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Light Me Up
Isabel Sharpe
Photographer Jack wants Melissa, as a model…and maybe a little more. Melissa comes to life in front of the camera, channelling a raw passion that Jack finds irresistible. But each time she bares her body and soul, the intense sexual current between them grows stronger.And the more they give in to temptation, the more they both risk becoming exposed!



The touch was sensual, the air around them turned electric …
“If it’s okay, I’d like to move your panties so more skin shows … here.” Jack touched the side of Melissa’s hip. It was all she could do to stay in the pose. She wanted to arch up into his hand. She wanted him to flip her over and take her right there under the warm lights.
What on earth was happening? She was turning into a primal beast. He was turning her into one.
“Sure.” She tried hard to sound as if men asked her to move her underwear out of their way so often she found it incredibly tedious. “No problem.”
She had to close her eyes again, force herself calm. She wanted him to kiss her. Her mouth, her back, her thighs, everywhere.
Something was definitely working. Or getting worked up.
Click … click … click.
Melissa couldn’t help it, she looked up at him, and caught his expression. Jack’s eyes were dark and intense, his jaw set.
Kiss me, Jack. Touch me again. Make love to me.
Dear Reader,
As someone who hates pretty much every picture I’ve ever taken or seen of myself, I’ve always thought of photography as a mysterious and sexy art form. So I loved the chance to explore Jack, the next hero in my FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS miniseries, a man who expresses himself better with images than words—once he has the right model to inspire him.
That model is Melissa, who thinks she’s got herself and the world all figured out until she discovers the way Jack sees her, and learns surprising truths about the passionate woman she’s always wanted to be.
I hope you enjoy reading about Seattle and the residents of the Come to Your Senses building! Look for Demi’s story, Feels So Right, available in December 2012.
Cheers,
Isabel Sharpe

About the Author
ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels for Mills & Boon—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.isabelsharpe.com.
Light Me Up
Isabel Sharpe




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to two photographers: Henk Joubert, friend and artist, whose brilliance always inspires me, and Knox Gardner, whose online picture of Seward Park and willingness to help a total stranger did likewise.

1
“WHERE’RE YOU GO-ING, JA-ACK?”
The women’s voices, raised in singsong teasing, carried easily from the propped-open bakery door, stopping Jack in midstride on his nervous trek down the hallway of the Come to Your Senses building. He and four friends from the University of Washington, Seattle, had bought the place a couple of years back and turned it into living quarters and places of business.
Two of those friends, Angela Loukas, owner of the bakery A Taste for All Pleasures, and Bonnie Fortuna, florist proprietor of Bonnie Blooms, were grinning at him, hands on their hips in identical poses. He was busted.
“Me?” He pointed to his chest, looking behind him as if he expected to see someone else, though at slightly past seven in the morning, the only business open in the building was the bakery. “You talkin’ to me?”
“Off to take pictures of someone, are we?” Bonnie pointed to his camera and raised her eyebrows, a light-brown contrast to her dyed-red hair.
“Gee.” Angela faked a look of confusion, plunking a finger on her cheek. “I wonder who?”
Jack rolled his eyes. He’d told Angela about the woman way back in April when he’d first started taking photos of her practicing yoga in nearby Cal Anderson Park: an extraordinary woman, an immediate siren call to his photographer’s instinct. He’d gotten to know her schedule and had taken picture after picture without her knowledge, obsessed on a level he didn’t understand until the idea for a gallery show he’d been mulling over transformed from his original vision to one featuring this woman. Finally understanding what he wanted, he’d felt ready to approach her with an offer to model, and in a colossal demonstration of Murphy’s Law, she didn’t show up that day. Or the next or the next. May, June and July had been rainy and busy with graduations and weddings that kept the checks coming in. He might have lost track of the woman but he sure hadn’t forgotten her, and hadn’t stopped checking out the morning yoga class whenever he could spare the time. The vision for this series wouldn’t leave him alone. He had to find her.
Then yesterday morning, the miracle.
“Tell me if you see this woman today you’ll talk to her.”
“For a raspberry muffin I’ll tell you anything.” He grinned at Angela, who made a sound of disgust and went behind her counter. Angela was a beautiful woman with thick chestnut hair, wide-set brown eyes and the warmest smile he’d ever seen. He adored her, thoroughly platonically.
Bonnie’s arms were folded disapprovingly across her bright red tank top worn over a white-and-red polka-dot skirt. He and Bonnie had had a fling not long after graduation, a brief experiment neither regretted, which had then settled into solid friendship. Which meant Jack adored her, too, only slightly less platonically. “You should have talked to her yesterday when you finally saw her again.”
“I was in my car on the phone with one client and on my way to meeting another.” He’d nearly driven off Denny Way when he saw the woman, for the first time in months, walking toward the park with her gym bag. For a split second he’d even calculated whether he could risk pulling over. “Leaping out of my car to ask for her phone number wouldn’t have gone over so well.”
“You should have talked to her last April.” Angela handed him the muffin, fragrant and still warm.
“It’s obvious why he didn’t.” Bonnie shook her head, tsk-tsking. “He’s terrified of her.”
Jack kept his features neutral as he slung the camera over his shoulder. Bonnie was dangerously close to a truth. Something about this woman had made him hesitant to contact her, a “something” he didn’t care to examine closely. Fear wasn’t Jack’s operating mode, especially with women. “Yeah, she might beat me up.”
He bit into the muffin, rich with a tart burst of fruit. Even his nervousness couldn’t overcome the rapture of Angela’s baking. “God, Angela, if Daniel hadn’t already given you a promise ring, I would.”
“Uh-huh.” She smiled her pleasure, but whether at his compliment or the mention of her future fiancé, Jack wasn’t sure. Daniel Flynn had walked into Angela’s shop in early April, still grieving the death of his fiancée. In spite of some crazy vow he’d taken not to date anyone for two years, he’d succumbed in a very short time to Angela’s beauty, sweetness and chocolate chunk cookies.
“Changing the sub-ject.” Bonnie sang out her disdain. “If you don’t find her today, stay in the park until you do. You’re starting to piss us off.”
“Seriously.” Angela nodded. “Gossip around here is in a very sad state. We need you to goose it up.”
“I don’t owe either of you any—”
“Excuse me?” Bonnie was comically incredulous, green eyes wide with outrage. “Yes, you do.”
“Absolutely, you do,” Angela agreed. “What is wrong with you?”
Jack cracked up. The women were bright spots in his life. He was so happy Angela had found Daniel. Now if he could only find a way to yank their friend Seth’s head out of his you-know-what long enough to realize he still loved Bonnie, and that she was perfect for him…. “If I see the woman again today I will make contact, I promise. Okay? Happy?”
“Ooh!” Bonnie clapped her hands. “Delirious.”
“Ecstatic.” Angela was beaming. “Then come back immediately and tell us what she says.”
“I have an idea what she’ll say.” Jack took a leisurely bite of muffin and chewed, fueling the women’s impatience. “Either ‘Oh, your work sounds fascinating,’ or ‘Go away and die, you creepy stalker.’”
“Could go either way,” Bonnie said. “Angela, what do you think?”
“She’ll do it.” Angela poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on her counter. “No woman has ever been able to resist Jack Shea.”
“Give me a break.” He made a sound of derision, both uncomfortable with and proud of the reputation. Women did tend to respond to his interest, probably because intuition told them that beneath the predatory maneuvers, Jack liked and respected them. Not to mention they were put together with parts he really, really enjoyed.
If he dug deeper, he’d admit that when he was on the prowl, part of him was warily watching out for the connection that would make committing himself worth it. That part kept him from feeling like a typical guy out to get laid. Plus, he was discerning in his choices, never was with a woman only one night unless that’s what she wanted, and always protected his health. So if there was such a thing as a nice-guy, responsible player, he’d like to think he was it.
“Thanks for the muffin. Amazing as always.” Jack crumpled the paper and pushed it into the white domed trash can under the counter, then poured and tossed back a cup of water. “I’m off.”
“Good luck, Jack.” Angela crossed fingers on both hands.
“I hope she’s there today.” Bonnie gave him a brief, fierce hug. “You’re an amazing photographer. I still can’t get over the picture you took of me.”
Jack grinned, remembering the titillation of seeing his former lover clad only in orchids. “You’re beautiful, Bonnie. It was a pleasure.”
He enjoyed her blushing smile, waved to the two women then pushed out of the building’s front door onto the sunny sidewalk of East Olive Way. For a few seconds he stood quietly, breathing in early August air under the whimsical Come to Your Senses sign Bonnie had designed and painted. The friends had named the building because their businesses represented the five senses: Smell—Bonnie’s floral shop, taste—Angela’s bakery, sight—his photography studio, sound—Seth Blackstone’s music studio, and touch—the rather mysterious Demi Anderson’s physical therapy studio. Demi had bought the business from Caroline, their college friend who’d married and moved out of state. Demi didn’t mix much with the rest of them, but no one could decide if she was shy or stuck-up, except Bonnie, who’d come down firmly on the side of stuck-up.
He turned right on Olive, then right on Tenth Avenue and entered the park, walking with deliberately unhurried steps to counter his urge to sprint. The class he’d seen the woman in started at 6:30 a.m. and went for an hour. Then his target went off to practice on her own, which was when he’d been photographing her, getting some amazing shots framed by branches in the foreground that had led to Angela and Bonnie’s stalker-in-the-bushes accusations. They had a point. If Jack saw her today he’d have to play it cool. He was pretty sure saying, “Hi, I’ve been watching you for months, taking pictures without your knowledge, want to come up to my studio?” wouldn’t cut it.
But photographing her without her knowledge had been addictive. Not everyone was comfortable in front of a camera, and she’d been beautiful, unselfconscious, serene and centered. If an earthquake hit the park—trees falling, people shrieking and scattering—he figured she’d go right on through the sun salute, pose after pose, chest and abdomen taking in breath and letting it out. He’d felt as if he were photographing an extension of nature rather than an individual human being. Talking to her could have ruined it all and brought an end to any possibility of her participation in his series.
As he approached the area where the class was held on Tuesdays, he could see students enjoying the clear soft air, colorful mats laid out on the grass, arms raised, bodies lowering slowly. Both eager and nervous, he scanned the figures, about a dozen of them today, looking for blond hair in a simple ponytail, a long neck, slender figure …
No. Damn it. He checked again more carefully.
Not here. Jack’s stomach sank with disappointment. Yesterday he’d been so sure when he saw her that she must have resumed taking the class. He’d spent way too long pissing away time in April, stupidly taking for granted that she’d always be there, making excuses for not approaching her right then: his final vision for the project wasn’t complete, there was somewhere else he had to be, she might turn him down if he didn’t say the right thing, she might turn out to be nothing like the woman he envisioned.
So yes, he’d blown it last spring. But he sure as hell would like another chance. Because he had no idea what he’d do if he’d lost her.
Blood Pressure: Moderately Normal
“IT WAS OKAY.” Melissa Weber adjusted her cell phone against her ear, moving her left shoulder in a tentative circle, monitoring the joint for pain. “Didn’t hurt too much. I’m glad I took a few more days off from class, though.”
“I told you.” Her younger sister, Gretchen, sighed. “If it was up to you, you’d keep exercising until your rotator cuff snapped and your arm fell right off.”
“And that would be bad?” Melissa giggled at her sister’s exasperation, reveling in the clear flow of breath down to her diaphragm, the exultant loosening of her muscles that her yoga class made possible. The rest of the time she must pant like a dog and hold herself like a stretched rubber band.
“You could have injured yourself seriously.”
“It was just an irritation this time.” Melissa turned her face up to the sunshine, more precious than gold in Seattle, though August was generally dry and warm. Most likely this latest setback with her shoulder would have healed on its own, but Gretchen did have a point. Babying it shortened recovery so Melissa only had to skip Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s yoga classes this week, not months of them as when she’d ignored the pain last spring. Then, she’d missed not only yoga, but her workouts in the pool and weight room and her dance and tennis lessons. Luckily she’d still been fine typing, because Au Bon Repas, the national cooks’ supply company where she worked as a human resources specialist, had initiated a change in benefits, and she’d been crazy busy.
“Have you been checking your blood pressure every morning?”
“Yes, Sister Mommy.” Melissa rolled her eyes, ambling through the park up to Broadway, where she’d turn north toward her car. She didn’t generally amble; she strode. But yoga made all things non-type-A possible for her.
“And?”
“And I’m not dead yet.” Melissa loved that Gretchen worried about her, and she also hated it. Finding out this young that she had high blood pressure was the worst thing that had happened since her mom died of cancer when Melissa was thirteen. “Slow down,” Dr. Glazer had said. “Relax.”
Slow down? Relax? What did those strange terms mean?
Melissa had been trying. She’d given up her French lessons, her ceramics class, her jazz-dance class and her astrobiology continuing-education class at the university. Which left her a life consisting of work and working out. Period. What kind of bland, empty existence was that? At least she could help organize Gretchen’s end-of-the-month wedding, trying to keep her sister’s expenses as low as possible. Gretchen was a great sister, friend and person, but planning was not her forte. To put it politely.
“Your blood pressure’s gone down?”
“Yoga is my salvation. I hold on to that calm feeling for hours after class and even through the week. It’s really helping.”
It was sort of helping. The doctor had threatened medication if she didn’t improve her numbers.
“You avoided the question.”
Melissa sighed. “Gretchen, sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well. No, I’m not much lower, but I’m working on it. What’s new with the wedding plans?”
The one topic sure to distract her sister from whatever Melissa didn’t want to talk about. Gretchen and Ted had been inseparable since they were sixteen, which made Melissa very happy for her sister and utterly claustrophobic even thinking about it. The couple practically breathed in sync; it was amazing to watch them together. Mom and Dad had been like that, too, which was why Dad had gone into such a tailspin after his wife’s death.
Melissa had dated here and there, but no guy seemed to hold her interest for long. She was happiest when she was learning and growing, and men didn’t seem to be able to bring her that same stimulation.
Of course there was that other stimulation only men could bring, but given her experiences in that arena, she thought on balance a good class did more for her. Maybe she had a low sex drive. She hadn’t been eager to compare notes with other women.
In any case, she was only twenty-five. She could take the next ten years to enjoy herself, if that’s what she wanted, before she got herself tied down. Gretchen, however, didn’t have that long. When Ted asked her to marry him two weeks ago, no one had been surprised, but Melissa nearly blew a gasket when they announced the date. Who could plan a wedding in five weeks? Certainly not Gretchen and Ted. Big sister would have to try.
Breathing deeply, ambling along, listening to Gretchen ramble excitedly about her and Ted’s plans—or rather their intentions not to plan—Melissa finally said goodbye to her sister at the corner of Broadway and Olive, by the Come to Your Senses building, home of the enticing A Taste for All Pleasures bakery. Most days she forced herself to walk past, being an admitted control freak about her calorie intake, but today her stomach felt positively concave with hunger. Besides, she was working out again since her shoulder had healed, and needed those extra calories. Right?
Absolutely.
She mounted the steps to the building and went inside, then pushed open the bakery door, which triggered a familiar tune she couldn’t place. A pretty woman about Melissa’s age, maybe a couple of years older, was just putting out a tray of chocolate chip scones that smelled so amazing in a room already full of amazing smells that Melissa wanted to dive in and suck down a dozen of everything. Did the store do wedding cakes? Gretchen wanted to make her own, but last time she’d baked—a chocolate layer cake for Dad’s birthday—Melissa, their father and Ted had pointedly turned the conversation to Olympic discuses, Frisbees, barbell weights, train wheels … until even Gretchen had broken down laughing.
The woman heard the chime, looked up at Melissa and did a startled double take.
“Oh. Hi, there. Hello.” The woman was staring now. “What—Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Melissa gestured to the bakery case, wondering if she’d turned orange or sprouted antennae. “I’ll have one of the chocolate chip scones, please. And a cup of coffee. To go.”
“Yes. Sure.” Holding a square of waxed paper, the woman picked out a scone and put it into a white paper bag. “Anything else?”
“Well …” Melissa eyed a rack of perfectly domed cupcakes. Maybe instead of a traditional wedding cake, multiple tiers of cupcakes? She’d try them out. “One chocolate, one spice with buttercream and one yellow with strawberry frosting, please.”
“Have you been here before?” The woman rang up the purchases, glancing at Melissa every few seconds. “You look awfully familiar.”
“I’ve passed by on my way home, but haven’t come in.” She pointed in the direction of the park. “I’ve been taking an early yoga class at Cal Anderson.”
The chestnut head shot up. “You take yoga in the park?”
“Uh. Yes.” Melissa took a step back. This had officially become weird. “Why, is it dangerous?”
“No, no, no, of course not, I’m sorry.” The woman offered her hand over the counter. “I’m Angela Loukas.”
“Melissa.” Something about Angela’s eagerness made Melissa protective of her last name. You never knew. Angela could be a cult member who recruited yoga devotees and turned them to the devil.
A group of young mothers came in with kids and strollers, saving Melissa from having to come up with reasons not to sign a pledge to Satan. Angela hesitated, glancing between Melissa and the moms, then moved reluctantly away. “Nice to meet you, Melissa. The coffee is on the counter, help yourself. And … why don’t you walk around the other businesses on the floor before you go? You’d enjoy … everyone. Especially at the end of the hall, there’s—”
“Excuse me?” The mom of a fussy toddler broke in impatiently. “I’m sorry, but my child is about to lose it. Can we order?”
Melissa turned toward the coffee counter. Especially at the end of the hall there was what? She’d been planning to explore anyway, but Angela’s suggestion had seemed oddly pointed. Maybe cult headquarters were down there?
Shrugging, she poured a cup of coffee and wandered out of the bakery, stopping to peer into the window of the business opposite, Bonnie Blooms. Beautiful shop, flowers everywhere, arranged in buckets at different levels, like a floral jungle.
Gretchen was in such sticker shock over florists’ prices, she was ready to give up on flowers except for a bridal nosegay of daisies. As if! Melissa would check this place out. If the owner could produce a nice, relatively inexpensive bouquet, the shop might be a good candidate for her sister’s limited-budget wedding.
She approached the counter and smiled at the shop’s proprietor, whose red hair was set off dramatically by a yellow-and-black bumble-bee-striped minidress.
“Hi, there, can I help you?” The woman returned Melissa’s smile, then blinked, looking surprised, then slightly puzzled.
Oh, no. Not her, too.
“I’d like a mixed bouquet—whatever you think looks nice.”
“Okay. Sure.” She hadn’t stopped staring long enough to blink. “How much did you want to spend?”
“About twenty dollars.”
“Coming right up.” The woman backed toward a bucket to her left and was reaching for a rose, when her attention was caught by something across the hall, toward or in the bakery, Melissa couldn’t see. The woman froze for a moment, eyebrows lifted, peeked back to find Melissa watching her and jerked her head away.
What the hell was going on in this place? “Is something wrong?”
“No. No. Sorry.” She laughed nervously. “I … thought I knew you.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going on around here.”
“No, no.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I was mistaken. You, um, look like someone we used to know.”
“We?”
“Angela.” She gestured to Melissa’s paper bag. “At the bakery. I’m Bonnie. We, uh, went to college with someone who looked freakily like you.”
“Okay.” That was more comforting than the devil-cult explanation, but Bonnie hadn’t sounded quite convinced, so Melissa wasn’t, either. “I went to Pacific University in Oregon.”
“Definitely not you, then!” She laughed awkwardly. “Have a look around. I’ll just be a minute.”
“Sure.” Melissa meandered through the shop, stopping to inhale over a blossom here and there, the soft fragrances enhancing her temporary inner peace. Really a lovely place. And Bonnie seemed pleasant and anxious to please, apart from the weird staring incident. Her talent remained to be seen.
“All set. Here you go.”
“That was fast.” Melissa returned to the counter and caught her breath. The bouquet surpassed her expectations. Hardly a skimpy bunch of carnations and baby’s breath, the assortment was lush, full and gorgeously shaded with the burgundies and pinks of Peruvian lilies, a few exquisite roses and pale greenish-yellow tightly bunched flowers Melissa didn’t recognize. If she had to guess how much it cost, she would have said twice what she’d asked to spend. “Oh, how beautiful.”
“Enjoy it.” Bonnie rang up the purchase, adding one of her cards to the bouquet. Only eighteen dollars and change. Gretchen could have herself a very talented florist here.
“Thank you.” Melissa buried her face in the delicately scented blooms as she walked out, glancing farther down the hall then at her watch. She had about fifteen minutes before she’d need to get her car, drive to work, shower quickly in the company exercise room and deal with a rather fishy sexual harassment complaint. It was the third one from Bob Whatsisname in three years, as if he was really desperate to be sexually harassed and hadn’t been able to get anyone to cooperate yet. But having finally stepped into Come to Your Senses after passing it so many times, she was curious to check out the building’s other occupants.
Past the flower shop she came to a photography studio: Jack Shea. In his front window hung wedding pictures, anniversaries, graduation shots—the usual, but with a creativity that set them apart. A bride caught in profile descending a medieval-looking curving stone staircase, a graduate in mid–celebratory leap. Melissa lingered at the window, drawn to the images. Gretchen should definitely check him out, too, though he’d likely be too expensive.
She moved to the other side of the entrance and encountered a picture in a completely different style. Horrifying, disturbing, but also incredibly powerful, with a poignancy that kept her riveted for far longer than she could usually stand still. The photo was a close-up of a naked back on which a network of cracks had been superimposed, like those on asphalt or an eggshell, so that the skin looked as if it was scarred or about to disintegrate. Melissa stood for a long time absorbing the extraordinary concept and the strong emotions the image evoked.
It seemed hardly possible this work of art was by the same person who’d done the sweet celebration pictures opposite. Melissa peered curiously into the studio, unwilling to venture inside since she had to get to work. But she should at least pick up Jack Shea’s card, even if he was out of their pathetic price range. Gretchen had been fine with the idea of passing out disposable cameras to the guests to take photos of the ceremony and reception. Melissa wanted her sister to have something better to frame.
She took a step inside, feeling as if she were trespassing, though a sign hung on the door said Open. Another step, her soft-soled sneakers making no noise. On one back wall hung more wedding, baby and family portraits. On the other, more of the artsy style, including the distant rear view of a lone figure on a pier staring out at the ocean beyond him, nothing but gray-blue sky, gray-blue water and his questioning solitude. Again, she was mesmerized, taking in the image for an endless moment, feeling called to something she couldn’t name.
A noise from the back made her jump. Through the open doorway she saw a line of hanging prints, which seemed to be of—
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor distracted her. Was that Jack Shea? She felt unaccountably nervous, almost guilty, as if she’d been caught prying into his private life.
Footsteps approached. Melissa tried to picture him. The wedding images were so fresh and vibrant, full of hope—Jack would be a younger man. Except the depth and pain in the torso images pointed to more life experience than a young man would generally—
He appeared in the doorway.
Oh.
For a good five seconds they stared at each other.
Jack Shea, if this was Jack Shea, was not the weird, skinny young man she’d pictured, nor was he the bearded Bohemian child-of-the-sixties. This guy was …
Well, she’d just say her yoga-calm was in serious trouble.
Brown eyes, brown hair, nothing particularly thrilling to describe. But what he did for those brown eyes, which jumped straight into hers, and the brown hair, tousled sexily like a rock star’s, set off all kinds of electrical reactions. Add to that broad shoulders straining the seams of a maroon T-shirt that showed off the solid planes of his chest and highlighted firm biceps and trim jeans-covered hips.
Yum. And wow. Melissa did not generally respond to men with quite this much … response.
As she stood there, her brain managed to resume the tiniest bit of functioning, enough to realize he was staring at her the way Bonnie and Angela had been staring—because Melissa looked like a college friend, or whatever the party line was. Not because he was overcome by her, too.
Darn it.
“Are you Jack Shea?”
“I am, yes.” He laughed nervously, ran his hand over his head, which would explain the sexy tousle. “And you are—I mean, I think I’ve seen—”
“I know.” She held up her hand. “I look like your college friend.”
His eyes shot wider. “My what?”
Hmm. He obviously had no idea what she was talking about. “Bonnie and Angela told me about her?”
“Oh. Yes. Okay.” He continued staring, clearly more rattled by whatever the hell she represented than Bonnie and Angela had been.
Unless … maybe that college friend did exist and had meant something to him?
Melissa’s imagination went straight to a picture of Jack Shea passionately entwined with this woman who was apparently her twin. Which meant she was, in essence, picturing herself sleeping with him.
Good lord.
She made her body relax and smiled beatifically. “I was just passing by. Wondered if you had a card and a price list. My sister’s getting married and hasn’t settled on a photographer yet.”
“Sure. When’s her big day?” He reached under the counter and came up with a sheet, which she took, smiling her thanks. A smile that went on life support when she saw how high his prices were. As expected, but still disappointing.
“End of the month.” Melissa nodded at his surprised expression. “I know, practically tomorrow in bride time. She and her fiancé wanted to do it simply and soon. They settled on the twenty-ninth.”
He was already checking his BlackBerry. “Morning, afternoon or evening?”
“Oh, I’m not sure we can—” She waved the sheet Jack had given her, not wanting to admit he was out of her league.
“Just checking the date for you.”
“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.

2
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 …”
“I’d be what?” If he didn’t explain soon she was going to hurl her gym bag at his head.
“Oh, man.” He held up both hands. “Can we start over?”
“Why did you take photos of me? Are you stalking me? Did someone hire you?” Melissa’s voice cracked. The possibilities were awful.
“No. No.” His look of genuine concern caused a small bit of her anger to slip away, which made it easier to appear in control. “My interest was purely artistic. I swear.”
Hmm. The simplest explanation … “Why didn’t you ask my permission?”
“Honestly, I was going to.”
“When were you going to?”
“Today, over coffee. Before that …” He wrinkled his nose apologetically. Another adorable-yet-masculine expression. He must practice in front of a mirror. “Thing is, the day I decided to approach you was the day you disappeared.”
“Well.” Melissa smacked her hand on the counter, uncomfortably aware he could be telling the truth. She’d stopped going to yoga for a few months because of her injury. But she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. “How’s that for timing?”
“This isn’t as bad as it seems.”
Melissa arched an eyebrow. “How would you know how bad it seems?”
“I’m guessing you feel violated, vulnerable and afraid.” He leaned both palms on the counter, which emphasized the broad sweep of his shoulders and back. His eyes were sincere, gaze unwavering.
Damn, he was good. Yes, she felt violated, vulnerable and afraid, and with her guard down on all three counts, he was creating an atmosphere of concerned intimacy.
Good thing she was on to him.
“Someone could have noticed you every day the way I did, watched you the same way I did.” His voice was low, earnest. “But photography is a deliberate and permanent act, which is much more threatening.”
Melissa had nothing to say. He’d nailed exactly how bad it was. “Why were you photographing me?”
Jack pushed back from the counter. “The camera loves you. You were irresistible to me.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, photographer discussing his subject, whereas Melissa had to hold herself statue-still and beg her circulatory system not to turn her face scarlet. “You could have asked.”
“You might have told me to get lost.”
“Yes.” She folded her arms over her chest, wanting to appear tougher than she was feeling now that the worst of her outrage had abated. The way he looked at her, as if he could read her mind and see her naked at the same time, was making it very hard to feel she had the upper hand, which she damn well deserved in this situation. “But I would have liked the chance to choose. And to know what you wanted the pictures for.”
“I show at the Unko Gallery.” He reached for the pile of brochures he’d brought out and handed her one. “I was experimenting, working on a new idea, a way of photographing women. You had the look I wanted.”
Melissa opened the brochure, wishing she could ask what look that was, but not willing to betray her interest. Was she the embodiment of every female fantasy he’d ever had? Or was she yet another trend-following Western capitalist pretending to understand yoga? Or was it something else entirely that only he could envision, and which she might not want to hear? Given some of the more disturbing shots in the shop, his ideas might not be that flattering.
Jack was indeed listed in the brochure, alongside a few prominently placed photographs, more of those odd, powerful images. Impressive. Melissa wasn’t exactly an art maven, but even she’d heard of the Unko Gallery. Gretchen had taken her there once for a friend’s opening party.
“Come have coffee with me, Melissa. Angela makes a really good cup.”
“I just had one.” She offered him back the brochure.
“Have one more?” He waved at her to keep the pamphlet. “Angela will chaperone.”
“So I don’t look like anyone you went to college with.”
“Nope.” He came out from behind the counter, broader, taller and closer without the protective barrier, leaving Melissa no idea what to do with her hands. “She and Bonnie must have recognized you from your pictures.”
Melissa picked up her flowers and bakery bag. So far, she hadn’t detected any creepy vibes, and she might have to entertain the fact that Jack was telling the truth. “You showed the photos around.”
“I was excited about you.” He still spoke offhandedly, but the eyes watching her were alert and focused.
Melissa glared at him suspiciously, again pleading with her blush mechanism for mercy. “Excited how?”
“Artistically. Of course.” He grinned in a way that made it extremely difficult not to grin back. “Have coffee with me? A quick cup. I’d like to talk over what I hope to do with the pictures.”
“Blackmail me?”
He laughed. “Not blackmail you. I promise.”
“I need to get to work.” Even she could hear her lack of conviction. Work would still be there half an hour from now. Melissa was always early, always thoroughly prepared to tackle her day. She was admittedly intrigued by this man and his work, and she wanted to see if he’d be open to negotiating a legitimate deal so she could afford him for Gretchen’s wedding.
She and her sister hadn’t grown up poor, but they hadn’t been well off, either. Her father had imploded after their mom died; any ambition he might have had to get his PhD or pursue a principal’s or administrative position had died with her. All he’d done since then was teach high school and watch TV. Melissa really wanted Gretchen to have a dream wedding, but without money growing on the family tree, it fell to her to make things happen, as it had so many times since her mom’s death.
“One quick cup.” She hoisted her gym bag briskly. “In the bakery. With a table between us. And Mace if you have any.”
“Won’t need it.” His smile reached his eyes instantly. “Angela’s better than Mace, she’s stronger and faster. But really, I’m harmless.”
Melissa had definite doubts about that.
They walked down the hall together and, in a moment worthy of farce, Melissa caught Bonnie doing a frantic double take at the sight of them, and then Angela doing the same when she and Jack came into the bakery.
“Oh. Hi.” Angela glanced rapidly between them. “You two—Well. What can I get you?”
“Just coffee.” Jack’s voice came over Melissa’s right shoulder; she was ridiculously conscious of his body close to hers. “This is Melissa.”
“Yes.” Angela nodded uncomfortably. “We met.”
Melissa beamed at her, unable to resist a little torture. “I’m the college-friend look-alike.”
“Oh … yes.” She gestured desperately toward the other side of the shop. “Coffee’s over there, help yourself, on the house, let me know if you want anything else.”
Jack was laughing, a deep chuckle that was frankly delicious. “Angela, it’s okay, she—”
“Hey, Angela.” Bonnie sailed into the bakery and pretended to have just caught sight of them. “Oh! Hi, Jack. Hi, Melissa. Do you two know each other?”
“Melissa has seen the pictures. We’re here to talk it out. Bonnie, go pot ferns. Angela, go bake a cake.”
“Are you kidding me? Miss this conversation?” Bonnie sent Melissa a sly wink behind Jack’s back. “Dish up the muffins, Angela. Front-row seats for the showdown are available.”
“No.” Jack took a threatening step toward Bonnie. “You are not staying—”
“Ooh, good idea, Bonnie.” Angela threw Melissa a grin while Jack growled at Bonnie. “Chocolate chip, oatmeal cranberry, lemon blueberry …”
“Over my dead body.”
“If that’s necessary, sure, Jack.” Angela bent down and started picking out muffins. “You don’t mind if we’re here, do you, Melissa?”
“Of course not.” Melissa suppressed a giggle. Nice to see Jack wasn’t always in control. It actually made him more appealing. “I’m happier in a crowd when I chat with my stalkers.”
“Oh, me, too.” Bonnie plunked herself into a chair and patted the one beside her for Melissa, then pointed to the chair opposite and looked expectantly at Jack. “Sit.”
Jack sat, glowering at all three of them. “Apparently I am outnumbered.”
“Outnumbered, outclassed, outwitted and outmaneuvered.” Bonnie rested her elbows on the table and her head on laced fingers. “Now, Melissa. First of all, let us reassure you about Jack.”
“Yes. We must.” Angela put a paper plate of divine-looking muffins on the table. “He might look and act like a complete creep—”
“Hey.”
“—but he’s a total sweetheart.”
“And a very talented photographer,” Bonnie added.
“I promise you are completely safe with him.” Angela sat down and beamed at Jack.
“Absolutely.” Bonnie nodded vigorously. She and Angela exchanged glances. Their confidence slipped. “Well … pretty safe.”
“Yeah …” Angela bit her lip. “I’d say more or less safe.”
“If you have people around.”
“Hired to protect you.”
“Who are armed.”
Jack brought his hand down on the table, enough to make the muffins jump. His lips twitched. “Stop. Now. You are not helping.”
“Of course we’re helping.” Angela turned to Bonnie in concern. “Aren’t we?”
“Well …” Bonnie looked troubled. “Now that I think about it, we might not be. Melissa?”
“You are both helping. A lot.” Melissa nodded her most gracious thanks. “It was pretty frightening seeing those pictures, but now, hearing from both of you that Jack is probably a sociopath … well, I feel a lot better.”
Angela and Bonnie burst out laughing. Jack put his head in his hands and groaned. Melissa gave in and cracked up with the women, and for a few seconds, felt a sweet glow of belonging. Which was silly, since she didn’t.
“All righty, then.” Angela got up and pushed in her chair, smiling fondly at Jack. “Our work is done.”
“We’re outta here.” Bonnie grabbed a blueberry muffin and kissed the top of Jack’s head. “You’ll do fine, Jack. Just be yourself. Or maybe … hmm. No, actually, if I were you I’d be someone else. Anyone, really.”
“Yeah, thanks a hell of a lot. Both of you.”
The women walked off giggling, Bonnie to her shop, Angela into the bakery kitchen, leaving silence and intimacy behind them.
Melissa clasped her hand around her mug so she wouldn’t show her nervousness. “They are hilarious.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “And they knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Trying to reassure me?”
“Did it work?”
Melissa shrugged. “Yes. I guess. Some.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Melissa.”
She moved uneasily. Something about Jack’s deep voice saying her name was way more intimate than it should be, and she felt her guard go up again.
“How long have you known them?” Stupid question, but she needed words to break the tension.
“Five of us bought the building together. All graduates of UW Seattle, a few years ago. We get along, which is good, because launching businesses is not a job for sissies.” He leaned back in the chair. “What do you do?”
Melissa jerked back to the conversation, having been calculating his age. Twenty-six? With his smooth confidence, she would have put him a few years older. “I’m a human-resources specialist at the corporate headquarters of Au Bon Repas, the kitchen-supply store. We do business all over the world.”
“Oh, yeah, Angela’s always drooling over your catalogs. You like what you do?”
“It’s a good place to work, supportive and with a proactive corporate culture. Happy employees make our department’s job easier. And I have a great boss.” For some reason, though the phrases tumbled out in the usual way, they sounded stilted and overblown.
“Nice.” He stretched his long legs to one side, hands folded across his tight abdomen. Her job recitation must have hit him as funny because he was smiling. Or maybe he was just thinking about how gorgeous he must look. She wished she could be totally immune. “What do you do for fun?”
Urgh. Melissa hated that question. It sounded vaguely suggestive, as if guys were hoping she’d say, I like to get drunk, rip off my clothes and give blow jobs to strangers. Wanna go?
“I’m pretty busy. I take a lot of classes. Dance and exercise and crafts classes, plus some courses at the university. I think if you’re not learning, improving and trying new things, you might as well be six feet under.” Melissa snapped her mouth shut. Again, she sounded robotic and puffed-up.
He leaned across the table toward her. Melissa held herself still, though her protective instinct told her to pull back. This close she could see the slight stubble around his jaw, the faint lines in his lips. She could tell herself he was an obvious player, bad news, not her type, anything she could think of, but the facts were simple: he was gorgeous and her body wanted to check his out. “I have something new you can try, Melissa.”
Oh, lord. It took two attempts before she found her voice, and even then she only managed a tinge of cynicism. “Oh, really.”
Jack folded his hands on the table, teasing charmer gone, an intensity in his gaze that sounded a loud you-could-be-in-trouble-here alarm. Usually it took Melissa time to overcome her reserve with men. Half an hour after meeting this guy she wanted to grab him and find out what his skin felt like. His hair. His mouth—
Melissa, honey, get yourself under control. Her boss, Barbara, would know what to say to calm her down. Melissa could practically hear her voice. You shouldn’t need a man to feel good about yourself. You shouldn’t need a man at all.
Exactly. Melissa hadn’t needed one since she’d started the process of finding herself, soon after graduation, and she didn’t need one now.
“I saw you for the first time in April, practicing your poses after class. Immediately I knew I had to photograph you.”
“Why?”
“One, because you’re beautiful.” He spoke with a low, slightly husky voice, a bedroom voice, except that his expression was distant, as if he were imagining her as part of his art, which effectively negated any feeling of seduction. Perversely, that made his words even more seductive, and Melissa finally lost the fight with her blush machine. “But also, because your body looks like it’s part of nature when you’re posing. You have an inner light, an incredible serenity, as if nothing could rattle you.”
Spell broken. Melissa barely managed to stifle a snort. Serenity? Oh, my God. If they heard him say that, her doctor and everyone she knew would never stop laughing. “Jack, I don’t think you quite have—”
“I was right.” He blinked and resumed his focus on her. “My camera loves you. I captured everything about you that had already captured me.”
“And you were planning to take more shots of me.”
“Then you disappeared, but yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Here comes my sales pitch, you ready?”
Melissa glanced at her watch, buying time to think. Sales pitch. She’d been thrown by meeting Jack and seeing those pictures. She was still struggling with her attraction to him. Whatever he was going to ask from her now, she was not going to be able to give him a sane response. She’d do much better thinking first and talking to Barbara. Most likely he was going to ask to continue to photograph her. Could she trade him for a discount on her sister’s wedding? How involved did she want to get with this man?
And wasn’t that a loaded question.
“Can it wait? I need to get to work.” She stood before she went soft and changed her mind.
He caught her forearm. “Meet me for a drink later?”
Melissa wasn’t prepared for that one, or for his touch, or for him to get to his feet, too, which brought him even closer. She had to concentrate yet again on keeping her breath low and slow. Most men’s persistence annoyed her. Why couldn’t she summon irritation now when she needed it? “What’s the nutshell version of your pitch?”
“I want you to model for my new series. The Unko Gallery has already shown interest. You’re perfect for what I need.”
He was still holding her arm, fingers squeezing, as if the tension was tough on him, too. Melissa’s head whirled with reasons, pro and con. Dr. Glazer had warned her about adding more to her schedule, but it was ridiculously open these days after she’d dropped so many classes; she was too often at loose ends. And if modeling meant she could hire Jack for Gretchen’s wedding …
Of course, she would have to pretend to be calm and serene around him for extended periods. That might kill her faster than her blood pressure.
“Look.” She tugged her arm from his warm fingers, needing to put her scrambled thoughts in order. “For one thing, I’ve never modeled before. I didn’t know you took the other pictures. I might be terrible at it when you’re right there with the camera in my face.”
“I doubt it. But we can test tonight, if you’re free.”
“I’m not free.” She was not going to jump for a guy like this who probably had several women already leaping like kangaroos. Besides, she’d need at least twenty-four hours to regain her equilibrium.
“Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was Friday. She used to have a pottery class at 5:30, but these days she’d be going home to read or meditate or something equally dull. Jack was anything but dull. “How long would this take?”
“An hour. Maybe two.”
She was amazed. “For the series?”
“Oh, no.” Jack shook his head, grinning. “I thought you meant the tests. The series would take longer.”
“How much longer?”
He narrowed his eyes speculatively. She guessed he was figuring out what she wanted to hear. “Depends on how the pictures turn out, how the creative process evolves, whether I get the shots the way I want them.”
Uh-huh. He wasn’t risking specifics. If this only took a few hours, fine. She certainly couldn’t spend any longer than that pretending she was serene.
“By the way, blatant bribery. If you’ll agree to model for me, I can do your sister’s wedding for nothing.”
And there it was. She didn’t even have to ask. A photographer of his talent would be an amazing gift to Ted and Gretchen. All Melissa had to do was …
Be around Jack. Alone with him for long stretches of time. He’d be posing her, touching her. She’d have to pretend none of it affected her.
Dangerous to her sanity and to her health. And so tempting. She needed to talk to Barbara. Her boss, mentor and stand-in mom had helped clear her head more times than Melissa could count, and had started her on a wonderful journey of self-awareness.
“Let me know what you decide.” Jack held out his hand. “You can come by the studio after work tomorrow. Wear or bring black if you have it—something on the tight side for a good silhouette. We’ll have a drink, talk it over, maybe take a few shots and see what we have.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” Melissa shook his hand, proud of her ability to meet those killer brown eyes calmly with her insides still a mass of yes-please and no-thank-you confusion.
Give it some thought?
She could already tell that for the next day and a half she’d be thinking of little else.

3
BONNIE TURNED THE KEY, locking the front door of Bonnie Blooms. Her back ached. Her feet hurt. She had a crashing headache. Her parents had been right. She shouldn’t have opened this store, she didn’t have the experience. A pie-in-the-sky venture, launched on a wing and a prayer, and what other clichés could she use? Who ate pie in the sky anyway?
She was exhausted. Grinding through each day, hoping business would get better, putting on a good face for everyone. Wedding season always gave her a boost, and she’d painstakingly learned how to design a new funky website and blog page for the store with as much color and as many touches of humor as she could get away with while still appearing professional. Talk about a learning curve. She wasn’t convinced the site was perfect, but it was better than the template-based one she’d started with.
Orders were dribbling in, both local and through the FTD network, but only dribbling. She was still in the hole more than she should be, still dipping into savings more than she wanted to. How could she get people and companies and organizations and agencies to buy more flowers? What did she have to offer that no other florist did?
Nothing. But Bonnie couldn’t see that when she started this business. She’d been swept away by the can-do camaraderie of the other Come to Your Senses members, and had figured if they could do it, why couldn’t she? She had as much passion as any of them. While other girls had been into ponies and princesses, Bonnie was designing gardens on paper, in the backyard space her parents put aside for her, and eventually took over the entire backyard when she proved to have more talent than her mother.
But that didn’t make her a good businesswoman. She should have kept her job at Blossoms Dearie, making a steady, if small, paycheck.
Except then she wouldn’t be part of this terrific fivesome. Well, foursome if you didn’t count Demi, which Bonnie generally didn’t. Not belonging to this crowd would be a terrible tragedy. She smiled, thinking of poor Jack’s face when he’d finally found his beautiful Melissa and thought Bonnie and Angela were going to move in and ruin everything. That kind of teasing between people who knew each other so well, trusted and supported each other, teasing with genuine love at its heart—Bonnie couldn’t get that from old Mrs. Blatter at Blossoms Dearie.
She shuddered at the thought of her tyrant former boss, and trudged past Jack’s and Demi’s studios to the elevator, pocketing her shop key. All hope was not lost. Something would work out, some marketing idea would kick in, some corporate account would materialize, her blog would catch on. Something. In the meantime, it was summer—Bonnie’s favorite and most profitable season, Seattle’s most beautiful—and denial was her friend.
On the second floor, she headed down the narrow hallway. She’d painted two twining lines of roses down either wall. When Seth and Jack felt their manhood threatened by the floral decor, she’d mischievously painted a line of tanks along the baseboard, guns aimed high, as if to blast the flowers into shreds of petal. They’d all had a good laugh. That was when they’d been a solid fivesome, when Caroline was still around.
Her key hit the apartment’s lock at the exact moment her cell rang, as if the key had set it off. Bonnie hauled the phone out of her pocket and pushed inside, snapping on the foyer light.
Seth. A tingle of anticipation she could never quite control went through her. “Hi, there.”
“Hey, someone sounds cranky. What’s going on?”
“Long day.” She wasn’t in the mood for Seth. Or rather, she wasn’t in the mood for their complicated relationship. Past lovers, now uneasy friends. Bonnie had come to terms with the fact that while she might never meet anyone who fitted her so well, Seth wasn’t and might never be able to commit to a relationship.
“I just finished a song. I’d like to play it for you. Wanna come up?”
“I’m up already, just closed the store.” Bonnie slumped against the wall. Yes, she wanted to see Seth if he’d take her in his arms, declare undying love and make all her problems go away. But being in Seth’s arms had the unfortunate effect of creating many more problems than it solved. At least she’d figured out that much. Since they’d both lived at Come to Your Senses—nearly two years now—they’d been able to maintain a relatively peaceful and platonic truce. Though lately he’d been acting … odd.
“I’ll feed you, too, and pour you a short or tall one of whatever you’d like. And …” Seth did a credible impression of a drum roll. The guy had talented lips. She should know. “For dessert I have mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
Oooh, playing dirty now. Bonnie took a moment to consider. Her choice lay between morose, quiet loneliness here, and free food and drink with fun if slightly crazy-making company.
Sigh.
“Give me twenty minutes to rejuvenate and I’ll be over.”
“Cool.” As always, he spoke as if he didn’t care whether she came or not. Seth had a talent for making it seem he cared about nothing. Not the kind of thing you craved in a partner, though he’d had a hell of a childhood with an alcoholic father who hadn’t exactly made loving support or emotional sharing the rule of the family.
Yes, Bonnie was learning.
“Seeya.” She ended the call, slipped her phone back into her pocket. Seth had another talent, one she truly respected. He’d written music for some commercials and TV shows, sold a few songs and was in talks with a producer to score a movie soundtrack. He worked hard. Given that he had inherited enough family money to buy his own Hollywood movie studio, Bonnie respected him for that. If she had all that money in the bank, she’d be tempted to go on a tour of the world’s most beautiful beaches and hone her lying-in-the-sun skills.
After showering and putting on a comfortable sundress of pale brown and sunshine-yellow, she felt more human. Only occasionally did she succumb to fear like this over her financial situation. Something would work out, she was convinced.
Down at the other end of the rose- and tank-strewn hallway, she knocked on Seth’s door, and it opened immediately to the tall, model-gorgeous man whose fierce gray eyes seemed to glow in his face. Even now, after all the years of pain and exasperation he’d caused her, Bonnie got a fresh thrill every time she saw him.
Masochist.
“Hey, Bonnie. Come in, come in. Bar’s open, buffet’s open. I made pot-sticker dumplings and bok choy with ginger and soy.”
She groaned with pleasure. “You are a god among men.”
“Well, yeah. What’ll you drink with it?”
“Beer. Whatever you have.”
“I have Tsingtao, imported from Shandong province, a brewery started by Germans in nineteen hundred and—”
“Psssht.” She stopped him. “If it’s got alcohol and bubbles, I’m in.”
His grin turned him from tough-guy gorgeous to goofy farm boy—still gorgeous—a transformation that never ceased to charm her and, sigh, women everywhere. “It does, my little plum blossom.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes and pushed past him into his combination apartment and studio. He was the only one of the Come to Your Senses occupants who didn’t have commercial space on the first floor with public access, so the group had ceded him the largest unit, which had probably at one time been two apartments.
Seth closed the door and followed her toward the kitchen. “How was your day?”
“Not bad.”
“Business blooming?”
She didn’t want to talk about it, though Seth was the only person in whom she’d confided the extent of her financial troubles. “Not bad.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll get you that beer.” He squeezed her shoulder as he strode to the refrigerator; in that touch she felt his sympathy and understanding. What a complicated and frustrating man. All that great empathy for some of her feelings, a huge block against others and an even bigger one when it came to understanding and processing his own.
“So what’s this song you wrote?”
Seth pulled two beers from his state-of-the-art stainless refrigerator, popped off their tops and handed her one, then hit a button on his microwave, which started whirring. “Love song.”
“Really.” His songs tended to be about failed relationships, thwarted dreams and other forms of misery. Ironic for a man who had everything. “Happy love? Like, ‘I love you and it’s great’?”
“Yeah, like that.”
Bonnie took a long swig from the bottle, maybe not the greatest way to soothe her suddenly agitated stomach. Had he met someone? She wasn’t really excited to hear about how much he loved someone else. “How’d that happen?”
“A friend of mine was talking about marrying this girl he met after dating one disaster after another. He got me thinking.”
Bonnie took another nervous swig, shorter this time since she’d skipped lunch. “Got you thinking about what?”
“About a song I could write.” The microwave dinged and he moved toward it.
Bonnie shook her head. Trying to get Seth to talk about feelings … well, why the hell was she trying?
“Here you go.” He handed her a heaping plate of dumplings and bok choy, steam releasing a fragrance that made Bonnie’s stomach lurch with hunger instead of stress.
“All for me?”
“I ate earlier. Bring it in with you. And I’m not letting you leave until you finish it. You’re skeletal.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He shot her a scowl over his shoulder and headed for his studio. Bonnie followed, grinning, touched that he was worried about her. She had dropped weight. At first she was thrilled. Who didn’t celebrate when pounds came off? But while her new body might be fine for a magazine shoot, she wasn’t out to join the scary-thin crowd, and shouldn’t lose any more.
“Now.” Seth seated himself at his Bösendorfer grand, having put his beer carefully down on a nearby table. The piano and his extensive array of recording and soundengineering equipment were the only things he was meticulous about. His bedroom and bathroom looked as if a fraternity had moved in and partied for two weeks.
He rubbed his hands on his long thighs, picked out a note or two, rubbed his legs again. He was nervous. Interesting. This drill was totally familiar for both of them. He loved playing his songs, she loved hearing them; they did this all the time. Bonnie had never seen him like this.
“Ready?”
“I’m ready.” She stuffed a warm pot sticker, dripping soy sauce, vinegar and chili oil, into her mouth and groaned ecstatically. Seth’s mom had been an incredible cook and passed along that passion to Seth, the youngest in a family of five boys and the only one who’d been interested. “No, wait, I can’t listen right now. I’m having an orgasm.”
“No, you’re not.”
She stabbed another dumpling with her fork and stuffed it into her mouth, moaned again. “Yesh, I am.”
“Nope.” He started playing a classical piece. “You’re much louder than that.”
Bonnie glared at him, sitting at the piano wearing an I-know-you look that made her lips twitch. Did he have to say stuff like that? “You’re terrible.”
“You need cheering up.” He switched from the classical to a ragtime number, which he seamlessly fed into smooth jazz. She waited in delight until he wove in, as he invariably did, snippets of the Flintstones theme, “Happy Birthday” and “God Bless America,” all improvised so skillfully into the melodic and rhythmic texture that if she hadn’t heard him do this over and over again, she’d say it wasn’t possible.
Talent was really, really sexy. As if Seth wasn’t sexy enough on his own. Worse, he was staring intently at her, half his mind on what his fingers were doing, half on the impact he knew he was making.
Deliberately she shoved another dumpling into her mouth and followed it with a fourth, going for the unappealing chipmunk-cheek approach to keeping herself sane.
“What ‘bout the shong?” She chewed noisily, and found it didn’t help, because he was giving her that half smile that said she was adorable. Damn him.
“You’re ready now?”
“I’m ready.”
He nodded. Took his hands off the keys and rested them on his lap. Bonnie swallowed her dumpling. He was really nervous. What was that about?
“Here we go.” Soft chords filled the room, then a clear high piano melody, slow and sweet, repeated lower, then dissolving into a gentle arpeggiated accompaniment with occasional rhythmic and harmonic twists that kept the song from settling into predictability. Bonnie put down her fork, heart swelling with pride at the beauty of the music. This tune felt different than anything he’d written, yet it was Seth all over.
He lifted his head, gazing out at a point beyond the piano, expression earnest, and the closest to vulnerable Seth ever got. His smooth, rich baritone filled the room.
You wash me with colors
Blues to take away the sadness
Green for drawing down the madness
Black for smoothing over rages
White for all the pages I’ve filled with you
Yellow takes the fear from me
Gold can keep you here with me
Red’s for cinnamon-candy love
Burning hot and sweet
You wash me with so many colors
You make me feel complete.
He held the last note, let the chord under it die into silence. Bonnie swallowed convulsively, tears she hadn’t been able to hold back spilling onto her cheeks.
If he turned and looked at her now, if he gave any indication he understood what the song was saying, not about them, but just about the love it was possible for two people to have, something he’d never acknowledged before, she was going to shatter all over his carpet. He’d be picking up bits of Bonnie for the rest of his life.
Maybe that’s what he deserved.
He didn’t look at her. He took his hands off the keys and put them in his lap.
“Beautiful, Seth.”
“I hoped you’d like it.” He cleared his throat, drew his finger across the keyboard without depressing notes enough for sound.
Bonnie wasn’t sure what to say next. She felt as if she were walking on eggshells with this man who was so terrified of all the same emotions he’d just put down on paper. “You haven’t written many romantic songs like that.”
“Nope.” His fingers turned restless, picked out a tune she didn’t recognize.
“Your friend talking must have … I don’t know, brought out something in you?” She laughed slightly hysterically. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”
“Yes, you do, Bonnie.”
Adrenaline bolted through her. He was right. She did. But she couldn’t admit it out loud, and neither could he. They’d never get over their fears, either of them. Bonnie of being hurt, Seth of losing himself. It was such a poignant, frustrating and colossal waste.
She’d been looking at online dating sites—just looking for now. But more and more often she’d find herself thinking what she might like to say in her profile. After college she’d dated a couple of guys, friends of friends, but with Seth still firmly lodged in her heart, nothing had a chance of working out. Checking out dating services was a good sign, now, that she was really getting ready to burst free of the Seth-chains and find a relationship she could truly indulge, not one defined and bound by what it wasn’t and couldn’t ever be.
“I guess I wanted to know why you got so sentimental about love all of a sudden.”
He wrinkled his nose, finally meeting her eyes with his sultry gray ones. “It’s not all of a sudden, Bon. This is the first one I was happy with, though I still think it needs something. It’s not quite there.”
“Who else have you played—”
“No one’s heard it but you.” He spoke aggressively. She held her breath, waiting, but he didn’t go on, not that she really thought he would.
Don’t read anything into this, girl.
Too late. She could feel her eternally, relentlessly stupid hope rising yet again. Who was she kidding? Bonnie hadn’t learned a bloody thing where Seth was concerned.
She pushed a dumpling across the plate, then gave up, appetite gone. “Well, I’m not a musician, but I think it’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” He looked up, grinning that divinely goofy grin, and their eyes locked. Held.
Oh, Seth.
“Bonnie.”
“Yeah?” She knew what was coming, she felt it. Please, God, give her the strength, courage and balls, if necessary, to slap him down.
“After all this time between us …”
“Yes?” That was the last time she was going to say “Yes” until she was back safely in her apartment having not just gotten laid again by the love of her life.
No, he was only her first love. There would be another man, at least one, and he’d be the real love of her life. She needed to repeat that concept over and over and over until she believed it.
“I want to tell you …” Seth got up from the piano bench, crossed over and knelt in front of her, put one gentle palm to either side of her face, gazing at her earnestly.
Bonnie took her hand off the plate in her lap because it was shaking so much her fork was rattling. Don’t do this. Not tonight.
“I care for you a lot.”
Oh, help.
“Seth, you know I care for you, too.” She tried to keep the god-awful vulnerability out of her eyes and voice.
“You are a really great person. I just think … I want to say that …” His struggle was clearly painful, but she couldn’t help him. She wouldn’t. He took in a huge breath. “I’m … glad you’re my friend.”
What the—
Friend?
Friend?
For God’s sake. She was suddenly and thoroughly furious. Lifting the plate, elbows out, which effectively removed his hands from her face, she shoveled in two dumplings at once, chewing viciously. “Yup. You ‘n me, BFFs forever.”
Seth sat back on his heels, looking frustrated. “I’m not good at this feelings crap. I just want you to know you’re still … special to me.”
This time Bonnie waited to speak until her mouth was empty.
“I know, Seth. We’ve been over that. We’ve been over that again and again and again. I get it. You are special to me, too.” She put the plate on the table next to her chair and stood abruptly. “I really appreciate you sharing that song with me. It was wonderful. And I’m going to go now because I’m exhausted and it’s been a long—”
“Bonnie.” As he got to his feet she caught an all too rare glimpse of the bewildered boy who lived inside him, the one who was stomped down 24/7 by his father whenever he showed any sign of spirit or sensitivity. Whatever Seth had to say now, she didn’t want to hear it unless he was finally admitting that he loved her and how about getting married? Since that wasn’t going to happen …
“I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the dumplings. They were fantastic.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He nodded, stuffed his hands into his back pockets. “No problem.”
Bonnie moved toward the door, sick to death of conversations over, under and around any solution to their stalemate. The past several months had brought back too many feelings and with them the problems she’d hoped were finally dead, or at least in permanent hibernation.
What a joke to have thought she could bear living so close to him, seeing him so often, being in these intimate situations time and time again.
If only the rest of her life were going well, and she didn’t feel this undercurrent of neediness and fear that being with Seth did so much to dispel. She had to stop looking to him for answers to problems only she could solve.
“Take care.” She managed a bright smile at his door and gave him a brief hug, pulling away when his arms tried to hold her longer. She was proud of herself for leaving, keeping her feelings hidden, not showing him how close she’d been to teetering over the edge once more.
If only she hadn’t said that same thing to herself so many, many times before….

4
Blood Pressure: Moderately High
“SO … MARY JO WAS constantly touching you and making suggestive remarks right in the sales department. But no other employees ever saw her doing this.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh.” Bob Whatsisname nodded. He was slouching in a chair in front of Melissa’s desk, one of the most stunning men she’d ever seen, the kind that turned heads in the street. Her office was tiny, but since she often had to have confidential interviews, she did have four walls and a door. “I mean, yeah, she did, and no—no one saw.”
“And after you asked her to stop …”
“She wouldn’t.”
Melissa sighed. “Bob, are you aware that this is your third sexual harassment complaint against store personnel in as many years? We could never prove the first two against Susan and Jess, and there has never been an employee who has been harassed even twice before you. We’ve transferred you both times in order to—”
“What does that have to do with anything?” He jutted his perfectly square jaw. “You think I’m making this up?”

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