Follow My Lead (Stepping Up 2)
No, but it was the right answer, even if she didn’t want it to be. “Yes.”
“Fine then. I’ll let you go. We both have big days tomorrow.”
She inhaled. “Okay.” She really hated that word.
“Good night, Darla,” he said softly, and hung up.
She stared at the phone, emotion welling in her chest. And she didn’t know how it happened, but she punched redial. “That’s it?” she demanded when he answered. “Good night?” He laughed. “Don’t laugh, Blake.” He laughed again and she repeated, “I said—”
“Don’t laugh. I know. I already told you that I’m crazy about you, Darla. That hasn’t changed. But I’ve yet to hear you make one statement that says you feel the same about me. I’m no glutton for punishment. You want this to be all business, we’ll make it all business.”
She didn’t know what to say. She liked him. She wanted him. She was just so damn…conflicted. “Okay.” She hung up before she defined what she was saying okay to. Hung up! She pressed her hand to her face. Could she make more of a fool of herself with this man?
14
BLAKE HAD TAKEN THE HOSTING job. Now, three days after hanging up on her new coworker rival former lover, Darla was back in New York and about to see him for the first time since then. With a garment bag thrown over her shoulder, she stood outside the twentieth-floor studio of renowned photographer to the stars, Frankie Masse. He was shooting the promos for Stepping Up.
She reached for the door but pulled back, nervous not because Frankie had been an intimidating and bossy man during her solo shoot at his studio the day before, but because of Blake. Yes. She was, without question, ridiculously nervous about seeing Blake again.
“Is the door locked?”
Darla jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. “Blake.” Her hand balled on her chest at his presence, suddenly finding him so close she could reach up and touch him. And she wanted to. “I didn’t hear the elevator. You scared me.”
His blue eyes swept over the ivory suit that Frankie had requested her to wear. He wore a black suit himself, the dark color a dramatic contrast to her lighter one. The expression on his face was both intimate and familiar, perhaps mimicking her own. He was remembering—just as she was, she had no doubt—how intimate and familiar they’d been together. She had been thinking a lot about Blake, and not just about the pleasure-filled moments in that hotel room. But also about their banter on the plane and the way he’d come to her rescue with Lana. The way his eyes danced with mischief at times when someone else’s would burn with anger.
“You must have had something pretty intense on your mind,” he suggested, his voice a gentle caress—a knowing caress. “Because the elevator creaks like an old man with arthritis.”
“I guess I did,” she admitted, realizing exactly what was bothering her and what she had to do. “About the phone call the other night—”
“When you hung up on me?”
Her lips thinned. “You hung up on me first.”
“I said, ‘Good night.’ You just said ‘Okay.’”
“Because you said, ‘Okay.’”
His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”
She wet her lips, his eyes following the movement. Heat pooled low in her belly. No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted him to say and that was the problem. Or maybe it wasn’t really a problem. Maybe she was needlessly making it a problem. She wanted to just say that to him, to talk to him. That brought her clarity. She trusted Blake enough to tell him how vulnerable she felt and that meant something. It meant he was worth taking a risk on.
She drew in a breath and let it out. “What I wanted, or rather, what I want—” she started to say, but the elevator creaked open as loudly as he had claimed.
“Is the door locked?” Meagan said from behind Blake.
“Saved by the proverbial bell,” Blake said softly, before stepping to the side to greet Meagan. “We just arrived. We were about to go inside.”
“Excellent, then,” Meagan replied, waving them forward. “Let’s get snapping those photos. I’d like to actually give myself and Darla a chance to relax before we head to Chicago at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” Blake said, expecting Darla to step away from him. Instead, she leaned in, looking him in the eyes.
“You keep assuming I need, or want, to be saved.” She threw open the door to the photography room, just as she had opened the door to the possibilities between herself and Blake.
* * *
TIME TICKED BY SLOWLY WHILE Blake waited on Darla to be out of hair and makeup for the photo shoot. He was thinking about their exchange in the hallway. Thinking about how much he wanted it to be enough. Enough to take her home with him tonight. Enough to hold her again—if not now, sometime soon. Enough to take the risk to get to know her better.