Red (24 page)

She stopped struggling and met his eyes. “What am I going to do,” she whispered. “I'm all alone now. What if I…close my eyes and never open them again? What if I just…disappear?”

“It's not going to happen, babe,” he said fiercely. “I won't let it happen.”

“I'm so afraid.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He drew her back down to him, then to the bed. For a long time, he held her trembling body against his, stroking, running his hand from her shoulder to the curve of her hip. “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm not going to let you go, and I'm not going to leave you alone. You don't have to be afraid when I'm with you.”

She made a sound, soft like a sigh. His heart turned over; his body stirred. A flame of arousal ignited somewhere inside him, small but hot. He told himself to fight it, but when he looked down at her, her eyes on his were limpid pools of longing.

He suspected she had no idea what her eyes said to him, what they told him she wanted. Becky Lynn was inexperienced. He knew that without asking, without having to touch her.

He knew, too, that he could hurt her.

He lowered his eyes to her mouth, parted in invitation, her lips damp. The flame became a bonfire and with a groan, he brought his mouth to hers. She gasped, a tiny broken sound that he caught with his mouth. Her arms, her hands came to his shoulders, but she didn't push him away. She clutched frantically at him, opening and closing her hands, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Stop now, Gallagher. Get out of this before it's too late.

Instead, he fitted his mouth more firmly to hers, easing hers farther open, slipping his tongue inside. He found hers and stroked, and after a moment's hesitation, she returned the caress.

He kissed her for a long time, knowing instinctively that
she was as frightened as she was aroused and that he needed to go slow, that he needed to gentle her.

As the moments ticked past, her fear lessened, her body warmed. She made sounds deep in her throat, ones that had nothing to do with fear; she moved her body, her pelvis, beneath his.

His mouth still on hers, he slid his hands under her shirt. She was very slim, so slim he could count her ribs as he moved a hand toward her breast. When he found it, he closed his hand gently over it. Surprisingly full, it fit into his palm, and he caressed and kneaded her smooth, warm flesh.

She gasped and arched against his hand. His erection grew painful, his breathing ragged. “I want to make love,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick. “Do you want that, too, Becky Lynn? If you don't…baby, please tell me now.”

He drew away from her so he could look into her eyes. Hers were heavy-lidded with arousal, and unbearably soft. The softness unnerved him, and for a split second he considered ending this himself. He could gently disentangle himself; he could beg her forgiveness and call himself a cad.

Then she shuddered and curved her fingers around his shoulders. “I'm scared,” she whispered. “I want…you, but I'm afraid you'll…hurt me.”

He searched her expression, a thought occurring to him that hadn't before. “Honey, are you…are you a virgin?”

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, her cheeks blooming with color.

He cupped her face in his palms. She lifted her gaze to his. “I won't hurt you, Becky Lynn. I promise I won't.”

For the space of a heartbeat, she stared at him as if frozen. Then her lips curved into a tremulous smile, and he brought her head to his.

Mistake, Gallagher. Big mistake.

Jack gazed at Becky Lynn's face, soft and vulnerable with sleep, eyes bruised from crying. He swore silently. What had he been thinking of? How could he have done…this?

She was his assistant and although it seemed odd to him, she was his friend. She had needed him, had needed comfort. She hadn't needed sex. She hadn't needed him to complicate her life.

He muttered another oath. Holding her had seemed so natural, kissing her more natural still. Both had led to arousal—undeniable, all-consuming arousal. He had lost his head; he had forgotten everything but the excitement of holding her and the need to relieve the ache between his legs.

So what the hell did he do now?

Disgusted with himself, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He didn't think he could face her now, not yet. Not when her grief was still so fresh, not when the way she had looked at him, the way she had murmured his name still resounded in his head.

He crossed to the loft's one window and gazed out at the dawning day. She had been so hesitant, so unsure of herself. Her responses had alternated between panicked and passionate, and when passion had won the battle, it had been almost unbearably sweet. The kind of sweetness that could choke a man.

He dragged his hands through his hair. This had meant something to her. Something? He compressed his lips in
self-derision. It had meant everything to her. He should have expected this with a girl like Becky Lynn.

She cared for him.

She might even fancy herself in love with him.

Love? He breathed deeply through his nose, panic clutching at him. Dammit, he was so deep into it now, he didn't see a win-win way out of this situation. If he broke it off and told her—no matter how gently—that their making love had been a mistake, he would lose her.

He didn't want to lose her. He needed her.

He fisted his fingers on the cool, smooth glass. And if he kept his mouth shut, they would make love again. They couldn't go back to the way they were before.
She
couldn't anyway. He would give anything right now if he could turn the clock back.

She moaned, and he turned to look at her. His throat constricted. She looked so young and vulnerable lying there, her bright hair fanned out across the pillow, her soft mouth slightly parted. Kissable, he thought, drawing his eyebrows together. She had a mouth made for kissing. Why hadn't he seen that before?

He muttered an oath. Sex with Becky Lynn had been…good. She had clung to him in a way that had made him feel almost godlike. He would enjoy being with her again save for the emotional complications. They got in the way. They ruined the sex. And with Becky Lynn, the sex had been about as emotional as it could get.

He couldn't turn the clock back. Their relationship had become physical, neither of them could deny that. Nothing else had changed between them, certainly not his feelings. He wouldn't pretend they had. He wouldn't make her any promises, he wouldn't make her any assurances.

He wouldn't lose her.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, her expression strangely calm, her gaze as clear as a summer sky. He forced a smile, hoping she couldn't see his thoughts in his eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“They raped me. That's why I ran.”

B
ecky Lynn had been right about Zoe. The camera loved her. And she loved the camera right back. Zoe strutted and postured for Jack; she had no modesty, was unembarrassable; she never hesitated or balked at anything Jack asked her to do.

She had proved to be a quick study, as well. Becky Lynn cocked her head, studying Zoe as she played in the surf. From the first, she'd had the ability to give Jack any expression he wanted for a shot. Becky Lynn had to admit to herself that she envied Zoe's ability to tune into her body and shut everything else out. She envied the complete comfort and confidence the other girl felt with her physical self.

“That's right, Zoe,” Jack called. “You feel good. The warm breeze caresses your skin, the scent of the ocean and flowers fills your head…”

Jack had been hard on Zoe. Harder than Becky Lynn had ever seen him be on anybody. She had asked him about it after the girl's second session, and he had explained that he had to be that way with Zoe because she was so cocky, and because she was such a natural. Cocky girls sometimes got into trouble, they shot their careers down by being too self-confident, by not having enough respect for the job because it came so easily.

Becky Lynn had to admit that his approach had worked with Zoe. The more difficult he made it for her, the harder she seemed to work at it. The harder she worked, the better she got. In a little over four months, she had advanced from complete novice to model ready for her first professional assignment.

Becky Lynn narrowed her eyes, watching Zoe move, appraising each shot Jack took. Today's shots would be good enough to put in Zoe's book. Jack must have been thinking the same thing because he laughed out loud and shouted encouragement, something he almost never did.

She hadn't thought she would like the other woman. In fact, at first, she had disliked her—intensely. But little by little, Becky Lynn had begun to see beyond Zoe's bravado, beyond her oftentimes shocking comments. Zoe needed reassurance, constant reassurance about her looks, her abilities, her future as a model. About everything, really.

Becky Lynn sensed a hunger in the girl, for affection and approval, for someone who really cared about her. That's why she acted the way she did, why she said the things she did.

Becky Lynn couldn't dislike Zoe for that. After all, she needed and hungered for the same things herself. Over the past weeks, those similarities had drawn them together and allowed them to become friends.

“Now, you're thinking of your lover,” Jack said, lowering his voice. “Look at me, smile just a bit. That's right, perfect. Flex your foot, Zoe. Arch up just a little for a better line…”

The whir of the camera's motor drive blended with the sound of the waves rushing onto the beach. It was a beautiful day, warm and blue and scented of the ocean and flowers. She was living in one of the glossy images she had once upon a time poured over at Miss Opal's.

Becky Lynn tilted her face toward the brilliant blue sky and thought of her mother. A lump of tears formed in her throat, and she fought them back. She wouldn't cry for her mother, not anymore. Her mother was happier now, Becky Lynn knew. Away from her husband's brutality and Bend's prejudices. She was with her daddy again; she was with the angels.

Even though the thought brought her a sense of peace, the tears pressed at her. She wished her mother could have seen her now, wished she could have told her how well she was doing, how happy she was. Her mother would have been happy for her. She would have been proud.

Becky Lynn drew deeply through her nose, her chest aching, knowing her thoughts were true but wishing she had been able to be with Glenna, wishing that she'd had a chance to say goodbye.

“Becky Lynn? Camera.”

She jerked her gaze to Jack, startled. He looked annoyed, and she realized she didn't have a clue how long he had been trying to get her attention. “Sorry.” She took the camera he held out to her and handed him the freshly loaded one.

“I pushed that roll a stop and a half. Be sure to mark it.”

She nodded and crossed to Jack's camera bag. She squatted beside it, rewound the film, popped it out and marked it. After reloading, she returned to stand beside Jack.

“No, Zoe,” Jack called, lowering his camera. “That's not it at all.”

He handed her the camera and strode across the sand to Zoe. Becky Lynn watched him, awareness stealing over
her. She ached to touch him. Not in a way that was overtly sexual or overly possessive. She simply longed to physically connect with him—to lay her hand on his arm or curl her fingers around his.

But then, she always ached to touch him.

Becky Lynn sucked in a steadying breath. Jack had set up the ground rules of their relationship. At shoots, they behaved toward each other in a strictly professional manner—no touching, kissing or discussing their relationship. Few people even knew they were lovers. Not even Zoe knew, although Becky Lynn speculated that the other girl suspected the truth.

Every once in a while, the demon of doubt would sit on her shoulder and whisper in her ear that Jack was embarrassed by her. It had taken considerable effort on her part, but each time she had shooed the demon away.

But each demon's visit put another chink in her armor. How could it not have? She loved Jack so much it scared her.

Becky Lynn thought back to the day she would always remember as the day she had lost her mother and found her love. She had told Jack everything about her past. The words had spilled out of her with the fury of water breaking a levee. She had relived the horror, the pain and humiliation of the night she had been raped, but afterward it had been better. Afterward, she had felt a sense of calm and peace, as if finally she had let a modicum of her past go.

Jack had held her quietly while she cried, he had murmured words of comfort and understanding. The words had soothed, but his believing her, his being angry and outraged for her, had healed.

She had felt that finally she had someone who not only
believed in her, but someone she could lean on. Someone strong who would catch her if she fell.

Jack was that, she thought, smiling at him as he turned and started back toward her. Strong and self-confident. So strong, he didn't need anyone.

He didn't need her.

Her smile faltered, and she pushed away the disturbing thought. It didn't mean anything, she told herself. They were together; he treated her as if she was special, like she was important to him. No one had ever been so good to her before. He didn't have to need her; he was too strong to need her. That was okay.

“We're going to finish this roll, then wrap it,” Jack said when he reached her.

She handed him the camera. “I think you've gotten some really good shots today.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, pleased. “I think so, too.”

Jack directed Zoe into the incoming waves, just far enough out so the water rushed and swirled around her. Minutes later, Jack finished the roll and as promised, wrapped the shoot. Zoe stood and raced toward them, dripping wet and laughing, her hair flowing behind her. “What did you think, Becky Lynn? Was I wonderful?”

Becky Lynn laughed and handed her a towel. “You were, Zoe. Absolutely.”

Zoe patted her face, and looped the towel around her shoulders. She turned toward Jack. “Well, oh great and powerful Oz? What did you think? Go ahead, tell me all the things I did wrong.”

Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to Jack, holding her breath. Zoe tried so hard to please him; she had worked so hard over the past months. If he didn't give her an unequivocal
thumbs-up this time, Zoe might just kill him. And as far as Becky Lynn was concerned, it would be justifiable homicide.

Jack looked at Zoe, unsmiling, his eyebrows drawn together into a scowl. “You want to know what I think?”

The model folded her arms defensively over her chest and hiked up her chin. “That is what I asked.”

“Okay.” He leaned toward her, his expression ominous. “I think you're going to be big. Really big.”

For a second, Zoe said nothing. The beach was silent sound save for the cry of the gulls and the crash of the surf. Then Zoe let loose with a whoop of joy and flung herself into Jack's arms. “I knew it! I knew I was good!”

Jack laughed and met Becky Lynn's eyes over Zoe's head. “You'll be big,” he amended, “unless your Godzilla-size ego gets in the way.”

“Silly. I don't have any ego.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, then swung to Becky Lynn. “Did you hear him, Becky Lynn? He thinks I'm going to be big. The ever-unpleasable Jack Gallagher said I was going to be big.”

Becky Lynn laughed and hugged her friend. “I always knew it, Zoe. From the minute I set eyes on you.”

“I'll have to tell reporters I was discovered in a john.” Zoe made a face. “I think we'd better come up with another story. How about you discovered me at a—”

“Hold it, girls.” Jack shook his head and made a sound of disgust. “We still have a lot of work to do. We haven't even begun to work on shots for your book, Zoe. You still need training. You need to work with a few other photographers, and you haven't even had your first gig. I think it's a little too soon to think about
Vogue
and cosmetics contracts.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Yes, master.”

Becky Lynn laughed. “Come on, you two. Let's get this stuff back to the studio so we can have lunch. I, for one, am starving.”

“Count me out for lunch,” Jack said, fitting one of his cameras into its case. “I'm meeting the guys from Tyler.”

“Oh.” Becky Lynn worked to hide her disappointment. She looked forward to her lunches with Jack, during which he usually let down his professional demeanor and became just Jack—her lover and friend. When she had reviewed his calendar this morning, she had seen nothing scheduled during lunch and had planned on their being together. “Did this meeting just come up?”

He glanced at her sharply. “You mean like right now? Like I made it up?”

“No.” Becky Lynn folded her arms across her chest, hurt. “I mean, it wasn't in your appointment book.”

“I guess I forgot to write it in.” He yanked at the bag's zipper. “Back off, okay?”

“No problem.” Becky Lynn swung away from him, tears stinging her eyes. She started gathering together their equipment, her face averted. She would die before she let him know how much his sarcasm had hurt.

“We can go,” Zoe said softly, coming up behind her. She took the garment bag from Becky Lynn's hands. “Just you and me. It'll be fun.”

“I don't know, I—”

“Come on.” Zoe squeezed her arm. “It'll be a lot better than sitting around being pissed off and feeling sorry for yourself.”

She had a point. Becky Lynn met the other girl's eyes and forced a smile. “Where did you have in mind?”

Zoe picked an open-air restaurant at the Farmer's
Market, and an hour and a half later they faced each other over California chicken salads. They had talked little, and Becky Lynn pushed a slice of avocado around her plate as Zoe ordered a second glass of wine.

The waiter walked away and Zoe reached across the table and touched her hand. “Don't be bummed. Jack probably did have a meeting. Like he explained, he just forgot to tell you about it.”

“It's not that. It's—” Becky Lynn shook her head. “Let's drop it, it's no big deal.”

“Sure, it's not.” Zoe speared a piece of grilled chicken with her fork. “So, what's the deal between you and Jack?”

Becky Lynn met her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I'm not blind, Becky Lynn. You guys are…involved. Am I right?”

Becky Lynn nodded. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Involved.”

“You're…lovers.”

Heat stung her cheeks, and she looked away. “Yes.”

The waiter delivered Zoe's wine. She flashed him a brilliant smile in thanks, and he almost swooned.

She picked up the glass and sipped. “If you're lovers, what's the problem?”

“No problem. I'm just disappointed about lunch, that's all.” Zoe made a face, and Becky Lynn smiled. “But I'm very happy to be here with you. I appreciate the invitation. You were right. I'd be sulking right now.”

“That's better.” Zoe pushed away her salad, even though she had only picked at it. “Why are you guys keeping your relationship a secret?”

“It's not a secret. It's just…” Becky Lynn searched her memory for when and why she and Jack had decided to
keep their personal life private. They hadn't decided, she remembered. He had. “Jack thought it best we keep our relationship to ourselves. He thought it would make the clients uncomfortable, and that it might get in the way of our work.”

“I see.”

She drew the word out in a strange way, and Becky Lynn frowned. “Why did you say it like that?”

“No reason.”

Becky Lynn searched her expression, insecurity and doubt eating at her. She bit her lip. “You're sure?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Zoe drew her eyebrows together. “Becky Lynn, are you certain there's nothing wrong? You're acting a little…strange.”

“I'm fine.” Becky Lynn forced a smile and changed the subject. “Tell me, what does your mother think about you becoming a model? Is she excited?”

Zoe fished a cigarette out of her purse. “She doesn't know.”

“She doesn't know?” Becky Lynn repeated, surprised. “But where does she think you are when you're with us? What does she think you're doing?”

Zoe lit the cigarette and shrugged. “She doesn't care. She probably thinks I'm at the mall.” She drew deeply, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. “My mother and I talk to each other as little as possible.”

“Don't you live with her? Surely you must talk…sometimes.”

“Almost never. I can't wait to move out.” Zoe shifted her gaze to a point beyond Becky Lynn's right shoulder, her expression grim. “It's terrible living with her. It always has been.”