Bared Read online

  And she knew little about chemistry. Or she had known little, until the past few weeks when she’d gotten quite the lesson.

  She had more to learn, a lot more. Could she go today and somehow get Rafe to show her the rest? And did she really think she could handle the rest, and then walk away?

  Because she would walk away, she would have to. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a man in her life—she just didn’t know what to do with one. Or how to hang on to one. Sure, she could turn heads, but that was exterior stuff. She’d never be able to keep a man like Rafe satisfied for long.

  But she didn’t need long. She only needed a day.

  An hour.

  Her body tingled at the thought. When it was time, she rose from her chair and grabbed the directions to the day’s shoot.

  Her knees knocked together as she headed over there. They would have sent a car for her, but she wanted her own car there so she could leave when she was ready.

  Her mode of escape.

  Rafe lived in the Glendale Hills above LA. After following a series of long, winding streets, she came out on a cul-de-sac with stunning views of the city.

  His house was on the end, a Tudor-cottage style, cream with dark blue wood trim and shutters. The yard had a green lawn that needed mowing and was lined with wildflowers that had taken over all the tree beds, as well. It was large but homey, and she liked the way the gardens didn’t have a manicured look to them. She’d bet if Rafe didn’t take care of this place, no one did, and she found herself trying to picture him out here on his days off. He’d be shirtless, of course—

  “Meow.”

  Before she could knock on the door, a cat appeared out of nowhere. A small, scrawny brown-and-gray cat with odd tufts of fur sticking up here and there. “Hello,” she said softly, and reached out to pet it.

  The cat went very still, as if not quite sure if he—or she—was going to allow the touch, but once Emma scratched beneath its chin, it came a little closer. Emma knocked on the front door, then squatted to pet the cat, who was now rubbing against her ankles, eager for more chin scratching.

  The door opened, and high above her stood Rafe. As in her earlier fantasy, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of khaki cargo shorts, and she felt her mouth fall open because up close he was even better than any fantasy.

  Research, she reminded herself. You’re here for the research.

  And fun. Let it begin.

  He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and eyed her. “Emma.”

  “Yes.”

  He let out a breath, apparently unsure if Emma being the model for the day, was a good or bad thing. “You didn’t get the message, I take it.”

  “Message?”

  “The shoot is at four o’clock instead of one. Is that cat…purring?”

  They both stared down at the feline, whose eyes were half-closed, face slack with pleasure as Emma continued to scratch it beneath the chin. A rusty, sporadic rumble sounded from its throat.

  “I think so.” Emma smiled. “Is it yours?”

  “No, but I think I’m hers.” Rafe pushed away from the doorjamb and hunkered down before the cat, which brought all the broad expanse of bare, tanned, sinewy flesh far too close to Emma for comfort. He smelled like fresh air and soap and male.

  “She showed up on my doorstep a few weeks ago and hasn’t left since.” Rafe seemed baffled by this as he reached out to scratch the cat’s back. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I was hoping to get a puppy after this last shoot is over and I can’t exactly do that with her hanging around.”

  He wanted a puppy. Why did that make her want to melt into a boneless heap on the floor?

  Ecstatic at his touch, the cat did as Emma had nearly done—fell to the ground with a loud “oomph” and exposed her belly.

  With a soft laugh, Rafe stroked her, laughing again when the purring got louder.

  As for Emma, she couldn’t laugh, she could hardly breathe. It seemed so juvenile, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off his bare chest, which was hard, tough and oh-so-touchable. And then there was his six-pack stomach and, man oh man, she wished he’d do as the cat had and lay down so she could stroke him.

  Embarrassed at the thought, she covered her mouth as if she’d spoken out loud. She stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Giving her a funny look, he rose and put out a hand to pull her up, as well. At the connection of their fingers, she’d have sworn she felt a jolt to her toes.

  “‘Nothing’ doesn’t make you slap a hand over your mouth,” he noted.

  “It’s because I have a habit of thinking out loud,” she said through her fingers. “It’s the hazard of working alone—you start talking to yourself.”

  “Ah.” He eyed her. “Were your thoughts that bad?”

  “Um.” She bit her fingers. “Define ‘bad.”’

  “‘Bad’ as in…I don’t know. You’re here against your will, you can’t stand the sight of me, you can’t wait until we’re done…Pick one.”

  Slowly she shook her head. “I’m not here against my will,” she said. “And I can stand the sight of you, fairly easily, actually. That’s the problem.”

  “Problem?”

  “You’re…different today.”

  “I’m not feeling the need to kill your sister for a change.”

  “Oh.” She smiled.

  And so did he. “I guess for the first time you’re seeing the real me.”

  She liked the real him, too much not to be honest. “You should know, I came for the research.”

  His gaze met hers, dark, hot. “Research?”

  “I need inspiration for…a particular storyline. I thought modeling for you could help. And it has.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “Because when I go home afterwards I’m…in an inspired sort of mood.”

  “Could you define ‘inspired sort of mood’?”

  “Hot.”

  “Hot,” he repeated in a funny voice, but she didn’t dare look.

  “Yes,” she said. “And bothered.” Let’s not forget that. “I’ve written the best storylines ever in the past few weeks, and all because of working with you.” She opened her eyes. A mistake that, as she found herself looking at two perfectly formed pecs lightly dusted with dark hair.

  “Emma,” he said, still with that tight voice.

  “Yeah?”

  He slid his fingers to her jaw and lifted her gaze to his, which was filled with that heat and also a good amount of reluctant humor.

  “I need to stop you right now and tell you. I have this thing against being attracted to women in my business world.”

  “I’m only pretending to be in your business world.”

  “You’re a writer. A Hollywood soap opera writer who lives for her work.”

  “What does that have to do with my research on…hot stuff?”

  “Is that all this is?” he asked softly, his hand still on her face, his broad shoulders blocking her view of anything but him. “Research?”

  “What else could it be?” She felt breathless, because there was no denying what a small part of her wanted to hear. As crazy as it sounded, she wanted him to say these sensations meant far more than research.

  His finger stroked her jawline all the way to her ear, which he slowly rimmed, drawing a shudder from her.

  “I have no idea what else it could be, but I do know one thing. I want to touch you. I never want to touch my models, but I want to touch you.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’m not really your model.” His eyes met hers. “You know I’m not.”

  “But you are for today.” He sighed. “Hell. Look, let’s just get this shoot done. I have the bathing suit and all the gear.”

  “But I’m too early. What about the crew?”

  “I think we know what we’re doing by now, don’t you?”

  Well, she knew he knew what he was doing. Her body was still pulsing