Jill Shalvis - Bared

Twenty-six years and she was still doing it.

“Please, Emma? Please won’t you do this for me? Do this so I don’t have to come home right now.”

“Why did you let me think that you and Rafe had a past together?”

“We do.”

“One date isn’t a ‘past.’”

Amber laughed. “Silly me, I probably had a crush on him at the time. Truth is, he wasn’t into me. He’s not into models or anything else Hollywood.”

“So why do you kiss him after each shoot?”

“What?”

Emma was getting a bad feeling here. “So you…don’t kiss him?”

“Of course not. Look, maybe I dated him that one time and maybe I like to mess with him on the set sometimes, but if I was going to kiss anyone, it would be Stone. I mean, my God, have you seen his eyes? If he wasn’t gay…”

“But Rafe-”

“He’s far too into his camera.”

Code for he wasn’t into Amber enough, of course.

So he’d gotten a kiss out of Emma under false pretenses.

What did that mean?

“So, will you do it, Emma? Go as me?”

“No. What’s the costume?”

“Camper girl,” said Amber. “It’ll be full coverage, no doubt. Jeans and a tank, something like that. Please?”

Full coverage, nothing sheer, nothing so outrageously sexy that her every nerve ending quivered.

“Please.”

No. “I don’t know…”

“You won’t regret this,” Amber said in a rush. “You’re the best. I’ll give Rafe’s assistant the number where they can reach you. You posing as me, of course.”

“But I didn’t say I’d-”

The dial tone sounded in her ear.

“-do it,” she finished, then she hung up and stared out the window of her house to the yard she’d neglected so badly that it had become nothing more than overgrown bush. She’d meant to get out there this year, but something had always come up. Work related, of course.

But now here she was taking off her second weekend in a row-unheard of-and, instead of doing something she wanted, she was saving her sister’s tush.

Or was she? Because deep down, she had a feeling maybe this was what she wanted to do.

The phone rang again. “Oh, thank God,” she said, yanking it up to her ear. “Look, I can’t do it, I-”

“Amber?”

Even though she’d only heard him that one day in Kauai, she’d know that low, almost unbearably sexy voice anywhere.

Rafe.

“AMBER,” RAFE SAID into his cell phone, which he held in the crook of his neck so his hands were free. “Tomorrow’s shoot. Desert. Be there.”

He had carpet samples spread across his patio table-one he’d picked up at some little shop on Melrose because the intricate inlaid wood carving on the tabletop and chairs intrigued him.

He couldn’t wait to buy a barbecue and cook out here, then eat at this very table. Realizing Amber hadn’t said anything, he prepared for battle. “Problem?”

He hoped not, because he wanted to hang up and match the paint samples to his carpet samples, and then get himself to the hardware store to make it a reality. He’d been told to hire a painter but he wanted to do it himself. He wanted to get his hands dirty fixing up his own house.

His house.

Damn if that didn’t have a nice ring to it.

“Amber?”

“Yes-” She cleared her throat and the slightly nervous little sound had his eyes narrowing. “I’m…here.”

Christ, not again. Not Emma. He opened his mouth to demand answers, then shut it. He only had this one job left, then he was done. Finito. Finished. In light of that, he didn’t want to hear what the hell Amber and Emma were up to. He didn’t want to hear anything. He was tired of the game, tired of all of it.

But honest to God, he didn’t know if he could handle Emma again. It wasn’t the long flowing hair or the willowy, curved body and outward beauty. Hell, he was used to beauty-his world was swamped with it. And he’d seen Amber’s body enough that he should also be immune to Emma’s curves.

But what had drawn him about Emma went beyond skin deep. In her eyes had been a host of things that made him curious, and lurking behind her nerves had been a woman he wanted to know more about. Photographing Emma had been an experience like…like making love to a virgin. Intoxicating, exhilarating and…

Shockingly arousing.

He’d put his heart and soul into those pictures with her-more than he’d done in years-and it had thrown him. All damn week now he’d been wondering about walking away from this life of photographing others, because Kauai had been sheer and simple joy.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “I won’t forget.”

“Good.” For one idiotic moment he wondered what else he could say, how he could keep her on the phone, how he could get a promise out of her, but then he came to his senses. “Thank you,” he said, and hung up.

“So which twin is it going to be this time?” Stone came through the sliding glass door carrying two beers, one of which he handed over before he sank to a chair. “Diva Amber or Queen Emma?”

“Emma.”

Fascinated by this tale of twins, Stone had looked into one Emma Willis. He’d discovered that she was part of a team of soap opera writers for Live And Love, with a reputation for being all work and no play.

She was Hollywood, firmly entrenched there, the one place Rafe wanted out of.

He twisted the cap off his beer and tossed back his head for a long pull on the cold brew.

“Interesting.” Stone put his feet up on the table, rolling his eyes when Rafe pushed them off. “This whole twin thing. They should do a shoot together, something without clothes, of course-” He broke off when Rafe snarled. “What? I’m just wondering.”

“Go wonder about one of your beach bunnies.”

“Hey, this is Amber I’m talking about. Amber drives you insane and tells everyone I’m gay. So why would you care if I-” He broke off, going from confused to speculative. “Damn.”

“What?”

“She got under your skin, in just one day.”

“Amber never gets under my skin.”

“I’m not talking about Amber-she could get under the skin of an elephant. I’m talking about Emma.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“You dated Amber once and didn’t sleep with her,” Stone said. “Are you never going to sleep with Emma, either? Let me know, man, and I’ll stop picturing her in that thong.”

Rafe glared at his friend, who laughed and stood, pulling off his shirt, leaving him in knee-length, sunshine-yellow swim trunks. “I think it’s time for a swim. Why don’t you call your gorgeous sisters over here so I can have some bikini scenery to keep me company?”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Rafe said seriously. “And besides, Tessa’s taken now.”

“That leaves Carolyn. Tell her to wear that white two-piece she’s got, because the water’s chilly, and-” He halted with a laugh when Rafe growled at him. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

“I’ve got a shot for you.”

“Jeez. Talk about being an overprotective older brother. I can’t ogle Carolyn and you won’t let me even think about Tessa. The least you can do is indulge my Amber-Emma fantasy.”

“Swim, Stone. Swim.”

Was he overprotective? Yeah, probably. But even before his parents had retired to Florida a few years back, he and his sisters had been close. They went to each other for money, support, friendship-whatever was needed.

He relished the relationship, but at the moment felt far more disturbed at the possibility that Stone had some interest in Emma.

Rafe watched him dive into the pool and start swimming laps. Would Stone go after her? And why did it matter?

It didn’t. Instead, he concentrated on the carpet samples, but his doorbell rang, the sound wafting through the open sliding glass door. Walking through his unfurnished living room into the foyer, he found a teenage kid standing at his front door.

“Hey, mister, is this cat yours?”

Rafe looked down. At the kid’s feet sat the ugliest brown and gray cat he’d ever seen. In spite of the way its fur was matted and filthy, the thing lifted its chin regally and stared at Rafe from eyes so pale a blue they looked like glass. Never having been a cat person, he easily shook his head.

“Nope. Not mine.”

“You sure? He’s been wandering around but seems to know your place.”

The cat kept his gaze over Rafe’s shoulder as if it couldn’t care less what the humans around it thought.

“I’m sure,” Rafe said.

The kid shrugged and started to walk away.

“Hey, you’re not going to just leave it here.”

“It’s a cat,” the kid called back. “It’ll go wherever it wants.”

Rafe stared at the cat, who made a big production out of yawning. “Go home,” he said.

The thing didn’t budge.

The house across the street had recently sold and a woman stood on the end of the driveway watching him. She was tall, and had her red hair piled on top of her head. She wore a short-sleeved pink sweater and floral capris with pink sandals, and, in keeping with the Suburban in her driveway, she seemed to personify a soccer mom, albeit a hot-looking one. When she saw him looking at her, she crossed the street toward him.

“Is that a stray cat?” she asked him, looking worried.

“It’s a stray something.”

“Oh, the poor thing.” She kneeled next to the cat and stroked it. “Poor homeless thing. What are you going to do about him?”

Rafe had planned on going back into his house and shutting the door but found he couldn’t do that with her watching him. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“Oh!” She smiled and offered him a hand. “Yes, I’m Irena Dotriana, part-time interior designer, part-time mom.”

“Part-time mom?”

“I share my kids with my ex-husband.” She shot him a smile. “So…do you have an ex-wife?”

He laughed. “No.”

“A not-so ex-wife?”