Exposure (12 page)

Her mother was silent, which should've
warned her something ugly was coming. Her mother made talk show
hosts look like mutes. "Honey, I…" She sighed. "When the shooting
started, you and some of the other kids were locked inside one of
the bunkers. Some of the leaders were there hiding out, along with
your parents, planning an escape. The ATF kicked down the door and
shots were fired from Lambs leaders. The authorities responded.
You…"

Her fingernails dug into her palms. "What,
Mom?"

She sniffed. "Your father pushed you to the
ground and told you to crawl under the bed. He died right next to
you. The agents didn't know you were there until a little while
later. You hadn't moved. They thought you were dead, but it was
just shock."

Just shock. As in her limbs freezing and
inability to breathe. Her first panic attack had come before she'd
moved to Alaska.

Making excuses, she hung up and stared out
the window, trembling from hairline to toenails. All these years
she'd thought she was a freak. Turned out, she was traumatized. The
claustrophobia, the panic during sex while horizontal, made sense.
Noah was right. She could handle any position but missionary. And
she couldn't even remember the incident, yet it had forged a dark
path for her all these years.

Feet shuffled behind her. Noah. She'd grown
accustomed to his sounds, his scent, and his touch in their few
weeks together. She could make him out from a thousand others while
blindfolded. She wanted to go home, where he could bury himself
deep inside her willing body and push this new knowledge from her
mind. With him, she forgot to be afraid.

His gaze scanned the gallery below before he
cupped her cheek. "What is it? You're pale, baby."

She couldn't do this now. She had a showing.
Forcing a smile, she met his worried gaze. "Nothing. My mother. We
just hung up."

"You sure? Your mother doesn't typically
make you shake, not in fear anyway." One corner of his mouth
curved.

She nodded. "I'll tell you the rest later.
I'm fine."

His jaw tensed and he looked over her
shoulder at the gallery as if to make sure no one was watching. His
hand dropped from her face. "I want to fuck you on this desk one
day. Thought about it every time I visited you at work. It'll have
to wait, though. Your guests are arriving."

Heat replaced the cold. Her cheeks flamed.
She suspected he said as much to scrap the edges of panic he
must've seen, but now she'd have to go through the entire night
with her sex aching. Turnabout was fair play.

"Noah, ask me what I'm wearing under this
dress."

His gaze shot to hers and narrowed. His
thigh brushed hers, sending sparks of need to her core. "What are
you wearing under that dress, baby?" he asked in a rough, tight
tone that skittered along her nerve endings.

"Not a thing. I'm commando."

"You're…" He ran his fingers through his
wavy, blond hair. "Fuck, Raven."

Because he kept darting his gaze between her
dress and her eyes, sucking in a breath when she'd told him what
she wasn't wearing, she screwed with him a little. "Those were my
sentiments. Figured going commando would make access easier. This
is one of your favorite dresses on me, too, right? Does it drive
you nuts that I'm commando?"

"Stop saying commando. I'm about to make us
the gallery's focus by turning you into an exhibitionist."

She threw her head back and laughed. God.
Zero to happy in ten seconds. Only Noah could do that for her.

Sliding off the desk, she wove around him.
"I promise not to say the word
commando
anymore tonight, or
remind you that I'm
commando
under my dress."

He closed his eyes and shoved his hands in
the pockets of his expensive charcoal-colored suit. Tailor made for
him, he looked attractive and like the wealthy man he was while
wearing it. She wanted to peel it from him slowly, licking his
exposed flesh along the way.

She stopped in the doorway. "Are you
coming?"

"Not at the moment, but I'll rectify that
later."

Unable to help it, she grinned. "Death by
innuendo. Hell of a way to go."

He unclenched his jaw. "Go. I'll be down
soon, when other parts get the memo and I'm presentable."

No way could she pass that one up. "You'll
be
down
soon and I'm
commando
. Falling into my plan
perfectly."

He growled her name and she left. Damn. She
couldn't wait for tonight.

Hours, too many hours later, the showing was
a success. Raven leaned against the wall and sipped her champagne
as the last of the stragglers lingered. She knew exhibiting Wesley
Freemont's work would pay off when he strode into her office six
months ago. A good-looking black man, he was oddly charming with
people for an artist. His underwater stills were incomparable. The
public thought so as well. They'd sold out of every print.

Nicole ventured over and leaned on the wall
next to her. She clinked her champagne flute to Raven's. "Here's to
a successful exhibit. Where do you want to go for drinks
afterward?"

It had become tradition for her and Nicole
to have a celebratory cocktail after a showing. She'd forgotten.
Glancing at Noah, she bit her lip. He was talking to Wesley, the
artist of the night, so of no help to her. Much as she loved
Nicole, she had been waiting all night to get Noah alone. And
naked.

"I knew it." Nicole straightened. "I knew
it. You're sleeping with Noah."

Raven glanced around, but thankfully no one
was looking at them. "Do I have it tattooed on my forehead?"

Nicole flipped her long, blonde hair over
her shoulder. "No, but he's been watching you all night like you're
a forbidden dessert, and you haven't moved about the room without
checking his position. When did this happen?"

Raven hadn't realized they'd been that
obvious. "A few weeks ago. Friends with benefits, so not
permanent."

"Why? I mean, you've been besties since
college. After all this time, it seems kind of…romantic. I've
wondered why you two didn't hook up sooner."

Raven took a sip of champagne to cool her
dry throat. Romance was not their style or their intention. He'd
wanted her, now he had her. It was two people colliding for sexual
release. Those were the terms. Except the deadline in one week
loomed closer every minute, and the thought of walking away left a
hole in her chest. He'd opened her to a whole new part of herself
she didn't know existed, but could she let down her guard with
other lovers? Did she even want to?

"It's just sex," she rasped, staring into
her glass. Why in the hell did that feel like a lie?

"Bet it's damn hot." Nicole sighed and
slumped on the wall, her tone playfully sad. "I always hoped he'd
look my way someday and take me. Now that he's been with you, I
stand no chance."

Nicole had a crush on Noah, but Raven knew
it was attraction more than actual feelings. Not for the first
time, she thought about Nicole and Noah together. She was his
typical flirt, both in personality and appearance. "What makes you
say that?"

Nicole took a sip and swallowed, scanning
the room. "I'm the girl next door. You're the wet fantasy." She
shrugged. "Just the way it is. Some guys go for my type and most go
for yours."

Pondering, Raven stared at her shoes. She
wasn't a take-home-to-meet-the-parents woman. The idea of forever
had never gelled in her mind or her heart. To be with one man every
night, to leave herself exposed and blindly offer the kind of trust
it entailed was never a road she wanted to start down. Without
conscious effort, her gaze found Noah's from across the room. Her
pulse throbbed, her blood rushing through her veins with breakneck
speed. The heat and tenderness in his eyes left her dizzy.

Breaking the connection, she discovered
everyone had left and Nicole was locking up. How long had she been
standing there? She pressed a palm to her forehead and, God help
her, her gaze was drawn to him again. He hadn't moved from the
center of the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets and gaze
steadily on her. The air pulsed between them.

Nicole walked over and took the champagne
flute from her fingers, downing the contents. "I'll take a rain
check on the drink. Looks like you have other plans." She swatted
Raven's ass and headed for the door. "I expect details on
Monday."

***

N
oah held the door
for Raven and slid into the back of the limo after her. Once they
were underway, he closed the partition so Max couldn't hear their
conversation. He had two goals and two goals only tonight: to find
out what her mother had said to upset her and to make her forget in
as many creative ways conceivable.

But first… "Here." He pulled a box out of
his coat pocket and handed it to her.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

She lifted the lid and gasped at the watch.
Silver and gold, the face was small and the band adjustable. It
also had a tracking device inside, just in case.

"I love it. Thank you."

He removed the watch from the box and
clasped it around her wrist. "Do me a favor and wear it whenever
you're away from the condo."

Her finger traced the face. "Why?"

Staring at her profile, he decided not to
lie. "Because if something happens to you, I can find you if you're
wearing it. The trace inside links to an app on my phone."

Her gaze slid to his. "You scare me when you
talk like that."

Kissing her temple, he drew in her scent of
rain. "Just a precaution, baby."

She didn't seem to believe him, but she
leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, the
streetlights playing with shadows on her pale face. "Nicole knows
about us. She figured it out. I don't think she'll say anything,
but give the word and I'll talk to her. I told her it was temporary
and just sex."

He rubbed his jaw. It was sex, but it wasn't
just sex
. Somewhere in the past few weeks, he'd come to the
realization. The "temporary" comment was what caused a sharp pang
in his gut. And if that wasn't the most fucking twisted thing, he
didn't know what was.

"What was the conversation with you and your
mother about?"

She lifted her head and looked at him with
haunted, dark eyes. "I asked her about the day of the Lambs of
Christ raid. I've been having dreams, but nothing that made much
sense."

She'd woken a few nights this week with her
heart pounding against his chest and a scream trapped in her
throat. He'd tugged her closer, unsure of what else to do, and
skimmed his hands down her soft hair until she'd resettled. He
nodded for her to continue.

She swallowed. "My father died trying to
protect me from the shootout. Apparently, I was…frozen under the
bed until the authorities found me."

Mother of God. A vise closed his throat. A
primal, ferocious need to protect filled his chest. "Hell, baby."
He tugged her onto his lap.

Pressing her cheek to his chest, she
shivered. "I don't remember it. Which is a good thing."

He kissed the top of her head and breathed
in the rain scent of her hair. "No wonder you can't stand any
weight on you. Although you may not remember, part of that day
stuck with you." He wanted to erase that fucking fear so bad he'd
give everything he owned to make it so. And never,
never
again would he attempt to try the missionary position. Not until
she gave him the signal it was okay.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I'm glad
she told me. At first, it shook me, but it's like a weight's been
lifted." She raised her head to look at him. "I guess I just needed
an explanation or something. Makes me feel like less of a
freak."

He ground his molars and held her jaw. He
wished she'd stop calling herself a freak. It made him want to
punch something. Repeatedly. To ease the anger, or perhaps settle
his pounding heart, he crushed his mouth to hers, seeking entry.
She opened immediately, always did, and with every stroke of his
tongue the friendship lines blurred even more.

Inside the condo, he stripped her coat off
and pulled her to him, her back to his front, face buried in her
hair. For some reason, he couldn't make himself move, so he
tightened his hold and stood with her in the foyer.

Her hands settled on his arms, which trapped
her, cool from the elements outside. Tilting her head, she laid it
on his shoulder and pressed her face under his jaw. "Come with me
into the bedroom."

Yes. Anything she wanted.

Taking his hand, she led him through the
dark living room and into their bedroom.
Theirs
, not his. He
stopped in the doorway as her slender form wove through the room to
click on the fireplace. Warm tones flickered over her skin, shining
in her eyes. He made a move toward her, but she held up her
hand.

With too much space between them, she bit
her lip and reached behind her back to unzip her dress. The teeth
unlatching was almost as loud as the blood roaring through his
veins. Cupping the material to her breasts, she slid her arms out
and let the red dress pool on the floor.

He forgot how to breathe. She was, in fact,
wearing nothing underneath. He greedily took in her pale, milky
skin, small, perky breasts and triangle of dark hair at the
juncture of her thighs. The firelight bathed her skin, and he had
to swallow a groan. His cock strained against his pants.

She tugged the duvet and sheets down and
crawled into bed to lay down.

On her back.

A powerful, unknown in origin sensation
shoved its way into his throat as she stretched, holding her hand
out in invitation. Fuck film. He'd never need a camera to remember
this, and damn if he ever wanted anyone but him to see her like she
was at this moment.