Exposure - Kelly Moran Page 0,31

too much thought into the act, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. Not a gesture he could ever remember doing. It spoke of tenderness he'd never known. "Why don't you take a hot bath? I'll order Chinese. We can eat with chopsticks by the fire."

She rolled her shoulders. "Sounds good." Glancing briefly at Max, she smiled and headed to the bedroom. "Goodnight, Max."

"'Night, ma'am."

Already in the bedroom, she cleared her throat loudly.

An out of character grin split Max's face. "Sorry, Miss Crowne."

"Better." The bedroom door closed.

Noah raised his brows.

Max's grin fell to half watt. "She doesn't like being called ma'am." He shrugged, the giant of a man's face reddening in embarrassment.

Right. "Anything unusual today?"

Max sobered. "No. She had a client come in but, other than that, she stayed in her office. I thought we might've had a tail on the drive back, but I was wrong. The car passed us before the turnoff."

He sighed and forced the tension from his neck. "Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Max looked like he wanted to say more, but he nodded and turned to go.

"Is there anything else?"

"She's asking questions," he said over his shoulder. He turned with his hand on the doorknob. "I don't think it would hurt you or Miss Aubrey if Miss Crowne had the answers to those questions."

Noah crossed his arms and regarded Max. He'd been with Noah a long time and, in that time, he'd never offered advice or spoke up unless directly asked or if there was a potential threat. Seemed as if Raven was getting under Max's skin, too. "Noted."

After his bodyguard left, Noah ordered takeout and switched on the fireplace while waiting for delivery. Pouring two glasses of wine, he moved to set them on the coffee table and signed for the food when it arrived.

Just as he was about to check on Raven, she emerged from the bedroom in a pink silk robe that barely covered her good parts. Long tendrils of midnight hair broke free from the clip on her head, framing her face. To contrast this sexy as fuck look, she wore large fluffy bunny slippers he'd given her for Christmas one year.

"Don't move." He went to the black room down the hall and retrieved a camera. When he returned, her brows drew together in frustration.

"Put the camera down."

"No. And wipe that exasperated expression off your face." He wanted the look she had when she first emerged. Sleepy and curious. And, damn her, she wasn't complying. Dropping his voice a baritone, he lifted the camera to his face. "Baby, look at me. After dinner, I'm going to untie that robe of yours and spread it wide. Do you know what I'll do next? I'm??

Click, click, click, click, click. Fuck yes. That was it. Perfect.

She rolled her eyes and crossed the room to sit on the floor by the fire. With her in profile, the firelight cast shadows and light across her form. Before she could reach for the takeout, he snapped several more. When she looked over her shoulder at him, he stole the money shot--her lips parted, slight lift to her brows, warmth in her eyes and the light behind her. Impish and sexy.

As he lowered the camera, something pinched in his chest. His jaw clenched as he attempted to control the myriad reactions jostling inside. Something was off. He wasn't expecting this punch to his gut when he looked at her or the incessant need to have her. Not just under him, but beside him in all things. Hell, she'd been at his side for years. Lust was expected. He'd lived with it for a decade, like an extra appendage. Why did things feel different?

Shaking it off, he strode over and sat on the floor next to her. He opened a container, realized it was her chicken chow mein, and passed it to her before reaching for his cashew beef. Dipping his chopsticks, he pulled out a bite and chewed, watching her.

Her feminine characteristics were unique, which was why he'd wanted her on film. A mix of siren and innocence. Everything about her was contradictory. Dark hair, light skin. Brazen sexual abandon with innate fear lurking in shadow. A control freak, yet soft at heart. Where did she get such artistic perfection? She didn't resemble her mother at all but, then again, Raven wasn't Willow's biological child.

"How old were you when your mom adopted you?" They'd talked about it a time or two, but he couldn't remember.

Her chewing slowed, then she