Exposure (3 page)

She smiled, moved by him. "Says the man who
has his own cook."

"I do not. I have a housekeeper who
occasionally cooks for me. And she's not as good as you."

She laughed as he tried to shrug it off. He
could do that for her every time. Knock her from
freaked out
to
that's better
in three seconds flat. "Seven days a week
is hardly occasional."

"Six days a week." He sipped his wine.
"Every night but Friday."

"Which reminds me, I'll have to rain check
our typical dinner this week. I'm meeting…him that night." She
swirled the wine in her glass. "I like cooking, especially for you
because you appreciate it." Plus, she was much more comfortable at
home with him in her PJs. She started to regret her decision to
meet Mr. Dwell. Again. Why venture out of the normal when she had
perfection in her best friend right here? "I care about you,
too."

Downing the rest of his wine, he quickly
refilled the glass. What was up with him tonight? He was broody
and, if she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was nervous,
too. Perhaps it was just a bad day at work. Being the owner of
Gallivanting Adventure, he didn't get out on the trails or boats or
up in the planes as much as he wanted. He hated being stuck behind
a desk.

She took a sip of wine. "Everything
okay?"

He tore his gaze away from the pink envelope
on the counter and focused on her. After a beat, he grinned. "You
bet. Let's eat."

After they'd cleaned up the kitchen and Noah
had gone home, she went into her bedroom and pulled down the
shoebox from the top shelf of her closet. Not one to collect
memories, she wondered why she kept the items inside. Nonetheless,
she set the box on her bed and scrolled through the other letters
Hoan Dwell had sent previously. Each of them were short and sultry,
teasing her with a craving she'd skillfully banked until it was
appropriate and safe to bring it out.

What did he see in her? And what were his
expectations?

His letters spoke of desire. Wanting her.
Savoring her until they were both spent. She didn't take lovers
lightly. Research and observation went into each decision until she
made contact. What if she was attracted to him, wanted to go the
distance and be with him?

Would he be disappointed when he learned her
likes in the bedroom? They weren't exactly traditional and most men
didn't take well to what she needed. Sex, any form of intimacy, had
to be on her terms. Hoan Dwell didn't seem like the type of man to
submit control. Not that she knew him, or anything about him, but
someone who obviously knew women as well as he did and was able to
capture them on film with stark clarity, as if peeking into their
souls, couldn't possibly be willing.

She shook her head. There had to be
something really wrong with him if it took him this long to
initiate. All this wondering was moot. All that would happen come
Friday night was a dinner, a business discussion about a showing
for his work, and then she'd head home.

Alone.

Setting the letters back inside the box, her
knuckles brushed over something cool. Her fingers closed around the
polished stone and removed it. No larger than a thimble, it fit
into her palm. It had fit into her hand when she was just a girl,
too. The only thing she had from her life before her mother adopted
her was this. Just a rock and some vague memories.

She sighed and put the lid back on the box,
replacing it on the shelf. Then she took a hot bath until her mind
was blank and her body lax. Except when she crawled between the
sheets, sleep eluded her.

N
oah Caldwell stood
facing the rear window of Salvatore's and resisted the urge to run
his fingers through his hair again. Instead, he smoothed his tie
down and shoved his hands in the pockets of his Armani suit. He
despised suits. A privileged upbringing and a lucrative business
meant they were required, but he didn't have to like it. He'd much
rather be in Raven's apartment in his jeans but, for what was going
down tonight, it was vital he use class and distance from their
usual routine. He'd had Gino set up their table in the private room
and threw enough money at the man when he'd booked the reservation
to close the restaurant tonight just for them.

He blew out a breath. Raven was going to
flip out. She hated surprises, hated anything that didn't fit into
her perfect order. And wasn't this the biggest whopper of them all?
Yes, best friend of mine. I am the famous photographer you've
admired for years, and the man who's admired you.
For going on
ten fucking years. Six of which he'd been secretly writing to
her.

He'd had his reasons for not stepping up.
Damn good reasons. He still wasn't sure this was a good move. There
was more than the danger of losing their friendship involved, such
as Raven losing her life if the wrong people caught wind. He was
assured by the right people that things were finally settling down
on that front. He'd never risk her, not for anything, but damn if
he could do this anymore. Week in, week out. Dinners and movies and
laughter. Pretending not to want her. Watching her fight the
darkness and acting as if she didn't wish for more. He'd wanted to
be that more for a third of his life.

"She's here." Max Gerard looked up from his
phone near the doorway to the private room. "The car just pulled
up."

Noah turned from his bodyguard and closed
his eyes. Acid ate away at his gut while his heart shoved against
his ribs. Ten years boiled down to what happened in the next ten
seconds.

He glanced around the dimly lit twelve by
twelve room. The only table was theirs, small and intimate,
decorated with a white tablecloth and a candle. On the cream stucco
walls were prints of Italy Gino's parents had brought over when
they acquired citizenship. Noah knew because he'd once asked during
a dinner to celebrate his and Raven's college graduation. The scent
of chicken cacciatore wafted from the kitchen, rolling his stomach.
How was he supposed to eat? Then again, that would require her
sticking around long enough for dinner to be served.

Everything he'd rehearsed in preparation for
this moment died on his tongue as she walked across the Moroccan
tile floor in her black heels. His gaze traveled up her shapely
legs to the slight hourglass curve of her hips, past her small,
perfect breasts and briefly paused on her regal neck. He could
spend hours kissing that spot right there.

She wore a red dress he'd seen her use for
openings, one that fit her slender curves and stopped just above
the knee. Her black hair was down--he loved it down--and trailed
just to where her shoulder blades cut her back. Not for the first
time, the contrast of her alabaster skin to her ebony hair stole
his breath.

Snow White, she may resemble, but Big Bad
Wolf was what lived inside.

Her red lips parted in shock. Her cat-like
brown eyes, which had hazel flecks he couldn't see from this
distance but knew were there, rounded as she froze inside the
doorway. She looked around the room and swiftly back to him,
clutching her black purse.

"Noah? What are you doing here?"

Keeping his hands in his pockets when he
wanted to plunge them into her hair, he maintained a neutral stance
and expression to not frighten her. He nodded to Max. His bodyguard
left the room in silence.

He looked back at her and forced a swallow.
"I think you know why. Take just a moment to think about it."

The arch of her brows drew together in
thought. From across the room, he waited her out. He knew the
moment the puzzle fit together in her mind by the subtle drop in
her jaw. She figured out the algorithm in switching the letters of
his name around. Noah Caldwell. Hoan Dwell. Had he encouraged
chatter about his alter ego when she brought up the name now and
again, her clever mind would've figured it out sooner. He'd deftly
avoided the topic until the time came to tell her the truth.

The time was here and he still couldn't
fathom it.

"No," she whispered and covered her
mouth.

Was that a shocked "no" or an "oh shit" no?
Cautiously, he stepped forward. "Yes."

She pressed a hand to her forehead and gazed
heavenward. "I'm such an idiot."

He ground his molars. "You are not an idiot.
I was careful not to--"

"Why?" she squeaked. "After all this time,
how could you keep this from me? Why would you?"

Since she wasn't spitting nails or running
for the hills, he walked to the table between them and pulled out a
chair. "Sit and talk with me." When she made no attempt to move, he
gently smiled. "I'm still the same guy you knew five minutes
ago."

Several beats passed before she walked to
the table and sat. Rounding her chair, he chose the one next to her
instead of across. She set her purse down and avoided his gaze.

For the first time in their friendship, he
touched her. More than a casual hug for a picture or shoulder bump.
Just a graze of his knuckles over the back of her hand, but the
impact was staggering. Her skin was as soft as it looked. Setting
his hand back in his lap, he watched for her reaction. Her fingers
flexed on the table, but she offered nothing else. She stared at
the space between them.

He shook his head. "Still the same guy,
Raven."

Her gaze lifted to his, the golden flecks
swimming in warm cocoa. "Are you?"

Pouring them both a glass of wine, he leaned
back in his chair, trying to find the words. "There are things
about my earlier years that prevent me from being in the spotlight.
Too much attention could draw out people from the past. That's why
I have the pen name."

Her eyes widened. "What kind of people?"

The kind that killed his whole family.

Fiddling with the stem of the glass, he
sighed. "The kind who would hurt those I love to get to me." Or get
to a specific someone, but best he stick to himself for the moment.
Having her undivided attention, he lifted one corner of his mouth
in a smile. "It took many years, but that part of my past is being
reconciled. I could no more tell you the truth before now than I
could shut down my creative spark and stop taking pictures."

"You could have trusted me, Noah."

"I do trust you. It's them I don't. For your
own safety, it had to be this way."

She offered a slight shake of her head,
looking fearful for the first time ever in his presence. "What did
you get into? What is this all about?"

"It's being handled. Which is why I'm
telling you now."

"That's not an answer." She took a healthy
drink of wine, her hand shaking when she set it back down. "When
did this mysterious past occur? We met freshman year of college.
You had to have been a teenager at the time to…" She straightened
in her chair. "Was everything between us a lie?"

He took the barb and pretended it didn't rip
apart his organs. "My withholding of this particular incident led
to needing to lie about Hoan Dwell. Everything else was truth." For
the most part.

A waiter came in and set down their salads.
Noah kept his gaze on her while she politely smiled at the young
man as if she wasn't about to freak out over loss of control. He
waited until the plates were arranged and the waiter was about to
walk off before speaking.

"Could you tell Gino to hold the main course
for a little longer than we discussed?"

"Yes, sir."

Alone again, he studied her. He couldn't get
a handle on how this was going. How was that for power? "Look at
me."

She briefly closed her eyes before sliding
him a look.

"One day I'll tell you everything. For now,
just trust me that I won't hurt you. I lied so you couldn't be
hurt." He should've kept the part about his past out of the
equation, but to have her learn later would only make her irate.
Reasonably so. He'd lose her for good. And later would come. He
couldn't hide from himself, from this, anymore. He needed to see
where this led.

More than that, she needed it. She lived
behind control and reason, never feeling the magnitude of what
could be. He hoped he was deep enough in her comfort zone for her
to let go. He had his own control issues, but at least he knew why
his were in place.

She took a bite of her salad, staring at the
plate as she chewed. Hands down, he'd bet she wasn't even tasting
the food, nor was she hungry. He picked up his own fork and ate,
waiting for the next deluge of questions.

Setting down her fork a few minutes later,
she was obviously done processing. He didn't think it would take
her long.

"You're rich. As in millions. Plural."

Where was she going with this? "I've been a
millionaire more than half our friendship." It'd never bothered her
before.

Her gaze pinned him, lethal in its
intensity. "From Noah Caldwell's adventure company or his
inheritance. That guy likes jeans and hanging out. Noah isn't
pretentious. Hoan Dwell is a whole different brand of rich. God,
Noah. You could buy Texas!"

That was stretching things a margin, but she
was pretty close. No sense in saying so. He didn't like the way she
was using third person to distance herself from him either. "What
does money have to do with anything?"

"I live in a two-bedroom apartment. You…"
Her face twisted as she blushed. "I made Friday night dinners when
you should've been at five-star restaurants." She glanced around
the room as if just seeing it for the first time. "We're eating in
Salvatore's."

"I like this place and your cooking. What's
the problem?" It's not as if Salvatore's was a slum. Didn't she
know him well enough by now to know he preferred fish fry to
caviar?

"This is so humiliating." She rose and
pushed away from the table.