The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,38
just using you as a stepping-stone to some other goal.”
Instead of mocking him, she regarded him with compassion. “That’s sad.”
Normally, Logan reflected only what he wanted people to see, but Claire’s knowing gaze might as well have been a microscope lens. “It’s the way of the world, I suppose. Guess I’ve become a cynic.”
Her responding shallow smile proved she saw his retreat for what it was.
“Don’t expect me to feel too sorry for you. The name, the money, the looks . . .” She blushed, twining the robe’s sash around her fingers.
He watched her fingertips turning white. Still harboring that childhood crush on him? Sweet, but he wanted her to find him attractive for reasons other than his face now.
“And yet none of that has convinced you to take me up on my current offer.” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, effectively surrounding her from the tip of his fingers to his knees, all of which itched to touch her.
“I don’t even know if our clients would let us back into their homes.” She hugged her knees to her chest, then popped two more pieces of candy in her mouth.
“Now there’s where my name will come in handy.” He flashed a playful grin. “What Sanctuary Sound resident wouldn’t want Logan Prescott taking photographs of his or her home?”
She laughed so hard she almost choked. “You’re bad, Logan.”
He leaned close enough to smell something other than chocolate and peanuts. Something soft and light, like lilac. “I like you this way, Claire.”
“What way?” One of her brows rose.
“This whole ‘take no prisoners’ attitude seasoned with an occasional wisecrack . . . it’s diverting. Keeps me on my toes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Believe it or not, that’s not my goal.”
“Prove it. Accept my offer.” A triumphant smile worked its way through his whole being. “Come on, you can be my assistant. It’ll be fun.”
“Can you even take those kinds of pictures? I thought you were a street photographer.”
He scoffed, easing away. “It’s much harder to capture great images in the moment than it is to stage them. Trust me, I can shoot a kitchen or a bathroom.”
He wanted to do this with her. Say yes. When she pressed herself deeper into the cushions, he added, “Don’t underestimate the value of a professional website for grabbing customers’ attention and selling services.”
Her head bobbed from side to side as if weighing the pros and cons of dealing with him more than she’d already agreed to. “I’ll call our clients.”
He released his breath in a whoosh. “They’ll all say yes.”
“All?” Her strawberry-blonde hair shimmered under the lamplight when she shook her head at him. Thick, silky hair that would feel great sliding through his fingers. “Now you’re being cocky.”
“Maybe.” He smirked. “We could make a bet, unless you’re a chicken.”
She stared at his outstretched hand and bit her lip. When she clasped it, she did so with the healthy caution a snake handler does a python. “What do I get when you lose?”
He gazed into eyes as deep and blue as the Sound on a cloudless day, wanting to dive right in and not come up for air. “Whatever you want.”
The flush rose up her neck like mercury in a thermometer. “How do you know I won’t take advantage of you?”
“I’m not worried, because I’m sure I’ll win.” He broadened his grin, still holding on to her hand, wishing she’d use it to pull him into a kiss.
“How do I know you won’t take advantage of me?” She raised one brow.
He squeezed her hand, refraining from tugging her to his chest. “You don’t.”
Chapter Seven
“The flowers gave these shots a nice punctuation.” Logan placed his camera in its case and began disassembling the tripod. “Good call.”
“Thanks.” Claire dragged her gaze away from him to glance at the cut-glass vase she’d filled with fragrant white lilies, fuchsia snapdragons, bells of Ireland, and pink peonies. With an unintentional sigh, she said, “I love the romance of fresh-cut flowers.”
He paused, flashing her a quick smile. “I meant that the pop of color is a great contrast against all this white tile and marble.”
She turned away for a second, closing her eyes as if that would somehow erase the fact that she’d just blabbered about romance while he’d been focused on the work. Maybe she should mention that she’d picked an arrangement that also paired nicely with the “Brittany Blue” cabinets . . . not that he’d care about that.