don’t play with people’s feelings.”
Her huge eyes met his. “Do you still hate me?”
“Hate you?”
“You know, from high school.”
He stared at her for a moment, then laughed, but she didn’t so much as smile, so his own slowly faded. “Danielle, back then, hating you was just about the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Even after…that night?”
“Especially after that night.”
When her misty eyes blinked in surprise, he nodded wryly. “Yeah. Big-time crush.”
“I had no idea.”
“No kidding.”
She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I hate to think about those days, about the kids I hung with, and how mean they were—”
“It was a long time ago.” He backed away from her, annoyed that he’d brought any of it up. Annoyed that he’d still occasionally wondered about her. “Like I said, I don’t think about those days anymore.”
She glanced down at Sadie, that vulnerability and infinite sadness back in her gaze. “Yeah.”
Just looking at her again made him feel like that stupid, gawky teenager he thought he’d left behind years ago. Had left behind years ago. He was a successful, respected journalist. He had a life, a great one.
He didn’t need this. He nodded toward Sadie, suddenly eager to see them leave, eager to get back to his carefully unplanned leisure time, where he didn’t have to think or feel. “Let’s just get your pictures, okay?”
“Yeah.” Danielle tried to pull Sadie before the outdoor screen. Sadie didn’t want to go. Digging her paws in, jaw stubborn, she held back.
But apparently Danielle was just as stubborn because she pulled and pulled with all her might. “You’re…going…to pose,” she grunted.
Fascinated and amused in spite of himself, Nick watched. Danielle’s brow was furrowed, her hair in her eyes. Her face, tight with concentration, slowly turned as red as it had when she’d realized she’d shoved her very nicely curved bottom in his face.
Filled with determination, she did indeed eventually budge the dog, and he had to admire the strength in her willowy frame for doing so.
“You…could…help,” she rasped, getting Sadie on the right spot, tossing him an irritated look that only made his grin wider.
“Why? You’re doing great.” The dog had to weigh over a hundred pounds. No way was he going to push it around and risk losing a finger or more. He was fond of his fingers. And fond, he discovered, of watching Danielle sweat.
He wondered what else would make her sweat and grunt like that. Wondered if she liked down-and-dirty sex, if she—
Whoa. Back the truck up. He was not having those thoughts, not about this woman.
“Okay,” Danielle said breathlessly, straightening. “Get ready, Nick.” She stroked the dog, soothed her, kissed her nose, even rubbed her cheek against Sadie’s.
Nick watched this honest display of affection and felt something tug inside, good and hard. Damn it.
“Take the picture,” Danielle said. “Quick.”
Nick moved behind the camera, watching through the lens as Danielle praised and hugged Sadie, with little disregard for the dog hair sticking to her clothing, for the drool that dripped down one arm, for her own wildly rioting hair, or the way she once again presented him with her delectable backside.
“Ready?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Ready,” Nick said, eyes glued to her body as she quickly moved out of range.
When the camera shutter closed, she sagged back against the wall in relief, closing her eyes, breathing deeply.
Mesmerized by the emotions crossing her fine features, Nick moved from behind the camera and came to stand before her. “It’s just a picture.”
Her eyes flew open. “When can I have them?”
“In about three weeks.”
“How about I pay you for the film? You can just give me the roll and I’ll get them developed myself.”
“That’s not the way Providence Photography works,” he said, absorbing her growing panic. “Danielle—”
The bell above the front door of the studio chimed. Danielle jerked to face him. “I thought you said you were closed.”
“We are.” Nick groaned at the thought of taking more pictures. Because bad as a dog was, it could get worse, far worse.
He could have to take a baby picture.
“Nick.” Danielle gripped his shirt when he turned to go out front. “I need to tell you—”
“Hang on, I’ll be right back.” But short of prying her fingers from him, he couldn’t budge her. Then he saw her face, which had gone colorless. “Hey.” Concern replaced everything else, and without thinking, he stroked her hair from her face, touching her cheek. “What is it?”
“If it’s the police—”
“The police?” He went very still. “Why would it be the police?”
“If it is,” she repeated, swallowing hard. “I—”
“Hello?” called a male voice from out front. “Sergeant Anderson. Anyone here?”
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