She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Maybe she would tell him later, at home. Yes, that might be better, since he was sure to be angry. Best not to cause a scene in a public place.
She would tell him on the way to his house. She couldn’t let him spend good money on photographs that would never be used.
A short time later, he paid the check and they left the restaurant. During the ride home, she tried to rehearse what she would say to him, but she couldn’t seem to form her thoughts coherently, not when he was sitting so close, when she could feel his gaze like a physical caress on her face, when his presence made her heart beat fast.
Inside the house, she crossed her arms over her br**sts and took a deep breath. “Ronan, I’m flattered that you think I could…”
“Shannah, we don’t have time for that now.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the staircase. “We’re going to be late as it is.”
“But I can’t…I’m not…”
“Later,” he said.
With a sigh of exasperation, she hurried up the stairs. Fine, it wasn’t her fault he wouldn’t listen. As for the photographs, maybe she could buy one or two for her parents so the night wouldn’t be a total waste of time. It might make a nice gift, a nice portrait for them to remember her by.
She decided on a navy blue knit dress and matching heels. It was dressy yet casual. She applied her makeup carefully, brushed her hair, took a last look in the mirror she had bought. And frowned. She hadn’t really looked at herself lately; now she was surprised at how well she looked. Her skin had a healthy glow, her eyes sparkled, her hair was shiny. She had never looked better. A little beacon of hope flared inside her. Maybe she wasn’t dying, after all.
Doctors had made mistakes before.
Ronan nodded his approval when she went downstairs.
“Are you sure I look all right?”
He nodded. “Trust me. You look good enough to eat. Are you ready to go?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t ready at all.
The photographer, Ed Dewhurst, was waiting for them when they arrived.
After welcoming the two of them, Dewhurst bade Shannah sit on a white wicker love seat. He arranged his camera, the lights, tilted her head at an angle, just so, and began taking pictures.
He shot her sitting up and reclining, smiling and looking pensive. He shot her in front of a variety of backdrops and colors. He draped a long white silk scarf around her neck and turned on a fan so that the ends of the scarf blew softly behind her.
Ronan stood out of the way, careful to avoid the large mirror that was set in the corner of the studio. He could see that Shannah was nervous and ill at ease. Her smile was tight, her whole demeanor declared she was uncomfortable in front of the camera.
Shannah tried to relax, but it was impossible. She felt silly posing this way and that way, and worse, she felt like a fraud. Finally, she glanced beseechingly at Ronan. His dark eyes were watching her every move. It should have made her more self-conscious; instead, she forgot all about the lights and the camera and the photographer. She posed for Ronan, her gaze on his face, her body yearning for his touch. She imagined his mouth on hers, his arms holding her close, closer.
“Perfect,” Dewhurst said, quickly snapping one picture after another. “Beautiful. Yes, yes. That smile! Wonderful!”
A short time later, he put his camera down and turned off the lights. “That last roll,” he said, nodding, “you’ll be pleased with those, I’m sure.”
“How soon can we see them?” Ronan asked.
“The proofs will be ready by next week.”
“We don’t have time for proofs,” Ronan said. “I want to see finished pictures as soon as possible.”
“That’ll cost you extra.”
“Just do it.” Ronan shook Dewhurst’s hand, then led Shannah out of the studio.
“I think it went well,” he said as they walked to her car.
“Do you? I felt…”
He looked at her. “What did you feel?”
She shook her head. At first, she had felt silly, posing as if she were somebody, but then she had looked into Ronan’s eyes and she had posed for him, wanted to look pretty for him. “Never mind.”
“Tell me, Shannah. What did you feel?”
“Pretty,” she said, ever so softly. “I felt pretty.”
“And you were,” he replied. “You are.”
Looking into his eyes, she believed him.
But later that night, lying in bed, she found herself wondering yet again how he had found her apartment and how he had known where she was having dinner.
The next week flew by. The flowers she had hoped to plant in the garden were forgotten as she spent practically every minute memorizing possible questions and answers and reading Ronan’s books. To her amazement, it grew easier and easier to memorize the answers. Even more amazing was the fact that she could recite long passages from all of his books. She wasn’t sure why, but she had never gotten around to telling him she had changed her mind.
He removed the password from his current work in progress and she read it avidly not once but twice. Shannah was certain it was just her imagination, but the heroine seemed an awful lot like her, and not just her physical description.
Her dreams were filled with lusty images that could have been taken directly from his books.
She had never had such dreams before. Dark dreams that left her restless and yearning for his touch, that made her wake in the middle of the night, his name on her lips, her hands reaching for him.
They went back to the studio to select a portrait. Shannah stared at the pictures spread before her, unable to believe that she was the woman in the photos. Did she really look like that?
She looked up at Ronan and shook her head. “This can’t be me.”
“Ah, but it is.”
“But how…?” Shannah looked at the pictures again. She looked cool and confident and sultry and beguiling all at the same time. She had never been cool or confident or sultry before. Why now?
She was still pondering that question when she looked into Ronan’s eyes. He was the answer, she thought. He made her feel beautiful and sexy and desirable. And even as the thought crossed her mind, desire arced between them like chain lightning.
“We’ll take this one,” Ronan said. “And these two. And this one.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm when she glanced at the photos he had chosen. She had been looking at him, thinking of him, when the photographer snapped the pictures.