CHAPTER FOUR
Bryan recorded vacationers floating like corks in the Great Salt Lake. When the shot called for it, she used a long or a wide-angle lens to bring in some unusual part of the landscape. But for the most part, Bryan concentrated on the people.
In the salt flats to the west, Shade framed race car enthusiasts. He angled for the speed, the dust, the grit. More often than not, the people included in his pictures would be anonymous, blurred, shadowy. He wanted only the essence.
Trips to large cities and through tidy suburbs used up rolls of film. There were summer gardens, hot, sweaty traffic jams, young girls in thin dresses, shirtless men, and babies in strollers being pushed along sidewalks and in shopping malls.
Their route through Idaho and Utah had been winding, but steady. Neither was displeased with the pace or the subjects. For a time, after the turbulent detour on the country road in Idaho, Bryan and Shade worked side by side in relative harmony. They concentrated on their own subjects, but they did little as a team.
They’d already taken hundreds of pictures, a fraction of which would be printed and still a smaller fraction published. Once it occurred to Bryan that the pictures they’d taken far outnumbered the words they’d spoken to each other.
They drove together up to eight hours a day, stopping along the way whenever it was necessary or desirable to work. And they worked as much as they drove. Out of each twenty-four hours, they were together an average of twenty. But they grew no closer. It was something either of them might have accomplished with the ease of a friendly gesture or a few casual words. It was something both of them avoided.
Bryan learned it was possible to keep an almost obsessive emotional distance from someone while sharing a limited space. She also learned a limited space made it very difficult to ignore what Shade had once termed chemistry. To balance the two, Bryan kept her conversations light and brief and almost exclusively centered on the assignment. She asked no more questions. Shade volunteered no more information.
By the time they crossed the border into Arizona, at the end of the first week, she was already finding it an uncomfortable way to work.
It was hot. The sun was merciless. The van’s air-conditioning helped, but just looking out at the endless desert and faded sage made the mouth dry. Bryan had an enormous paper cup filled with soda and ice. Shade drank bottled iced tea as he drove.
She estimated that they hadn’t exchanged a word for fifty-seven miles. Nor had they spoken much that morning when they’d set up to shoot, each in separate territory, at Glen Canyon in Utah. Bryan might be pleased with the study she’d done of the cars lined up at the park’s entrance, but she was growing weary of their unspoken agreement of segregation.
The magazine had hired them as a team, she reminded herself. Each of them would take individual pictures, naturally, but there had to be some communication if the photo essay were to have any cohesion. There had to be some blending if the final result was the success both of them wanted. Compromise, she remembered with a sigh. They’d forgotten the operative word.
Bryan thought she knew Shade well enough at this point to be certain he’d never make the first move. He was perfectly capable of driving thousands of miles around the country without saying her name more than once a day. As in, Pass the salt, Bryan.
She could be stubborn. Bryan thought about it as she brooded out the window at the wide stretches of Arizona. She could be just as aloof as he. And, she admitted with a grimace, she could bore herself to death within another twenty-four hours.
Contact, she decided. She simply couldn’t survive without some kind of contact. Even if it was with a hard-edged, casually rude cynic. Her only choice was to swallow her pride and make the first move herself. She gritted her teeth, gnawed on ice and thought about it for another ten minutes.
“Ever been to Arizona?”
Shade tossed his empty bottle into the plastic can they used for trash. “No.”
Bryan pried off one sneaker with the toe of the other. If at first you don’t succeed, she told herself. “They filmed Outcast in Sedona. Now that was a tough, thinking-man’s Western,” she mused, and received no response. “I spent three days there covering the filming for Celebrity.” After adjusting her sun visor, she sat back again. “I was lucky enough to miss my plane and get another day. I spent it in Oak Creek Canyon. I’ve never forgotten it—the colors, the rock formations.”
It was the longest speech she’d made in days. Shade negotiated the van around a curve and waited for the rest.
Okay, she thought, she’d get more than one word out of him if she had to use a crowbar. “A friend of mine settled there. Lee used to work for Celebrity. Now she’s a novelist with her first book due out in the fall. She married Hunter Brown last year.”
“The writer?”
Two words, she thought, smug. “Yes, have you read his stuff?”
This time Shade merely nodded and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. Bryan began to sympathize with dentists who had to coax a patient to open wide.
“I’ve read everything he’s written, then I hate myself for letting his books give me nightmares.”
“Good horror fiction’s supposed to make you wake up at 3:00 A.M. and wonder if you’ve locked your doors.”
This time she grinned. “That sounds like something Hunter would say. You’ll like him.”
Shade merely moved his shoulders. He’d agreed to the stop in Sedona already, but he wasn’t interested in taking flattering, commercial pictures of the occult king and his family. It would, however, give Shade the break he needed. If he could dump Bryan off for a day or two with her friends, he could take the time to get his system back to normal.
He hadn’t had an easy moment since the day they’d started out of L.A. Every day that went by only tightened his nerves and played havoc with his libido. He’d tried, but it wasn’t possible to forget she was there within arm’s reach at night, separated from him only by the width of the van and the dark.
Yes, he could use a day away from her, and that natural, easy sexuality she didn’t even seem aware of.
“You haven’t seen them for a while?” he asked her.
“Not in months.” Bryan relaxed, more at ease now that they’d actually begun a two-way conversation. “Lee’s a good friend. I’ve missed her. She’ll have a baby about the same time her book comes out.”
The change in her voice had him glancing over. There was something softer about her now. Almost wistful.
“A year ago, we were both still with Celebrity, and now…” She turned to him, but the shaded glasses hid her eyes. “It’s odd thinking of Lee settled down with a family. She was always more ambitious than me. It used to drive her crazy that I took everything with such a lack of intensity.”
“Do you?”
“Just about everything,” she murmured. Not you, she thought to herself. I don’t seem to be able to take you easily. “It’s simpler to relax and live,” she went on, “than to worry about how you’ll be living next month.”
“Some people have to worry if they’ll be living next month.”
“Do you think the fact they worry about it changes things?” Bryan forgot her plan to make contact, forgot the fact that she’d been groping for some sort of compromise from him. He’d seen more than she’d seen of the world, of life. She had to admit that he’d seen more than she wanted to see. But how did he feel about it?
“Being aware can change things. Looking out for yourself’s a priority some of us haven’t a choice about.”
Some of us. She noted the phrase but decided not to pounce on it. If he had scars, he was entitled to keep them covered until they’d faded a bit more.
“Everyone worries from time to time,” she decided. “I’m just not very good at it. I suppose it comes from my parents. They’re…” She trailed off and laughed. It occurred to him he hadn’t heard her laugh in days, and that he’d missed it. “I guess they’re what’s termed bohemians. We lived in this little house in Carmel that was always in varying states of disrepair. My father would get a notion to take out a wall or put in a window, then in the middle of the project, he’d get an inspiration, go back to his canvases and leave the mess where it lay.”
She settled back, no longer aware that she was doing all the talking and Shade all the listening. “My mother liked to cook. Trouble was, you’d never know what mood she’d be in. You might have grilled rattlesnake one day, cheeseburgers the next. Then, when you least expected it, there’d be gooseneck stew.”
“Gooseneck stew?”
“I ate at the neighbors’ a lot.” The memory brought on her appetite. Taking out two candy bars, she offered one to Shade. “How about your parents?”
He unwrapped the candy absently while he paced his speed to the state police car in the next lane. “They retired to Florida. My father fishes and my mother runs a craft shop. Not as colorful as yours, I’m afraid.”
“Colorful.” She thought about it, and approved. “I never knew they were unusual until I’d gone away to college and realized that most kids’ parents were grown-up and sensible. I guess I never realized how much I’d been influenced by them until Rob pointed out things like most people preferring to eat dinner at six, rather than scrounging for popcorn or peanut butter at ten o’clock at night.”
“Rob?”
She glanced over quickly, then straight ahead. Shade listened too well, she decided. It made it too easy to say more than you intended. “My ex-husband.” She knew she shouldn’t still see the “ex” as a stigma; these days it was nearly a status symbol. For Bryan, it was the symbol that proved she hadn’t done what was necessary to keep a promise.
“Still sore?” He’d asked before he could stop himself. She made him want to offer comfort, when he’d schooled himself not to become involved in anyone’s life, anyone’s problem.
“No, it was years ago.” After a quick shrug, she nibbled on her candy bar. Sore? she thought again. No, not sore, but perhaps she’d always be just a little tender. “Just sorry it didn’t work out, I suppose.”
“Regrets are more a waste of time than worrying.”
“Maybe. You were married once, too.”
“That’s right.” His tone couldn’t have been more dismissive. Bryan gave him a long, steady look.
“Sacred territory?”
“I don’t believe in rehashing the past.”
This wound was covered with scar tissue, she mused. She wondered if it troubled him much, or if he’d truly filed it away. In either case, it wasn’t her business, nor was it the way to keep the ball rolling between them.
“When did you decide to become a photographer?” That was a safe topic, she reflected. There shouldn’t be any tender points.
“When I was five and got my hands on my father’s new thirty-five-millimeter. When he had the film developed, he discovered three close-ups of the family dog. I’m told he didn’t know whether to congratulate me or give me solitary confinement when they turned out to be better than any of his shots.”
Bryan grinned. “What’d he do?”
“He bought me a camera of my own.”
“You were way ahead of me,” she commented. “I didn’t have any interest in cameras until high school. Just sort of fell into it. Up until then, I’d wanted to be a star.”
“An actress?”
“No.” She grinned again. “A star. Any kind of a star, as long as I had a Rolls, a gold lamé dress and a big tacky diamond.”
He had to grin. She seemed to have the talent for forcing it out of him. “An unassuming child.”
“No, materialistic.” She offered him her drink, but he shook his head. “That stage coincided with my parents’ return-to-the-earth period. I guess it was my way of rebelling against people who were almost impossible to rebel against.”
He glanced down at her ringless hands and her faded jeans. “Guess you got over it.”
“I wasn’t made to be a star. Anyway, they needed someone to take pictures of the football team.” Bryan finished off the candy bar and wondered how soon they could stop for lunch. “I volunteered because I had a crush on one of the players.” Draining her soda, she dumped the cup in with Shade’s bottle. “After the first day, I fell in love with the camera and forgot all about the defensive lineman.”
“His loss.”
Bryan glanced over, surprised by the offhand compliment. “That was a nice thing to say, Colby. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
He didn’t quite defeat the smile. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Heaven forbid.” But she was a great deal more pleased than his casual words warranted. “Anyway, my parents were thrilled when I became an obsessive photographer. They’d lived with this deadly fear that I had no creative drives and would end up being a smashing business success instead of an artist.”
“So now you’re both.”
She thought about it a moment. Odd how easy it was to forget about one aspect of her work when she concentrated so hard on the other. “I suppose you’re right. Just don’t mention it to Mom and Dad.”
“They won’t hear it from me.”
They both saw the construction sign at the same time. Whether either of them realized it, their minds followed the same path. Bryan was already reaching for her camera when Shade slowed and eased off the road. Ahead of them, a road crew patched, graded and sweated under the high Arizona sun.
Shade walked off to consider the angle that would show the team and machinery battling against the erosion of the road. A battle that would be waged on roads across the country each summer as long as roads existed. Bryan homed in on one man.
He was bald and had a yellow bandanna tied around his head to protect the vulnerable dome of his scalp. His face and neck were reddened and damp, his belly sagging over the belt of his work pants. He wore a plain white T-shirt, pristine compared to the colorful ones slashed with sayings and pictures the workmen around him had chosen.
To get in close she had to talk to him and deal with the comments and grins from the rest of the crew. She did so with an aplomb and charm that would’ve caused a public relations expert to rub his hands together. Bryan was a firm believer that the relationship between the photographer and the subject showed through in the final print. So first, in her own way, she had to develop one.
Shade kept his distance. He saw the men as a team—the sunburned, faceless team that worked roads across the country and had done so for decades. He wanted no relationship with any of them, nothing that would color the way he saw them as they stood, bent and dug.
He took a telling shot of the grime, dust and sweat. Bryan learned that the foreman’s name was Al and he’d worked for the road commission for twenty-two years.
It took her a while to ease her way around his self-consciousness, but once she got him talking about what the miserable winter had done to his road, everything clicked. Sweat dribbled down his temple. When he reached up with one beefy arm to swipe at it, Bryan had her picture.
The impulsive detour took them thirty minutes. By the time they piled back in the van, they were sweating as freely as the laborers.
“Are you always so personal with strangers?” Shade asked her as he switched on the engine and the air-conditioning.
“When I want their picture, sure.” Bryan opened the cooler and pulled out one of the cold cans she’d stocked, and another bottle of iced tea for Shade. “You get what you wanted?”
“Yeah.”
He’d watched her at work. Normally they separated, but this time he’d been close enough to see just how she went about her job. She’d treated the road man with more respect and good humor than many photographers showed their hundred-dollar-an-hour models. And she hadn’t done it just for the picture, though Shade wasn’t sure she realized it. She’d been interested in the man—who he was, what he was and why.
Once, a long time before, Shade had had that kind of curiosity. Now he strapped it down. Knowing involved you. But it wasn’t easy, he was discovering, to strap down his curiosity about Bryan. Already she’d told him more than he’d have asked. Not more than he wanted to know, but more than he’d have asked. It still wasn’t enough.
For nearly a week he’d backed off from her—just as far as it was possible under the circumstances. He hadn’t stopped wanting her. He might not like to rehash the past, but it wasn’t possible to forget that last molten encounter on the roadside.
He’d closed himself off, but now she was opening him up again. He wondered if it was foolish to try to fight it, and the attraction they had for each other. It might be better, simpler, more logical, to just let things progress to the only possible conclusion.
They’d sleep together, burn the passion out and get back to the assignment.
Cold? Calculated? Perhaps, but he’d do nothing except follow the already routed course. He knew it was important to keep the emotions cool and the mind sharp.
He’d let his emotions fuddle his logic and his perception before. In Cambodia, a sweet face and a generous smile had blinded him to treachery. Shade’s fingers tightened on the wheel without his realizing it. He’d learned a lesson about trust then—it was only the flip side of betrayal.
“Where’ve you gone?” Bryan asked quietly. A look had come into his eyes that she didn’t understand, and wasn’t certain she wanted to understand.
He turned his head. For an instant she was caught in the turmoil, in the dark place he remembered too well and she knew nothing about. Then it was over. His eyes were remote and calm. His fingers eased on the wheel.
“We’ll stop in Page,” he said briefly. “Get some shots of the boats and tourists on Lake Powell before we go down to the canyon.”
“All right.”
He hadn’t been thinking of her. Bryan could comfort herself with that. She hoped the look that had come into his eyes would never be applied to her. Even so, she was determined that sooner or later she’d discover the reason for it.
* * *
She could’ve gotten some good technical shots of the dam. But as they passed through the tiny town of Page, heading for the lake, Bryan saw the high golden arches shimmering behind waves of heat. It made her grin. Cheeseburgers and fries weren’t just summer pastimes. They’d become a way of life. Food for all seasons. But she couldn’t resist the sight of the familiar building settled low below the town, almost isolated, like a mirage in the middle of the desert.
She rolled down her window and waited for the right angle. “Gotta eat,” she said as she framed the building. “Just gotta.” She clicked the shutter.
Resigned, Shade pulled into the lot. “Get it to go,” he ordered as Bryan started to hop out. “I want to get to the marina.”
Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she disappeared inside. Shade didn’t have the chance to become impatient before she bounded back out again with two white bags. “Cheap, fast and wonderful,” she told him as she slid back into her seat. “I don’t know how I’d make it through life if I couldn’t get a cheeseburger on demand.”
She pulled out a wrapped burger and handed it to him.
“I got extra salt,” she said over her first taste of fries. “Mmm, I’m starving.”
“You wouldn’t be if you’d eat something besides a candy bar for breakfast.”
“I’d rather be awake when I eat,” she mumbled, involved in unwrapping her burger.
Shade unwrapped his own. He hadn’t asked her to bring him anything. He’d already learned it was typical of her to be carelessly considerate. Perhaps the better word was naturally. But it wasn’t typical of him to be moved by the simple offer of a piece of meat in a bun. He reached in a bag and brought out a paper napkin. “You’re going to need this.”
Bryan grinned, took it, folded her legs under her and dug in. Amused, Shade drove leisurely to the marina.
They rented a boat, what Bryan termed a putt-putt. It was narrow, open and about the size of a canoe. It would, however, carry them, and what equipment they chose, out on the lake.
She liked the little marina, with its food stands and general stores with displays of suntan oil and bathing suits. The season was in full swing; people strolled by dressed in shorts and cover-ups, in hats and sunglasses. She spotted a teenage couple, brown and gleaming, on a bench, licking at dripping ice-cream cones. Because they were so involved with each other, Bryan was able to take some candid shots before the paperwork on the rental was completed.
Ice cream and suntans. It was a simple, cheerful way to look at summer. Satisfied, she secured her camera in its bag and went back to Shade.
“Do you know how to drive a boat?”
He sent her a mild look as they walked down the dock. “I’ll manage.”
A woman in a neat white shirt and shorts gave them a rundown, pointing out the life jackets and explaining the engine before she handed them a glossy map of the lake. Bryan settled herself in the bow and prepared to enjoy herself.
“The nice thing about this,” she called over the engine, “is it’s so unexpected.” She swept one arm out to indicate the wide expanse of blue.
Red-hued mesas and sheer rock walls rose up steeply to cradle the lake, settled placidly where man had put it. The combination was fascinating to her. Another time, she might’ve done a study on the harmony and power that could result in a working relationship between human imagination and nature.
It wasn’t necessary to know all the technical details of the dam, of the labor force that built it. It was enough that it was, that they were here—cutting through water that had once been desert, sending up a spray that had once been sand.
Shade spotted a tidy cabin cruiser and veered in its direction. For the moment, he’d navigate and leave the camera work to Bryan. It’d been a long time since he’d spent a hot afternoon on the water. His muscles began to relax even as his perception sharpened.
Before he was done, he’d have to take some pictures of the rocks. The texture in them was incredible, even in their reflection on the water. Their colors, slashed against the blue lake, made them look surreal. He’d make the prints sharp and crisp to accent the incongruity. He edged a bit closer to the cabin cruiser as he planned the shot for later.
Bryan took out her camera without any definite plan. She hoped there’d be a party of people, perhaps greased up against the sun. Children maybe, giddy with the wind and water. As Shade steered, she glanced toward the stern and lifted the camera quickly. It was too good to be true.
Poised at the stern of the cruiser was a hound—Bryan couldn’t think of any other description for the floppy dog. His big ears were blowing back, and his tongue was lolling as he stared down at the water. Over his chestnut fur was a bright orange life vest.
“Go around again!” she yelled to Shade.
She waited impatiently for the angle to come to her again. There were people on the boat, at least five of them, but they no longer interested her. Just the dog, she thought, as she gnawed on her lip and waited. She wanted nothing but the dog in the life jacket leaning out and staring down at the water.
There were towering mesas just behind the boat. Bryan had to decide quickly whether to work them in or frame them out. If she’d had more time to think… She opted against the drama and settled on the fun. Shade had circled the trim little cruiser three times before she was satisfied.
“Wonderful!” With a laugh, Bryan lowered her camera. “That one print’s going to be worth the whole trip.”
He veered off to the right. “Why don’t we see what else we can dig up, anyway?”
They worked for two hours, shifting positions after the first. Stripped to the waist as defense against the heat, Shade knelt at the bow and focused in on a tour boat. The rock wall rose in the background, the water shimmered cool and blue. Along the rail the people were no more than a blur of color. That’s what he wanted. The anonymity of tours, and the power of what drew the masses to them.
While Shade worked, Bryan kept the speed low and looked at everything. She’d decided after one glimpse of his lean, tanned torso that it’d be wiser for her to concentrate on the scenery. If she hadn’t, she might’ve missed the cove and the rock island that curved over it.
“Look.” Without hesitating, she steered toward it, then cut the engines until the boat drifted in its own wake. “Come on, let’s take a swim.” Before he could comment, she’d hopped out in the ankle-deep water and was securing the lines with rocks.
Wearing a snug tank top and drawstring shorts, Bryan dashed down to the cove and sank in over her head. When she surfaced, laughing, Shade was standing on the island above her. “Fabulous,” she called out. “Come on, Shade, we haven’t taken an hour to play since we started.”
She was right about that. He’d seen to it. Not that he hadn’t needed to relax, but he’d thought it best not to around her. He knew, even as he watched her smoothly treading in the rock-shadowed water, that it was a mistake. Yet he’d told himself it was logical to stop fighting what would happen between them. Following the logic, he walked down to the water.
“It’s like opening a present,” she decided, shifting onto her back to float briefly. “I had no idea I was being slowly boiled until I stepped in here.” With a sigh, she dipped under the water and rose again so that it flowed from her face. “There was a pond a few miles away from home when I was a kid. I practically lived there in the summer.”
The water was seductive, almost painfully so. As Shade lowered himself into it, he felt the heat drain, but not the tension. Sooner or later, he knew, he’d have to find an outlet for it.
“We did a lot better here than I expected to.” Lazily she let the water play through her fingers. “I can’t wait to get to Sedona and start developing.” She tossed her dripping braid behind her back. “And sleep in a real bed.”
“You don’t seem to have any trouble sleeping.” One of the first things he’d noticed was that she could fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and within seconds of shutting her eyes.
“Oh, it’s not the sleeping, it’s the waking up.” And waking up only a few feet away from him, morning after morning—seeing his face shadowed by a night’s growth of beard, dangerously attractive, seeing his muscles ripple as he stretched, dangerously strong. No, she couldn’t deny that the accommodations occasionally gave her a few twinges.
“You know,” she began casually, “the budget could handle a couple of motel rooms every week or so—nothing outrageous. A real mattress and a private shower, you know. Some of those campgrounds we’ve stopped in advertise hot water with their tongues in their cheeks.”
He had to smile. It hadn’t given him much pleasure to settle for tepid water after a long day on the road. But there was no reason to make it too easy on her. “Can’t handle roughing it, Bryan?”
She stretched out on her back again, deliberately kicking water up and over him. “Oh, I don’t mind roughing it,” she said blandly. “I just like to do it on my own time. And I’m not ashamed to say I’d rather spend the weekend at the Beverly Wilshire than rubbing two sticks together in the wilderness.” She closed her eyes and let her body drift. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah.” With the admission, he reached out, grabbed her braid and tugged her head under.
The move surprised her, but it pleased her as well, even as she came up sputtering. So he was capable of a frivolous move from time to time. It was something else she could like him for.
“I’m an expert on water games,” she warned him as she began to tread again.
“Water suits you.” When had he relaxed? He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when the tension began to ease from him. There was something about her—laziness? No, that wasn’t true. She worked every bit as hard as he, though in her own fashion. Easiness was a better word, he decided. She was an easy woman, comfortable with herself and whatever surroundings she found herself in.
“It looks pretty good on you, too.” Narrowing her eyes, Bryan focused on him—something she’d avoided for several days. If she didn’t allow herself a clear look, it helped bank down on the feelings he brought out in her. Many of them weren’t comfortable, and Shade had been right. She was a woman who liked to be comfortable. But now, with the water lapping cool around her and the only sound that of boats putting in the distance, she wanted to enjoy him.
His hair was damp and tangled around his face, which was as relaxed as she’d ever seen it. There didn’t seem to be any secrets in his eyes just now. He was nearly too lean, but there were muscles in his forearms, in his back. She already knew just how strong his hands were. She smiled at him because she wasn’t sure just how many quiet moments they’d share.
“You don’t let up on yourself enough, Shade.”
“No?”
“No. You know…” She floated again, because treading took too much effort. “I think deep down, really deep down, there’s a nice person in you.”
“No, there isn’t.”
But she heard the humor in his voice. “Oh, it’s buried in there somewhere. If you let me do your portrait, I’d find it.”
He liked the way she floated in the water; there was absolutely no energy expended. She lay there, trusting buoyancy. He was nearly certain that if she lay quietly for five minutes, she’d be asleep. “Would you?” he murmured. “I think we can both do without that.”
She opened her eyes again, but had to squint against the sun to see him. It was at his back, glaring. “Maybe you can, but I’ve already decided to do it—once I know you better.”
He circled her ankle with his finger, lightly. “You have to have my cooperation to do both.”
“I’ll get it.” The contact was more potent than she could handle. She’d tensed before she could stop it. And so, she realized after a long ten seconds, had he. Casually, she let her legs drop. “The water’s getting cold.” She swam toward the boat with smooth strokes and a racing heart.
Shade waited a moment. No matter what direction he took with her, he always ended up in the same place. He wanted her, but wasn’t certain he could handle the consequences of acting on that desire. Worse now, she was perilously close to becoming his friend. That wouldn’t make things any easier on either of them.
Slowly, he swam out of the cove and toward the boat, but she wasn’t there. Puzzled, he looked around and started to call, but then he saw her perched high on the rock.
She’d unbraided her hair and was brushing it dry in the sun. Her legs were folded under her, her face tilted up. The thin summer clothes she wore were drenched and clung to every curve. She obviously didn’t care. It was the sun she sought, the heat, just as she’d sought the cool water only moments before.
Shade reached in his camera bag and attached his long lens. He wanted her to fill the viewfinder. He focused and framed her. For the second time, her careless sexuality gave him a staggering roundhouse punch. He was a professional, Shade reminded himself as he set the depth of field. He was shooting a subject, that was all.
But when she turned her head and her eyes met his through the lens, he felt the passion sizzle—from himself and from her. They held each other there a moment, separated, yet irrevocably joined. He took the picture, and as he did, Shade knew he was recording a great deal more than a subject.
A bit steadier, Bryan rose and worked her way down the curve of the rock. She had to remind herself to play it lightly—something that had always come easily to her. “You didn’t get a release form, Colby,” she reminded him as she dropped her brush into her oversize bag.
Reaching out, he touched her hair. It was damp, hanging rich and heavy to her waist. His fingers curled into it, his eyes locked on hers. “I want you.”
She felt her legs liquefy, and heat started somewhere in the pit of her stomach and spread out to her fingertips. He was a hard man, Bryan reminded herself. He wouldn’t give, but take. In the end, she’d need him to do both.
“That’s not good enough for me,” she said steadily. “People want all the time—a new car, a color TV. I have to have more than that.”
She stepped around him and into the boat. Without a word, Shade joined her and they drifted away from the cove. As the boat picked up speed, both of them wondered if Shade could give any more than what he’d offered.