Bringing Down Sam (3 page)

His gaze lingered there. He didn't figure any red-blooded man's wouldn't have. 

"Fan her," the photographer barked.

Sam glanced away from the model to watch a young female assistant flip a switch to start an oscillating fan. His stare shifted quickly back to the woman on the chaise.

The model closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the air hit her nearly naked body. She seemed to savor the coolness, and Sam imagined the standing lights had been too hot on her skin. Her body reacted, too. Even from here, Sam could see her breasts tighten into dark seductive points beneath the silk nightdress.

"That's it," the photographer crowed.

His subject smiled a sultry invitation, moistening her lips and dropping them apart. The silk fabric, pushed by the fan's breeze, lovingly cupped her midriff and thighs. Sam amended the thought. It only cupped one thigh. The other was utterly bare, from her red painted toenails up to her naked hip, enticingly exposed by the high slit of the provocative gown. The bare thigh rested on the other, with the white silk caught coyly between.

"My leg's falling asleep," the model said with a laugh.

Her voice rolled over him, low and sultry. For the first time, Sam pulled his eyes away from her curvaceous body and allowed himself to study her face. "Perfect," he mused, not surprised.

He'd never, in his life, seen a woman who looked so like an angel on earth. Her golden blonde tresses blew back from her forehead, teased by the fan, and fell to well below her shoulders. Her face was soft, not thin and gaunt as was the fashion with many runway models these days. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth wide and expressive. Unable to tell the color of her eyes from where he stood, Sam imagined they were deep blue.

He had never seen her before, Sam felt sure of it. Curious that a woman as obviously comfortable in front of the camera and as utterly beautiful as this one would still be an unknown. She wasn't young, not some teenager just starting out. He figured she was in her mid-to-late twenties.

No one had seen him enter the studio, and he remained quiet, not even sucking in a breath in case the goddess or her retainers should hear and kick him out before he'd looked his fill. Then he realized he could look forever and not reach his fill.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam turned as someone entered the studio behind him. Diana Gerard, the magazine’s brand new senior editor, offered him a cool smile. Sam tried to return it, struggling to appear normal when in fact he was busy trying to hide the physical proof of his instant attraction to the model. Diana didn't seem to notice as he shifted from leg to leg and re-buttoned his suit jacket. At least, he hoped she didn't notice.

"Hello. Am I in the right place?"

"Yes, we're just running a little late," the woman replied, following his gaze to the photo shoot going on in the other part of the room. "She's something, don't you think?"

Sam nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Who is she?"

Before Diana had a chance to reply, the blonde on the couch sat up and stretched her arms up over her head. Sam just stared. The woman arched her head from side to side, revealing the perfect length of her smooth neck, then gracefully rose from the chaise lounge. The assistant immediately brought her a robe, which she shrugged over her shoulders with a murmured thank you.

"Come on, I'll introduce you," Diana said.

Sam hesitated. He made it a point to avoid femme fatales. Too many of them had tried to suck him in, wanting to be the one who brought Sam Kenneman, the writer, to his knees, not caring if Sam Kenneman, the man, was injured in the fall. But curiosity and pure adrenaline pushed him forward.

"Blue," he muttered under his breath as he joined the two women. Just as he'd thought, the sexy model’s eyes were a rich, deep blue. For one second, when he first caught her glance, he saw a sparkle of amusement, a hint of secret knowledge in the depths of her eyes, then she looked away. He studied the fine curve of her delicate brows, the dark, thick lashes. Her high, strongly defined cheekbones indicated strength beneath the beauty. 

"I want you to meet someone," Diana said to the woman. "This is Sam Kenneman. He writes for
His World
. He's going to be one of the men in a new layout we're doing later this year."

The other woman lifted her chin and looked directly at him. This time, though, something was different. Her expression was friendly, very friendly. She blinked rapidly, her heavy makeup causing her eyelashes to look like fluttering bird's wings, and a certain vapidness appeared in her expression. Sam shrugged off the thought as he held out his hand.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," she chirped. Taken off guard, Sam nearly drew away from her.

She sounded different. Her voice was high and breathy, like someone doing an obvious Marilyn Monroe impression, nothing like the deep tones he thought he'd heard earlier. Then again, maybe he'd been so captivated by how she looked that he'd imagined the sexiness of her voice.

Disappointment swept through him. "It's nice to meet you, too," Sam said as she took his hand in a limp grip. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."

The blonde widened her eyes and drew a hand to her chest, pulling his attention there. "Sorry. Silly of me. I guess those hot lights just fried my brain and I've forgotten my manners. Why do lights get so hot, do you think? I swear, I wish somebody would come up with cold ones."

Sam felt his spirits sink as she chattered. Yes, she was absolutely the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But, damn, she sure didn't seem too bright.

"We've been working so hard, and I want so much for the layout to turn out right. You just can't imagine how hard it is to get the right expression on my face, to make sure I'm posed in just the perfect way to match the article." She giggled. "But to tell you the truth, I can't even remember which article it is I'm goin' to be featured with most of the time!"

Finally, when she stopped her breathless recitation, Sam forced a weak smile to his lips. "I'm sure you've been working hard. Tough job. Uh, did you ever tell me your name?"

The woman laughed, a sultry sound that slid over his body, making him think of the voice he'd imagined he heard earlier. He stared piercingly at her, searching for something to confirm his suspicion that there was more to her than she was letting on.

She batted her lashes again, and leaned heavily against his arm. Completely distracted, Sam glanced down at her body, pressed so closely against his he couldn't form a rational thought and barely heard her response. 

"It's Eve," the woman purred. "My name is Eve Barret."

Eve hated playing dumb. But remembering what she'd heard about Sam's book, she swallowed hard and pitched her voice up an octave. "I hope we didn't put you out. Our shoot ran long this morning. I am afraid the first gown they had me wearing was just
too
revealing, and I insisted something else be found."

Eve let the terrycloth robe gape open a bit, knowing he would look.

He did.

She smoothed her hand down the bodice of the silk nightgown, flattening the material as she slid her palm across it. The man didn't appear capable of speech.
It's almost too easy
. 

For a brief second, when she'd first seen Sam Kenneman walking across the studio toward her, Eve had wished he was anyone else. She didn't want to play games with him, because he was altogether too attractive.

No one had warned her. Of course, every woman on the planet talked about Sam Kenneman and his nasty book that men quoted like the Bible. She'd heard he was good looking, but Eve had not bothered to open the back cover and look for a photo of the author. She wished she had. Then maybe she wouldn't have been so totally unprepared for the man in the flesh.

What a hottie
. He was tall, which was good. Since Eve was only two inches shy of six feet, she appreciated a man who stood a good bit taller.

His hair was thick, short, and sandy brown, with streaks of golden blond. She imagined in the middle of winter it would mellow to a deep honey color. She saw he had tiny curls behind his ears which probably drove him crazy. They probably drove women crazy too, for a different reason. The face was strong--jaw square, lips just delicious-looking. 

"So, are you writing this big new feature, Sam?" Eve asked, trying to insert more of a southern accent into her voice. She found it easier to imitate a vamp when she drawled.

"Actually, uh, I'm one of the men."

Forcing herself not to simper, Eve stared up into Sam's green eyes. He had lovely eyes, of pale springtime green, and she saw specks of gold scattered like stardust across them. She felt another stab of regret. Too bad the man was such a rat.

Remembering her purpose, Eve pulled away from him and let her eyes travel down his suit-clad form. He filled it out very well. He was broad-shouldered, and lean hipped, with a flat stomach and strong arms. She did not have to feign admiration. "Well, sure you are, sugar, I can see you're all man."

He laughed softly, a slow rumble moving up from his chest and spilling across his full lips. Eve felt her breath catch in her throat, startled by her reaction to his genuine smile. He had a dynamite smile. The man had dimples, actual, real
dimples
.

"I mean, somehow I got named one of the men of the new millennium," he explained, still chuckling. "I'm supposed to be here for a cover photo shoot with the others."

Eve frowned. His manner was friendly, his words modest. So far, he was gorgeous, he was successful, and he was charming. God, she wanted to gag. It was a downright shame she had to break this man's heart. Of course, she hadn't found out yet if he had one. It would certainly make her task more difficult if she found out he was as heartless as most American women made him out to be.

"Eve, will you wait here for a minute? I want to talk to Jamie and make sure he got the shots we need," Diana said.

Eve caught the, "You go girl" expression in Diana's eyes as the other woman walked away. Left alone in the corner of the large studio with her quarry, Eve pondered her next move.

The prey, however, had other ideas.

"It was nice meeting you, Miss Barret. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go grab a cup of coffee."

Sam wondered what kind of idiot he was to walk away from the striking vamp staring up at him with a limpid expression in her huge blue eyes. But he just couldn't feign interest. He should never have let Diana introduce him. Eve Barret would have been much better left in his imagination, where he could have dreamed she had a brain to go with the killer body, a personality to match the angel's face. Unfortunately, it appeared, she had neither.

"Wait!" the woman said, clutching his sleeve before he could turn away. Sam paused, but she didn't continue. Her eyes darted around nervously, as if she didn't know what she wanted to say.

Finally, the woman swayed slightly on her feet. Sam instinctively reached out to steady her, and found his palm sliding right between the terrycloth robe and her silk nightgown. His hand came to rest on her hip. He was unable to resist lightly sliding his fingers over the fabric, caressing her before he knew he was going to do it. "Are you all right?"

"I'm a little faint from the heat. Do you think...would you mind helping me into the green room? If I could just sit down, and have a cold drink, I'm sure I'll feel much better. Please, Sam." Her pretty smile told him she was used to getting her own way, and hadn’t even considered the possibility he’d refuse.

Sam glanced across the room and noticed Diana and the photographer were still engaged in a deep conversation. The assistant he'd seen earlier was nowhere around. Sam didn't want to spend any more time with Eve; he was already having too much trouble sorting out the varying signals his body was sending him about the woman. But he couldn't very well abandon her.

"Come on," he said as he turned and led her out of the room. She leaned into him as they walked, and Sam noted the spicy, cinnamon tinged fragrance she wore. It didn't suit her. He would have thought she'd prefer something sweet and flowery. He wondered if the make-up artist had chosen it.

As they entered the empty hall, Eve pointed to a door nearby. Entering, Sam found a large, comfortable lounge area, with several sofas, a coffee machine and a refrigerator with a sign saying, "No Green Food Allowed In The Green Room—clean up after yourself!” Piles of back copies of
His World
were haphazardly stacked on the surface of the tables. A cart filled with makeup stood near a sink, and half-empty, lipstick smeared water bottles resided on the counter.

Sam led Eve to a couch and helped her sit. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, thank you so much," she said. Sam watched as the woman pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She leaned her head to one side, resting it on a cushion. "Would you be a love and get me a cold drink?"

Feeling like a harem boy, Sam retrieved a fresh bottle of water from the refrigerator and brought it to her. Her fingers met his on the cold plastic, and he felt sure she intentionally scratched her nails lightly on his knuckles.

"Please, sit with me," she pleaded prettily, pulling her feet in so he could sit on the sofa next to her. He began to shake his head, but she refused to take no for an answer. "You can spare a few minutes. I'm sure Diana will come get you as soon as they're ready."

Unable to do anything else, Sam sat on the cushion next to her, watching, wondering what she'd do next. He couldn't figure her out. She was a study in contradiction, at one moment simpering and flirtatious, then helpless, then demanding. He didn't know what to expect from her. So he did what he'd trained himself to do all his life. He remained silent and watched.

She was ill at ease. Though she tried to behave languid and unconcerned, Sam saw the tightness of her clenched fingers, and the way her foot tapped anxiously against the seat cushion. He found himself staring at her red toenails as she tapped, and wondered if she was mentally humming
Bad To The Bone
since that seemed to be the beat she followed.

"Are you going to the company cocktail party tomorrow night?" Eve finally blurted out. "I hear it's lovely, outside at the country club."