As one of the most successful landscape photographers in the world, Chance Hathoway was used to capturing the unexpected. A guy had to be ready when Mother Nature decided she’d show you the full extent of her power, because that fickle deity didn’t approve of slackers. He was admittedly addicted to those rare, magical moments when he was granted a glimpse into the inner sanctums of pure beauty.
The evening he saw the woman walking out of Orchard Lake, water streaming down her smooth, naked skin, Chance figured Mother Nature had outdone herself.
He stood at the periphery of the forest photographing the setting sun over the wooded lake. The meadow grass and yellow daisies close to him provided ideal perspective and contrast texture to the calm water. Forty-five minutes ago the water had been peppered with falling rain, making it look like the lake was on a low boil. Presently, it was as smooth as glass. A hushed, soft silence prevailed in the aftermath of the storm. Sunlight clung in the humid air. The quality of the light could make a magnificent scene boring and a mediocre scene brilliant. The southern Illinois forest lake was pretty enough, but it was the saturated quality of the light that would make for some truly worthwhile images. Hopefully, anyway, Chance thought as he attached a wide-angle lens and began clicking off photographs.
He first saw her through the lens of his camera—a pair of lithesome arms breaking the liquid-mirror surface of the lake. He paused in his photo taking. The back of his neck tingled, and Chance knew instinctively that a special moment was about to unfold. He pressed with his finger repeatedly as she neared the shore. She drew close enough for him to make out the shape of her glistening calves and thighs as she kicked, propelling herself forward. He caught a glimpse of her buttocks, two round, pale globes skimming just beneath the surface of the water, breaking the surface every once in a while and teasing his senses. He felt his cock stir but continued to work with focus, capturing the essence of unexpected beauty.
When she got within thirty feet of the shore, he deftly changed his wide-angle lens to a telephoto and seamlessly resumed his photography. Something about her graceful, unhurried movements held him spellbound—a woman lost in the simple delight of a solitary summer swim, feeling the cool water licking her naked skin and the warm evening sun falling on her back.
She stood in the shallows, the water streaming down her dark hair, sloping shoulders and full breasts. Chance’s intense focus fractured. He just stared through the camera lens, his forefinger held still, his breath stuck in his lungs. She walked slowly toward shore, taking her time, her skin gilded by golden sunlight and gleaming with moisture.
His finger moved as if of its own volition, attempting to capture her image . . . her essence.
Does nature actually make women like this anymore? he thought, stunned. She was like a 1950s film goddess—large, shapely breasts with luscious-looking, dark pink nipples; a small waist; taut, smooth belly and round hips. Was she mad, walking around naked in the forest with a body like that? Chance considered himself a modern man, but blimey . . . If anything could bring out the caveman in a male, it would be her. It was a little hard not to think of totally inappropriate things in that moment, like tossing her over his shoulder, laying her down in the grass and claiming her female glory in the most ancient, primal way a man could.
Something about her vulnerability admittedly excited him. As she rose from the lake, he saw that the dark pubic hair between her long, shapely thighs had been trimmed very short.
Without telling himself to do it, he zoomed in. Blood pounded into his cock, making him hard and ready in an instant, when he saw drops of water clinging to pubic hair and plump sex lips. What would it be like to see them dripping with juices of arousal?
As she came within feet of the shore, he clicked off more photos. Her full breasts struck an erotic contrast to her delicate, narrow rib cage. They trembled slightly as she moved through the water. He knew in a rational sense that he was invading her privacy, but the moment wasn’t about logic or political correctness. Chance was a photographer. He could as easily have stopped himself from breathing as he could still his finger on his camera with such a miracle of unguarded feminine beauty standing before him.
His arousal mounted as the water level hit her knees and then her calves and more and more of her goddess-like form was revealed. He didn’t normally photograph humans. They were so contrived in comparison to landscapes and wild animals. But this woman—this magnificent creature—was an exception. She epitomized natural grace. Sex was a primal, crucial part of nature, after all.
And she was sex walking.
She stood in the shallows, panting softly from her exercise, and brought a tail of long, dark hair around her right shoulder. She squeezed, releasing the excess moisture. He could hear the water dripping into the lake, see the droplets sprinkle on her heaving breasts. She slid her hand over the back of her head and released a restraining band. Wavy wet tendrils of hair fell around her shoulders and chest, coming within an inch of her voluptuous breasts.
He knew the precise moment when she realized she was being observed. Had she heard the click of his camera? She went still. He focused on her face. Her wet pink lips parted in dawning surprise. Her eyes were large and brandy-colored. They were trained directly on him.
He stood and looked at her with his naked eye. About thirty-five feet separated them. He’d photographed many a wild animal in locations across the globe. It was always an intoxicating, almost eerie moment when an animal first noticed him and, for a second or two, their awareness—human and beast, object and subject—melded.
Meeting this woman’s stare sent a thrill through him unlike anything he’d ever known. What would she do? Rush over to him and yell at him for his presumption? Scream? As far as he knew, there wasn’t anyone near the deserted location in the woods. The recent storm had chased most of the hikers and fisherman out of the forest. Perhaps she’d run. Something about her almost preternatural stillness reminded him of an animal before it took flight.
But then her arms fell docilely to her sides and her spine straightened, causing her breasts to thrust forward slightly. Otherwise, she remained immobile, her gaze never leaving him. He didn’t know why, but her open, unmoving pose triggered something in him. He didn’t know for certain if her posture was an invitation. It felt like it, though.
He bent to the camera and doggedly continued an impossible task—to capture the essence of a goddess.
Sherona Legion had grown up in southern Illinois, and she knew Orchard Lake like she intimately knew every inch of her diner and every inhabitant of the tiny town of Vulture’s Canyon. Or at least she thought she knew her comfortable little corner of the universe. It was suddenly transformed into a mysterious, vast, exciting world when she walked out of Orchard Lake after her swim and saw the man at the edge of the forest photographing her.
For several seconds she stood stock-still, her muscles tensed and her heart starting to beat a throbbing alarm in her ears. She was easy prey. Thoughts of grabbing her clothing and making a dash for the forest raced past her consciousness, but then the man stood. He was a stranger to her. He was tall with shaggy, sandy blond hair. His skin was golden brown next to the white crewneck T-shirt he wore along with long army green canvas shorts and brown hiking boots. He apparently spent a lot of time outdoors, given that tan. His hips were narrow, but his chest and shoulders looked powerful. His athletic build, long legs and muscular calves told her loud and clear who would likely win if it came to a race.
A thrill of excitement went through her at the thought of him chasing her through the woods . . . catching her.
She blinked, shocked by her unexpected train of thought.
His hand remained on his camera, reminding her of the possessive, sure touch of a lover. Who was he? His clothing was outdoor casual, but along with his elaborate camera spoke of some degree of affluence.
All of these jumbled, anxious thoughts came to her in an instant as she stood there, naked and dripping with water, while he scored her with his stare. She should dress and demand he destroy the photos. Her gaze dropped over the front of his canvas shorts, and her breath burned in her lungs. Even from this distance, his arousal was obvious.
Heat rushed through her, the degree of it stunning her. She was vulnerable and naked. For some reason, his observation of her, the fact that he’d claimed her image both with his camera and naked eye, struck her as bold on his part. Dominant . . . exciting.
She recognized she was defenseless, but felt strangely powerful in the knowledge. She dropped her hands to her sides in an unfamiliar submissive gesture (Sherona was not known for being docile). Her naked body was nothing to be ashamed of. She knew from the thick ridge of the shaft of his cock riding along his left thigh that she was, in fact, beautiful to him.
It didn’t surprise her in the slightest when he bent again to peer through the camera lens. She stood transfixed, a gentle breeze causing goose bumps to rise along her skin and her nipples to stiffen. The subtle movement of his fingers as he took her picture over and over struck her as highly erotic. She imagined what it would be like to feel those fingers on her skin, detailing her form using the sense of touch instead of sight. Liquid heat rushed through her, the strength of her response taking her off guard. Without really thinking, she pressed her fingers to the damp slit of her sex. Pleasure spiked through her, delicious and forbidden. Her nipples tightened painfully. She sensed him pause in his photo taking. He lifted his head slightly, spearing her with a narrow-eyed stare.
Good God. She was an exhibitionist, and she hadn’t known it until that moment.
She blinked, disbelief and horror jolting through her at the realization. She lunged for the neatly folded sundress she’d placed at the edge of the meadow grass before she entered the water. Anxiety pressed down on her chest as she hurriedly donned it, covering her nakedness, and slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops. She glanced up as she tossed her panties into her canvas tote—she didn’t want to make herself more vulnerable by pulling them over her legs in front of him—but the man still stood behind his tripod, unmoving. Sherona straightened, her heartbeat now pounding in her ears.
The forest preserve path that led to the parking lot was fifty feet to the right of her and perhaps seventy feet from the man. She had the advantage as far as distance. Besides, she somehow doubted he’d leave that expensive-looking camera behind to chase after her. Her heart was beating so fast, it felt as if it had swollen and was pressing against her breastbone.
She watched him warily as she walked quickly toward the path, her chin tilted defiantly, ready to break into a run at his slightest move. His mouth opened, and for a few tense seconds, she thought he was going to call out to her. He didn’t, though, and Sherona gained entrance to the path. She plunged into the forest, the thick foliage blocking her view of him. She hadn’t wanted him to see her run, but now she raced toward her car. By the time she reached the paved parking lot, she was breathing erratically and a fine sheen of sweat covered her skin.
She gave one backward glance toward the forest and opened her car door. Not until she sat in the driver’s seat with the doors locked did she allow herself a moment to catch her breath. As her wild heartbeat slowed, she glanced to her left. The only other car in the parking lot was parked perpendicularly to her Ford Focus; a sleek, silver Jaguar coupe convertible. She noticed the rental plates.
It had to have been his car. Nobody in the vicinity of Vulture’s Canyon, save Katie Pierce, drove such a luxurious, sporty vehicle.
Now that she was safe, she pressed her hand on her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Rationally, she knew she should have approached the man and demanded he destroy the photos he’d taken of her.
But something had happened out there in those woods. Something that Sherona couldn’t see or touch, but could measure by its effect on her body and spirit. For some inexplicable reason, knowing that stranger had seen something in her that Sherona herself had never glimpsed caused the confining walls of her small, comfortable life to explode.
Her world suddenly seemed like a much bigger, breathtaking place.
Two days later, Chance strolled into the pleasantly cool, extremely clean interior of the Legion Diner. The good-looking, husky young man who stood behind the counter with a half apron tied around his blue jeans wasn’t the person he’d been hoping to see. The only other people in the diner were a gray-haired man in his late fifties who gave him a suspicious, grouchy-looking once-over before he returned to his newspaper and a thin man wearing a cap, his jug ears sticking out from beneath it. The skinny man was eating his meatloaf single-mindedly, never glancing up once at Chance’s entrance.
The kid behind the counter gave him a friendly nod.
“Sit anywhere you like.”
“Thanks,” Chance said, sliding into one of the booths that lined the front windows. He looked out onto the deserted Main Street of Vulture’s Canyon. Better to call it Only Street. As far as Chance could make out, the desolate street lined with ancient, crumbling storefronts was the only paved thoroughfare in the back-hills town set in the midst of the Shawnee National Forest. The Legion Diner along with the Trading Company and the Last Stop Saloon appeared to be the only viable businesses in Vulture’s Canyon.
He glanced around when the boy set a glass of ice water in front of him.
“I was looking for the owner? Sherona?” Chance said.
The young man’s amiable countenance faded slightly.
“She’s taking some bread and pies over to the Trading Company. She’ll be right back. Are you English or something?” the kid asked.
“Australian. Ever visited the land down under?”
The young man threw him a dry glance. “The farthest south I’ve ever been is Nashville. What can I get you?”
“What’s good?” Chance asked, peering at the blackboard menu behind the counter.
“Everything. My sister is the best cook in the county.”
Chance did a double take. “You’re Sherona’s brother?”
“Derek Legion,” the kid said unsmilingly.
Chance hid a grin. Derek had seemed perfectly friendly until he’d mentioned wanting to see his sister. Well, it didn’t particularly surprise him that the little brother of a woman as beautiful as Sherona might be a little protective.
He stuck out his hand. “Chance Hathoway. I’m here at Rill Pierce’s request to do some photographs for the Food for Body and Soul brochure,” he explained as he shared a quick handshake with Derek. He’d known Rill since they’d met at UCLA during their undergraduate years, both of them students in the visual arts department, and both of them expats—Rill from Ireland and Chance from Australia. Rill had gone on to become a renowned movie director, and Chance had made his career in photography, but they’d remained friends over the years. When Rill had recently mentioned to him the charitable work he did for Food for Body and Soul, a cooperative farm that provided nutritious, healthy food for poverty-stricken and needy families in the Midwest and Appalachian region, Chance had been interested. It’d sounded like a worthy enough cause for him to take a quick vacation at Rill’s house and help in any way he could. It’d been Rill who’d suggested how his expertise might best help out the organization.
“So that’s why you want to talk to Sherona? Because of Body and Soul?” Derek asked.
Chance nodded. “I understand she’s in charge of public relations for the organization. I wanted to get her ideas on where I should photograph and when.”
“Well, she should be back any minute,” Derek said, seeming partially mollified by his explanation. But Chance hadn’t been entirely untruthful. Rill had told him Sherona was the person he should contact in regard to the brochure. He’d been chomping at the bit to meet her, however, ever since he knew the identity of the glistening goddess he’d blessedly glimpsed. The fact that his contact at Body and Soul and the woman at the lake were one and the same made Chance feel like Lady Luck herself had just dealt him a dream poker hand.
Chance had shared with Rill—in a highly edited form—his experience of seeing a beautiful woman swimming in Orchard Lake two days ago. They’d been sitting together on the front porch of Rill and Katie Pierce’s large house, enjoying the slow, cautious crawl of evening into the forest. Rill had asked him a few pointed questions about the female’s appearance.
“That was Sherona Legion, the woman I told you to talk to about the photos,” Rill had said in an unequivocal tone as he sat back in the Adirondack chair and took a sip of his iced tea.
“How can you be so sure it was Sherona Legion?” Chance had asked, amused.
Rill had given him a droll glance. “You think there are a lot of women who live in these parts who match the description you just gave me?”
Chance had taken a swig of his beer and stared thoughtfully at the lavender blue evening sky. “There aren’t a handful of women on the planet that could match what I saw out at Orchard Lake yesterday.”
Rill’s eyebrows had gone up at that. “That’s quite a compliment coming from a globe-trotting photographer who can expertly testify about the identities of the most beautiful women on the planet.”
Chance had rolled his eyes at that and glanced toward the front door. They were expecting Katie to join them at any minute. “Don’t say things like that in front of your wife. She’ll think I’m a worthless root and never let me visit you again.”
“Katie can make up her own mind as to your character without my input. She won’t hold the fact that you’re the heir to the Hathoway fortune or your popularity with the ladies against you unless you give her cause to,” Rill had said with a smirk. He had grown a little more serious when he registered Chance’s scowl. Chance liked Katie, considering her a brilliant light to Rill’s dark, quirky brilliance. He didn’t want her to hate him.
“Katie can see through a stereotype if anyone can. She’s done her own struggle against being stereotyped as the blond Hollywood rich girl. Besides, she knows a few things about the truth behind the image from her brother,” Rill had said, referring to Katie’s celebrity sibling, Everett Hughes.
“And from being the wife of a famous director, I assume,” Chance had said dryly.
Rill had just shrugged at that.
“I’ll have the daily special and a glass of iced tea,” Chance told Derek presently. Derek nodded and glanced sideways when the grouchy-seeming older man stood.
“You done eating, Errol?” the gray-haired man asked the thin man.
Errol nodded.
“Come on. I’ll drive you home, then,” the older man said with gentle gruffness, surprising Chance a little. The two men had sat at separate booths. Chance wouldn’t have guessed they were acquaintances. The thin man wearing the cap set down his fork with an obedient gesture that reminded him of a child.
“That’s for both of us,” the older man said as he set some money on the counter.
“Thanks, Monty. Don’t forget the bread Sherona set out for you, Errol,” Derek said, waving at a paper bag sitting on the counter. Errol scooped it up as he passed, the gesture looking familiar.
“Have a good one,” Monty said.
“See you later, Monty, Errol,” Derek said as he checked his watch and opened the refrigerator door.
The man called Errol trailed after Monty through the front door. Chance realized belatedly that all three of the other occupants of the diner knew one another as intimately as extended family. Sherona Legion’s diner appeared to be the tiny town’s communal kitchen and dining room.
He looked around eagerly when he heard a sound behind the counter. Sherona walked through a swinging door tying a white half apron around her hips.
“Okay, I’m back. You can go. Mike is waiting for you in the front of the Trading Company,” she said breathlessly to her brother. She gave her apron strings a final tug and glanced up, seeing Chance sitting there. She froze.
“Hello,” Chance called.
If she wore any makeup, Chance couldn’t see it. She didn’t need it. Her lips, for instance, which had fallen open in shock upon seeing him, were a lovely, natural dark pink. She certainly didn’t need any artifice to make them any fuller.
Or sexier.
Belatedly, Chance realized Derek was glancing uneasily between his sister and Chance as she gaped at him.
“I don’t really have to go for a while,” Derek said stiffly.
Sherona blinked and straightened, yanking her gaze off Chance.
“What do you mean? Mike is waiting for you, and you’ve been looking forward to this fishing trip since you got home from college.”
This time, Sherona noticed the uneasy glance Derek gave Chance.
“I’ll be totally fine,” Chance thought he heard her say under her breath. She looked at Chance. “Has he taken your order yet?” she asked, her tone not necessarily cool, but definitely businesslike.
“I ordered the special and an iced tea,” Chance replied.
She nodded once and began to move around briskly behind the counter. Derek hesitated, but seemed to take some reassurance from his sister’s unconcerned attitude about Chance. He removed his apron and walked around the counter.
“I guess I’ll be going then,” Derek said.
Sherona set down a pan on the stove and walked over to him. They both leaned across the counter, and she gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Call me if you need anything. And have a great time. You deserve it, with a report card like you got—and for your freshman year, no less,” she said with quiet pride.
Derek gave a small smile and loped toward the front door. He gave Chance a guarded half wave and walked out.
He and Sherona were alone in the diner.
He thought it would be the right thing to do to approach her and say he was sorry for what had happened the other day by Orchard Lake. He walked to the counter and sat on a stool. She showed no sign of having any interest in an apology, or with having anything to do with him, for that matter.
He watched her with increasing fascination as she prepared his meal. Her outfit was kind of . . . well, frumpy, to be honest: a loose pair of jeans, black Converse tennis shoes and a shapeless white shirt. Not that Chance cared. She could be wearing Chanel and the only thing he’d see was her glorious naked form glistening with water. Did she dress like that to hide the fact that she possessed the body of a Venus? The disguise might have worked for some men, but it didn’t for him. She could wear a tent and he’d find her sexy as hell.
She moved like she was doing a perfectly choreographed dance routine—open the refrigerator, grab a pan with one hand and a platter with the other, close door with a small kick, set down the pan on the stove, flip on the gas, slide the platter into the oven, open the refrigerator again, grab the pitcher of tea, scoop some ice into a glass . . .
It went on. She moved with efficiency, but also extreme grace, the props of her pans and dishes and cutlery precisely where she wanted them to be when she reached out a hand. By the time she set a steaming plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn bread and fresh steamed green beans in front of him, sliding a napkin and silverware down next to it, Chance realized he hadn’t spoken yet. Just like he had been down by the lake, he was completely mesmerized by her.
“Thanks,” he said, appreciatively inhaling the divine aromas wafting off the plate.
She stood regarding him, her former methodical whirlwind of action coming to an abrupt halt. She wore her long hair in a low ponytail. Now that it was dry, he realized it was an auburn color that nearly matched the russet color of her eyes. Despite her calm, unreadable expression, he saw her pulse throbbing rapidly at her throat.
“What do you plan to do with those photos?”
He blinked. Her voice sounded low and smoky, but there was a definite trace of steely anger in it.
“I don’t plan on doing anything with them.”
Her nostrils flared slightly and her brown eyes sparked.
“Then why did you take them?” she demanded, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. His gaze flickered downward before he gave her a glance that was both apologetic and droll.
“Why do you think?” he quietly returned her challenge. He sighed when he saw her stiffen. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong of me to take them. Truth is, I couldn’t seem to stop myself. You’re very beautiful.”
They stared off in the silence.
He picked up his fork and sank it into the tender meat. He groaned in gustatory bliss a second later as he chewed. Did her lush lips tremble slightly in amusement? He set down his fork and stuck out his hand, hoping to take advantage of the temporary break in her irritation. She reluctantly put her soft, warm hand in his for a quick shake.
“I’m Chance Hathoway. I’m mates with Rill Pierce. I volunteered to do the photography for the Food for Body and Soul brochure. I understand I’m supposed to see you about the details.”
“I think you’ve seen enough of me.”
He laughed, his mashed potato and gravy–filled fork pausing halfway to his mouth. Her eyes flashed in annoyance, but he couldn’t seem to help his mirth. Her response had caught him off guard. “I haven’t seen near as much as I’d like,” he replied honestly before he wolfed down his potatoes. His eyes went wide in appreciation. “Your little brother was right,” he said after he’d swallowed. “You are an ace cook.”
Her defensive posture told him loud and clear he wasn’t going to charm her into forgetting his infraction.
“Look,” he said, setting down his fork. He didn’t want to make this offer, but he knew it was the right thing to do. “My computer is in my car. How about if I bring in the photos after I finish eating and you can be shot of ’em yourself?”
“You mean delete them?” she asked, obviously confused by his word usage.
“Yeah. If that’d be what makes you happy.”
She lowered her arms and walked over to the sink, picking up a rag. “It would have made me happy to have my privacy respected in the first place,” she said, starting to clean the counters briskly. “But since I wasn’t granted that the other day, your offer will have to suffice. How do I know I can trust you not to have made a dozen copies of those photos?”
“I’m a professional photographer. I’d never release any photos including a person without their signed permission. If I ever did, said person would have the right to take me to court,” he said, taking a bite of corn bread and butter that melted in his mouth. “Blimey, this is bloody good.”
She rinsed off the rag and folded it neatly. “All right. I spoke to Katie Pierce about you yesterday, and she seems to find you fairly trustworthy. I guess I’ll just have to take her word for it.”
“Fairly trustworthy?” Chance frowned, pausing in the ravishment of his meal. He hadn’t tasted food this good in a long time. Sherona’s slow smile nearly made him forget his flash of disappointment at being judged only fairly trustworthy by Rill’s wife, Katie. He’d been trying to make a good impression on his hostess in Vulture’s Canyon.
“As trustworthy as a man with unlimited wealth, talent and cockiness can be,” she said.
“Katie said that?” he asked incredulously.
“No. I listened to her describe you in much rosier terms and came to that conclusion on my own,” Sherona said bluntly. She walked toward the swinging door behind the counter. “I have to unload some boxes in the storage room. Just yell when you finish eating and get your computer.”
“You mean you are going to delete all the photos yourself?”
“You better believe I am,” she told him with a cool sideways glance before she pushed through the swinging door.
Chance grinned and took another voracious bite of meatloaf. In the privacy of Rill and Katie’s guesthouse he’d examined those photos more times than he’d ever admit to. He knew firsthand they packed a gargantuan punch. Sherona was going to have to look at each photograph before she deleted it, and he was going to be right there next to her while it happened.
He was looking forward to this.