Hard to Resist. Samantha Hunter
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watch told him he was five minutes early, and she’d obviously changed her clothes, so she couldn’t have been waiting long. After his surprise appearance earlier, he approached carefully, making sure she had ample time to see him. She turned, smiling falsely, overbrightly.
Did she regret making plans with him?
He was perfectly happy to explore the city on his own, but he also looked forward to some company, someone to share the sights with for an evening. She’d seemed interested and friendly at the studio. He wondered what had changed.
“Hi there,” he said casually, looking out at the streets bustling with early-evening traffic. The noises were muted here in the lobby. Though he could spend long days and nights in the desert enjoying nothing but the silence of the sand and the stars, he found the energy of the city stimulating, as well.
Or maybe it was the woman standing just a foot away, in spite of the tension stiffening her very nicely built form. Something about her had his blood circulating with a low, warm hum through his system, but he wasn’t sure she was having the same reaction.
“You okay?” he found himself asking.
“Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You seem…strung a little tight.”
She frowned, and shrugged. “Just distracted. Busy day, a lot on my mind.”
The message underneath the cool reply really said “mind your own business” and wasn’t lost on him. If this was going to be the mode of conversation, he was in for a long evening.
“How about a drink first? I could use something to warm up. Chilly out there tonight.”
“I think it’s going to be an early winter this year.”
“You said you wanted to shoot seasonal photos—how is that possible when it’s already October?” he asked as they walked to the bar. She hadn’t said yes or no to the idea of a drink, but he wasn’t lying about wanting one. She didn’t object as they headed in that direction.
“Mostly we’ll use props, how you’re dressed, that kind of thing. Then the postproduction guys can work their magic, too. The photo will be mostly you and not so much background. So for a July shot you might wear trunks, and we’ll work it that it looks summery.”
“Even if I’m freezing my ass off in reality?”
“Yeah.” She smiled then, and laughed. “Welcome to the cruel world of modeling.”
He ordered a whiskey, neat, and asked her if she wanted anything, surprised when she ordered the same. His eyebrows lifted as they tilted their glasses toward each other and she swallowed hers in one throw, closing her eyes as if she’d needed it more than he did. He hadn’t realized how pale she was until the warmth from the whiskey infused her skin with a pink glow.
Something had happened between the time he’d left and now, but he didn’t feel free to inquire. He was a stranger, a visitor that she was nice enough to spend some time with because they had to work together. That was it.
Maybe not, maybe more, whispered the hum in his body. He ignored it. He wasn’t opposed to having some fun with a willing woman while he was here, but he wasn’t about to complicate matters with the prickly photog—unless she offered an invitation—but she wasn’t being too inviting at the moment.
So why was he enjoying the view of the very feminine swell beneath the stylish top, taking advantage while her eyes were closed?
“You want to get some pizza? I know a place that has the best in the city,” she said, opening her eyes just as he looked back up. Almost caught staring, he thought, feeling about seventeen.
Her green eyes were luminous, maybe in part from the whiskey, but she was a natural beauty, indeed. He waited before answering, questioning whether this was a good idea, but he’d already agreed. Jarod wasn’t in the habit of backing out on a woman when he promised to spend an evening with her.
“Pizza? That sounds good. Must be a hundred pizza places here, but you know the best one, huh?”
He winced internally. Small talk was not his strength.
She grinned, seeming more relaxed. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. It’s an amazing experience that will shift your entire perspective on what the dish means. The place is a hole-in-the-wall that tourists never find, so you’re in for a treat. We’ll pick up a bottle of vino on the way because they don’t serve drinks. You have to bring your own.”
“I like a lady with a plan,” he agreed, glad she seemed to be loosening up.
“If you want to go up the Empire State Building at night, we could do that, too, after dinner—we’ll be shooting up there. You afraid of heights?”
He shook his head as they walked out into the cool evening. “No. Heights aren’t a problem. But you don’t have to take me sightseeing. I figured this was a business dinner.”
Her cheeks became warmer, and he realized his statement didn’t quite come out the way he meant it.
“I meant—”
“No, no, you’re right—this is a business dinner,” she said easily, but didn’t meet his eyes.
How could things be so weird and awkward, hot and cold, with a woman he’d just met two hours ago? Jarod was usually good with women. He enjoyed them as friends and lovers, and never had such tension or foot-in-mouth disease before. This one had him tripping over himself, and it wasn’t a great experience.
They popped into a liquor store where Lacey seemed to be on a first-name basis with the owner and he handed her a Chianti that he knew she liked. Jarod insisted on paying.
“Fine, but the pie is on me,” she said, and while it wasn’t his habit to let women pay for a date, he agreed. It was her city, her pizza place, her expense account, he figured.
They walked a few blocks and turned in through a glass door painted white in order to be opaque into a deep, narrow room that was brightly lit, but nothing fancy. Small, round plastic tables hugged a stark white wall that featured signed pictures of various New Yorkers, many famous, others he didn’t know.
“Interesting spot. I would never have guessed from the street this was even here.”
“Best-kept secret.”
She must be right as they had to navigate the narrow space between the counter and the tables to the far end to find an open table. The place was packed, and the rich aromas and sizzling pies he spotted on people’s tables had his mouth watering.
Locating an empty table, they sat in plastic chairs that he hoped were sturdy as he settled his large frame into one. The napkins were paper, from a metal dispenser next to a small vase with some fake flowers. He wasn’t a fancy guy, but he had to assume all of the money and talent in the place went into the food, not the decor.
“So this is your favorite place, huh?”
“Isn’t it great?” She was all smiles again. If he were prone to it, her mercurial changes would make him seasick, she seemed to shift back and forth so often.
“I found it completely by accident. I was just passing by one night and someone opened the door. The smell of the sauce and spices had me making a U-turn to come in and see where it was coming from. It’s bare bones, but cozy. Warm. And the owners are really nice people.”
“Probably a gold mine, as well. Can’t be much overhead,” he commented.
“I bet you’re right. Locals call it the Pizza Room, though I don’t think it actually has an official name. If you get takeout, it’s just a plain brown box, no logo. They don’t do delivery and aren’t in the directory.”
He grinned, liking the simplicity of it. Lack of marketing was probably the best marketing of all in a world drowning in logos.
“I’m glad you decided to show me one of