Going Overboard (5 page)

Not that she was on his agenda for any personal involvement. He was a man who could stand his ground, even if a woman's perfume distracted him and her restless body goaded him to find out what it would take to make her relax.

He took a sharp step back. Damn, this was official. There couldn't be even a second of anything personal between them.

Especially when she wanted to capture him on camera like a champion steer.

He was all set to tell her that her idea was impossible when something in her eyes cut him off.

Regret.

Entreaty.

Stubborn pride.

He saw exactly how much it had cost her to ask.

“I'll think about it,” he said gruffly feeling like a fool. Hating the fact that he would use her to accomplish his mission, even if he would instruct any man under his command to do exactly the same in a similar situation.

“You will?” She looked stunned.

“It's not a yes,” he warned.

“But it's not a no. Thanks again for the food.”

As she turned he flanked her with silent steps and cut around her to the door. “You might still find someone else.”

“No. When you see the best, you want it. And that's not because I'm desperate, but because it's true.” Her voice was level.

Damn, she almost had
him
convinced. “You're pushing.”

“I never said I wouldn't.” She smiled and closed the door softly behind her, leaving McKay to rub his neck in irritation.

Modeling
, he thought in disgust.
No way.
It was absolutely out.

The phone chimed from the nearby table. “What?” he barked, certain who was at the other end.

He heard Izzy's dry chuckle. “You told her no, didn't you?”

“Damn right I did.”

“Get ready to tell her yes. I just heard from Washington, and you are good to go, McKay. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants, however she wants. Consider it an order.”

C
all Armando downstairs. Tell him we won't be needing the forty-six-long tuxedo for Mr. McKay after all. I've given him two hours, and he hasn't returned my call.” Carly shoved files into a mound with unsteady hands, fighting her disappointment. “As soon as I finish here, I'm going to call Mel. She needs to know this deadline is impossible.”

Daphne looked unconvinced. “Maybe you should wait. Your Adonis might give in eventually.”

“Not in time to matter.” Carly couldn't hold back a sigh. “And he's the one, Daphne. His biceps made the photographer in me weep.”

“What did they do to the woman in you?”

“The woman in me was smart enough to shut up and let the professional get on with her job.”

“If you ask me, that's a huge waste. Work isn't the only thing in life.”

But Carly didn't hear, darting into the kitchen for a roll of film from the refrigerator. She ignored the knock at the door and Daphne's quick footsteps. She was too busy tossing out old photos and having a nervous breakdown.

“Carly.” Daphne took her arm and gently pulled her around in a circle.

Ford McKay stood in the doorway. One look at his black jeans and form-fitting black T-shirt made Carly's legs shaky.

The sane part of her mind admitted he had every right to refuse her and get on with his vacation. The photographer in her wanted to scream at the unthinkable waste of raw material.

He slid his hands into his hip pockets, making his jeans even tighter. Carly framed him mentally, imagining him on a windy beach with the sun setting behind him. The shot would be a killer. It might even make her career.

If only.

She forced herself to stay calm, hiking one hip over her worktable and raising a brow “I hope you're not here for more groveling.”

Daphne stared at Carly. “You actually groveled?”

“Close enough,” Carly muttered. “But I won't do it again. If that's what you came for, you're out of luck, Mr. McKay.”

“No, I came to give you an answer.” He scanned the room, taking in its controlled disorder and expensive digital film equipment. “Looks as if you're well supplied. That's a nice computer setup.”

“We're in great shape with equipment. What's on your mind?”

“I have some questions.” He prowled the room, glancing at lighting equipment and an array of cameras. “How long is the commitment—
if I
say yes?”

“Two days, tops.” She could possibly squeeze things into two days, Carly thought. Maybe.

He lifted a camera, checked out the small monitor. “Nice toys you have.”

“They're not toys,” she said coolly.

“You're right.” He put down the camera. “What would I have to do?”

“Don't worry, no nude shots,” Daphne called throatily.

McKay turned his face shuttered.

“Hey, just a joke.” Daphne gave a slow sigh. “Too bad for the women of the world.”

“My friend has a strange sense of humor. Please ignore her,” Carly said, shooting a dark glance at Daphne.

“And to answer your question, you'd be wearing a tuxedo in one shot and casual clothes in the other. The first shoot would be aboard ship today; the second would take place tomorrow in Barbados.”

He seemed to digest the information stoically. “Is someone meeting you there?”

“We'll have a local support team, but my crew is aboard. They'll handle everything but transportation.”

McKay tapped his fingers on a board filled with clippings of Caribbean beaches. “Sounds reasonable. Only one day in Barbados?”

Hope glimmered. Was he giving in after all? “One day should be enough.”

“One day aboard ship, one day in Barbados.” He studied the framed photographs on Carly's desk. “What then?”

“Maybe a half day of touch-ups, if necessary. If not, you'd be done.”

“I see. Then you leave the ship after the filming is done?”

“No, we'll stay on for filler shots and some sound work, then return to Miami.” Carly gave in to her impatience. “Is this relevant?”

He made a noncommittal sound and lifted a black-and-white photo of a small boat hurtling over angry rapids at the base of towering canyon walls. “Nice shot. Looks like it was taken from a boat. Damned hard picture to get.” He looked across at Carly. “Your work?”

Cold brushed her as it always did when the memories came. She took the picture from his hands, studied it for a moment, then replaced it gently on the table. “My mother's,” she said stiffly.

“She's good. Shooting in that part of the Grand Canyon takes guts as well as skill.”

“You've been there?”

“A time or two. Using a camera was the last thing on my mind.”

“She wasn't afraid of much.”
Except missing the next
shot
, Carly added silently. Maybe that was why she hadn't been able to stay home for more than a month at a time, why they had kept moving, state to state and country to country until—

“I saw a photo with that same energy in
Life
about twenty years ago, a dramatic shot of sharks near the Great Barrier Reef.”

Carly blinked, pulled from her bitter reverie. “Hers. She liked dangerous things.” Carly saw the photo in her mind just as she had watched it take form in the developing bath in her mother's darkroom years before. The violence and the danger in it had left her uneasy even then.

“You must have had some amazing times.”

Carly ignored the question in his voice, refusing to look back where so much pain lingered. “Have you made up your mind? I think I've told you all there is to tell.”

McKay leaned against the wall and watched her.

No, she hadn't come close to telling him everything. Emotion simmered in the hard set of her jaw and the flash of her eyes. His questions about the photos had pushed a button all right. He'd run that particular stretch of white water only two years before as part of a special training mission. Even fully equipped with protective gear, a man felt his stomach knot when the monster power of the river took hold, tossing boats into the air like toothpicks. How much more dangerous had it been twenty years ago, riding a flimsy wooden frame with a camera gripped desperately in hope of the perfect angle and the perfect light?

McKay couldn't even imagine.

Pain had swept Carly's eyes when she'd taken the photo from him, and her hands had trembled. He made a mental note to find out why.

But first he had to swallow his distaste and get on with his mission, for which Uncle Sam was going to owe him big time. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I'll help you with your body shots or whatever you call them.”

She looked stunned. “You will?”

“When I give my word it holds.”

Even if it was unrelenting torture.

Her eyes narrowed. “What changed your mind?”

“Maybe I'm in the mood to be a nice guy.” He shrugged. “I figured it was a small thing to drive the panic out of your eyes. And I liked your honesty.” His lips curved. “For a jerk, I have my moments.”

Carly's face filled with heat. “I apologized for that.”

“So you did. Very nicely too. So when do we start?”

“There are contracts to sign. I don't suppose you have an agent?”

“No agent.”

“In that case, we'll go with a standard contract, with all the usual rights and waivers.”

“Whatever.”

McKay looked up as Daphne slapped a sheet of paper and a pen onto the table in front of him. “Just sign on the dotted line.” He raised a brow as Daphne swept the contract away before the ink began to dry.

“Can you start right now?” Carly gave him a gleaming smile. “I did tell you that I'm desperate.”

Yes, she had. She proved it now, pacing with edgy energy, then tugging props out of drawers and checking her cameras.

“Why not?” McKay said. If she gave him half a chance, he'd find a dozen reasons why he couldn't start at all.

“Don't sound so excited. I promise to bring you back alive. Take it from me, you're going to sizzle. You have a killer body.”

He didn't give a damn how he looked on film as long as it kept him close enough to see that she was safe for the next week. “Thanks. Even if I don't believe it.”

“You'd better believe it. That wasn't flattery. It was a

statement of fact from a professional.” She turned away, scooping up a light meter. “Will you phone the crew, Daphne? Tell them we'll be setting up for the sunset shoot. And don't forget the ice bucket for the champagne.”

“Already done. I made the calls from the bedroom while you two were bickering. The tux is already on its way to the set,” she called.

“Perfect.” Carly gripped her new star's arm and rushed him to the door. “Let's go make history.”

“I say the shea butter for the swimsuit scene.”

“And I say the baby oil.” As she spoke, Carly drizzled some oil on her palm. “Would you mind raising your arm?”

McKay complied reluctantly, wondering if the whole world had gone mad or only he had.

For an hour he'd been poked probed and tested with meters. Now six people were huddled in a circle arguing about what kind of oil to use on his shoulders while a woman did something to his hair with a big comb.

McKay had been in dangerous situations before. He had bellied through leeches and fetid mud beneath a blazing sun and waited motionless for a sniper's lethal fire. Not once had he felt as trapped and frustrated as this.

“You see?” Carly ran oil-sleek fingers over his skin. “We want a subtle glow, not a major corona effect. We're creating dreams here.” She turned to a lanky man with spiked hair. “How's the light, Hank?”

The man jammed a light meter against McKay's cheek and nodded. “Perfect, boss.”

“So, where's my dream woman?” McKay hoped he wouldn't be paired with some high-fashion prima donna.

“There is no woman,” Carly said briskly. “That's part of the theme. We focus on you and your reactions. That

way women viewers will project themselves into the scene, reinforcing brand loyalty.”

“What about male viewers?”

“Not nearly as important. Most cruises are purchased by women or for women, so that's our target market.” Carly studied the horizon. “In twenty minutes the sun should be positioned just right. Let's get into place, people. I want more orchids on that chair, and someone please mist the champagne bucket so it has the right condensation. Hank, check those gel filters, too. Drinks are on me when we finish.”

She was good at this, McKay decided. She had an eye for every detail without being overbearing, and somehow she motivated her staff to equal enthusiasm. The result was a team effort, efficient and very smooth.

Maybe their worlds weren't so far apart after all. A training mission had to run the same way, as a team effort.

“The tux is here,” Daphne called out. “I hung it in the bedroom.”

“Finally,” Carly said with relief. “I need you to hurry getting changed, Mr. McKay. If you need some help—”

“Ford,” he reminded her. “And I think I can manage to dress myself.”

“Just remember, no shoes, no socks. Tie undone. You've come outside to relax before a big social evening on board.”

“Yes ma'am.” He resisted the urge to salute. How was he supposed to look relaxed with all those people hovering around him with cameras and lights?

Carly frowned at him. “Your hair is awfully short.”