Caught on Camera (8 page)

After ten seconds of silence, her words once again started up, rattling on about the damn interview as if he hadn’t just insulted her in the worst possible way. He kept his gaze trained on the painting, careful not to clench his jaw, but from where he was sitting, an in-depth interview now would be the worst possible thing for his fucking “budding” political career.

There was the knowledge of Lexi and her kid to worry about. Plus, though he’d been around politics his whole life, he knew precious little about the day-to-day business of it—and cared even less. Not to mention that he just liked having a small piece of his life private. His own.

Damn, he was so tired of this. Tired of knowing he had to give up his life to live that of a “true” Davenport. Tired of worrying about the fact that if he didn’t play his cards right, the family name, which had been built on morals and “doing the right thing,” was about to go down in flames. And just damn tired of being a Davenport.

He simply wanted to be himself for once.

Do what he wanted, see who he wanted, and freaking have someone interested in him just because they liked him and not because of who he was or what he could do for them.

But that wasn’t the life he’d been born into. And he’d known it from an early age.

As Vega continued talking, doing her best to avoid looking at him, he returned his gaze and studied her. He compared her look tonight to yesterday. Something didn’t add up. Today her clothes weren’t baggy in the least. In that way, she was showing off her beauty, but the thing he found the oddest was that she still wore no makeup.

Not that she needed it. Her long lashes and gloriously smooth skin were things of beauty as they were. But most women would play up all their features.

And then there was her hair. He couldn’t figure that one out either. When he’d mentioned it earlier, she had pointed out that she preferred it up, but he wasn’t so certain that was the truth. It felt more like she wore it up as some sort of shield. But from what? And what would he have to do to get her to take it down for him?

He shifted his gaze to her lips and got lost in the subtle movements they made as she spoke. Most women, if they had that mouth, would do everything possible to call even more attention to it, thereby having every man within a thirty-mile radius drooling at her side. Exactly as he was doing now.

With a groan, he shifted in his seat and readjusted himself. Her mouth drove him out of his mind. It was probably a good thing she
didn’t
paint it red and fuel his fantasies even more. If that were possible.

His fingers curled around the stem of his wineglass until he wised up and pushed the glass away. No need snapping it in two and looking even more an idiot than he’d already painted himself tonight.

It had started the moment she’d walked into the house. Initially embarrassed with her seeing him let his niece make his hair “pretty,” as Becca would say, embarrassment had taken a backseat when he’d seen the glow in her eyes. She’d been impressed, and he’d wanted to stand up and thump his chest.

Instead, he’d stood and gaped.

He mentally hung his head like a dog who’d been reprimanded. It was time to do the right thing and quit fantasizing over this intriguing woman he apparently couldn’t have. No matter how much he wanted her, he couldn’t let her sleep with him thinking that would win her the interview.

Working hard to focus, her words reentered the conscious part of his brain.

“…and then there’s your family. I know you all are close, so I’d like to get something with just you and your mother as well as all of you. Casual and laid-back.”

His mother was rarely casual and laid-back. Every conversation with her centered on politics, which she brought up with an intensity he hadn’t seen in her since his father’s first days running for president. Too bad the man had let cancer take him instead of hanging around to clean up his own mess.

“I also thought I could capture you with Cat and the kids. Maybe as you were when I came in tonight?”

“Leave Becca and Tyler out of it,” he snapped, unintentionally sharp, but the mention of his niece and nephew had him suddenly questioning if he should have been so free with the family stories he’d shared tonight. She was a journalist, after all. Though she was normally behind the camera, she clearly went after stories or they wouldn’t be there tonight.

Dammit.
He’d run his mouth off all night as if he hadn’t even known that fact.

Her silence tugged at his conscience. He hadn’t meant to come across as such a brute, but backtracking now wasn’t something he was willing to do either. Instead he stared at her, daring her to do anything but acknowledge his directive.

After a pause, she glanced down at her hands, now folded demurely in her lap, then back up at him. She nodded. “Okay. I just thought…”

Her words trailed off as she looked toward the living room and gnawed on the outer corner of her bottom lip.

“Thought what?” He gentled his words, but the tone was still clear.
Don’t mess with my family.

“Well,” she began, but stopped to clear her throat. She faced him once again, her eyes no longer holding the determination she’d worn since starting her little speech. The tip of her tongue poking slightly through her parted teeth got his body’s attention.

Lifting one eyebrow, he remained silent, waiting for her to explain.

“It’s just…when I came in, the picture you made with Becca and Tyler was exactly the type of thing people love to see. I thought maybe you’d…” She shrugged and dipped her eyes. As if finding her resolve in the depths of her uneaten steak, she straightened in her chair and boldly locked her gaze on his. “I thought maybe you’d staged that scene to subtly suggest a potential one for the interview.”

He studied her face, turned on anew at the resolve currently etched in her features. She’d just insulted him, yet she stood by her words. Flat-out wrong words, but he liked that she had the guts to say them to his face. He allowed a real smile to form, wishing for the first time in years he could have the freedom to get to know a woman. “You think that’s the kind of person I am? Entertaining two small children for the sole purpose of publicity?”

A brief lift of her shoulders. “Most people would do similarly if presented the opportunity.”

“Most people?” He leaned back, putting a gap between him and the table, and wondered what had happened in her past to give her so little respect for people in general. He wanted to peel back the layers to find those answers himself. “Including you?”

“No.” She spoke quickly, vehemently. She shook her head and swallowed a large gulp of her wine. He’d had the idea to open another bottle of the imported Cabernet Sauvignon when he’d seen how much she enjoyed it, but he hadn’t wanted her getting more than a little tipsy. “I’m a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl. If I want something from you, I’ll come right out and ask for it.”

Stubborn pride gleamed from the depths of her gorgeous eyes, showing him more about her than he’d managed to figure out until this moment. He leaned across the table, closing the gap to a narrow breadth, and was rewarded with a small hitch in her breathing. “That’s something you’re proud of, isn’t it, Vega?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, almost hesitantly. “For instance, as you pointed out yesterday,” her words came out breathy as if his nearness made her nervous. Or excited. “I may be currently looking to
use
you, as you say, but only in the sense to be beneficial to both of us. I’m not trying to hide what I’m doing—when you asked, I told you—but I’m also honestly looking to help you in return. That concept goes beyond most people’s imaginations.”

“And you think that includes me?”

“Well…” Her lashes flickered. “Given who you and your family are…yes.”

If he were a less confident man, her bluntness would put a dent in his ego. And what a paradox she was. The bluntness went totally against the hesitant, almost shy woman her downward glances sometimes indicated.

“Do you have such little respect for my family?” he asked, not questioning her impression in thinking he might have been raised the way she’d implied, but rather, trying to understand how she’d come to that conclusion.

“That’s not it at all, I have great respect. But I also suspect you know how to work people for your benefit. You wouldn’t be so successful today if not.”

She made a very good point.

“I think you have a bad habit of making assumptions, Vega.” He reached over and trailed the tip of a finger along her jaw, enjoying the feel of fresh, clean skin with no makeup between him and her. “You might want to consider working on that little flaw of yours. It could lead you astray.”

Her chin lifted, her eyes blanked. “Or it could be exactly the right path.”

Interesting. It was almost as if something else was trying to make its way into their conversation, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that might be. “Confident in that assertion?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet.”

“No?” He settled back in his seat, unsure why he was pushing this line of questioning, yet unable to back away. “Never?”

Something zipped through her gaze, but she maintained her bravado. “Never.”

That brief flash struck him as hollowness, the kind caused from pain, and he went with his gut. “Not even with whatever happened in your past?”

She jerked back, clearly shocked by his abrupt change in topic, and her momentary loss of control confirmed it for him. Something definitely haunted her. Something painful, and if he had to guess, something that involved a man.

Feeling suddenly guilty for poking at her past, and not sure he wanted to know the details anyway, he changed the subject before she found the courage to answer.

He lowered his voice, hoping she would shift closer to hear. “Then how about this one? I believe I made it perfectly clear yesterday what I’m after. I don’t recall hiding behind the fact that I find you very attractive.” He picked up her glass and drained it. “Did you somehow miss that?”

The smooth skin of her throat rolled with a gulp, but she attacked the change of subject with fervor. “You also said you’d reconsider my idea. Are you telling me that was a ruse? That you never intended to hear me out?”

He studied her mouth as she talked. “I heard you out. That’s what you’ve been so diligently doing instead of simply enjoying the excellent meal before you.” He slipped his hand over hers, startled at the spark that spiked up his arm but managing not to show his surprise. “But I’m sorry to say—” He stopped, held one finger up.

“What?” She flipped her hand over, their palms touching, and he couldn’t keep from caressing his thumb into the dip of her hand.

He shrugged. “You almost caught me, there. Total honesty, right?”

She nodded. “Always.”

“Then, I’m
not
sorry to say, you won’t be following me around with a camera anytime soon, sweetheart. My unequivocal answer is no.”

Her lids lowered, and air slid from between parted lips. He called upon all the control he’d learned over the years not to close the distance between them and press his mouth to hers right then and there.

“Let me ask you, then.” She pierced him with a narrowed gaze. “Did you really give it serious consideration?” The lady did not give up easily. “You see, I think we’re about to prove my point after all. You brought me over here, promising reconsideration.”

He stilled. She did have him there, but his nature refused to let him back down. “The better question is, did
you
really expect me to?”

The truth flashed through her eyes, along with embarrassment. She glanced away, and seeming to realize for the first time that her hand was under his, she yanked it away to smooth over the very lovely skirt she’d worn just for him.

“I had hoped you would, of course,” she spoke softly.

His smile arched farther up his face. “But you didn’t really think I would, did you?”

She wanted to lie. He would bet both his Atlanta and New York penthouses on it. She wanted to lie more than anything she’d ever done. But would Ms. What-You-See-Is-What-You-Get do it? And when she did, should he call her out on the fact that she was no different than anyone else?

Pink suddenly colored her high cheekbones. She crossed her arms over her chest and met him head-on. “No. Honestly, I did
not
think you would seriously consider it. I had hoped, had wished, even, but when it came right down to it, you’re a Davenport, a
politician
.” She practically sneered the last word. “So no, I didn’t really believe I would be given a fair chance.”

The slur against his family name should have made him furious. Any other time and with any other person, it would have. But instead, as she sat trembling with rage, he was able to see past the insult to catch something else she probably didn’t mean to share. Hurt.

Pain and agony screamed back at him from every inch of her. From her too-wide gaze, her rigid jaw, to the overly taunt tension running through her from head to toe. Whoever had hurt her in the past had done a real number on her.

He didn’t want to know.

Opening his mouth, he tried to find the right words to end the evening and call off the games he’d apparently been the only one playing, but instead found that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t casually shove her out the door when she was hurting so badly. He had to help.

Reaching one hand out, he had no real idea what he intended to do, but stopped at her upraised hand, her flat palm facing him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just stop. I know your type. Just because I didn’t think you had enough integrity to truly give me a fair chance doesn’t mean I came over here to have sex with you, either. So get that absurd notion out of your head.
I
…” She jabbed a finger to her chest as her words continued to steamroll out of her. “
I
came over hoping to somehow change your mind, no matter what I thought of you.”

She tossed down her napkin and rose from her seat. “Now I believe you mentioned something about chocolate? Stupid as it is, after tasting the other food, I’m not about to leave this house before I at least get whatever amazing concoction is hidden behind that door.”