Exposure - Kelly Moran Page 0,5
week." He sipped his wine. "Every night but Friday."
"Which reminds me, I'll have to rain check our typical dinner this week. I'm meeting…him that night." She swirled the wine in her glass. "I like cooking, especially for you because you appreciate it." Plus, she was much more comfortable at home with him in her PJs. She started to regret her decision to meet Mr. Dwell. Again. Why venture out of the normal when she had perfection in her best friend right here? "I care about you, too."
Downing the rest of his wine, he quickly refilled the glass. What was up with him tonight? He was broody and, if she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was nervous, too. Perhaps it was just a bad day at work. Being the owner of Gallivanting Adventure, he didn't get out on the trails or boats or up in the planes as much as he wanted. He hated being stuck behind a desk.
She took a sip of wine. "Everything okay?"
He tore his gaze away from the pink envelope on the counter and focused on her. After a beat, he grinned. "You bet. Let's eat."
After they'd cleaned up the kitchen and Noah had gone home, she went into her bedroom and pulled down the shoebox from the top shelf of her closet. Not one to collect memories, she wondered why she kept the items inside. Nonetheless, she set the box on her bed and scrolled through the other letters Hoan Dwell had sent previously. Each of them were short and sultry, teasing her with a craving she'd skillfully banked until it was appropriate and safe to bring it out.
What did he see in her? And what were his expectations?
His letters spoke of desire. Wanting her. Savoring her until they were both spent. She didn't take lovers lightly. Research and observation went into each decision until she made contact. What if she was attracted to him, wanted to go the distance and be with him?
Would he be disappointed when he learned her likes in the bedroom? They weren't exactly traditional and most men didn't take well to what she needed. Sex, any form of intimacy, had to be on her terms. Hoan Dwell didn't seem like the type of man to submit control. Not that she knew him, or anything about him, but someone who obviously knew women as well as he did and was able to capture them on film with stark clarity, as if peeking into their souls, couldn't possibly be willing.
She shook her head. There had to be something really wrong with him if it took him this long to initiate. All this wondering was moot. All that would happen come Friday night was a dinner, a business discussion about a showing for his work, and then she'd head home.
Alone.
Setting the letters back inside the box, her knuckles brushed over something cool. Her fingers closed around the polished stone and removed it. No larger than a thimble, it fit into her palm. It had fit into her hand when she was just a girl, too. The only thing she had from her life before her mother adopted her was this. Just a rock and some vague memories.
She sighed and put the lid back on the box, replacing it on the shelf. Then she took a hot bath until her mind was blank and her body lax. Except when she crawled between the sheets, sleep eluded her.
Chapter Two
Noah Caldwell stood facing the rear window of Salvatore's and resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair again. Instead, he smoothed his tie down and shoved his hands in the pockets of his Armani suit. He despised suits. A privileged upbringing and a lucrative business meant they were required, but he didn't have to like it. He'd much rather be in Raven's apartment in his jeans but, for what was going down tonight, it was vital he use class and distance from their usual routine. He'd had Gino set up their table in the private room and threw enough money at the man when he'd booked the reservation to close the restaurant tonight just for them.
He blew out a breath. Raven was going to flip out. She hated surprises, hated anything that didn't fit into her perfect order. And wasn't this the biggest whopper of them all? Yes, best friend of mine. I am the famous photographer you've admired for years, and the man who's admired you. For going on ten fucking years.