely, and put Rafe Delacantro right out of her mind.

Amber put him right back in it. “And the photographer and his assistant, I’ll bet. Neither of them are exactly dogs, are they? Oh man, when I first laid eyes on Rafe, I swear he made my hormones stand up and beg.” She laughed. “And Stone isn’t a slouch in the looks department, either, for all that he’s gay.”

“What?”

Amber sighed. “I know, such a waste. But one night at a party, I came on to him and he declined.”

“That doesn’t make him gay, Amber.”

“Of course it does.”

Emma sighed.

“So about my trip…”

“What about it?” Emma’s wariness was back.

“I was wondering how you felt about Joshua Tree National Park.”

“Huh?”

“Joshua Tree. The desert just east of you?”

“I know where it is, I was just trying to figure out why you’re asking me how I feel about it.”

“Yeah, see, I thought maybe you’d want to go. Maybe experience the great outdoors a little more, and while you were there—”

“Amber—”

“—you could maybe just pose for a few more pictures in my place. Tomorrow. They’re shooting April there.”

“Oh, no—”

“It won’t affect your work,” Amber said quickly. “It’s just Saturday. One day.”

“Amber, I can’t be you again.” She thought a bit desperately of filmy white costumes and being in front of the camera when she hated being in front of the camera, not to mention the strange and inexplicable yearning she couldn’t seem to handle when she was—

“Rafe will be taking the pictures—”

“He’s going to figure it out, Amber.”

“No, he won’t. Look, people see what they want to see. And when they look at me, they see a beautiful, but slightly empty brunette who’s good at one thing and one thing only—posing for pictures. You could do that blindfolded. You could, Emma. You have so much more talent than anything I’ve ever had.”

“That’s not true. Your job is hard, too, in a different way than mine.” Characters forgotten, Emma pushed her laptop away. Elbows on her desk, she rubbed her temples and bit back a sigh. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Well, I’m still in the Caribbean with Ricardo, and—”

Ah, yes, Ricardo. “Can’t you just put Rafe off for a few more days? I mean, why did you sign up for this job in the first place if you want out of it so badly?”

“For the money, for starters.” Amber sighed lustily. “I’ll share it with you, I promise. But it’s more than the cash. This calendar is studio distributed. It’s going to be everywhere, Emmie. Everywhere. It’ll be just the push I need to get a good series or movie this season, I just know it.”

“Then, come back,” Emma said, pitifully close to begging. No one wanted her sister to be successful more than she did. Because if Amber got successful, or at least happy, she’d stop leaning on Emma so much.

Emma could almost hear her mother laughing at that hope. No, Margaret Willis didn’t have much faith in her daughters, either of them, but especially Amber. Emma had no idea if that was because her daughters were so incredibly different from her, in both looks and temperament, or if it was simply that she regretted having children so young and being held back from her career.

In any case, it had been a difficult upbringing. At least Emma used her brain, Margaret often said, having no idea that Emma had chosen to use her brain rather than her beauty simply to please the woman it turned out couldn’t be pleased. Her mother had been so hard on Amber over the years that Emma—the oldest by three minutes—had always felt the need to step in and mediate.

Twenty-six years and she was still doing it.

“Please, Emma? Please won’t you do this for me? Do this so I don’t have to come home right now.”

“Why did you let me think that you and Rafe had a past together?”

“We do.”

“One date isn’t a ‘past.’”

Amber laughed. “Silly me, I probably had a crush on him at the time. Truth is, he wasn’t into me. He’s not into models or anything else Hollywood.”

“So why do you kiss him after each shoot?”

“What?”

Emma was getting a bad feeling here. “So you…don’t kiss him?”

“Of course not. Look, maybe I dated him that one time and maybe I like to mess with him on the set sometimes, but if I was going to kiss anyone, it would be Stone. I mean, my God, have you seen his eyes? If he wasn’t gay…”

“But Rafe—”

“He’s far too into his camera.”

Code for he wasn’t into Amber enough, of course.

So he’d gotten a kiss out of Emma under false pretenses.

What did that mean?

“So, will you do it, Emma? Go as me?”

“No. What’s the costume?”

“Camper girl,” said Amber. “It’ll be full coverage, no doubt. Jeans and a tank, something like that. Please?”

Full coverage, nothing sheer, nothing so outrageously sexy that her every nerve ending quivered.

“Please.”

No. “I don’t know…”

“You won’t regret this,” Amber said in a rush. “You’re the best. I’ll give Rafe’s assistant the number where they can reach you. You posing as me, of course.”

“But I didn’t say I’d—”

The dial tone sounded in her ear.

“—do it,” she finished, then she hung up and stared out the window of her house to the yard she’d neglected so badly that it had become nothing more than overgrown bush. She’d meant to get out there this year, but something had always come up. Work related, of course.




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