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Hot Spot
Debbi Rawlins
Freelance photographer Madison Tate has finally gotten her big break. Jack Logan, one of the hottest news anchors on the planet, has agreed to a sizzling photo shoot at New York's hot-spot hotel, Hush.If all goes well–and Madison can convince Jack shirts are optional–she'll score a coveted magazine cover. But there's a hitch: Jack won't strip a single stitch.Jack hates to admit it, but there's something exhilarating about the straight-talking photographer who's wreaking havoc with his libido. But Jack can't afford to be just another network pretty boy after Madison's spread hits the stands. Still, he may have to give in to their red-hot attraction–Madison's unsnapping her jeans faster than she can snap photos!



Welcome to Hush
Check out the couple in room 1508…
“Are you always this frank?”
Madison nodded. “It saves a lot of time.”
Jack’s lips curved suddenly, surprising her, and unleashing a mass of butterflies in her stomach. The smile reached his eyes and they actually seemed to change color right before her, going from cool green to warm amber. “Okay, Hush it is.”
“Yeah?” She smiled back, words deserting her. Unusual for her. But there was something about this man…
“But…” He held up his finger as if admonishing a naughty child. Even his hands were noteworthy. Tanned, with lean fingers and evenly clipped nails. No prissy manicure.
“I’m listening.” Barely. Her stomach was just beginning to calm down.
“I still have veto power.”
“Of course.” Her gaze went again to his hands, to that perfect golden color, so perfect it had to be artificial.
He squinted with suspicion. “What?”
“Are you tanned all over?”



Dear Reader,
By now you are probably as familiar with Hush as I am. After all, you’ve been treated to five wonderful stories of the DO NOT DISTURB series, created by a team of talented authors, beginning with Jo Leigh’s Hush and ending with Jill Shalvis’s Room Service. You’ve met the trendy staff, visited the phenomenal suites and drooled over the delectable offerings of Amuse Bouche.
Now it’s my turn to introduce you to Madison Tate and Jack Logan. Neither of whom believes in psychics. Boy, are they in for a surprise.
Come on. Visit us at Hushhotel.com and join the party. If you aren’t too pooped after that, check out my online bonus read.
Love,
Debbi Rawlins

Hot Spot
Debbi Rawlins

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Mom and Dad, I love and miss you.
Aloha until we meet again.

Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue

Prologue
MADISON TATE LEANED a hip against the wall and peered into the crowded living room of the chic SoHo brownstone, mentally berating herself for getting talked into another party full of meaningless chitchat and men who were prettier than she was.
Of course, it was Friday night and what else would she and Karrie be doing? Except for stuffing their faces with popcorn at one of the cheap theaters or trying to get two-fer tickets for something Off Broadway. And then only if Madison had had a photo gig so she could afford a night out. At least the party circuit was free with plenty of food and enough variety of flavored martinis to give her a headache for a week.
Actually, she should be grateful that the invites kept coming. Neither she nor Karrie were the Dolce & Gabbana type, and they sure as heck didn’t make the kind of bucks that most of the other guests did, but about two years ago, they’d met Nancy Kragen, a high-powered book editor, and they’d been on the B+ list ever since.
Madison didn’t know what it was about tonight that made her edgy. Probably the news she’d gotten earlier, but no, that didn’t make sense. For heaven’s sake, the hors d’oeuvres were exceptionally good, the high-end stuff mixed with retro junk food like pigs-in-a-blanket, which were to die for. And Karrie had kept her laughing with tales of petty office bureaucracy and juicy gossip for the past half hour, which as a freelance photographer Madison missed out on, but the restless feeling wouldn’t quit.
She looked over at Karrie, thoughtfully sipping a martini, her gaze riveted to the door to Sonya’s bedroom, and said, “You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you?”
“Of course not.”
The door opened and Karrie ducked to get a look at the infamous Madam Zora. Last month it had been a candle party, the month before that, a roll-your-own-sushi night. Tonight Sonya had hired a psychic, of all things. A psychic with no imagination. Madam Zora. Please.
Karrie got that mischievous look in her eyes that meant trouble. “Are you going to sign up for a reading?”
Madison made a face. “I’m not wasting my time.”
“As if you have anything better to do.” Karrie glanced around the room, her expression dismal. What few men there were had already paired up with women wearing skirts with hemlines up to Canada. “Come on. We’re here. I can’t bear to go home yet. You know what night this is, right?”
“Ah, yes. The ever-popular Mr. Warzowski’s night for screaming at his wife as he goes through two cases of Rolling Rock beer.”
“You’ve gotta love three-floor walkups with paper-thin walls.”
“That are more expensive than most five-bedroom houses in any other state.”
“But at least the heat doesn’t work in the winter and there’s none of that noisy air-conditioning in the summer.”
Madison nodded and had another big sip of martini. “Well, doll, it’s tough for us young, gorgeous career gals.”
Karrie’s brows rose. “Gorgeous?”
“Hey,” Madison said, “if we can’t play pretend, I really am leaving.” Karrie was gorgeous, even though she’d deny it. All that fabulous auburn hair with natural golden highlights, while Madison’s dirty-blond hair was so nondescript it was pathetic.
“Which is exactly why we’re going to see Madam Zora.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. You and I. Together.”
Madison shook her head. “I don’t know what Sonya was thinking.”
“Probably trying to take our minds off the fact that we have a better chance of winning the lottery than we do of getting lucky tonight.” Karrie sipped her peach martini, her gaze drawn to a tall woman with dark waist-length hair and red lipstick who’d emerged from the room.
Madison watched, too, as the woman’s dramatically made-up eyes widened when Nancy asked her what happened with the psychic.
“She’s amazing. Totally awesome.” The woman, whom Madison didn’t recognize as a regular, shook her head, her expression a haze of disbelief. “She knew everything about me. Even that I’m engaged.”
Madison poked Karrie in the ribs, then nodded at the rock on the woman’s finger. “Amazing.”
Karrie pressed her lips together but couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Come on, you chicken. What can it hurt?”
“Don’t make me do this. I hate this kind of stuff. You know I break out in hives when I’m exposed to too much schlock in one evening.”
Karrie laughed. “Madison, don’t be such a wet blanket. Who knows, maybe she’s going to see a tall, handsome stranger in your future.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, so she won’t. But do it, anyway. Please?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, then.”
Madison caught a passing waiter and exchanged her empty glass for another martini.
“You’re really not nervous about this?”
“Of course not. It’s all nonsense.”
Karrie grinned. “Good. Because I put our names down an hour ago. We’re next.”
Madison glared at her, but quickly switched her attention to the opening door and Camilla, who’d hosted the candle party last month, her face flushed, the sparkle in her eyes an odd mixture of fear and excitement. Scary. The woman was pretty savvy and not the type to fall for this twaddle.
Karrie made an odd, throaty noise and Madison glanced over at her. She looked as if she might be having second thoughts. Good. Madison didn’t want to be a wienie about this, but she didn’t want to hear some horrible prediction that her life was about to take a dive or, worse, her career.
Even if it was all nonsense.
“Hey, Madison, Karrie.” Sonya waved them toward her bedroom. “Madam Zora is waiting for you.”

HER FRIEND LED THE WAY into the dimly lit room, and Madison followed, her pulse accelerating. Silly, since she didn’t believe in this stuff. Not even a smidgen. But she had to admit, Sonya had done a good job of setting the mood. She’d put up curtains to hide her bed, and made the area for the reading intimate and exotic, the only light coming from the soft glow of a pair of candles.
“Do not be nervous, now. Come sit.” Madam Zora motioned them to the two chairs opposite her, her smile displaying the flash of a gold tooth. She had to be in her forties, or maybe even fifties. Her unlined skin hid her age well, but she had old eyes.
Kind eyes that, amazingly, seemed to put them both at ease.
They were dark, her hair short and as black as the caftan she wore over her large, languid form as she lounged on a burgundy velvet love seat. If not for the giant gold hoops gleaming from her ears, she nearly blended into the black-draped walls.
Karrie sat first, and then gave Madison the eye as if she thought Madison might bolt. Which wasn’t a bad idea. Instead she didn’t even try to hide her reluctance as she sank into the other chair.
Madam Zora laughed softly. “Tell me why you’ve come to see Madam Zora,” the woman said, looking directly at Karrie.
She shrugged and said bluntly, “This isn’t something I’d normally do. I don’t really believe in this stuff, but I figured that since you’re here and I’m not paying for it…”
Madam Zora laughed again. “You needn’t fear me. You have a very bright future….”
Karrie leaned forward with interest.
Madison sighed to herself and listened with half an ear while Karrie continued to get her reading. Mostly general stuff that could apply to anyone. Except halfway through, Madam Z. said some things that caught Madison’s full attention. Things the hokey psychic shouldn’t have known about Karrie or her brother.
Madison’s gaze went to Karrie, and suddenly it wasn’t so amusing. She could see from her friend’s expression that she was buying every prognostication as gospel. Which wasn’t like Karrie at all. This had to be a trick, that’s all. Or someone had tipped Madam Zora off about Karrie’s brother. It was stupid to even consider…
The second they were finished, Madison stood. Karrie didn’t budge, and Madison touched her shoulder. “Come on, kiddo.”
Karrie hesitated, but then finally stood, and gave Madam Z. the perfunctory thanks. Madison headed straight for the door.
“You needn’t be afraid.”
The psychic’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to face the woman, who, come on, could have come up with something more original than the damn gypsy garb. “I’m not. I realize this is only entertainment.” At least she didn’t call it schlock but she almost reconsidered at the hint of condescension in the older woman’s smile. “You have a waiting list. I’ll give someone else a turn.”
“Ah, but don’t you want to hear about the career opportunity on your horizon?”
That got Madison’s attention.
“Let’s hear her out.” Karrie started to go back to her seat.
Madison tugged on her sleeve. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Karrie gave her a funny look and left. Madison hesitated. Career opportunity was a broad statement. Still, she’d gotten some startling news today…
Ah, hell.
Even as she headed back to take the hot seat, she knew she was being an idiot. “Go on.”
Madam Zora nodded. “You have a bright future. Your work will soon become well-known.”
Damn it, but Madison suddenly wanted to believe. “Do you know what kind of work I do?”
The woman briefly closed her eyes. “You tell stories,” she said, and Madison smirked. So much for that. “With pictures,” Madam Zora added.
Madison gaped. How in the hell…Sonya could have told her. Probably gave Zora a heads-up on all the guests. Made for better entertainment.
The psychic smiled, almost as if she knew what Madison was thinking. Ridiculous.
“There is adventure awaiting you. Places and things you have never seen, experiences far out of your imagination.”
“I see.”
“You will share this with a man.”
“Ah.”
The psychic briefly closed her eyes. The effect was lost on Madison. “He is someone who works with you.”
Madison sighed. She freelanced, for heaven’s sake. Why had she bothered wasting her time? Even if she didn’t have anything better to do.
“But you don’t know him.” Madam Z. frowned. “Yet.”
“Right.”
One of the woman’s brows went up. “It’s up to you whether you believe or not.”
“That’s right.”
“So choose to believe this.” Madam Zora leaned slightly forward. “There are things you hold dear that you must let go. Nothing will bring you the satisfaction you seek until you open your mind. A broken heart need not be.”
Madison sighed. “Thank you,” she said, rising from her seat, ready to get back to her martini. She knew now that the so-called psychic was just blowing smoke. She’d known about Madison’s profession because she’d done her homework, not because she had supernatural gifts. “You’re good,” she said, meaning it. It must have taken her quite some time to research all the guests.
Madam Zora laughed. “Yes, and so are you,” she said. “But that skill won’t be enough to get you what you want.” She paused until Madison got to the door. “There’s more.”
Madison smiled, then got the hell out of the room.
Karrie waited impatiently outside. “Hey, hey. What was that about ‘I’ll be right behind you’?”
“Okay, I was an idiot. I stayed an extra minute. It was garbage, Karrie.”
“Garbage? Did you hear what she said about my brother?”
“She did her homework, I’ll give you that, but as for the rest? She got one thing right about me. That’s it.”
“That you’re a photographer?”
Madison shook her head. “Nope. That I got a new job.”
“A job? Like going in from nine-to-five?”
She shook her head. “Okay, it’s an assignment, so she didn’t get that right, either.”
Karrie squinted. “Not for—”
Madison nodded. “For Today’s Man.”
“No way. Which issue?”
She grinned at her best bud.
Karrie stepped back. “The sexiest-man layout?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, my God. That’s terrific! When were you going to tell me?”
“I got the call this afternoon. I still can’t believe it myself.”
Karrie raised her glass. “Congratulations. Damn.”
“Save the kudos until I get the man-of-the-year cover.”
Karrie sighed. “Would you chill out long enough to enjoy the moment? This is major. World class. How many photographers vie for that shoot each month? And you got it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Nope.” She held up a hand. “I’m not listening to any ‘yeah buts.’ You’re too hard on yourself. You’re a damn good photographer, and you deserve the assignment. Period. Which state are you covering?”
“New York. I’m shooting right here in Manhattan.”
“Cool. Who’s the guy?”
“That’s up to me.”
“I know you have someone in mind.”
“A couple of guys, actually, but I have over a month before I have to submit a name.”
“Are you going to give me a hint?” Karrie waited during the span of a leisurely sip. “I’ll give you one. The question was rhetorical.”
Madison laughed. Yeah, she had one guy in particular in mind. But he wasn’t going to be easy. Others had tried to snag him to no avail. “I’m superstitious. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Oh, brother.” Karrie sighed. “Okay, I’m sure you’ll find someone positively delicious.”
“Delicious?” Madison sipped her drink again, wishing it was later so they could head home. “I just pray that he’s photogenic, and not an insufferable prick.”
“Who knows,” Kerrie said, her brows arching. “Maybe you won’t find his prick insufferable at all.”

1
Three Months Later…
“EXCUSE ME, JACK, but there’s a Madison Tate on line two for you.” Lana stood expectantly at his office door, pushing the mass of shiny black hair away from her face. “She says you’re expecting her call.”
Jack Logan hesitated. He should talk to her and get it over with. The sooner he got the eager Ms. Tate off his back the better. “Take a message, will you, Lana?”
“Sure.” She smiled, first at him and then at Larry before turning to leave, her short skirt showing off a pair of dynamite legs.
Shaking his graying head, Larry exhaled sharply as he tapped the edge of Jack’s desk. “I don’t think my heart could take having a secretary who looked like that.”
Jack smiled at his longtime agent. “She has a husband and twin toddlers she adores.”
“With those eyes and that smile she should be working in front of the camera. Maybe I ought to try and sign her up—”
“She’s not interested. She’s just a nice kid from Nebraska who can’t wait to get home to her kids every day.” Jack loosened his tie and motioned with his chin to the briefcase on Larry’s lap. “You have papers for me to review?”
Larry stared back, his weathered face creasing into a frown. Years of golf without sun protection had added ten years to him. He suddenly looked grim. “You’re not going to like the new contract.”
“That’s a given. Let me see it.”
“Not to say it’s not a good deal. It’s entirely favorable to you. Any other morning-show host would give his right arm for the concessions they’re willing to make. I heard that Matt Lauer couldn’t even—”
“Larry, just give me the contract.”
The older man sighed and took the leather folder out of his briefcase. “Don’t be rash. Think about how much you have to lose.”
“Jack?”
They both looked toward Lana standing in the doorway. She made an apologetic face.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you again,” she said with a helpless wave of her hand, “but this Madison Tate says she’s already left two messages and that it’s important.”
Jack sighed. Right. An important beefcake magazine spread. Talk about an oxymoron. Pictures of insurgents’ victims in the Middle East, earthquake victims in India—now, that defined the word important.
“You haven’t returned her calls?” Larry gave him a stern look. “If you want to leave room for negotiation, don’t piss off the network.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. Of course he knew Larry was right. Didn’t mean he had to like the idea. “I’ll take it, Lana. Thanks.”
She glanced at Larry, nodded and then left.
“Consider this a trade-off,” Larry said, as Jack reached for the phone. “The network wants this exposure.”
“I don’t need the sales pitch. I already agreed.” Jack started to use his speakerphone and quickly changed his mind. He wanted some illusion of control over this ridiculous publicity stunt his producer and Larry had arranged. He brought the receiver to his ear and depressed the blinking red button. “Jack Logan.”
At his brusque tone, Larry shook his head in disgust.
“Madison Tate here,” the woman responded equally businesslike. “We haven’t talked before, Mr. Logan, so I’ll take this opportunity to thank you for agreeing to this photo shoot. Now, let’s talk about a time and place.”
Jack half smiled. She knew how to get to the point. “I assume you already have a place in mind.”
“At Hush. It’s that hot new boutique hotel located in midtown owned by Piper Devon. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
His smile faded. “Yes, I have.”
“You sound annoyed.”
“Why there?”
“It’s not only the hippest place in Manhattan right now, but the decor is gorgeous.”
He briefly closed his eyes. Yeah, he knew the place. He knew Piper, too. Nice lady. But from the day it opened, the hotel had attracted its share of scandal, a field day for the press, who’d labeled it the sex hotel.
“Mr. Logan?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He glanced at Larry, who listened with far too much interest. “Let’s talk about that further. Maybe we could meet for a drink.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, “but we’ll have to start shooting soon. I’m sure you can appreciate that I have a deadline.”
“Of course.” He opened the jar of jellybeans he kept on his desk. “I’ll check my schedule and—”
“How about this evening?”
He paused, his hand halfway into the jar. For a moment he thought about blowing her off. Telling her he’d call back tomorrow, but his grudging appreciation of her no-nonsense approach stopped him. “What time?”
“Your call.”
“Six.”
“Perfect.”
“Where?”
“Hush. At the bar. I look forward to it, Mr. Logan.” She hung up before he could say a word.
He shook his head as he replaced the phone.
“What?” Larry leaned forward, his brows drawn together. Made Jack wonder if the man was born with a frown. Even when the guy smiled he still looked as if he were troubled about something.
He was a good agent, though, and always frank. Didn’t mouth what Jack wanted to hear. Just told it like it was. No behind-the-back deals. No back stabbing. He’d been with Jack from the beginning and was loyal to a fault.
Many of Jack’s peers had advised him to change agents. Claimed Larry was a dinosaur. Even a couple of Jack’s producers thought he should have a new hip young agent. But he had little use for the brash, flashy upstarts who thought schmoozing was more important than good reporting. Besides, loyalty went both ways.
“You’ve met her, right? After you and Ernie were approached by Today’s Man?”
“Madison Tate’s not with Today’s Man. She’s a freelancer. And yeah, I met her.”
“A freelancer? You’ve got to be kidding.” He stared at Larry, wanting to seriously strangle the guy. The major magazine had astronomical circulation numbers that couldn’t be ignored. He could see why the network had twisted his arm to do the layout, but…“You sold me out to a damn freelancer?”
“Number one, I did not sell you out. This is a good career move. Number two, the agreement is for Today’s Man’s sexiest man article only.” Larry shrugged. “Besides, hard to say no to a woman like that.”
Jack leaned back, testing the limit of his leather chair, and scrubbed at his jaw. Sighing, he came back to face Larry, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day a pretty face could influence your business decisions.”
Larry scoffed. “You never will. This Tate is all right in the looks department, tall, thin, short dirty-blond hair, nothing special, but she’s got grit, one of those real go-getters, doesn’t understand the word no. But she doesn’t cross the line, either. Reminds me of you when you were younger.”
When he was younger…Jack stiffened. Larry had struck a raw nerve. Nothing to do with age. Jack was only thirty-six. But his recent complacency was starting to bother him. He’d let celebrity and money take center stage. He’d been ambitious once, single-mindedly chasing after the story of the century. Nothing could have stopped him in those days. Not even a multimillion-dollar contract.
“So where does she want the shoot to take place?” Larry got to his feet and predictably pinched the crease down the front of his slacks. “She hadn’t chosen a location when Ernie and I spoke to her. We left it open but that you’d have final say.”
“Hush.”
Larry’s eyes gleamed. “Brilliant choice. See? The woman’s got savvy.”
“Yeah, just what my image needs.” Bad enough he was considered the pretty boy of the network, of the morning infotainment show no less, a bona fide heartthrob according to the media. He hated it.
With a hint of a smile on his face, Larry laid the leather folders on Jack’s desk. “Talk to her and let me know what happens.”
“I can tell you right now what’ll happen.”
Larry sighed. “Read the contract later. You don’t need to meet Tate with an attitude.”
Jack watched the older man leave. He walked with a slight stoop Jack hadn’t noticed before. The guy had never mentioned his age but he had to be in his mid-sixties, and he still worked just as hard as he had when he took Jack on as a client fourteen years ago. He clearly loved his job and gave it a hundred and fifty percent.
Jack’s gaze went to the leather folder. Would he be able to say the same in thirty years?

AS SOON AS MADISON HUNG UP the phone, she let out a yowl. She stomped her feet a few times, going in a circle, doing the happy dance and then sank into the swivel chair she’d nearly sent flying across the small office.
Nearby, Talia looked up from the article she’d been editing and peered over her thick, black-rimmed glasses. “You arranged a meet,” she said in her usual monotone voice. “Just a guess.”
Out of breath, Madison nodded. Talia was good people, in spite of her odd sense of humor and even odder taste in clothes, and she did let Madison use her office sometimes, but, man, Madison wished Karrie were here.
Madison missed her like crazy on a normal basis but at a time like this it was really hard to have her best friend living all the way across the country. Not that she wasn’t happy that Karrie had found Rob, but jeez…It had been months since Karrie had moved west to be with her guy.
She glanced at her watch. Two-fifteen, which made it eleven-fifteen Las Vegas time. She wouldn’t call yet. She’d wait until after she met with him. The Jack Logan. She still couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the magnitude of snaring someone like the heart-stopping Logan.
Talia snorted. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“What?”
“You acting like a star-struck teenager.”
Madison laughed. “He’s only the sexiest man in the western hemisphere.”
Talia shook her head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“The only thing Jack Logan means to me is the cover of your magazine.” Madison locked her hands behind her head, leaned back and stretched her legs out. Wait until the other photographers found out whom she’d snagged. They’d drool like babies. Cry their eyes out. Or want to scratch hers out. An ugly thought struck her, and she looked at Talia. “Heard anything about who the other men are?”
“Nope. Nothing. Oh, wait, I did hear that Sheila Higgins might have Brad Pitt on the hook.”
Madison shot upright. “No way.”
Talia just shrugged.
“Big deal. He’s been on so many covers. Old news. I’m not worried.”
Talia smiled. “Yeah, I can tell by the way you nearly hit the ceiling. Relax, kid. I was kidding. I haven’t heard a word.”
“Go ahead, make fun.” Madison stood and tucked the loosened white T-shirt into her jeans. “Some day you’ll say ‘I knew her when.’”
Talia put down her pencil and cocked her head to the side. “Say you get the cover. Then what?”
Madison stared in disbelief. “No more begging for assignments, or sitting at the bottom of slush piles. I get to write my own ticket. I mean, getting to shoot the cover is a pretty damn big deal.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely a major career coup.” Talia’s dark eyes bore into hers. “My question is, what does writing your own ticket mean?”
Madison looked blankly at her and then shrugged. “More freedom.”
“To do what?”
“Pay my bills, for one.” Madison snorted. “Get to choose my own assignments. Why?”
“No reason.” Talia gave her a small mysterious smile, her dark red lips barely curving.
“You know something I don’t?”
Talia just shook her head. “Just curious.”
Madison grabbed her navy blue blazer off the back of the chair, a sudden unease quelling her excitement. “I don’t want to take celebrity photos for the rest of my life.”
“You’re very talented, Madison, you certainly don’t have to.” Talia paused, and then added, “If that’s not what you want.”
“For now it works for me. It’s something I know I can do well.” She shrugged into her blazer. “Maybe later I’ll branch out. After I put a few bucks away. Just not yet.”
“No need to get defensive.”
“I’m not.” Madison knew that was a lie. Even her posture had turned defensive. Silly, really. No reason for it. Everything she said was true. She was happy. This was the break she’d been waiting for. “Well, I’d better go get ready. We’re meeting in two hours.”
“Hmm. You have time for a color and blow dry.” Talia frowned at Madison’s short, uneven nails. “No, get a manicure instead.”
“You’re hysterical.” She picked up her portfolio that contained a recent head shot of Logan and a brief bio she’d found on the Internet.
She figured she ought to know a little something about him other than he had a face and body that gave even her elderly grandmother heart palpitations.
“You coming by tomorrow?” Talia took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
“Probably, but it kind of depends on tonight.”
Talia grinned. “I’m jealous.”
Yeah, right. As if. Madison sighed. “You’re hopeless.”
“You know what would be a real kick?”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Remember that psychic you went to?”
“Don’t even go there.” Madison headed for the door. “Anyway, I didn’t go to see her. She was at a party. It was stupid.”
“I’m just saying…” Talia’s eyes widened. “Hey, didn’t your friend Karrie’s prediction come true?”
Madison’s hand froze on the doorknob. She’d been so wrapped up in getting this assignment she’d forgotten. Not that Karrie’s or her prediction meant anything. Coincidence of course.
Even so…
Jack Logan? No way.

JACK ARRIVED AT EROTIQUE ten minutes early, but she was already there. He knew it was Madison Tate sitting at a small table near the black circular bar. Not just because she was the only woman sitting alone. The voice on the phone matched this woman perfectly. The way she was dressed, the way she sat with her back straight and her head held high. No-nonsense.
While the other women in the bar were decked out in the latest fall offerings from Prada or Bebe, she dressed simply in jeans and a white T-shirt, generic, not designer. Her dark-blond hair wasn’t particularly stylish, either. Kind of short and unruly, and before he crossed the room, her long slender fingers pushed the stubborn locks away from her face twice.
The moment she saw him she stood and smiled. A nice friendly smile. Not the kind he usually got from women.
“You’re early,” she said and offered her hand.
He accepted the firm handshake. “You’re earlier.”
“Bad habit of mine.” She reclaimed her seat, and he took off his overcoat and sat across from her, laying the expensive coat across his lap.
“My mother used to say that being prompt or early shows respect. Being late indicates you think your time is more valuable than the other person’s.” He didn’t have the faintest idea why he’d elaborated like that. But when her mouth stretched into a beautiful smile he was glad he had.
“Your mama sounds like a wise woman.”
“Yes, she was.”
“Oh.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I lost mine, too. Last year. It was really hard. Still is.”
“Yeah. My mom passed away while I was in college. Seems like yesterday.”
An awkward silence settled for a few moments, and then they both spoke at once.
Madison grinned. “Go ahead.”
Two women sitting at a table behind Madison stared blatantly at him. He was used to the intrusion. Came with the territory. But this pair particularly annoyed him, especially the redhead, who gave him one of those silly four-fingered waves. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
A slight frown puckered Madison’s brows. “Here comes the waitress. Know what you want?”
What he wanted and what his personal trainer allowed were two different things. Ah, what the hell. “Scotch,” he told the young woman in the pink vest. “Neat.”
“Right away.” She looked barely twelve, although she obviously had to be over twenty-one. “Would you like another club soda?” she asked Madison.
“I’m good.” She waited until the waitress moved away, and then said, “You gotta admit, this place is amazing.”
Jack glanced at the unique, black-lacquered circular bar, awash in a rosy glow from the pink overhead lights. The bar chairs with the inverted triangular backs were chic and surprisingly comfortable from what he remembered of the grand opening. The entire hotel was a class act. That didn’t mean he wanted to be associated with the place. “No argument there.”
Her eyebrows rose. “But?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll do the photo shoot here.”
He smiled. “Why not Central Park?”
“Because it’s November and you’re likely to freeze you’re a—behind off.”
“It’s not that cold yet.”
“You won’t say that after we’ve been outside for six hours.”
“Six hours?”
“If we’re lucky.”
“Well, let’s make sure we’re real lucky.”
Her expression tightened, and she lifted her drink to her lips.
After a brief silence, he said, “I understand this isn’t just about me. It’s about the city. Isn’t that the first thing people think of when you mention Manhattan?”
She gave him a funny look. “They probably think of the Statue of Liberty.” Then quickly added, “And no, we’re not doing it there.”
“I guess that leaves out two places.”
Annoyance flashed in her light-brown eyes. “I don’t understand why it matters. It’s not like I’m asking you to run naked through Times Square.”
The waitress had reappeared and she’d obviously heard given the way her eyes widened slightly. “Excuse me.” She smiled at Jack. “The ladies at the next table would like to buy you a drink, Mr. Logan.”
He shook his head, his gaze staying on Madison. “Tell them thanks anyway, but it doesn’t look as if I’ll be staying long.”
Meeting his eyes, Madison didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Angry, maybe. Frustrated, definitely.
Unaware of the undercurrent, the waitress said, “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier, Mr. Logan. Between this job and school I don’t have much time to watch the news. Not that kind, anyway.”
He switched his gaze in time to see her oblivious smile before she walked away. Not that kind. Her words stayed behind, taunting him, reminding him of how many people didn’t consider him a serious newsman. To them he was just a pretty face, delivering national news, joking with his coanchor and providing entertainment while the television audience sipped their morning coffee.
“I have an idea,” Madison said, her nervousness betrayed by the way her fingers continuously circled the glass.
“I’m listening.”
“After our drink, why don’t we go for a walk around the hotel and—”
“I’ve already seen it.”
“All of it?”
“At the opening.”
“Ah.” She sighed, sinking back. “Of course.” And then she straightened and leaned toward him with renewed determination on her face. “So? Is the place stunning or what?”
“Was that rhetorical?”
“Absolutely.”
He had to smile. She had a fascinatingly expressive face. A moment before she spoke he could tell what she was thinking. She wouldn’t make it a day in his business where everyone maintained a poker face. They had to. Never let them see you sweat. He’d learned the lesson early on.
For a second he regretted that they couldn’t come to terms. He wouldn’t mind working with her. But this obviously was a bad idea. The whole shoot celebrated an image he was trying to get away from. He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

2
MADISON EYED HIM for a moment, trying to decide her best approach. Getting angry would obviously get her nowhere, no matter how much she wanted to tell him to get off his high horse. The waitress arrived with his drink, which gave Madison another few moments to consider pointing out that his agent and producer had both, on his behalf, agreed to this magazine spread.
Nah, too antagonistic. She didn’t need him getting defensive. She wanted his complete cooperation. Besides, it was apparent his agent had couched the truth. The spread had nothing to do with Manhattan and everything to do with the sex appeal of the man sitting across from her. And, oh, baby, was she sitting on a gold mine. She was going to kick ass. Make the other photographers seethe with envy.
But she had to be careful. His agent had confided that Jack Logan valued his privacy. That his initial response had been an unequivocal no. What had changed his mind, she had no idea. All she knew was that she couldn’t have him backing out now.
She watched him flash that million-dollar smile at the waitress, and had to swallow. He truly was beautiful. With those keen hazel eyes that danced with just enough amusement and the kind of daring that could make a girl leap before she looked.
Madison considered herself fairly immune to pretty faces, but even she carefully avoided gazing too long for fear of getting off track, forgetting her goal. He was a meal ticket for her. Nothing more. Anyway, guys like him didn’t go for women like her, which made it easier to stay focused. Most of the time.
He pushed his fingers through his light-brown hair, and for a second she was tempted to ask the burning question. The one that always came up in the gossip columns. The one he always rebuffed. Was there someone special who got to run their fingers through those golden highlights?
As soon as the waitress left, Madison said, “Okay, let’s discuss Central Park. Midday lighting would be best.” She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. Like hell they’d shoot there. Or anywhere outside. She was getting at least two shots with his shirt off, or her name wasn’t Madison Marie Tate. “Of course, a lot of people eat lunch there. Any later and people will be commuting or jogging. That’s okay. We can shoot around them.”
He paused to stare at her over his glass, and then downed the scotch.
Damn, she hoped he didn’t order another one too quickly. The drinks were coming out of her pocket, and at fourteen dollars a pop…God, if her credit card was maxed out she’d kick herself.
“The park’s a big place. Surely we can find some privacy.”
“Maybe. But we can’t shoot in only one spot, we need a variety of backdrops, and we’re bound to attract some attention.” She smiled. “Of course, you’re used to being in the public eye. That shouldn’t bother you.”
His face tightened. Damn. Even frowning he looked good. “Where else did you have in mind?”
“Well, your studio might be interesting. A shot of you in your office, one on the set.”
He thoughtfully pursed his lips, looking entirely too interested in the idea.
“There won’t always be staff around, right?” she added quickly. “I will have to pose you at times, and well, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable with an audience.”
“Pose me?”
“Of course.”
He thought for a moment. “No, not the studio.”
“Okay…” She paused for effect, and shifted her legs. Their knees touched under the table, and the awareness that sparked nearly threw her off track. “Sorry.”
“My fault.” He winced as he moved his legs to the side.
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah, old war wound.”
“Oh. You were in the service?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Close. I was a field reporter back in the day.”
“Right.” She remembered reading his bio. “The Gulf War. Your first big assignment out of college.” The one that had launched his career, she almost said, but something in his grim expression warned her to drop the subject.
“You had another idea for a location?” he prompted.
She smiled sweetly. “How about your apartment?”
“I have a house.”
“Better yet. Where?”
“That’s out.”
“Why? We’d have privacy. People would love getting a peek into your private domain.”
He grunted. “Not going to happen.”
She’d actually started warming to the idea, and threw up her hands. “Then what’s your suggestion?”
He studied her for a long uncomfortable moment. Made her want to check her teeth. Take a swipe at her cheek in case something god-awful clung to her skin. Finally he said, “You’re manipulating me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it. “Is it working?”
He smiled, briefly, and then shook his head. “What about another hotel? The Plaza? The Waldorf Astoria?”
“They’re stuffy. They don’t suit your image.”
“And Hush does?”
“Absolutely.”
He didn’t look happy.
“Look.” She leaned forward. “I know you don’t like the sex symbol image. Your agent told me. But that’s part of what’s earning you the big bucks.”
Frowning, he broke eye contact and stared down at his empty glass.
“Hey, it’s not like I’m shooting a Playgirl layout,” Madison said, her confidence beginning to slip. If he backed out now, she’d be so screwed. “My name is gonna be attached to this. I’m motivated to keep the photos tasteful.”
He looked up and studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You won’t make a big production out of the hotel.”
“Nope. You’re the star attraction. Today’s Man is a woman’s magazine, and every female head turned when you walked in.”
“I didn’t notice,” he muttered.
“You’re used to it.” She shrugged, amazed that even the sudden scowl didn’t detract from his good looks. “That’s probably part of your appeal.”
“Are you always this frank?”
Madison nodded. “It saves a lot of time.”
His lips curved suddenly, surprising her, and unleashing a mass of butterflies in her stomach. The smile reached his eyes and they actually seemed to change color right before her, going from cool green to warm amber. “Okay, Hush it is.”
“Yeah?” She smiled back, words deserting her. Unusual for her. But there was something about this man…
“But…” He held up a finger as if admonishing a naughty child. Even his hands were noteworthy. Tan, with lean fingers and evenly clipped nails. No prissy manicure.
“I’m listening.” Barely. Her stomach was just beginning to calm down.
“I still have veto power.”
“Of course.” Her gaze went again to his hands, to that perfect golden color, so perfect it had to be artificial.
He squinted with suspicion. “What?”
“Are you tanned all over?”
His head reared back slightly.
“That’s strictly a professional question,” Madison said, and pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at his appalled expression.
She didn’t get her answer. The waitress reappeared to see if they wanted another round, and to ask for his autograph on behalf of a woman seated behind Madison. Jack turned down another scotch, smiled graciously and took the pen and napkin from the waitress.
Madison studied his bent head as he signed his name. The highlights were natural, she decided, probably from the sun. His hair was already getting darker consistent with the fall weather that restricted outdoor activity. Just like her, in fact. She was always blonder in the summer. Except the sun wasn’t as creative or kind to her.
He looked up and met her eyes.
She smiled. “I’d hate this.”
“What?” He handed the napkin and pen back to the waitress who promptly disappeared.
“Being recognized, the intrusions…But I guess it comes with the territory.”
“So they tell me,” he said flatly, and then smiled briefly at someone over Madison’s shoulder. Then, barely moving his lips, he said, “Can we please get out of here?”
“Sure.” Madison grabbed her blazer and the camera bag she used as a purse. “Just let me get the check.”
He pulled some bills out of his pocket secured by a brushed-gold money clip. “Did you have more than the one club soda?”
“No, but I want to—”
He laid down three twenties. “That should take care of it.”
“No, this is on me. Besides, that’s way too much.”
He laughed humorlessly and stood. “The price of celebrity. Let’s go. Now.”
She realized what he’d meant as soon as she stood. The redhead, wearing a short white spandex dress with more cleavage than good taste, approached the table. Jack smiled at her, tossed his coat over his shoulder and then took Madison by the elbow to hurry her along.
“Mr. Logan, I wanted to thank you personally for the autograph.” The woman smiled, flashing a set of superwhite teeth. “I truly hated to bother you.”
“No bother.” He stopped but his grip on Madison’s elbow tightened. “Sorry, but we’re in a hurry.”
“Of course.” The woman gave Madison an odd look, which took her a full twenty seconds to interpret as envy while Jack rushed her out of the intimate bar.
By the time they got to the lobby, she’d nearly hemorrhaged from trying not to laugh. Imagine anyone thinking she was with Jack Logan. What a hoot! Wait till she told Karrie and Talia.
“Are you really in a hurry, or was that a smoke screen?” she asked, turning to face him. He was tall but so was she, and standing so close, his incredible face only inches away, well, it literally took her breath away. She inhaled deeply, hopefully not conspicuously. “I’d like to show you some of the places I think would make great shots.”
His lips curved slightly and then he glanced at his watch. “My driver is picking me up in half an hour.”
“Great. We’ll make it a quickie.” To her horror, heat crept into her cheeks. Which was totally insane. She never blushed. “Oh, there’s Kit. She’s in charge of the hotel PR. Let me catch her and get a key.”
Madison took off in the woman’s direction. This was bad. Really bad. Madison moistened her dry lips. Swallowed hard. No, it was good. If she reacted this way to him, millions of women out there would be drooling over his pictures. Over the cover. And let’s face it, if she couldn’t snag that cover with him as her subject, she might as well hang up her camera.
Her heart started to race, but this time it wasn’t because of a pair of incredible hazel eyes and a killer grin. She could see her star rising.

JACK GOT OUT HIS CELL PHONE and called Dutch and told him to give him another hour before he picked him up. The network provided a car and driver. It was in Jack’s contract. One of many great perks that came with the job, he reminded himself. This photo-shoot nonsense was a trade-off. The sooner he got it over with, the better.
It could be worse. At least Madison Tate was a pleasant surprise. She was attractive enough, but it wasn’t that. As Larry had warned, there was something compelling about her, some quality that made you want to go along for the ride. Maybe it was her refreshing frankness, or that she wasn’t coy or flirtatious. He admired that she had a goal and kept her eyes on the ball. Too bad he was her short-term goal.
He saw her come from the direction of the front desk, and she smiled and held up a key, earning them a second look from a couple waiting for the elevator. He nearly choked wondering if she even knew what that looked like.
“I want to show you the rooftop garden for starters,” she said, briskly walking past him, obviously expecting him to follow. “And the pool and spa, and two of the suites that I think would be great possibilities. I’ll need to take quite a few shots, of course, and then narrow them down to five. So I’d like to widen our scope and—”
She stopped abruptly and looked over at him. “I know you’re in a hurry so I’m trying to make this quick.”
“Fine.”
“Okay.” She took the lead again, and he noticed that she had a slight sway to her hips that was totally unexpected. “We’ll start with one of the penthouse suites and the garden, and then work our way down until it’s time for you to go.”
“Fine.” He wished she’d lose the jacket. Give him a clear view of her behind.
“I’m kind of leaning toward spots where we can use the city as a backdrop. Obviously the rooftop garden is perfect but so are the suites and spa because they have views of Midtown or the skyline along the river.”
“Fine.” He had no doubt she had great legs. Long and lean, and her jeans were short enough that he could see her slim ankles. Generally a good sign.
She stopped again. “Could we have a little more enthusiasm here?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Attitude is great for photographs but right now we need to get down to business,” she said, and then looked as if she wished she hadn’t. Drawing in her lower lip, she glanced away. “Sorry.”
Jack’s sparked temper subsided. Not just because of the apology. Or the sexy way she played with her lip. He’d allowed himself to be distracted and lost the thread of the conversation. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My mind wandered.”
She smiled, shrugged a shoulder. “Just give me a nudge if I’m making you yawn.”
He smiled back and they said nothing until they’d gotten into the elevator and arrived at the roof. He held the cab door and waited for her to precede him. Before he stepped out, a fusion of fragrances reached him. Apparently, a small thing like winter hadn’t interrupted the Hush garden.
A retractable glass roof that hadn’t been there during the spring opening now enclosed the area making it a greenhouse. The air was almost too balmy. A plethora of scarlet mums and white carnations gave way to a standing fountain. Near a stone bench grew clusters of lavender orchids.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Madison looked at him, her eyes gleaming, and then she hurried to the edge and peered out over the city lights coming to life. “Wouldn’t this make an awesome shot?”
“Quite impressive, I have to admit.” Plexiglas domed past the railing giving observers a nearly panoramic view of Midtown and all the way to Central Park.
“They have a full-time gardener.”
“I’d imagine they’d have to.” He didn’t know much about flowers, but this assortment in late November? Someone had to work their butt off. Amazing what money could buy.
“That would be Clarissa, the most interesting woman on the planet. She grows herbs for the restaurant in that corner over there.” Madison turned back to him, squinting a little when the light shone directly into her face. “See? This hotel is about so much more than sex.”
Her makeup was minimal, her skin, smooth, silky, the kind his coanchor had to slave for and frequently complained about. He’d only listened with half an ear. Skin wasn’t what he normally noticed about a woman. He didn’t know why he did now.
She looked away, probably because he’d stared too long.
“It’s still about sex,” he said finally.
She let out an exasperated sound and looked at him again. “How can you say that? This is about attention to detail. Making the place beautiful. Romantic.”
“Which is conducive to sex.”
“Romance and sex aren’t the same things.”
He gave her an appalled look. “They aren’t?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“I’ll ignore that sexist remark.”
“Thank you. Want to see the pool?”
“Sure.”
“It’s this way.” When she turned, the camera bag hanging on her shoulder swung hard enough to smack his arm. She covered her mouth and murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
His hand reflexively went to the assaulted area. “What do you have in that thing?”
She gingerly touched his bicep. “I hope I didn’t bruise you.”
He laughed. “I think I’ll live.”
“Of course a little makeup would take care of that,” she murmured mostly to herself but her warm breath managed to drift across his cheek.
The sudden urge to touch her face really confused him, and he stepped back, afraid his body’s reaction might take an embarrassing turn. Only then did her comment sink in. “Makeup? On my arm?”
She nodded and lowered her hand. “For the photos.”
He stared at the spot, closer to his shoulder than his elbow, and then met her eyes. “I’m not taking off my shirt.”
“You have to.”
“I wouldn’t bet your camera on it.”

3
MADISON WASN’T ABOUT to argue. He would take off his shirt when the time was right. So far she’d been able to coax even the most reluctant subject to comply with her requests, be it to smile or show a little skin. Nothing too risqué. Just tantalizing. He’d be no different, as long as she didn’t blow it by shooting off her big mouth. She knew better than to bring up the issue. But for a moment he’d gotten her so damn flustered she couldn’t think straight.
It wasn’t just her. There was definitely a je ne sais quoi thing happening with him. A mysterious appeal that couldn’t be defined by mortal beings. It was just there.
“I only meant that if we take a shot with you in the pool or spa—” She shrugged and smiled when his expression darkened. “Forget I said that. Let’s go.”
She headed for the pool without glancing back, hoping like hell he followed. She didn’t have a lot of time to get her photos in to Today’s Man, and with his schedule he probably had even less time to pose for them. It wasn’t as if they had a contract. If he were to suddenly withdraw…
Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about that.
“Madison? Slow down.”
She swallowed and then turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Let’s skip the pool.”
“It’s just right there.” She pointed. “Have you seen the bottom? It’s a mosaic of black and pink tiles and the same Plexiglas roof—”
He didn’t look happy as he glanced at his watch. “I have only twenty minutes.”
“Right. Okay. Let’s go look at one of the suites.” She knew what he was doing. Warning her not to waste time with the pool because he wouldn’t be removing his shirt. Fine. There was always the spa.
The elevator trip down to the eighteenth floor was short and silent. His mood had definitely shifted, and Madison decided it would be wise to give as little information as possible for now. Once they started the shoot, she’d get him relaxed and more amenable to her suggestions.
Using the card key, she opened the double doors to the penthouse suite, three thousand square feet of sheer decadence. One night in this pleasure palace would cost her the equivalent of five months’ rent.
The foyer alone was huge, massive, and the floor an incredible Italian marble that made her want to tiptoe across so she wouldn’t leave a single mark. On the walls hung Warhol originals that Madison had already drooled over when Janice Foster, the hotel’s manager, had graciously given Madison the tour yesterday.
“Not bad, huh?” She grinned at Jack. “They call this the Pop Suite. Two bedrooms, three baths, with butler service.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have my arm twisted.”
He smiled and strolled over to look at the artwork. “I didn’t see this one during the opening.”
“I’ve only seen two other penthouse suites. One being the bridal suite, so I don’t think we’ll be doing a photo spread there.”
“I’m surprised.” Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I figured that would be your first choice.”
“You’re supposed to be the city’s most eligible bachelor. The last thing I want to do is dispel the fantasy.”
He turned away, the smile gone. Clearly he hadn’t considered that angle, and like a damn fool, she’d pointed it out. He went to the window and stared out at the skyline, and she quietly went to stand beside him.
“Amazing city, huh?” she said, glancing sideways at him. Great profile. Straight nose. Strong jaw. Her heart foolishly skipped a beat.
“That it is.”
“Are you from here?”
He looked at her, briefly, probably wondering if she’d read his bio…which she had, but now with his gaze on hers, she couldn’t remember detail one as he turned his attention back to the glittering symphony of lights. “Nebraska.”
“No kidding.”
“No kidding,” he repeated. “Know where that is?”
“Midwest.”
A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Close enough.”
“Do you miss it?”
He turned back to her again, an odd look on his face.
Oh, no. Now what had she said wrong?
“I had to think for a moment,” he said. “That’s not a typical question.”
“And here I thought I was being so cliché.”
He really smiled, causing that flutter in her chest again.
She silently cleared her throat. “So? Do you?”
“You’d make a hell of an interviewer. You don’t give up.”
“I’ve been accused of persistence on occasion.”
“Not a bad quality.”
“Depends on who you ask.” She shrugged and moved away from the window, becoming increasingly aware of his nearness. Of the way his chin was starting to shadow…of the attractive crease in his cheek when he smiled. “If you don’t want to talk about your family that’s fine.”
“They’re all still in Omaha and I go back to see them about once a year. My parents and I have a great relationship, so there’s no dirt to dig up.”
Nothing in the world annoyed her more than to be associated with paparazzi in even the tiniest way. “Frankly, I don’t care if you sleep with your sister. I take celebrity photos. The only thing that interests me is capturing your sex appeal on film.”
His jaw tightened, and at the moment he looked a lot angrier than he did sexy. He consulted his watch, probably to keep from shooting daggers at her. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one evening.”
Regret restored her common sense. “Don’t you want to look at the rest of the suite?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then you have no objection to shooting in here?”
He glanced toward the bedroom. From their vantage point, they could glimpse the cherrywood four-poster bed.
“Come see in here,” she said, heading for the bedroom door. “It’ll just take a minute.”
“Why?” he asked even as he approached her. “How many settings do you need? How many shots will you be taking?”
She wasn’t about to tell him how many rolls of film she’d been known to take to get just the right shot. Instead she shrugged and continued toward the door. “This room is unreal. We’re already here. You should at least see it.”
Reluctantly he followed her into the huge bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat. The deep burgundy walls and velvet chaise should have made the room look more traditional, but somehow didn’t. It helped that the crystal chandelier was totally modern, a work of art, in fact, and that the room offered every convenience known to man.
And then some.
Her gaze automatically went to the armoire—a virtual treasure chest of adult toys, some of which even eluded her rather broad knowledge. She quickly looked away, not eager to point out that particular asset of the suite.
“Watch this.” She found the panel on the side of the sleek bedside table and pushed a button. In front of the chandelier, facing the detailed headboard, a slim screen lowered from a hidden recess in the ceiling. “Plasma. Awesome, isn’t it?”
Jack smiled and moved beside her to look at the panel. “What do the rest of these buttons do?”
His shoulder brushed hers, his faint woodsy scent so intoxicating, it took her a second to regain her senses. “Uh, lots of things.” She cursed herself for the inane comment. “Everything in the suite is controlled from here—the television, of course, the temperature, the drapes, the sound system, the lights…”
“Impressive.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
He smiled again, and she realized that he probably already had a plasma TV, a comparable sound system, everything he needed at his fingertips. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford it.
“Ah, well, it beats having to slap the side of my ten-year-old twenty-inch to clear the reception.” She sighed. “So what do you think? Good backdrop, huh?”
His gaze narrowed, he surveyed the room. “Anything else in here I should know about?”
“Such as?”
His frown deepened, lingering on the armoire. “This hotel is known for more than its luxurious rooms.”
“Oh, you mean the sex stuff.” She grinned at his grimace. “I didn’t think you were interested.”
“I’m not.” He gave her a long stern look. Which didn’t faze her. He had the most incredible hazel eyes. She could stare into them all night. “I don’t like surprises.”
“I totally get it. No surprises.”
“I have your word.”
She tried not to laugh. “Yes.”
He glanced at his watch. “Today’s Wednesday, when do you want to start shooting?”
“Saturday?” She noticed his hesitation and quickly added, “Whatever suits your schedule. I know you don’t do the weekend shows so I figured—”
“You watch my show?” Amusement gleamed in his eyes.
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Too perky. He had to know she was lying.
He smiled. “I’ll have to check my calendar to confirm Saturday, but I think that’ll work.”
“Great.”
They both moved toward the door. “My driver will be here at any minute,” he said.
She got nervous all of a sudden. Kind of a warm flash heated her face. Clammy hands. Just like when she’d waited for more than two hours for her one-and-only prom date. The bastard never showed. Her mom had spent half their rent on the stupid pink dress and rose boutonniere for nothing.
“You have my number?” she asked, annoyed that her voice sounded too high. “To confirm Saturday?”
“I do. What time did you want to get started?”
Before opening the double doors, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure they’d left the suite the way they’d found it. “The earlier the better.”
“Seven?”
“Terrific.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Hard to tell.” She closed the door behind them and then checked the doorknob to make sure it was locked. “Depends on how—What?”
He was trying to hide a smile but doing a poor job of it. “Nothing. You were saying…”
She stopped and frowned at him. “Come on. What?”
He absently shook his head. “You remind me of my sister. She always has to check the doors and stove twice before leaving the house.”
“I checked it once. That doesn’t make me neurotic,” she said, not sure which annoyed her more, the neurosis implication or being likened to his sister.
“I never accused you of being neurotic. Now if you always get a block away from your apartment and have to keep going back—”
“I did that only one time,” she blurted before she censored herself, and then as she turned back toward the elevator, muttered, “I thought I’d left the iron on.”
He laughed. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”
“You didn’t.” As soon as she depressed the down button, the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. He stood close, closer than was necessary in the empty car.
She breathed in slowly and deeply, tried to exhale without making too much noise, and stared straight ahead at the doors. His nearness meant nothing, of course. It wasn’t deliberate on his part, more an absence of thought. That certain knowledge didn’t stop her pulse from accelerating or her mouth from going totally dry.
Jack said nothing during the ride down to the lobby. Which suited Madison just fine. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Anyway, his thoughts had probably already strayed to whichever nubile young starlet he was meeting for dinner tonight.
Over the past couple of years he’d been linked to a number of actresses and models, from New York to Sweden. Nothing had seriously developed. As far as she knew. Obviously he subscribed to the variety-is-the-spice-of-life philosophy. But then again, who in their right mind believed the tabloids.
The doors opened to the lobby and its lush expanse of sea-foam-green carpeting, and he asked, “Need a ride?”
“Thanks, but I’m going the other way.”
His lips twitched. “How do you know where I’m going?” He put on his coat.
She sighed and turned up her collar in anticipation of the chilly fall air. “I like to walk or take the subway.”
“It’s cold out there.”
“I know.” She stopped at the front desk and dropped off the key. “Cold, dark and full of surprises.”
He looked warily at her as if she’d really creeped him out.
Grinning, she buttoned her blazer as they made their way to the door. “Good surprises, that make me want to stop and whip out my camera. The kind you miss when you’re riding in a car.”
“Right.”
She offered her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Jack.”
“Me, too.”
“Liar.” Laughing, she turned up her collar and headed home.

JACK SLID INTO THE BACKSEAT and leaned against the leather upholstery, watching her stride along Forty-sixth. No jacket, just her thin coat, even though it had to be only forty degrees.
“Where to, boss?” Dutch looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Your apartment?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He’d have dinner, something disgustingly healthy his housekeeper had left in the refrigerator for him. Then watch some boring television. “Dutch, I’ve changed my mind.”
The young man’s eyes instantly met his. “Okay,” he said, disappointment in his voice. Probably thought his day wouldn’t be over yet. “Where to?”
“Drop me at the studio, and then go home.”
“But how will—”
“I think I remember how to hail a cab.” Hell, maybe he’d even walk the three miles and skip the treadmill tomorrow morning.
“But, boss—”
“Dutch, don’t argue.”
The man said nothing, only frowned and then concentrated on pulling the black Lincoln Town Car away from the curb and into traffic.
Jack sighed. He hadn’t meant to sound short. “So how are Jenny and the kids these days?”
“Noisy and expensive.” Dutch snorted. “The three of them are gonna land me in the poor house.”
Jack smiled. He’d known the man for five years, and the litany had been the same. But everyone who knew him also knew he lived and breathed for his family.
“Yep, don’t ever have girls, boss. Too high maintenance. I ought to send them to Catholic school. Make ’em wear uniforms. No more whining for designer jeans.”
“I doubt that would stop them. Well, maybe when they’re forty.”
“I won’t care then. They’ll be somebody else’s problem.”
Jack chuckled, his gaze lingering in Madison’s direction, but she’d already disappeared. Laying his head back, he briefly closed his eyes.
Saturday was going to be hell. Why had he ever agreed to this absurdity? How could people regard him as a serious newsman with his face spread across the pages of a magazine? He understood why so many celebrities had to accept that kind of exposure. They had to promote their new movies and themselves. He’d interviewed enough of them himself. Most of them didn’t like to do it, but they understood that the hype was part of the business.
He didn’t fall into that category. He just investigated and reported the news. Not that he did half the amount of investigation he’d like. His main job was to look good in front of the camera each morning, banter with his cohost and, yeah, subtly flirt with his female audience. He knew all that, and he’d played the game. But it was getting old. Fast.
Sighing, he brought his head up and pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples were starting to throb. Probably from the scotch. He didn’t drink often and generally not on an empty stomach. He should’ve offered to buy Madison dinner. Better than going back to his apartment and eating alone. Just like he did most nights. Something he normally preferred.
Not tonight, though.
He looked out the heavily tinted window and watched two young women chatting as they walked, one of them tugging at the leash of a black Great Dane, who seemed hell-bent on stopping at every trash receptacle and tree. Other pedestrians gave them a wide berth, dodging out of the way when the dog started sniffing too intimately.
Jack smiled. He didn’t see many big dogs in the city. People mostly kept smaller dogs, which made sense because of the size of the average apartment. Small. Really small. He’d had one of those once. In the beginning, before he’d taken over the morning show. The bedroom and living room practically shared the same space, yet had escaped the label of studio apartment. But at least it hadn’t been a walk-up, and a doorman always monitored the building’s entrance.
Now, everything was different. He had a large, well-appointed three-story brownstone, a housekeeper who spoiled him and a house in Connecticut on the water. He even had Dutch to drive him wherever he wanted to go. So why wasn’t he happy? Hell, he knew why: he missed being out in the field. But was he really ready to give all this up?

4
“SORRY I’M LATE.” Madison flew through the doors of Shelly’s Family Portraits and dropped her bag behind the counter next to Shelly, who stared at the new computer she’d bought last week. “I’ll be set up before the Dennisons get here.”
“Don’t rush. They’re gonna be late,” Shelly said without looking away from the computer screen. “Mrs. Dennison called ten minutes ago. Oh, and she changed her mind about the blue-sky backdrop.”
“Oh, God, what does she want now?”
“The garden scene. The one with the butterflies.” Shelly pressed a button and then muttered a mild curse. “Hey, do you know anything about these damn contraptions?”
“A little but let me get set up first.” Madison barely got the words out through clenched teeth as she headed into the cramped back room.
The butterfly scene. How she hated that one. In fact, she hated every one of the cheesy backdrops. She’d begged Shelly to let her take the clients to Central Park. She’d be able to get some dynamite shots there. But Shelly was old school. Claimed no one wanted to be dragged outdoors when there were perfectly good fake backgrounds right in the studio.
At least Shelly was an easygoing boss. She required little of Madison, letting her work sporadically when she needed money, unless Shelly got slammed with appointments, which didn’t happen often. Madison just had to remember this was only part-time and temporary. Some easy money to help make ends meet. And then let it go. She’d absolutely die if she thought she had to take family portraits for the rest of her life.
But not after she made the cover of Today’s Man. If she hadn’t been confident before she’d met Jack Logan in the flesh, she would be now. He was the perfect subject. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather photograph more than him. The strong line of his jaw alone was enough to make a woman weep. And those hazel eyes, caught by the right light, seemed to glitter with deviltry, daring and tempting and mocking every feminine resolve.
Good thing she was immune. Not counting the dream she’d had two nights ago where she practically tore off his clothes. The brief memory brought a flash of heat, and she accidentally kicked the tripod. She caught it before it went over but not without causing a racket.
“You okay back there?” Shelly had lost most of her southern drawl except when it suited her purpose, but her trademark blond “big” hair hadn’t changed since she’d moved to New York fifteen years ago, a former Texas beauty queen, with more hope than promise.
“Fine. I’m almost done.” Madison smoothed the horrid butterfly backdrop and tacked the right corner. “Which one of the darling little Dennisons am I shooting today?”
“Oops. Should’ve warned you. It’s the twins.”
Madison groaned and pulled out another chair. Of the four kids, the twins were the ones who made her most insane. At only three years old the boys were already tyrants, but their mother considered them simply adorable. Bad combination.
“I know they irritate you,” Shelly said, lowering her voice as she ducked into the back, “but frankly, if Eileen Dennison weren’t so neurotic about capturing every little pout and smile, I’m not sure I would’ve made the rent last month.”
Madison got it. It was Shelly’s subtle way of telling her to make nice with Eileen Dennison, who, Madison had to admit, was great for business. Paid cash, too.
“Don’t worry,” Madison said as she bent down to peer through the lens at the backdrop. “I’ll treat the little monsters like royalty.”
Shelly chuckled. “You’re especially good with the little ones. Mothers ask for you a lot.”
“Yeah, well not without a great deal of effort.” She straightened, satisfied with the angle of the camera.
“I was thinking that maybe when I get better at that computer I can make some flyers. Pay some kid to hand them out at the corner.” Shelly pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pants pocket and used the mirror on the far wall to apply bright red to her lips. “Might be able to drum us up some more business. What do you think?”
Madison hesitated. She wouldn’t be here much longer. Shelly knew that. Madison had been up-front from the beginning. “Maybe.”
“Yeah, I know. You won’t be doing this much longer.” Shelly turned to her and shrugged. “I figure when the time comes that you kick me to the curb I’ll find some fresh graduate from NYU with gobs of student loans to repay and in desperate need of money.”
“Excuse me? Kick you to the curb?”
Shelly laughed. “I’m just so jealous I could spit. Tell me about him.”
“Jack Logan?”
“Who else do you think I mean?” Shelly planted her hands on her curvy hips. “I’ve been dying to hear about your meeting for two days. When’s the shoot? Tell me everything.”
Madison grinned. “He’s gorgeous. Breathtaking. What more can I say?”
“Girl, I can turn on the TV and see that for myself. I want to hear the juicy stuff.”
“We had a business meeting, for goodness sakes.”
“So? I heard he’s quite the flirt.”
Madison shook her head and made another adjustment to the tripod. “First, the only place you could have ‘heard’ anything is from one of those ridiculous tabloids you read. Second, I’m hardly in Jack Logan’s league.”
“Well, Miss Know-It-All, there’s a whole lot more truth in those magazines than you think. They can’t just pull those things out of thin air.”
“Of course not.”
Shelly chuckled. “You’re no fun.”
“You haven’t seen me after two margaritas.” Madison checked her watch. “What time are they supposed to get here?”
“Any minute.” Shelly poked her head out front, even though a warning buzzer went off every time someone came through the door, and then she looked back at Madison. “Evidently, he isn’t very tall, and he has to wear elevated shoes.”
“I’m five-eight and he has a good five inches on me. Strike one for evidently.”
Shelly snorted. “Is it true he’s dating Charlize Theron?”
“I wouldn’t have the faintest idea.”
“Last year he dumped that soap actress without warning. You shoulda seen the picture of her bawling her poor red eyes out.”
“You of all people, Shelly Mayfield.”
“What?”
“Like you don’t know how pictures can be altered.”
Shelly shrugged. “That doesn’t mean the sad thing wasn’t mooning after him.”
“I give up.” Shaking her head, Madison brushed past Shelly and headed to the front of the studio. The place was tiny and she’d be stuck in back with the Dennison twins and their doting mother long enough.
Shelly followed, continuing to babble, the list of women Jack had been seeing growing longer. Madison tried to shut her out. She didn’t care about Jack’s exploits. In fact, she didn’t want to think about them at all. Likely none of it was true, and she worked better when she liked her subject.
The door buzzer sounded and in came the Dennisons.
“I don’t wanna take my picture. I wanna go to the park.”
Mrs. Dennison had the red-faced boy by the collar. The other towheaded twin meekly held her hand. “Toby, we’ll go to the park when we’re through. And we’ll have hot dogs and ice cream, okay?”
“No, I wanna go now.” He started crying, wailing really. Loud enough for everyone in Queens to hear him.
Mrs. Dennison smiled brightly at Madison. “We’re here.”
Madison’s head started to ache. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow. Oh, yeah. And if she didn’t get that man to take his shirt off, she’d take the Dennison twins to a whole day at the park.

JACK FOUND A KEY CARD waiting for him at the front desk, just as Madison’s message had indicated. He used it to take the elevator to the rooftop garden where she said they should meet. Listening to the voice mail last night had brought some relief. He’d dreaded today since the moment he met her. Nothing personal. It was the whole sexiest-man nonsense. But the garden was at least a public spot and as good a start as any in the hotel.
Still, he wasn’t fooling himself. Eventually, she’d try to cajole him into taking off his shirt, getting into the pool, or lounging on one of the beds in the suite. Photographers were all alike. The more tantalizing or incriminating the shot, the better they liked it.
He didn’t begrudge her making a living. In fact, he was in awe of some photographers, the way they could evoke the deepest emotion with a single shot, one that could galvanize an entire city to action. Without a doubt great things had been accomplished through photography. None of which involved celebrity photos.
The elevator doors opened and the scent of gardenias greeted him before he got out. Still early, not quite seven, the garden appeared deserted. And then he saw her. By the gazebo, a half-eaten doughnut in one hand, while she used her other hand to fiddle with the camera mounted on a tripod.
Glad she hadn’t seen him yet, his gaze went to the red sweater she wore, the sleeves pushed up and the fabric molding nice high breasts. Not too large. Perfect for her slim build.
She took a hearty bite of the doughnut, and then enthusiastically licked her lips. He smiled but then pulled a straight face before noisily clearing his throat.
She turned to him with a look of surprise, still chewing, and then glanced at her watch. “Wow! It’s almost seven.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About an hour.” She gestured to a small silver thermos. “Want some coffee?”
“Later maybe.”
Her gaze went to his leather garment bag. “Are those the shirts?”

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