Along for the Ride

A bubble of laughter and pleasure rose inside her. “How can I refuse a request like that? Sure. I don’t have any plans for the summer vacation. I’ve really enjoyed modeling for you ... and all that comes with it.” She added, suggestively, “More of the same would be good.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’m pleased, too.” He got up and reached for his sketchbook. “May I draw a quick sketch of you now?” He settled on the other end of the sofa from her.

She nodded, and after a moment he began to draw. She was more than pleased at his latest request. Just being with him was comforting after the encounter with Richard. His intimate, subtle attention gave her a breathing space to relax in. She always felt like this with him, as if she could let go when he was observing her. It was a strange phenomenon, given that the result would be on public display, but one that she wasn’t about to deny.

Cal wondered if she might be a little cautious about his sketching her right then, with her emotions so recently exposed. However, that was exactly what was attracting his eye. He looked at the way the salty trails dried across her cheek, a wisp of hair still clinging to the spot where it had once been wet.

“Take off your top,” he whispered. “It intrudes.”

She slipped her T-shirt over her head. When she sat back, she leaned her head against the velvet and closed her eyes. The arch of her neck was exquisite. It led his gaze down to the upright peak of her luscious nipples, velvet soft and blushing rosy. The swell of her perfect breasts rested against her lower ribs, the skin shadowed lightly before it glowed white across the curve of her belly and dipped into the shadow of her jeans and the hollow of her hipbones. One hand rested gently between her thighs, long and slim, the fingers tipped with damson nail polish.

The charcoal moved on across the page, the sound of it only just breaking the quiet that surrounded them both.

Neither of them moved when they heard the door click and Jason come in. He walked slowly toward them and then paused with one hand on the easel, steadying himself. Cal turned and was about to say something, when he noticed Jason’s skin was pale, his expression tense. A movement captured his eye, a trickle of blood descending from Jason’s hand to drip onto his jeans.

Cal swore under his breath and sat upright, abandoning the sketchpad. Jason’s white shirt was ripped and stained with dry blood. “Is this to do with Gregory?” he demanded.

“Oh, my god,” Georgie cried when she saw him.

Jason shook his head as he dropped into a chair.

“Well, yes, kind of. He’s put the word on the street that I have some private photos of Zoë. I’ve had two calls from tabloids offering me five-figure sums for the negatives. Then these two thugs threatened me for them ... like I’m carrying them around with me, waiting for the highest bidder!” He laughed, but it was humorless and his face was pale.

Georgie pulled on her T-shirt and ran to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of brandy.

“Who were these guys?” Cal asked.

“Said they were sent by Joel Elliot.”

“Who?”

“He’s the head man at Jordan Publications.” Jason sighed. “Elliot sent me an email saying Gregory offered them material for publication, then went to another paper with it. So Elliot did some digging, found me, and decided to cut out the middle man.” He gave a wry smile. “Not that it did him any good.” He shook his head. “Greg’s really hurled the shit at the fan this time.”

Cal frowned as he uncovered the torn shirtsleeve and the wound on Jason’s forearm. “How the hell did you do this?” He ripped the sleeve off the shredded shirt to get a closer look.

“I had a run in with a spiked railing.”

“Ouch.” Georgie took the brandy to Jason’s lips.

He drank it, his expression heavy with resignation.

Her fingers gently stroked his hair back across his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Georgie.” His fingers touched against her cheek. “It’s a mess I should’ve sorted out years ago.”

She turned her face and kissed the palm of his hand. “As long as you’re safe, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you just get rid of the photos?”

“That’s what I said,” Cal interjected.

Jason shrugged, his expression noncommittal.

“Finding them is the issue ... Greg and the rest of them seem to think I have them hidden in some handy stash, as if I was ever that organized.” He gave a wry smile. “I can’t believe it. All this for a few old snaps. If it comes out, it’s going to ruin Zoë’s life, and my career as a serious professional photographer.”

He grimaced as Cal cleaned the wound with an antiseptic swab.

“Look at you, a serious professio

nal photographer and you had to get into a street brawl with these guys?” Cal pointed toward Jason’s other hand, where the knuckles were grazed and sore. “I’ve got more to do with my time than keep you out of trouble.”