Authors: Linda Mooney
36 Exposures (3 page)
A jump onto the Internet and over to the newspaper's website, and Jolee uploaded photo number sixteen to the Lost and Found department, paid for the added expense with a credit card, then went back to the kitchen for a refill from the half-empty wine bottle.
Hopefully, by this time tomorrow someone would contact her about his missing roll of film. She would inquire politely about the name of the man and the woman in the pictures, then try not to appear too eager to find out if the man was already spoken for, even though she already knew it was useless to assume otherwise. But she could dream. As long as she had those snapshots, she could dream and pretend the woman in his loving embrace really was her. That wouldn't be too difficult.
Admit it, Wiley,
she bitterly told herself as she trudged back into the kitchen.
The closest you'll ever come to a Happily Ever After is a jpeg file entitled “36 Exposures".
Just to be on the safe side, when she got to the office the next morning, Jolee checked the newspaper's classified ads on her computer. Yep, there it was, and reproduction in black and white did nothing to dampen the draw she felt for the man in the picture.
Found: a roll of 36-exposure film on the corner of Breedluff and Merceyd. 901-555-7865 or [email protected].
Good. Short and to the point. Nodding, Jolee closed her browser and tried to concentrate on her next project. To be on the safe side she opened her email and left it open, hidden behind her current document in case someone popped into her office unexpectedly. Every time the little mail icon dinged for her attention, she rushed to see who it was.
By lunchtime when she hadn't gotten any response to her ad, she was beginning to feel disappointed no one responded to the ad. Why, she didn't have the foggiest idea.
"What were you expecting, Wiley? For the man in the photo to come striding into the building, take the elevator up to the fifth floor, turn right at Missy's cubicle, and come straight into your office so he can scoop you up into his arms? You are
so
pathetic!"
Despite her self-condemnation, Jolee opted out of lunch with Ferra and remained at her desk with a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of baked potato chips from the deli in the lobby. By five o'clock she gave up.
The taxi ride home was quiet, thank goodness. The driver was self-absorbed and kept his radio off, for which Jolee was grateful. She didn't want to listen to any music on the way. She was in no mood for the latest trend in screeching. Nor did she want to listen to any oldies, on the off-chance the station would play some heart-wrenching ballad that would leave her in tears.
You are so pathetic.
Boy, was she right about that observation. Twenty-seven, unattached, and the last time she had entertained a member of the opposite sex was... Jolee had to dig deep to even remember the guy she'd shared dinner with many months before.
The taxi pulled up to the curb next to her brownstone. Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she paid the man an extra fiver and thanked him for the quiet. Walking the short flight of steps up to the door, she let herself in and opted for the elevator to take her up to her floor.
The message light was blinking on her phone when she entered her apartment. A glance at the machine read “3". Jolee slapped the PLAY button on her way to hang up her jacket in the entryway closet.
"Hi, Jo! Ferra. Well, did you ever solve the mystery of the lost roll of film? Missed our lunch date. How about dinner? There's a new Italian place opening up over on Knox. Give me a call by six if you're interested. Ta!"
"Ta,” Jolee parroted, adding a snicker. That woman ate more pasta than anyone she knew. Kicking off her heels near the sofa, she strode over to the phone to listen to the rest of the messages.
"Miss Wiley, this is Bristol Ackerman. We need your first edits for the Manchester account ASAP. I went by your office but you were already gone for the day. Call me to let me know where they are. You have my number."
She threw a mock salute at the machine. Screw him. He could wait until morning for those edits.
"Hello. My name is Mike Owensby."
Jolee froze. The voice was deep. Warm. It immediately threw her body into a surprising state of awareness. Hell, it practically swam in sex.
"You placed a lost and found ad in the paper. You found a roll of film? Is there any way I can meet you to get the roll back? I've been sick with worry it might be permanently lost.” The voice sighed, and she could hear the man's despair. “My number is 901-555-8228. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Thank you."
She jumped for the machine to catch the time on the readout. 4:58 p.m. A look at her watch told her it was just past six. Trembling, she grabbed the receiver and punched in the number. It was a local call, which meant he was here in town. While she waited for the connection, her eyes slid over to the dark computer monitor.
"Hello."
Oh, God. It was that voice again. She had to sit down on the arm of the sofa before her legs went out from under her. “Uh, Mr. Mike Owensby, please."
"This is him.” His breath caught. “Are you the person who found my film?"
A little giggle escaped her before she could answer. The man sounded like the cavalry were rescuing him. “Yes. I found it on the street. I'm sorry I had to develop the film, but it was the only way I could think of to find its owner,” she apologized.
The man laughed back. It was a relieved laugh. A de-stressing laugh. “Hey, not a problem. That was very smart of you. Look, is there a place where we can meet? I hate to rush you, but it's urgent I get the roll back as soon as possible."
"Sure. But please forgive me. I have to ask you first—"
"What's on the roll?” the man finished for her. “They're some candid shots of a man and a woman. Very loving shots. Would you like more detail?"
More detail? Her mind went blank. “Uhh..."
"There should be about a dozen shots where the man and woman are growing...closer.” He gave a little embarrassed chuckle. “There are a few shots in a bubble bath and a few more in bed. A couple of head shots of the man alone, and a couple of the woman. Is that enough description?"
"Yes!” she hurried to assure him. “Look, do you know where Sinclair Avenue is?"
"Sure."
"There's a little market at the corner of Sinclair and Faust. I can meet you there."
"Perfect. I need a loaf of bread, anyway,” the man chuckled again. Its vibrations rattled through her, all the way down to her toes. “What time?"
"Umm, seven? Or do you need longer to get there?"
"I can make it by seven. How will I know you?” the man asked.
How will I know you? Oh, sweet heaven, should she tell him?
“Trust me, Mr. Owensby. When you see me, you'll know it's me."
"Pardon?"
She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. “I'll meet you at Fosatti and Sons Market at seven. I'll be the one holding a disk of photos."
"Great! See you soon."
The man hung up, leaving Jolee to stare at the receiver in her hand. Mike Owensby sounded like a wet dream come to life, with a voice warm enough to melt the panties off every female within a fifty-mile range.
A strange thought came to her, making her smile wistfully. Wouldn't it be funny if Mr. Owensby was the guy in the photos? But, of course, that would be impossible. From the sincerity in his plea, he was probably the photographer. Maybe he shot photos for use on romance novels like those that Ferra had suggested. Maybe he had a deadline, but because he'd lost the roll, his boss was eating his butt out for being careless. It was very likely his job was on the line, and she was his stroke of good fortune for finding the roll.
Slipping on a pair of old, no-tie canvas sneakers, Jolee grabbed her keys and the disk, and left her apartment for the short walk to the corner grocer. With any sort of luck the guy would offer her a token reward. If she was really lucky, he would treat her to dinner.
But if she was truly blessed...
Jolee smiled. Who knew? Stranger things had happened.
It was a little past six-thirty when she got to the market. Other than Mrs. Fosatti, who was running the register, and two kids squabbling in the candy aisle, there was no one else in the store. Jolee gave the woman a quick wave and a smile, then headed over to the magazine rack to kill some time perusing the covers.
Every time the door jingled to signal someone entering or leaving the store, she glanced up. Her heart had picked up its pace. Now it was beating out a little staccato rhythm to match her nerves.
She had to ask Mr. Owensby who the man in the picture was. She had to find out his name and, at the very least, if he was single. That's all. That's what her “reward” could be.
Just tell me who he is, and if there's any way on earth I can meet him. That would be more than enough compensation for my trouble
The cover of a film noir magazine caught her eye. She picked it up, but she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to thumb through it. What if Mr. Owensby didn't show? What if he sent one of his assistants over to pick up the disk? No. She mentally shook her head. The guy sounded like he was the hands-on type. It was obvious the man did his own work, right down to the dirty fingernails jobs. Maybe one of the bigger book or magazine publishers employed him.
The door jingled. Jolee started to place the ‘zine back into its slot when she heard a gasp of surprise.
"No."
She looked up.
"Oh, God. It's you!"
The words hadn't come from her mouth, but they could have. Her eyes widened as she stared at the man standing not a dozen feet away.
It was the man in the pictures.
She felt the blood drain from her face. At the same time she could see his face growing paler by the second. He took a step toward her, then another.
Were those tears in his eyes?
"You said I would know you when I saw you...” His voice cracked as he approached her. One hand lifted in her direction. “It's you. It's
you
."
She felt she was being overcome by a wall of pure male perfection. He walked up to her, and the outstretched hand dove into her hair behind her head. His mouth descended over hers, and all sense of place and time dissolved into little bits of nothing.
Strong arms enveloped her. His body slid against hers, forcing her to clutch his shirt to keep herself steady. It was a kiss so demanding she lost herself in it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the way he drank of her, drawing her tongue into his mouth to suck and fondle it with his.
The light scent of musk filled her nostrils. The man had sprayed himself before coming. The cologne...his warmth...the way he cradled her as his mouth almost devoured her...
It was too much too soon. As much as she hated doing it, she almost had to shove him away. “Wait. Wait! I-I think you've mistaken me for someone else!"
"No, I haven't,” he insisted, pulling her back against him.
"Yes, you have! I'm not the woman in the pictures!"
"Yes, you are,” he breathed across her cheek. “You're the woman I've been searching for these past eight years."
She was melting, becoming totally pliable in his arms. She could feel the hard bulge of his erection rubbing along her thigh. The thought of him shoving it inside her was nearly her undoing, and it took her last effort to try and make sense of this whole encounter. Placing her hands to his chest, she pushed him away again.
"That's impossible. How is it...possible?” She was completely overwhelmed, but she didn't care. Even when his five o'clock shadow scraped across her skin.
The heated length of petrified wood pressed harder between her legs. Unconsciously, she parted her thighs to let it rest in the indentation made by her skirt, but it wasn't enough. If this man swept her up in his arms and took her away with him, could she resist him? Would she?
As unexpected as his kiss, he lifted his face to stare down at her. A foolish grin spread over his lips. “Uhh, not quite the welcome we both were expecting, was it? Hi. I'm Mike Owensby."
He had stopped playing havoc with her head when he'd broken off the kiss, but he still held her. The rapid thudding of his heart underneath her palms continued to keep her off-kilter.
"J-Jolee. Wiley. Nice to, uhh, meet you?"
Mike stepped back, releasing her, much to her disappointment. The disk was still in her hand. She held it out to him. He took it silently.
"What did you mean? How can I be the woman in those photos?” she asked, to keep the conversation going. Suddenly, she didn't want him to leave her, or leave here without her.
He glanced around to see how much of a spectacle they'd created. “Not here. Do you live nearby?” he whispered in that dark, panty-melting voice.
There was no hesitancy in her reply. “Just down the block."
A titter in the aisle over brought her back to reality. They were making out in the middle of a Mom and Pop grocery store. Not exactly the place for the kind of encounter they'd just had.
"Come on.” He grabbed her hand and started for the door.
Jolee was right behind him.
She was able to catch her breath once they hit fresher air. “Third building on the right. The one with the cornflower blue door."
He nodded mutely, never releasing her hand as he led the way. She noticed finally what the photos couldn't show. He was tall but not gangly. His shoulders were wide and nicely developed without any of those over-pumped muscles. Long legs ate the ground, taking one stride for every two of hers. Thank goodness they didn't have far to go.
"This it?"
She broke her gaze away to see they were at the front door. “Already?"
"Yeah."
"Where's the key?"
She handed it over and watched him climb the steps to unlock the door. A flush of heat suddenly washed over her as she realized what was about to happen.
They were going to make love. Oh, dear Lord, she was getting her reward!