Lovegame(10)

I’m not sure if I’m relieved at his words, or only more frustrated. “So it’s not just me, then? She’s this careful with everyone?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. I’ve never seen her lower her guard all the way. Which is why when I get a rare glimpse inside her walls, I try to take it.”

I get what he’s saying—I do—and the artist in me even agrees with him. But I think back to the way her face closed up when he snapped those last pictures, to the way her laughter died like it had never been, and I can’t help wondering if that’s why she is so guarded. Because when she finally lowers the walls a little some * she trusted always takes advantage of it.

It’s a thought that hits uncomfortably close to home. After all, isn’t that why I’m here? To probe and dig and use whatever information I glean from her for my own purposes?

When I look at it that way, suddenly this whole thing seems so much more nefarious.

But just because I recognize it, doesn’t mean I plan on backing off. Instead, I file away his observations so I can pick them apart later. One more piece of information on Veronica Romero. One more thing to understand if I’m going to be the one who finally succeeds in opening her up.

I do my best to ignore the sudden, inappropriate images that bombard me at the thought…getting hard in the middle of a room of people I’m working with is not on my agenda.

“So, when do you fly back to New York?” Marc asks me as he carefully packs up his lenses.

“I’m actually planning on staying in town a few weeks, doing the Southern California thing.” More like following up on some research leads I have for the Vargas book, but I’m not spreading that around. At least not until I suss Veronica out about the subject.

“Oh, yeah? That’s cool. We should grab a beer some night. Or maybe a game. I could get Lakers tickets if you’re up for it.”

“Sure, man. That’d be great.”

“Oh, and I’m having a party next—”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The man-slaying smile is in full attendance as Veronica insinuates herself between us. It’s a sensual, well-practiced slide and judging from the look on Marc’s face, I’m not the only one whose mouth goes dry at the move.

Then again, he’s got a reason for it, considering she’s focusing all her attention on him. Her hand is on his chest and she’s stroking her fingers along the buttons of his shirt, playing with the patterned silk as she gazes deep into his eyes. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

“You can interrupt me anytime, baby.” His hands come up to rest on her hips and even though I feel like I’m watching a perfectly choreographed dance, a twinge of something uncomfortable flashes through me anyway. I tell myself it’s only because I don’t need to be here for this little seduction, but I don’t buy it even as I’m feeding myself the bullshit.

I think about backing away to give her a little privacy to accomplish whatever it is she came over here for, but the idea doesn’t sit well with me. Especially when one of Marc’s hands starts to migrate from Veronica’s hip to her ass.

Her perfectly padded, perfectly heart-shaped ass.

Not that I’m looking exactly. It’s just hard to ignore it when it’s right there, especially considering it’s one of her trademarks.

Still, as I watch Marc manhandle it—manhandle her—I have a very brief, very detailed fantasy about breaking his hand. And the fingers he uses to take pictures with, which, coincidentally, are the same ones currently stroking the curve of her very delectable ass.

Deciding to hell with watching any more of this, I move forward intending to ease her away from him even though it isn’t exactly my place. But she’s already got it, sliding her hand up to stroke his jaw as she leans forward and whispers in his ear. I don’t know what she says to him, can only hear the low, breathy tone of it all, but whatever she says leaves him flushed and sweaty and looking like he’s about to swallow his tongue.

I expect him to grab her then—that’s how aroused he looks—but instead his hand finds its way back to his side and then he’s grabbing his camera and roughly shoving it into its bag despite the fact that he’s babied the damn thing all day. Two minutes later he’s bidding us both goodbye and all but running from the house.

What. The. Fuck.

Veronica watches him go with a small, satisfied smile on her face that says more than any words can, but when she turns to me, eyebrows raised, she’s back to being perfectly composed. “I’m so sorry the shoot ran over. Would you like some coffee before we get started on the second part of the interview?”

“What I’d like is to know what you said to Marc to send him running out of here like his ass was on fire.”

“I’d tell you,” she says, caressing my cheek in much the same way she just had Marc’s, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Oh yeah? My security clearance not high enough for you?” I go along with the Top Gun allusion because it amuses me. As does the sharp wit she doles out so carefully.

She tsks at me. “It’s got nothing to do with security clearance and everything to do with the fact that I don’t trust journalists.”

“Even ones who usually write true crime books and not gossip articles?”