Chapter Two
As surprised to discover another person on the landing as the woman apparently was, Austin said, “And here I thought I was the only lunatic driven to risk frostbite rather than—”
“Risk death by claustrophobia?” she shot back dryly.
Austin’s lips quirked. “Something like that.”
It was only when she tugged her hips from his grasp that he realized he was still holding her. Even with snowflakes frosting his eyelashes and obscuring his vision, he was completely drawn in by her face. Her angular chin was offset by a small but very lush mouth. Her overly defined cheekbones stood out in stronger relief when combined with her choppy dark hair. But the capper that pulled it all together for him was the exotic slant to her almond shaped eyes—dark eyes that gazed directly, almost starkly, into his. Demanding . . . what? he found himself wondering.
He was already framing the way he’d shoot her as she took another step away. He ducked back under the slight overhang as a gust of wind eddied the snow into a swirl around them. It was only after he scrubbed the dampness from his face that he noticed the camera in her hand. And it was no little point and shoot. His interest increased. “Nice gear,” he said with a nod, moving to make room for her against the wall. “Pro? Or serious enthusiast?”
She didn’t glance at him. Instead she spoke as she cleaned her lens and examined her camera, dabbing off the damp spots with the hem of her thick pullover. “Both.” She jerked her chin out, motioning to the snow. “This current bout of insanity would be driven by the latter.” A wry smile kicked at the corners of those little bowed lips.
Sweet Lord, what a mouth. The lens would eat it up, drink it in. Such a contrast. Stark, almost harsh planes of her face, coupled with a courtesan’s mouth and a concubine’s eyes.
“It’s the former that allows me to indulge in such insanity,” she went on, still cleaning her lens. “In fact, some days I think that’s the only reason I go to work.”
“Doing what?” he asked, more intent on studying the contrasts of her face, imagining what lighting he’d use. Black-and-white film, definitely.
“Advertising.”
It wasn’t until the mouth he was mentally framing and shooting pulled down at the corners that he realized he was staring. He glanced up to find her staring back. Those eyes sucked him right in. Damn but she was a treasure trove of surprises.
The complete lack of artifice, not a speck of makeup on that skin, those lashes, that mouth. The total disregard to her hair, her appearance in general, he thought, as he noted the too long sleeves of her faded green pullover, the baggy khakis with the beaten tips of leather boots peeking out beneath the battered hem. Was she unaware of the impact the total package presented? Probably. But that was something he understood. Photographers were like that. So intent on capturing the world around them, they sort of forgot about their own impact on it.
She tucked her camera under her arm, out of the direct path of the driving snow the slight overhang was doing little to thwart. “What?” she finally said.
He should have looked away then, perhaps a bit guiltily. Only he didn’t feel guilty. “Professional hazard. I’m usually not so obvious about it, though. You just took me by surprise.”
She lifted a brow in silent question.
He grinned, already reaching for his own camera, thumbing off the lens cap and pressing the power button even before it cleared his pocket. Then he did something he’d ordinarily never do. Not without permission, tacit or otherwise. And given her expression when he swung the camera up and clicked, he knew he had neither.
“Well,” she stated, unblinking. “That was rude.”
“Yeah, I know.” He didn’t apologize as he snapped one more, then pressed the button that called the image up on the LCD screen. The framing, the lighting, it was all shit. And yet . . . “Sometimes, the alienation risk is worth it,” he murmured.
She looked away, didn’t ask to see it. “Pro?” she queried, her tone dry as dust. “Or annoying enthusiast?”
“Both.” He clicked to the first image he’d taken, noting her glancing out of the corner of her eye. Not at the image. But at the camera itself. “Just so you know,” he said, “that shot was for the latter.”
She said nothing to that, but looked back out to the snow. She had to be freezing. He sure as hell was. But neither of them seemed in any hurry to go back inside.
“Why?” she finally asked.
He smiled, amused at the grudging tone. “Impulse. I don’t give in to too many. But when I do, the gut instinct is rarely wrong.”
She sighed, shook her head. “I didn’t mean that.” She flicked a glance his way, nodded at his camera. “I meant why digital photography? Professional choice? Or curiosity of the impulsive annoying enthusiast?”
His mouth curved. “I can see I’m going to have to work at rectifying my first impression.”
“Why? You don’t seem the type to be overly concerned what your targets—I’m sorry, your subjects—think.”
His grin spread wider. “And yet you make such a fascinating. . . subject.”
She frowned at that, but not before the corner of her mouth quirked a little.
“See for yourself,” he said, clicking the picture back on the LCD screen and turning the back of the camera toward her. “Not my best shot, but the promise is all I was after.”
“Promise?” she asked, sounding supremely disinterested, but pointedly not taking so much as a glance at the image of herself.
“That there is something worth studying, capturing. And since I know you won’t ask, I’ll just go ahead and tell you. A gold mine of promises.”
She shook her head, her laugh short and dry. “You’re a smooth one. How many women fall for that line, anyway?”
His look of surprise was sincere. “Believe it or not, I meant that professionally.”
She shifted then, pulling her gaze away from the snow, turning her body slightly toward his, toward the shelter of the wall. Her hair and lashes were crusted with snow. Her shoulders were damp from it. They should go inside. But he wasn’t quite ready. And her next question proved she wasn’t, either.
“And your profession would be?”
“Shooting women.” At her arched brow, he added, “And, on occasion, men.”
“Ah. And you showcase your trophies where?”
“Magazine covers,” he said, with complete immodesty. Those stark eyes of hers demanded nothing less.
She didn’t ask for credits, didn’t ask his name. Instead she shrugged. “Then we’re in the same business. More or less. Layouts are layouts, after all.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
There was a pause, then she said, “Although I imagine I get less attitude from my subjects than you do yours.”
He laughed. “I don’t know. Inanimate objects can be inordinately stubborn. Hard to get them to understand they have to shift slightly to the left to catch exactly that hint of backlight you’re looking for.”
“True. But you can kick them when you’re through and they don’t walk off in a huff threatening to sue.”
“I’m beginning to see the advantages of advertising photography.” Austin shifted so he faced her, using his shoulder to block as much of the snow as possible. “Are you based in the South?”
She shook her head, gaze still focused beyond him, out at the snowswept landscape. “New York. I was on assignment in Atlanta.”
“Tough time of year to take assignments away from home.”
Another shoulder shrug. “I don’t mind. I offered to go.”
He smiled. “What, you stopped believing in Santa Claus?”
Now she looked at him, and although her lips were curved in a deeply bowed smile, her eyes were more . . . inquisitive.
Good, he thought. He was curious, too.
“Something like that,” she said. “What about you?”
“Work.”
“So, you’re heading home to New York, too, then.”
He paused, unsure how to answer that question.
She must have sensed the little arc of tension, because she immediately pulled back from him. Not physically, but the open curiosity on her face a moment ago, returned to the more shuttered expression she’d had since he’d stepped out here. “Sorry. None of my business.”
“No, it’s not that. I just wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.”
The dry smile reemerged. “You don’t know where home is?”
He grinned. “I travel a lot. It’s a quandary.” He sobered a little when she turned away from him again, wanting to keep her there, in the moment, rather than off to the side as a casual observer. It was easy, entirely natural, even, for people in their line of work to slip into that role. He found he didn’t want her doing what was easy. For that matter, neither did he. “Your lips are starting to turn blue. Allow me to buy you a cup of whatever warms you best. Consider it my apology for being, what was it you called me? An impulsive annoying enthusiast?”
Her lips twitched. “First impressions can be hell, but in my experience they’re often accurate. Or accurate enough, anyway.”
“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. Can I ask . . . which part is keeping you from saying yes?”
She laughed then, shook her head. “I’m thinking we can add direct to the list.” She shot him a sideways glance. “The growing list.”
He grinned. “Well, as long as it’s growing, that means I can still add one or two things in the positive column.”
Her expression told him she wasn’t placing any bets. But that little kick at the corner of her mouth told him he still had a shot at changing her mind. And he found he wanted to.
“So?” he nudged. “Consider it a public duty.”
“What, to the next poor woman whose privacy you intrude on?” She snorted.
Austin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an odd . . . and stimulating conversation. “Well, if I understand my shortcomings, I might work harder to overcome them.”
She just shot him a look that said nice try.
Maybe it was the snow clinging to her lashes, or the way the lighting cast shadows in the hollows of her cheeks, playing up the plump fullness of her lips, but it was in that exact moment that Austin’s interest went from professional . . . to personal. He didn’t just want to capture those lips on film . . . he wanted to taste them.
Which, in and of itself, wasn’t that amazing. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been aroused by the look of someone. But this was different. This was no simple stirring of interest. It was more like a punch to the gut. And he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt it. Or if he ever had. Maybe it was that for all she couldn’t be more than twenty-five or -six, she was no naïve ingénue. Unlike most of the women he met these days. Models got younger and younger every year. He didn’t. But this was more, even, than that. There was a life lived here, he thought, looking into those dark eyes of hers, experiences had.
And he realized he was hoping for the chance to hear about them.
“I’m guessing coffee isn’t enough to redeem me. How about dinner?” It was odd, but he actually found himself sort of holding his breath, anticipating her answer.
“I have a feeling you’re too used to getting your way.”
“So, I’m being turned down because I know what I want and I’m not afraid to pursue it?”
She turned to him then, facing him fully, and gazed directly up into his eyes. She didn’t say anything for several, eternally long moments.
Austin knew he was being judged, summed up, and it was a little disconcerting to realize just how much he wanted to add up to something worth investigating further. Chalk it up to being stranded, needing to kill time, he told himself. And how better to spend it than with a prickly woman who, in less than fifteen minutes, had managed to intrigue him in ways he’d forgotten he could be intrigued.
Then she slipped her camera out, raised it deliberately to her eye. Austin was surprised, but, after all, fair was fair. Still, he had to work not to shift his weight, or tense up as she took her time focusing in on him, getting the shot she was looking for. He was never on this side of the lens, and the intrusion was more of an invasion than he’d thought it would be.
Those eyes of hers saw too much. And, at this specific point in his life, there would be a lot to find in his. She would capture that. And despite the fact that he’d likely never see the proof of it, he didn’t want it in existence in the first place.
He was just about to lift his hand, and—fair or not—cover the end of her lens with his palm, when she rolled off a series of shots.
He frowned. She grinned.
And he couldn’t look away. It was like the sun peeking out beneath two dark storm clouds.
She reached past his waist and tugged on the door handle. “I’m freezing.”
He stepped away so she could open the door, still deciding how he felt about . . . well, everything that had transpired out here.
She paused on her way through the door, looked back at him. He still hadn’t moved. “About that coffee? I take mine black.” Then she ducked inside.
And just like that, it didn’t matter how he felt. He ducked in the door after her. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not yet.