Double Exposure. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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from the display and laid it on the counter next to the basket of massage oil and antiseptic cream while she rang up all three purchases. The array was pretty damned suggestive, and Kate willed the clerk to proceed a little faster.
Of course the woman fumbled, hit the wrong keys, had to void out the tape and start over. Kate drummed her fingers on the counter and stared into space with as much sophisticated nonchalance as she could muster. But when the clerk finished ringing up the items and started to put everything in one bag, Kate stopped her.
“I’ll take those in my purse,” she said, snatching the condoms. With all the stuff already crammed in there, she had a devil of a time working the package to the bottom. Her bracelets jangled as she pulled out her wallet and moved aside her camera, compact, lipstick, lip pencil, mascara, blush, a pad of paper, two spare rolls of film, an emery board, a packet of tissues, breath mints and three ballpoint pens.
“Do you want your receipt in the bag?” asked the clerk.
“Yes. I mean, no, I’ll just take it.” Kate grabbed the receipt and stuffed it in her wallet the minute she realized that it probably spelled out exactly what she’d bought besides massage oil. She didn’t have the nerve to look at the clerk again as she snapped her wallet shut, crammed it into her purse and whisked the plastic bag containing the oil off the counter.
Ten minutes later she’d picked up the food order and was on her way back to the inn. The closer she came, the faster her heart beat. She’d complained in the past about the lack of excitement in her life. Now here she was faced with the possibility of genuine, twenty-four-carat excitement, and she was scared. For one thing, she might be rejected. For another, she might not.
But this was what she’d longed for ever since she’d read Gone With the Wind at the age of eleven. Time to put up or shut up. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the Townsend House and down the hall toward the back door that led into the rose garden. She wondered if Harry had shaved.
FIRST HUGH UNPACKED. Then, when Kate still hadn’t returned, he unzipped his shaving kit, stripped off his T-shirt and lathered up his day-old beard. As he stroked the razor through the minty foam, he started going over his pre-relationship ritual, the trick he’d used for years to keep himself from getting in too deep with a woman. He figured that most men ended up seriously involved with someone because they focused on all her good traits and ignored her flaws.
Hugh took time to appreciate a woman’s good qualities, but he searched for at least one flaw to keep him from going overboard and falling in love. Whenever he felt his objectivity slipping, he concentrated on that flaw until he no longer had the urge to spend the rest of his life with the current object of his affection.
He wasn’t shy about announcing his own shortcomings, either, so that the women in his life could take the same preventative measures. He wasn’t wild about cocktail parties and he didn’t like board games. He wasn’t much for cards, either, and if someone suggested playing charades, he’d been known to vacate the premises.
Even worse as far as some women were concerned, he had a lousy memory for special occasions. He liked giving gifts but they didn’t necessarily arrive on the appropriate day. But his biggest fault, at least for most of the women he’d dated, was his refusal to fall in love with them or talk about the possibility of commitment. He wasn’t into that, but a few had thought they could change his mind.
He understood where they were coming from. The atmosphere in Hollywood encouraged falling in love—not so much with a person as with the fantasy image that person projected. His friends were always doing it, from megabuck stars to bit players. Then they inevitably discovered the person behind the fantasy and fell out of love again.
If Hugh was convinced he’d fall out of love, he might risk it. His real fear was that once he let down his guard he’d end up in so deep he’d never get out. Whenever Kate smiled at him, that fear took him by the throat. He needed to discover a flaw in her, and he needed to discover it fast.
Unfortunately he didn’t have anything against photographers. He’d always admired the profession, because without it those who worked in front of the cameras wouldn’t have a job. He also liked the restless spirit that was driving her to build a portfolio of candid shots. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, she was ready to leave the confines of studio photography for a less controlled atmosphere.
He’d love to see her latest work. With some of his connections in L.A., he might be able to…whoa, bad sign. One of the safe things about Kate was her location, clear across the country from him. He definitely should not be dreaming up ways that she could eliminate that comfortable distance between them by landing some photo assignments in L.A.
No, he needed to find something wrong with her, and all he could see were her good points. She had such energy. He didn’t often find someone with energy to match his own.
Of course, she didn’t know he could match her energy, because at the moment he was operating at a low-battery level. If he’d known she was waiting for him at the end of the plane trip, he would have found a way to tune out the motormouth who’d sat next to him and kept him awake the whole flight.
No doubt about it, Kate was terrific. He’d become fascinated with the way her short hair created swirls of bright color each time she moved her head. Until this moment he hadn’t cared much for short hair on a woman, but it suited Kate perfectly. He wanted to run his fingers through all that riot of color—tongues of fire he’d love to bum his hands on.
And speaking of tongues, she had an adorable habit of sliding the pink tip of hers along her upper lip and tilting her head to gaze at him, which made her look both mischievous and sexy as hell.
He grabbed a towel to dry his face just as a sharp knock came at the door to the cottage. Grinning, he walked to the entrance. No timid little tapping for Kate Cooper. “Who is it?” he called out.
“Room service,” she called back, sassy as can be.
He swung open the door. “Took you long enough.”
She breezed in, bringing with her the aroma of hot marinara sauce. “You might as well know the worst thing about me.”
Good. She was going to announce a flaw, which he desperately needed to hear about. “What’s that?”
Her gaze flicked over his bare chest and her cheeks turned pink.
He hadn’t meant to be provocative, but her blush indicated that his semi-nudity was affecting her. “I’ll go get a shirt,” he said.
“No, that’s okay,” she said quickly, too quickly.
“I meant to put one on, but when you knocked, I—”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” She took a quick breath. “In fact, I thought after we finished eating I’d give you a massage.”
His pulse quickened. “You did?”
Her cheeks grew even pinker, but she rushed bravely on. “That’s the best thing for your neck and shoulders, better than the hot tub, and I have some training, plus I’ve had a whole bunch of massages myself, so I think I could do a good job.”
“You don’t have to convince me.” He was overjoyed. One particular part of his body was extremely overjoyed, and he’d have to work on keeping that bad boy under control. “I’d love it.”
“Great. Then let’s eat.” She put her other paper sack on the floor and began unpacking the sandwiches and drinks from the first one.
He had a sudden attack of remorse. “I didn’t give you any money for this.”
“I didn’t expect you to.” She motioned him to a chair. “Have a seat. I have hot pastrami and hot Italian meatball. You can have either, or some of both, or—”
“Some of both, and I want to pay for this. I invited you to dinner, remember?” He must really be tired to have forgotten the money thing.
She shook her head. “This is my treat, considering that I