Caught on Camera (32 page)

“Why?” She peered closer, wishing he’d look at her so she could read what he was feeling. He sounded so sad. “Will it be inappropriate once you’re in office?”

Assuming the backlash from the topless photo didn’t keep him from landing in office.

“That’s one reason.”

Another beat passed between them as she waited for him to expound, but then as easily as the melancholy mood had shrouded him, it lifted, and he pushed away from the vehicle. He shot her a wink. “Make sure you get this, babe. No doubt she’s looking as hot tonight as she was Saturday.”

With those words, he was off and striding to the front stoop of the multimillion-dollar home, a soft whistle drifting back from him. He was once again whistling Shania Twain, leaving Vega with no doubt of whose bed he was thinking of.

“It would serve you right if she stepped out in a turtleneck and a skirt down her to ankles.”

He glanced back at her and waggled his eyebrows up and down. “I’m sure she doesn’t own a single piece of clothing anything near that modest.” A wide grin showed his gleaming teeth. “Lucky me.”

Jerk.

But he was right, no way would Greta not step out with a low-cut gown, shimmering and showing every body part her husband had paid for.

JP knocked on the door, and Vega readied the camera. She zoomed in tight to make sure she got the start of the “dream date.”

After Greta had kept him waiting the proper amount of time, the door opened, and Vega almost dropped the camera at what stepped out.

Greta wore a vintage pink suit, looking as prim and proper as Jackie O had ever been, with a modest straight skirt and button-up jacket, a pillbox hat with matching bow slapped on the front…and pearls around her neck. She fluttered her eyelashes in what Vega could only assume was her attempt at innocent lure, and presented JP with the back of her white-gloved hand.

Vega kept the shot trained on the two of them, but fought an all-out laugh at the look of strangled shock covering JP’s face. He would kill her for including that in the final version, but he looked so adorable, she had to try. That picture alone would endear him to women across the nation.

With as little intrusion as possible, Vega captured the couple as they strolled to the car, Greta’s hand resting demurely on the inside of JP’s elbow, and the most innocent smile curling her lips that Vega had ever seen. This woman had done a complete one-eighty in more ways than one. From the look of things, Greta was taking tonight as her opportunity to convince JP she would make the perfect politician’s wife.

From the green hue to his face, he’d registered this fact. And didn’t agree.

For Vega, the night couldn’t have been more perfect.

After JP deposited Greta in the front seat, Vega turned off the camera and hurried to gather the remainder of the equipment.

He stepped to her side. “I’m sure you think this is funny.”

“No.” She blinked up at him, as innocent and demure as Greta. “Hilarious.”

He eyed her, clearly intent on saying something snarky in return, but then his eyes hooded and his gaze stroked her mouth, and Vega very nearly swayed forward, right into his arms.

She caught herself and shot him a look that should have turned him to cinders. Instead he smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, a glint flashing in his eyes. “I could have you naked behind my car in thirty seconds if I wanted,” he whispered.

What a complete ass.

Using her elbow, she jabbed him in the gut to move him out of the way. She opened the back door and shoved her camera inside. “The portable light will be enough when we get to the restaurant. I’ll use that so you don’t have to waste time helping me instead of devoting your full attention to your date.”

She climbed in beside her camera and turned to slam the door in his face, but he beat her to it. The door jarred to a stop in front of her. At least she was done with him for a few moments. Except he opened the back door on the other side and thrust in her lighting.

As he stooped over, he gave his one-hundred-watt smile to Greta, who’d glanced back at him. She then turned to Vega with a straight face. “Make sure you don’t miss a second of tonight. I want this recorded for me, if not for the interview.”

The back door slammed, and JP settled into the front seat. Greta placed her hand over his forearm, and once again glanced back at Vega, her eyes wide and gullible. “It will be aired in the interview, won’t it? I want the country to live our first date with us.” She sighed and brought her gloved hands to her chest. “It’ll be so romantic.”

Gag.

Vega fought the urge to show her true feelings, and managed to settle back against the thick leather, trying to pretend she wasn’t a third in a very uncomfortable situation. Greta refused to let her have that small dream.

“And then there’s the whole aspect of you and me. I mean, who would have guessed the woman who was bidding against me for the man of my dreams would be here recording our first date together? The people will love the irony.”

Vega blinked.
Man of her dreams? Since when? Before or after her husband was in the ground? And
the people?
This woman probably already had her inauguration gown picked out, as well as the names of their two-point-three children.

And dog. Don’t forget the presidential dog.

Nausea bumped and gurgled in Vega’s gut at the thought. She should not be here. Surely there was something else she could be doing to boost her career without having to torture herself by watching another woman play dress-up with JP.

As if reading her mind, he readjusted his rearview mirror until their eyes met in the reflection. If she were reading the look correctly, he wished he was anywhere but there too.

Too bad.

At least one of them had the potential for ending the night on a high note. Vega would go back to her hotel, alone. While JP and Greta would…

She glanced up at him as he circled around the driveway and headed back to the main road. What
would
they be doing by night’s end? She closed her eyes and swallowed down her disgust.

Yes, jealous was a nasty, ugly thing. And yes, it had her in its tightest grip.

The sea bass was perfection, the restaurant couldn’t have been more high-end, and the company…wasn’t whom he wanted.

JP took in the woman perched across the table from him, one hand placed purposefully in her lap and the other picking daintily at her food, and wondered what had happened to the curves Greta had on display Saturday night. Not that he really cared about her set of curves, but that had been the only thing he’d looked forward to about this date. Rumor had it Edward Kirby had hired the best surgeon money could buy, and bought himself some first-class parts. The least the woman could do was display them a little.

That would have made teasing Vega about the date much more fun.

He tossed a quick look to the corner of the room where she stood, trying to pretend she didn’t exist. But the thing was, every damn man in the room had eyed her more than they had their own dates. Those heels and the softer sweep of her hair highlighted some of her best features.

Not that she had a bad feature from what he could tell. And he’d thoroughly inspected each and every one himself.

His cock twitched at the thought of Vega naked, so he pushed the picture away before Greta caught him with a hard-on and assumed it was made for her.

“What are we doing next?” Wide eyes blinked across the table at him. She was maintaining an excellent job of keeping up the role of “little lady,” but he was tired of it. He wanted to stir things up.

“I thought it would be polite to invite Vega over to eat.”

Greta’s hand fluttered at her throat. “But how will that look? I mean, we’re on our first date, Jackson.”

And their last.

“I want it to be perfect, you know?” she continued.

He reached across the table and took her hand, knowing the visual would look romantic on camera, then leaned in and tried for a sultry look. He needed to give Greta her money’s worth, after all. “We brought her with us, Greta. We can’t really keep her at the camera all night and not feed her.” He gave her a warm smile. “Wouldn’t we look more chivalrous inviting her over?”

“Oh,” she murmured, clearly liking the idea of being a charitable host. “You’re right, of course. Please, yes. Go invite her to join us.”

He gave her hand a slight squeeze and stood without hesitation. Vega had been too far away for far too long.

When he headed her direction, she poked her head out and narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as he reached her side.

Before she could slip back out of reach, he snagged her wrist and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I missed you.”

She twisted her arm until he let go. “Go back to your date.”

“Huh-uh. Not without you.” He peeked over at Greta, and waggled his fingers. She returned the gesture. “Greta and I would like you to join us.”

“I am
not
joining you for dinner. You’re on a date, JP. I’m just here to record it.”

“Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. We want you to join us.” He leaned in once again to whisper in her ear, only this time he grazed her with his lips and felt the pop of electricity down his body. “There are other photographers here, you know, just waiting for the money shot. Greta and I want to make sure we look courteous to our own personal historian.”

Vega stiffened underneath his mouth, and the tension sizzled around them. He quickly straightened when it occurred to him what it would look like when he escorted another woman back to his date and he was clearly sporting a raging erection. Though everyone knew it was a bought-and-paid-for date, that didn’t mean he could be outright rude to the woman.

He put a couple inches between himself and Vega. “I’m not leaving this corner without you, so if you’d rather you and I not end up on the eleven o’clock news instead of me and Greta, I suggest you politely come along.”

He may have sense enough to keep his hormones under control for the moment, but that didn’t mean he had the mental capacity to stay away from the fire.

Vega studied him, then Greta, then the other patrons in the room. She didn’t say whether she knew he was lying when he said there were other photographers around, but he wasn’t about to tell her that no way would the restaurant allow them inside the dining rooms. The manager went to great lengths to maintain privacy, and JP had had to work miracles just to get Vega approved to be in the room with her camera.

After what seemed like hours, she finally relented. She sighed and flipped the switch to stop the recording. “Fine, but I’m buying the most expense entrée on the menu.”

He grinned at her. “I already ordered it for you, sweetheart.”

Yes, he’d intended all along to have Vega at his table tonight. If he couldn’t have her in his bed, he’d take whatever he could get. He winked. “It should be arriving within minutes.”

A
S THEY MADE
their way across the room to JP’s own personal Jackie O, Vega couldn’t stop the nervousness from gurgling deep in her belly. After watching the two of them ooh and aah over each other for the last hour, she had to have lost her mind to be joining them. And JP was so full of crap. There wasn’t another person in this room with a camera. This restaurant wouldn’t allow it.

But she was starving, and the smells in this place were to die for. When she sat, a fat lobster was plopped down in front of her, and her mouth instantly watered. She looked at JP, unwilling to let him off the hook for even a second. “Wine?”

Before the word was out of her mouth, a glass was placed on the corner of the table, and the sommelier held out a bottle of Grüner Veltliner for JP’s inspection. An Austrian wine that, she knew from past experience, perfectly complemented boiled lobster dipped in garlic butter. She held in the moan at the thought of the upcoming flood of sensations to her taste buds, and was immediately taken back to their dinner at Cat’s. The wine-steak combination had been utter perfection.

Upon returning to the hotel, she’d looked up the wine, thinking she might order a case for herself. The stuff wasn’t cheap.