Taking It All Off

“Tell me about the nude photos.”

The question startled him from his musings. He stared at her. “What nude photos?”

She laughed. “The ones that fell out of your bag at the office the other day.” She leaned toward him. “Are you freelancing for Playboy or something?”

He coughed. “Yeah, right. If Playboy was knocking on my door, I wouldn’t need this gig.”

“Then what were they for?”

He shifted on the bar stool, picked up his empty glass and set it down again. “It’s for a show at a gallery downtown. A series of photos of artistic nudes.”

“You mean a gallery showing of just your photos?”

He nodded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a big gallery, but if the work sells well, it could lead to bigger things.”

“I doubt very many photographers get their own showings. I’m impressed.” She opened and closed the parasol, sliding it in and out of her fingers. “It was a beautiful photo. Who was the model?”

“The wife of a friend of mine. He came with her to the shoot and I agreed to give them prints in lieu of a modeling fee.” He shrugged. “You do what you have to when you’re paying your dues.”

“And what are you paying your dues for? I mean, where do you want to go with this?”

“I’d like to go on to exhibit nationally. To be represented in New York, be one of the top names in art photography.”

“You have the talent. I guess all you need now is luck.” Her voice was breathy, wistful.

He leaned toward her. “What about you? Do you do other writing besides your work for the magazine?”

She shrugged. “I have some investigative pieces I’m working on. But I’m so busy I don’t really have time to devote to them.”

“If you could do anything, be anything, what would it be?”

“I’d like to go to New York to write for a major magazine there.”

“Then why don’t you do it? What’s stopping you?”

She frowned, and traced her finger through the condensation on the side of her glass. “My father…”

He put his hand on her arm. Her skin was cool and smooth. She looked at him, but didn’t move away. “Are you going to let him run your life forever?”

She did jerk away from him then. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not blind. I see the way you jump every time he says hop.” He sat back and reached for his glass, wishing it weren’t empty. “You’re a grown woman. Why not act like it?”

“Go to hell, and take your opinions with you.” She shoved off the bar stool and stalked away, swaying only slightly when she stepped out onto the sand.

Cursing under his breath, he turned from the sight of her and signaled the bartender for another drink. Now he’d done it. Just when he thought they were connecting. Though why should he care? He and Glynna were from two different worlds. His father and grandfather had been oil-field roughnecks who spent their time off in Telephone Road ice houses, drinking beer and playing pool while Glynna’s family sat behind desks in clean suits all day, then drank cocktails and munched hors d’oeuvres around the swimming pool in the evenings. She’d had her career gift-wrapped for her the day she graduated from some upper-crust college. She didn’t know what it meant to struggle to prove yourself. So why should her opinion of him matter at all?

GLYNNA DRESSED for dinner, but all she really wanted was to take three ibuprofen and crawl under the covers until morning. Why, oh why had she drunk those two rum punches? The sun hadn’t even set and already it felt like the morning after.

But her head wasn’t the only thing that hurt her. Jake’s words had wounded like a dart in her flesh, all the more painful because she knew they were true. Of course she had been letting her father run her life. Anyone would see that on the surface. But did they understand he was all she had? It had been just the two of them since her mother died when she was nine. He’d discouraged relationships with men, even talked her into living at home until two years ago, when she’d insisted on her own place.

So here she was, twenty-six and alone. She’d never done anything her father didn’t approve of. For a long time, that had worked for her. She’d made a life for herself, but maybe that wasn’t enough anymore.

And now here was Jake, offering opinions she hadn’t asked for and imposing all his rough edges on her nice smooth life. Her father disliked Jake, but Jake didn’t care. Where others quaked at Gordon McCormick’s rages, Jake stood up to him.

She sank onto the edge of the sofa, hands in her lap. There were times when she would have given almost anything for that kind of courage. Not just the backbone to go against her father, but the guts not to feel guilty about it afterwards.

Maybe this weekend was her chance to learn a few things from Jake. A shiver chased down her spine at the thought and she hugged her arms across her stomach, as if trying to hold in the excitement kindling within her.

But the thought had taken root in her and wouldn’t let go. No one she knew was on this island. Her father wasn’t here this weekend. But Jake was, so why not take advantage of that? Why not indulge in her own fantasies, romantic and otherwise?

Jake said she needed to be her own woman. So why not ask him to help her discover exactly what kind of woman she really was?

JAKE WAS SITTING at the bar when Glynna walked in. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway and it was as if the temperature in the room rose ten degrees. He tried to look away, to ignore her, but she drew his gaze, like a riptide pulling him under.

Still, he managed to turn his back to her as she drew near. He contemplated signaling the bartender for another beer just as she put her hand on his shoulder, freezing him. “Come walk with me,” she said, the soft murmur of her voice cutting through the bar chatter.

The last thing he needed right now was to go walking off into the darkness with her. He swivelled to face her. “Let’s stay here,” he said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

She glanced around the crowded bar, at the laughing couples with their sunburned faces and umbrella drinks. “No. I need to ask you something. In private.”

He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?

He shoved the glass aside, then let his gaze linger on her too long. She was wearing a little strapless dress made of some silky, clingy material, the hot pink-orange of a sunset. She crossed her arms, as if shielding herself from his gaze. “Why not?” she asked again.

“Because I’ve had a little too much to drink and you look way too good in that dress and I’m liable to do something that will get me slapped.”

Her laughter startled him. She reached out and took his hand. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

He didn’t resist, letting her lead him out of the bar, past the lighted swimming pool to the shadowy beach. At the edge of the sand, she slipped off her shoes and, picking up her sandals, took his hand and tugged him toward the edge of the water.

He slowed his pace to match hers, and studied her out of the corner of his eye. Moonlight—or the beers he’d had—softened her features, making her look younger, more vulnerable. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

She wrapped her hand more securely around his, but avoided looking at him, focusing instead on the ocean. “You might not know this, but I’ve always admired you.”

A single barking laugh escaped him. “You have a hell of a way of showing it.”

She glanced at him. “I guess I deserve that. But it’s true. I’m envious of the way you insist on doing things your way, no matter what other people say. You aren’t afraid of my father. There aren’t many men he can’t intimidate.”

“You’re right. I didn’t know you felt that way.” He stopped, and pulled her around to face him. “Why are you telling me now?”

She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. He recognized both determination and fear in her gaze. The fear surprised him. Why would a woman who had everything be afraid of anything? “I want to ask a favor of you this weekend.”

“What is that?”

She wet her lips, a provocative, sensuous gesture he felt all the way to his groin. “I want you to pretend that I’m not the Glynna McCormick you think you know. That I’m not Gordon’s daughter.”