Maximum Exposure (10 page)

He had, though, surprised himself. He was usually much more subtle, and he definitely had more class than to proposition a woman in a public venue. Yeah, sure, they’d been in a corner and more or less alone. That didn’t make things any better.

It was Saturday morning, and having inadvertently put an end to his employment with Dustin Parks, Finn figured he’d better pack his things and get on the road to Key Largo.

Olivia would know where to find him if she decided to go forward with the shoot and wanted to use him as her photographer. Really, he didn’t know why she would when there was a Yellow Pages full of pros to choose from.

He rolled another T-shirt into a tube and shoved it into the depths of his duffel bag, then shook the contents to settle them. He’d already packed up his camera and computer equipment and had those cases waiting by the door.

Once he gathered up the rest of his belongings, he’d be on his way. Er, he’d be on his way after making a quick pit stop at Downtown Blue. He was assuming he’d find Parks there on the weekend. If not, he’d swing by his condo in town.

He hadn’t yet decided on how detailed an explanation to give the other man. He’d run across the evidence of Roland Green’s romantic involvement by accident. It was what he’d been hired to ferret out, yes, but he didn’t want to cause Parks any unnecessary grief.

Finding out that his assistant was banging his boy might be a little grief heavy.

Finn would’ve been just as happy to live the rest of his life without having witnessed the tryst. He had told Olivia good night and had been heading back from the little boy’s room and toward the door when he’d seen movement in one of the gallery’s offices.

Being that it was way after hours, and him being a professional snoop, well, all he’d thought to do was make sure things in the back offices were copacetic. They had been. At least for Roland Green and Jodi Fontaine. He wasn’t so sure Parks would see things the same way.

That was why he still hadn’t said a word to the other man. Because of Olivia, Finn had made more than Dustin’s casual acquaintance. And he wasn’t much for yanking the rug out from under a bro in deep hurt, which was where he was pretty sure Dustin would be once he broke the news.

“Finn?”

He’d been on his way to the bathroom for the things scattered around in there but turned toward the front door at the sound of Olivia’s voice. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I knocked,” she said, with a shrug, closing the door behind her, leaning against it even after the latch had snapped.

He gestured over one shoulder with his thumb. “Sorry. I was packing.”

Her eyes blinked wide. “You’re leaving?”

“I finished up what Parks hired me to do. No reason to stick around.” He headed back to the bedroom, waved her to come along.

While he dropped toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant in a pocket of his duffel, Olivia tossed her purse on the center of the bed and cocked one hip onto the edge. “Does that mean you’re turning down the photography job?”

“I wasn’t sure if the photography job was still on the table.” He grabbed a stack of boxers, shoved them all at once into the bag. “You were supposed to sleep on it and get back to me.”

“I didn’t realize my sleeping on it had a timetable.”

He shrugged. He supposed it didn’t. He’d just expected her to get back with him Friday. “When I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I figured that was it.”

She sighed, collapsed back, her elbows propped on his pillow. “Yesterday was a disaster. You can’t even imagine the chaos one small delivery can cause. I got wrapped up playing referee between Roland and one of our deliverymen. I thought the two of them were going to have each other’s heads.”

“’Bout what?” A couple more T-shirts, his swim trunks. He was missing a pair of jeans.

“Roland goes nuts if there’s even a hint of damage to any packages Tomás delivers. For the longest, I thought it might be some sort of feud over Carmen—”

“Carmen?”

“Splash’s manager. Roland manages Flambé.”

“You have two stores?”

She shook her head, her hair falling down her back in waves and teasing over his pillow. “Flambé is menswear; Splash women’s fashions. Tomás is Carmen’s boyfriend.”

“And something made you think Roland might be after her?” He stopped himself from mentioning the big African American man’s sexual orientation. He knew the truth, even if Olivia didn’t.

“That’s the thing. I’m quite sure Roland is gay, but he’s never said anything about dating anyone or about a significant other. And if he is straight, well, I haven’t noticed him showing any interest in Carmen.”

This was making no sense. “Then why’d you think she was an issue between the two men?”

“Really bad female intuition?” She sat straight again and laughed, the sound a light burst of fun in the room. “Seriously. I have the worst intuition of any female I know. Case in point. I had no clue Dustin was pining away for Roland.”

Finn found himself breathing a sigh of relief. “He told you that?”

She nodded, her expression melancholy. “Thursday night. We closed down the private showing, including finishing off what was left of the champagne.” She closed her eyes, groaned. “Another reason yesterday was pure hell.”

Finn found himself smiling at that. “I didn’t drink close to what you did, and I spent most of yesterday feeling like a gutted fish.”

“How do you know what a gutted fish feels like?”

“It can’t be good.”

This time she was the one who smiled at him, the one who tilted her head to one side and looked her fill of him, leaving him no choice but to walk away or let her watch him wiggle and squirm.

He heard her follow him into the kitchen, where he made sure he hadn’t left any takeout or beer in the fridge. The beer would go with him; the takeout into the trash he’d haul to the Dumpster on the way out.

He found the kitchen clear, leaving him nothing else to do but load up his Jeep. And deal with Olivia. “I guess that’s it. You want to grab my duffel while I stash the electronics in the Jeep’s lockbox?”

“I can, sure, but are you in a huge hurry? Could we go out to the deck and talk?”

The only thing they had to talk about was the photography job. “Sure.”

He followed her through the main room to the French doors, realizing this was the first time in her company that he hadn’t been able to see through her clothes, or down her clothes, or even up under what she wore.

Today she had on a sarong-style skirt, and it didn’t even blow open when she walked outside and into the breeze. She circled the deck’s table and sat in the far chair.

Finn took the one that was closer, maintaining the distance she’d put between them. He wondered if she’d done it on purpose, or if the far chair was the one she wanted.

“What’s on your mind? Do you want something to drink?” he asked, before remembering he’d just packed. “There’s water, or I could make some coffee.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled her sunglasses from the bag she wore strapped from her shoulder to her hip and slipped them on, hiding her eyes from him as well as the sun, even if that hadn’t been her intent. “I did sleep on things, hoping to figure out the best way to go about getting Dustin his pictures. It’s funny, but all of a sudden I’m committed to the project. Or maybe I’m just ready to get it out of the way so he’ll quit bugging me about it.”

Finn kept mum. It wouldn’t be smart to ask her what role he’d played in her decision. It wasn’t even smart to wonder if she’d considered him at all. Still, he had a hard time believing it was a coincidence that she hadn’t looked at the project seriously until he’d walked onto the scene. “Okay. So tell me what you’ve been thinking.”

She leaned back her head, lifted her face to the sun. “After we talked Thursday night, I realized that it won’t matter if I know you’re there or not. I’m going to wonder if you are. And me being distracted is going to throw me out of the right frame of mind.”

He liked that he distracted her, because she sure as hell distracted him. Even with her body covered and her clothes not revealing a thing. And it wasn’t even about her body, her skin, that damn gold chain. It was about how complicated she was, how there was so much more to her—and he knew there was—than what he’d seen so far on the surface.

She had…substance. And she had it in ways that intrigued him. “I guess that’s that, then. No reason for me to stay in Miami.”

“Not so fast. That’s not the only thing I came to realize.”

“Oh?” He had absolutely no idea where she was going, but again, he was intrigued.

“Unless Dustin had the photos done and told me about it after the fact, I’m going to be distracted by the process. It won’t matter who’s there clicking the camera’s shutter.”

Made sense. “Is that what you’re going to have him do? Hire someone when you’re least expecting it?”

“I should have, but now it’s too late. I’ll always be expecting it. And that’s why I’m here.”

He was lost. The sun on his skin was warm; the sea breeze salty and marine. “You going to give me more than that?”

She laughed and crossed her legs, toying with the charms dangling from one gold earring. “That would help, wouldn’t it? But you have to promise to hear me out and not veto the idea before you’ve thought it over.”

Some agent he was, exposing himself, blowing his cover, and not giving a holy rat’s ass.

Today, one of his two Saturdays off each month from his farce of a job at Splash & Flambé, he’d sworn to himself he’d do nothing but park his ass on the couch and watch college football.

Operation Bebé Bust was in a holding pattern, and yesterday at the store, Roman had thought the decision to give Tomás more time to hang himself was the worst one the task force could have made.

The man was getting too cocky, true, but a lot of that feeling had been influenced by his own distraction over the big, fat fuckup he’d made Thursday night with Jodi. She’d said she wouldn’t pursue him further, that having gotten what she wanted, she’d let go of her obsession. His words. His assessment. Not hers.

Except he had a hard time believing she’d been able to drop him so easily after her single-minded pursuit. And that had him itching, wondering what he might’ve missed.

He didn’t think she had a clue who he really was or what he was doing at Splash & Flambé, but if she did, and if he’d given her ammunition to destroy all the work the task force had done…

Christ. Shit. Christ.

He grabbed the cordless handset from the arm of his couch and dialed her. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t ask who he was, what he wanted, or why he was calling when he’d set their no-contact rules. “Do you know where I live?”

He did but said, “No.”

She gave him the address. “I’m at the pool. Bring a suit.”

And then she clicked off. He headed for his bedroom, where he stripped out of his boxers to pull on a pair of purple and navy print trunks. He grabbed a matching blue camp shirt, slipped it on, and shoved his feet into his sandals. Wallet, keys, his weapon, and he was out the door and on the road.

It was Saturday, and the weather was gorgeous, which meant both motor-vehicle and foot traffic were hell. It shouldn’t have taken him but fifteen minutes to reach Jodi’s small complex. It took him thirty. Fortunately, he didn’t have to deal with gates or security and was able to park with no fuss.

The apartment building where she lived was older and only two stories tall, very vintage, very retro, very chic. He found the pool easily, situated as it was in the horseshoe of the complex, which, judging by the gathered crowd, was home to a smorgasbord of young, hard bodies.

Jodi wasn’t at all hard to find, her long blond hair hanging down her back rather than pulled into a ponytail or piled on top of her head. It was also dry, meaning she wasn’t swimming and having him wear the trunks was just about him fitting in.

She was talking to a couple who were older than Roman had first thought and who, he guessed, were in charge of the party. The trio stood on the tiled patio just outside the pool’s concrete apron, where the man was flipping burgers on a grill.

Jodi caught sight of him and waved him over. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize or even exchange names with her neighbors, but goddamn if he was going to be able to resist that look in her eyes. The one that told him he was the sweetest thing ever to walk into her life.

And skin him alive if he didn’t feel exactly the same.
Christ.
This was a disaster in the making. Of monumental proportions. If the agency didn’t strip away his badge, he was going to fire his own sorry ass for acting like a dick with no brain.

“Hey there,” she said once he’d reached her side. “We’re celebrating the Dimons’ anniversary. This is James, and this is Kay. Guys, this is a friend of mine, Roland Green. He’s a manager at Splash & Flambé.”

James shook his hand enthusiastically. Kay said, “My daughters, Wendy and Helen, they shop almost exclusively at Splash. I didn’t think Wendy would ever get over her love of white blouses, but the boutique has brought so much color into her life.”

“Not to mention,” James added, “making it possible for me to balance my bankbook in my head. Even I can add zero plus zero.”

“I’m glad they’ve found our collection to their liking,” Roman had Roland say to Kay before he turned to James and added, “And my condolences, sir, as I suffer extensively from a zero balance myself, even with my employee discount. Not that my current attire is at all representative.”

Jodi chose that moment to link their arms. “His current attire is my fault. I told him to grab swim trunks and hurry. I didn’t want him to miss out on your burgers, James, or on your daiquiris, Kay.”

Kay leaned over and kissed Jodi’s cheek. “You are a sweet girl to flatter us so. Isn’t she sweet, Roland? But why am I asking you a question with such an obvious answer? I can tell by the look in your eye that you’re quite acquainted with her sweetness.”

“Now, Kay,” James put in, clearing his throat. “Don’t scare the man so soon. He’s come here to spend time with Jodi, anyhow, not to listen to stories of those girls of ours shopping us blind.”

“You’re a sweetheart, James. And we’ll be back the minute you ring the dinner bell,” Jodi told the other man, making Roman seem a lot less like the interloper he was. “It was very kind of you to humor them with talk of the boutique.”

“I’m not always a queenly ass. I can be polite. And kind,” said Roman.

“And at times you can also be the furthest thing from a queen.”

He huffed. “Would that make me a king?”

“I’m still hoping it makes you hetero, and that I wasn’t a pity fuck or an experiment.”

“Dipping my toe into uncharted waters?”

“Your toe was about the only thing you didn’t dip.”

He stopped, spun her to face him. Her hair swung around her shoulders like a silk cape. He wanted all of it brushing his chest while she rode him. Wanted to see it pooled on his sheets while he took her from behind. “I didn’t come here to talk about the other night. Not about what we did, anyway.”

Her blue eyes grew icy. “You’re wondering if I’ve talked to anyone.”

“You said you wouldn’t. I know that. It’s just important in ways I can’t explain.”

“Like you can’t explain being gay and burying your tongue and your cock in my pussy?”

Sweat broke on the small of his back, the hollow of his throat, his forehead. “Yeah. Like that.”

She continued badgering him—and it wasn’t undeserved, since he’d bound her to a confidentiality agreement without disclosing the fine print—as she walked him around the pool’s apron to a small umbrella table and two chairs.

She sat and crossed one long, bare leg over the other, swinging her foot, her jeweled bronze thong slapping against her sole. “Maybe you should give it a try.”

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously, perching on the edge of the second chair and wondering if he’d walked into a trap.

“If you can’t satisfy my curiosity about the first, then I think you owe me the second.” She looked over, looked down, and peered at him above the dark glasses she wore. “You involved me in that one, remember? It was my pussy you used in your experiment or to satisfy your curiosity or whatever.”

“I remember.” Christ, how he remembered. But their encounter had nothing to do with experiments or curiosity and everything to do with that thing that made a man ache for what a woman had between her legs.

“Well then?” Her question jarred him back to the moment. “Homosexual or heterosexual?”

What was he supposed to say? At this point, even he wouldn’t believe his cover story. “If anyone else is asking? I’m as queer as a plaid rabbit.”

A sly grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “And if I’m asking?”

“I think you know,” he said, with a snort.

“So what does that mean? For us?”

Us?
What us was she talking about?
Us?
She’d wanted to fuck him. So she’d fucked him. That didn’t make them an “us.” “It means that there’s a lot I can’t tell you, and it’s best if we just forget what happened.”

She pushed her glasses into place, stared at the small gathering of her neighbors across the pool. “Can you really do that? Forget what it felt like to be inside me?”

Maybe in another lifetime. When he was rebooted with a new memory and couldn’t remember a thing about Roman Greyle. “I don’t have a lot of choice.”

She pursed her lips, her disappointment obvious. “What about me? Do I get a say? Or is the only choice I have to never see you again?”

That was part of the reason he’d come here. To make that happen. “That would be the best. For both of us.”

“So that’s it? We just stay out of each other’s way?”

“It shouldn’t be that hard.” He laced his hands, bounced his thumbs together. “It’s not like Dustin needs you to come shopping with him. And I don’t plan to visit the gallery again.”

“Not even when he shows the photos of Livia?”

Uh
…Roman frowned. “What photos of Livia?”

Jodi dropped her head back, raised her face to the afternoon sun. “Did you know she’s an exhibitionist?”

Christ.
“What? What’re you talking about?”

“From what I understand, it’s not so much sexual as a power trip thing. At least that’s what Dustin said.”

“And how would he know?”

“You don’t know much about your boss, do you? Dustin is probably her best friend. He knows all her secrets.”

Knowing Livia Hammond was not in Roman’s Splash & Flambé job description—a job from which he hoped to resign very soon. “To answer your question, no. I don’t plan to visit the gallery again, even to see photos of Livia.”

“That’s harsh. Disrespecting your boss just to avoid seeing me.”

There was no way for him to win here. No way at all. “What do you want from me, Jodi? Why so intent on busting my balls?”

She chuckled under her breath, then pushed out of her chair, wiggling her fingers in a “gimme” motion. Warily, he got to his feet, frowning when she held out her hand and ordered, “Empty your pockets.”

Since he could use a good dunking, he shrugged out of his shirt; set his wallet, keys, and cell phone on the table; and then reached for both of her hands. She walked closer, keeping their clasped hands between their bodies, releasing one, then cupping him where he lived.

“Busting is not what I want to do to your balls,” she said as she lightly squeezed. And then she took a huge step in reverse and dragged both of them over the edge and into the pool.

He’d sucked in a full breath before hitting the water and had time to pull her close and wrap his legs around hers as they surfaced. She sputtered and laughed, pushing her hair from her face, then hooked one arm around his neck and slipped the other into his trunks.

It was all he could do not to howl. He kept one arm around her waist, used the other to pull them to the side of the pool, and once there, pressed her against the wall, himself into her body. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“You can tell yourself that all you want,” she said, her hand wrapped around his shaft, squeezing, releasing. “Maybe you’ll even talk yourself into believing it.”

“Jodi, I—”

“Shh. Just do what I say.”

He cut his gaze left, right. “We have an audience.”

“No, we don’t. This is why I love living here. Everyone minds their own business.” She thumbed the head of his cock, finding the slit, playing there, then running her nail along the seam underneath. “Do you know what I would really love to do?”

“Right now? I’m not sure I’ll survive you telling me.” It was all he could do not to unload in her hand.

She tossed back her head, laughing with an infectious joy that had him surging into her palm, that much closer. “I want to suck you. I want you to sit on the edge of the pool and lean back on your elbows. I want you to spread your legs and hook your knees over my shoulders. I want you to let me take you to the back of my throat, to suck your cock until you come. I want to give you the blow job of your life.”

He was pretty damn sure that was what she’d done the other night in her office, though having her do it again now…He groaned, tightened his ass at the picture of her pink lips on his cock. “I want a million dollars to fall from the sky. None of it’s going to happen.”

“I know that,” she said, moving her lips close to his ear, her hand under the water, letting go of him to work one of her legs free from her bikini bottoms. “You can fuck me instead.”

She was insane, but she was also half naked and lifting him out of his trunks. He shifted her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him into place. One quick surge and he was buried to the hilt, shuddering as she slipped both of her arms beneath his and dug her fingers into his ass.

“Now tell me. How can you even think of giving this up? The sun, the sea breeze, sex in a swimming pool in front of a crowd?”

He didn’t even want to think about it. “Does everyone here know what we’re doing?”

“Of course, they do.” She pushed against him, took him deep, pulled away, and moaned. “And you can bet they’re jealous as hell and wanting in on the action.”

He didn’t want to think about that, either. All he wanted to think about was how tight she was, and how hot, and how his cock felt like the skin would split if he moved wrong. He was so fucking hard, he hurt.