Chapter 14

“Sugar Plum Fairy next, right?”

Anne raised an intolerant eyebrow and pointed at the sheet of paper on the clipboard Chris was holding. The air froze around him. Ice queen to the nth degree. What had he done now? Surely asking a simple question couldn’t have done it. Was she angry because he’d come in one minute after rehearsal had begun? 

Or was she fuming from his insistence on keeping things between them professional? He motioned for the Sugar Plum Fairy to enter, then turned his attention back to Anne who was standing as far away from him as possible in the designated backstage area. Her back was straight and her posture, perfect. And rigid. And she was glowering. This didn’t make any sense. She had seemed fine with the concept of waiting until he finished his article. Well, at least amenable to the idea. So, why the sudden winter frost?

Maybe it had nothing to do with him. Maybe she was upset about something entirely different. He watched as Ben, the hip-hop instructor, trotted over to ask her something. She smiled, answered him, kissed him on the cheek before he ran off. A minute later, one of the students who obviously had to go to the bathroom, ran up to her. Anne whirled her around and pointed her toward the bathroom, assuring her she had plenty of time before her entrance.

Nope, this sudden frost was definitely reserved for him.

Anne turned toward the performer. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t stand being in the cramped backstage area with him, especially when he kept staring at her like that. Damn! Why did she have to be so attracted to the jerk!

Linda, her ballet instructor, came up and slid an arm around her waist. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Right.”

“Just stressing over the show. We only have a week and a half until dress rehearsal.”

“Which is plenty of time. They’re doing great.”

Anne turned her focus slightly and Linda laughed. This had nothing to do with the dance production. This had to do with the man Anne was clearly avoiding.

“Did you need something?” Anne asked her.

Linda decided the loose bar in the ballet studio could wait. Her boss snubbing the hunky photographer couldn’t. “Just wanted to find out if you’re not interested in the hot photographer anymore.”

“Why?”

Linda controlled her laugh at the suspicious look on Anne’s face. She raised a leering eyebrow as she gazed over at the subject of their conversation. “Because if you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

“You’re fired. Again.”

Linda chuckled. “Thought so.” Before Anne could say anything Linda ran back to the ballet studio.

Chris suffered through two hours of rehearsal in the ice chamber. She only spoke to him to tell him he was doing something wrong or was blocking the dancers or had missed a cue. Other than that, she stood as close to the mirrors as she could get, a good ten feet from his backstage position. If this was how it was going to be, he figured he would be waiting at the pub while Sara finished her private rehearsal. And then they’d be heading back to Winslow. There was no point in doing a photo shoot of ice queen pictures.

Except for one small detail. His curiosity. He wasn’t about to go through a night of wondering what had put the burr under her saddle. As soon as she finished with Sara, he would ask her straight out. As time went by, his temper was rising, and he knew his question was likely to be more crass than he wanted it to be. Too damn bad. At this point he wasn’t sure he cared.

However, he didn’t wait until Sara had finished rehearsal. As soon as the general rehearsal was over, he told Sara to go have a drink of water and to rest for a minute. He needed to talk to her teacher. Then he went in search of Anne who was standing beside the CD player. He grabbed her by the wrist and headed toward the back door.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Talking to you.”

“It feels more like you’re pulling me than talking to me. Where are we going? Why—?”

“Outside. So we don’t embarrass ourselves.”

“Why would we embarrass ourselves?”

“Gee, I don’t know? Yelling maybe?”

“Why are we yelling?”

“Because I want to know why the hell you suddenly have a stick up your ass!” Damn. He knew crass was on the agenda.

Chris pushed open the door to a patio with a weeping willow tree and several rose bushes. He hadn’t expected that. Somehow the sight of the garden calmed him. His voice softened. “Sorry, but I’m tired of your ice queen act.”

“What are you talking about?”

He placed his hand under her chin and held her face still so she was looking into his eyes. “Why are you so angry?”

He relaxed his grip on her wrist. She started to turn away, but he held her face still so she couldn’t.

“Why?”

“Because I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“That you think I’m not good enough for you. That’s why you’re—that’s why you’re putting me off. I’m good enough for your photo shoot, but not good enough for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I googled you.”

“Shit.” But, he supposed turn about was fair play. Only what she had found on the internet had nothing to do with who he was.

“Yeah, shit. I know I don’t know you that well, but I never suspected you’d turn out to be a snob.”

“That’s the last thing I am.”

“Yeah, right. Your family just happens to be one of the wealthiest, most prestigious families in Marin County.”

“That’s not who I am.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

“I’m just a guy. A simple guy who chose to be a photographer.”

“An award winning photographer from one of the wealthiest families in Marin County,” she repeated. “Most eligible bachelor.”

“That may be where I come from, but it’s not where I am now. I’m here now. Photographing a beautiful dancer for an article.” An article he was pouring his heart and soul into.

She stepped away from the grip he had on her and rested her hands on her hips, obviously wanting more of an explanation.

“I’m not even close to my family, Anne. And even if I were, it doesn’t mean I’m a snob. I’m nothing like them.”

“How do I know that?”

“You have to trust me on that. Or if you can’t do that, ask Sara. She’ll tell you. I rarely even see them. I don’t particularly care for their lavish lifestyle. Or the family business.”

Anne heard a hint of pain in his voice and relaxed her stance. “In other words, you’re the black sheep of the family?”

“Definitely the black sheep.”

“What about your sister? Is she a black sheep too?”

“Not exactly. But we’re both basically the big disappointments in a very male-dominated family.” Bordering on misogynistic. 

“If your family is so wealthy, why can’t your sister pay for Sara’s dance classes?” The question came out before she could censor it. It was none of her business.

“Shelly is very stubborn and very proud. She has trouble even taking money from me. And she won’t take money from them. Too many strings attached.”

Not a concept she could even begin to grasp. But then, not all families were as supportive as hers. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. There was nothing about him that seemed snobbish, except for the fact that, despite being attracted to her, he didn’t want a relationship with her.

“Damn.”

“Damn?”

“I thought I’d found your flaw.”

“My flaw? I only have one?”

“Well, no, actually you have two.” She frowned, reconsidering her words. “You had two, but since you’ve deflated the myth that you’re a snob, I suppose it’s only one.”

“And what would that one be?”

She practically growled out the words. “Your willpower.”

He had to control himself from laughing for fear she might think he was laughing at her, which he was. But it was only because she was so damned adorable. And so incredibly honest.

 “So, tell me the truth. Why are you really avoiding a relationship with me?”

“I told you, I think it’s important we keep things professional. I don’t want anything to distract from that.”

She knew better. The way he watched her, studied her, looked at her with unabashed desire told her that if they made love, nothing would change the way he looked at her through the lens of his camera. He already looked at her as if they’d made love. “I want the truth.”

Maybe honesty would work better with Anne than it had with his father. He wanted to call Nick or Skye to get their advice, but there was no time. He was on his own. All he had to rely on was his gut. And the wisdom of an eight-year-old.

“Because I know you. I know you’ll dump me before your next tour.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I know your M.O.”

“My M.O.? I don’t have an M.O.”

“Yeah, you do. You dump guys right before you go out on tour.”

“I don’t dump guys. They dump me. They promise to wait, but they never do. They leave.”

“Yeah, right, because you give them a clear message that their services are no longer needed.”

“I don’t—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Don’t bother. Before I pick a subject, I do my research. I know you, Anne. Better than you think. And I don’t want to end up in the pile of Anne McCullough Jameson rejects.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You mean you really do want to have an affair with me? You really do want to make love with me?”

“Oh, yeah, I want to. There’s nothing I want more.” Except to marry you.

Her knees weakened, and she wanted to grab him and make love to him right there on the tiny patio behind her dance studio. Except that it was probably fifty degrees out. And there were people inside, including his niece who was waiting for her.

She stepped closer and reached for him. This time he didn’t even consider resisting. He welcomed her into his arms, struggling for control. “I can’t, Anne,” he protested. “Not knowing your M.O.”

She could feel him harden against her, and she reached down to touch him. He groaned, and she knew how much he wanted her. She wrapped her hand around him as best she could with his jeans between them. While her tongue tangled with his, she unzipped his jeans and slid her hand down to feel him better.

His moan was deep, and she knew it would not take much to seduce the man. He wanted her. Oh, yeah, he wanted her. Knowing that made her want him all the more.

Chris struggled to pull her hand away but it felt too incredible. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let her do this. But God he wanted to. Even more, he wanted to be inside of her, making love to her. Only a fraction of his brain was working, struggling to remind him that he couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t take her here on the patio of her studio. He couldn’t take her now, not until—

“Oh, God, you have to stop.” He could scarcely hear his own voice, and if she could hear him, she chose to ignore him. “No, Anne.”

“No, what?” She continued stroking him, knowing full well that he was on the verge of coming.

“This is torture.”

She wanted it to be. Because she wanted him. In her arms. In her bed.

“Anne? Uncle Chris? Where are you?”

They both froze at the sound of Sara’s voice calling them from inside the studio. Anne withdrew her hand from inside his jeans and zipped them up against his throbbing erection. Chris stood there, helpless, trying to breathe.

“Devil woman,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers before she stepped away from him and pushed the door to the studio open.

“I’ve got this. Take a minute to, uh, compose yourself.” Then she laughed as she let the door close behind her and called out to Sara.

Anne told Sara she would be right with her as she hurried into the restroom. She was floating on air. He did want her. He wasn’t a snob. He just knew her M.O. Did she really have an M.O.? Were Skye and Arielle right? She thought back to her relationships over the years. There were dates, lots of dates. And a fling here and there. And then the handful of men who she thought might actually wait for her. But none of them had. Not even Tim . . . or Gabe.

No, she decided, Arielle and Skye were wrong. And so was Chris. She did not have an M.O. The men had left. And she had done nothing to suggest to them that they shouldn’t wait for her. Nothing she could think of.

Men just couldn’t handle her lifestyle. It was pure and simple. And understandable. They talked a good story, but when push came to shove, they were out of there, on to greener and more predictable pastures.

Satisfied with her rationale, she finished washing up and headed out to the studio to run through the dance with Sara. It wasn’t until they were going through it a second time that Chris emerged from the patio. She looked up at him as he strode toward the men’s restroom. He was shaking his head at her, but she could still see the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his face.

Forty-five minutes later, her father poked his head into the studio. She turned off the music and went over to hug him.

Chris couldn’t resist capturing that moment with his camera. She lived with her parents. She’d probably seen her father that morning. If not then, at least the night before. Yet she hugged him as if it had been days, weeks, months. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that his father had hugged him. Ten years, maybe? Twenty? Had he ever hugged him?

“Dad, this is Sara, my new student.” Anne rested her hand on her shoulder.

Grant Jameson reached down and shook the little girl’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Sara. Are you ready to go riding?”

“I am!” she said, jumping up and down.

Chris set down his camera and walked over to join the group. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Uncle Chris, I forgot to tell you. Anne invited me over to her ranch to go riding.”

Chris blinked hard. “But we have a shoot.”

“Right, that’s why my dad is here. He’s taking Sara out to the ranch to ride with my mom and my cousin’s kids. I figured she’d enjoy that a lot more than watching you take pictures of me.”

“It’s okay, Uncle Chris. I called Mom and she said I could.”

He scowled at her ability to read his mind. “Okay, then. I guess I can come pick you up after the shoot?”

“Yeah, but don’t come too soon, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t come too soon.” He glanced over at Anne and wondered if she’d planned this to get him alone. Then he turned his attention to her father. “Hello, Mr. Jameson, I’m Sara’s uncle, Chris Newell.” And the man who’s planning to marry your daughter.

Grant chuckled as he watched his daughter’s cheeks turn pink for having failed to introduce him. “Call me Grant. Do you ride too?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Well, you’re welcome out to the ranch anytime you get the urge to play cowboy.”

“Uh, only one problem,” he said, realizing it as he spoke. “Sara and I ride English.”

“Oh!” Anne hadn’t even thought of that. “Well, considering that Sara’s a fast learner, and my mom is the best teacher around, I’m sure she can teach her western pretty fast.”

“That’s the saddle with a horn, right?”

“Right,” Anne said.

“Cool,” Sara said. “I always wanted to try that. It looks much cooler. Like real cowgirls used to ride. Is your mom a real cowgirl?”

“That, she is. And the best around. She and my brother Alex’s fiancé, that is.”

“Ohh, I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Then let’s get going.” Grant opened the door for her. “Belle and Brandon are waiting.”

“Who are Belle and Brandon?” Anne heard Sara ask as she hurried after her father.

“My nephew Matt’s children,” he answered.

Chris shook his head. “She’s in heaven. She loves riding.”

“Well, she’s welcome to come out to the ranch anytime.”

“I’m sure your mom is busy training horses and teaching classes.”

“True, but she’ll let her join any of her classes. And Alex and Cassie are out there a lot, riding with Matt’s kids. I’m sure they’ll include Sara.”

“That’s very nice of them,” he said, still in awe of the McCullough family. The fact that Anne could extend an open-ended invitation to his niece without even consulting her mother or her brother and his fiancée, told him exactly what her family was like. 

“What?” she asked, eyeing him closely as if attempting to determine the reason for the moisture in his eyes.

He shook his head and quickly asked, “Cassie’s still riding even though she’s pregnant?”

“She takes it easy. She pretty much just walks the horses now and she’s stopped working with the stallions. Hey, how did you know she’s pregnant?”

Oops. “Small town,” he claimed. “Rather village.”

Anne shrugged. Too true. All he had to do was have a couple cups of coffee at the book café to learn everything there was to know about everyone in Canden Valley.

She walked over to the door, locked it, then reached for his hand and pulled him further inside the studio. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”

“Did you plan this to get me alone?”

Anne laughed. “Actually yes, but my purpose was two-fold—so Sara wasn’t bored and so I could get you alone to yell at you for being a snob.”

“Ah, so you arranged this before we, uh, yelled at each other?”

“I did,” she said in a low voice as she inched closer to him. “But this is much better.”

Chris stepped as far away as he could with her clutching his hand. “No, Anne, this is not going to happen.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why not? You want it and I want it.”

“I told you why not.”

“You’re really not going to sleep with me?”

“I’m really not going to sleep with you.”

“But you’ll do other things with me?”

“I’ll do other things with you.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll kiss you.” Although, after that last kiss, he wasn’t sure of the wisdom of that decision.

She nodded her approval. “Will you hold my hand?”

“I’ll hold your hand.”

Another nod. “Will you put your arms around me and hold me really close.”

Pure torture. “Maybe not.”

“That’s no fun.”

“Okay, I’ll put my arms around you and hold you really close.” Even if it was sheer hell.

“And will you—”

He stopped her midstream. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You really don’t trust me.”

“I really don’t trust you.”

She shrugged and went over to the windows and closed the curtains. He was about to object to her interference with his light, but his curiosity got the better of him. She was up to something, and he wanted to know what it was. She stood at the CD player, carefully selecting her music. Then she yanked off the sweatshirt she’d been wearing to reveal a skimpy tank top that didn’t come close to reaching the waistline of her tights. Shit. How was he supposed to spend the next hour playing serious photographer?

The music she selected surprised him. Big band era. Music from her grandparents’ generation. But then, everything he’d heard about the elder McCulloughs told him that they had influenced all of their grandchildren’s taste in music.

It was a medley of Ella Fitzgerald songs. And Anne’s dancing was just as lyrical and smooth as Ella’s voice, beginning with “A Fine Romance.”

Chris braced himself as she danced to the lyrics, her haughty movement reflecting the obvious points of the song. No kisses?

“We’ve kissed,” he protested the lyrics as she came up and danced directly in front of him.

“But no nestling or wrestling,” she said as she turned her back and danced away from him.

He laughed as she began moving to the next song on the CD. She’d made her point.

“Let’s Fall in Love” infiltrated the room. Now she turned into a tease, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d actually done a strip tease, her movement was so arrogant and titillating at the same time.

Next came “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” and she moved in a way he’d never seen her dance before. Every shoulder roll, every leg lift, every head loll, every tilt of her pelvis was sensuous and languid. There was no doubt in her mind, or his, that he would be dreaming about her. But then he always did.

“Too Darn Hot,” almost destroyed him. His brain was too numb to remember what he was supposed to be doing here. Taking pictures. Instead, all he could do was stand there drooling through the majority of the song.

When “Every Time We Say Good-bye” began to play, her movement slowed. It was even sexier and more sultry as was her gaze that never left him. He wondered if she realized the irony of the lyrics. And if she could relate to them at all. He knew he could.

This was definitely not like any dancing he’d seen her do. Oh, God, now the hair flicks. She was focused on the audience this time. On him. She never seemed to take her eyes off him, not even for a moment. It was as if she were dancing for only him. Making love to him. Damn. She was. Through her dance.

He became so aroused watching her, he could hardly hold his camera. Yet he had to. He wanted to capture every movement, every sultry look in her eyes, every perfect transition. He wanted to capture it all. Even if he never shared a single one of these photographs with another living soul.

When she finally stopped, she wasn’t the only one who was breathless. “My God, what was that?” he asked as the smile on her face turned smug. And then he realized. If she couldn’t tempt him with her kisses, she’d seduce him with her dancing. Her power of persuasion, all part of the plan.

“What? I was just dancing.”

“Sure you were.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I—I—” Shit.

“I—I what?” she teased.

“It was incredible. You’re incredible.”

“That’s all you can say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How you feel right now. How my dancing made you feel.”

He looked away from her for a moment. He couldn’t breathe while he was looking at her. “Once you got past your impudent and haughty attitude, I—” He looked up and met her eyes, his voice soft and raspy. “I felt as if you were making love to me through your dance.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Good to know you’re such a keen observer.”

He shook his head at the self-satisfied expression on her face. “You’re really not going to make this easy, are you? You’re determined to wear me down.” No matter had badly my heart gets trampled in the process.

She laughed as she turned on her barefoot heel and headed for the dressing room. “That’s the plan.”