Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(3)
Except for the iron barrier, the property wasn’t fenced. There was plenty of room to slip around the gate post. But she’d never violated anyone’s privacy like this. She’d never admit this to her editor, but those other celebrity pics she’d sold him were freak occurrences, taken while she was shooting pictures of Philadelphia for a travel brochure the same month a major motion picture was being filmed in the Old City section. One actress had literally fallen at Jayne’s feet—and hurled on her shoes. There was a big difference between snapping some drunken Hollywood tartlet’s picture outside a club and spying on someone’s home.
Didn’t matter that Danny’s hospital bills were dragging her family under. Didn’t matter that Jayne and her three brothers were going to lose the family tavern because of said bills. Didn’t even matter that this artist’s privacy was going to be violated whether it was Jayne or another photographer who snapped the pictures. Her feet wouldn’t budge. This was not gonna happen.
Danny was getting better. That’s what really mattered. He was adjusting to the limited use of his hand, and his posttraumatic stress was improving. The whole robbing-Pete-to-pay-off-Paulie thing wasn’t exactly a new experience for her family. They’d always squeaked by in the past. But this time, Jayne wanted to be instrumental in getting her family out of a jam. Her brothers had been dragging her deadwood around for long enough.
She slipped the camera into her pocket. New plan. She’d go to town and attempt to contact the elusive sculptor legitimately. She’d explain that his anonymity was compromised and try to talk him into a picture taken on his terms. Morals were such a pain in the butt.
“Can I help you?”
Jayne spun around at the deep voice behind her. She splayed a hand over her thumping heart. A tall, lean man was climbing out of a giant red SUV. Jayne had been so engrossed in her personal debate she hadn’t even heard it approach.
Her mental head smack was cut short as he stepped into full view. Power radiated from a broad, parka-encased chest and long, jeans-clad legs. The winter tan and muscular throat told her he spent time out of doors, even in this climate. Jayne’s gaze slid higher, over a strong-boned face and shadowed, square jaw that begged her to snap his profile in black-and-white. Military-short, dark brown hair topped green eyes as clear as polished emeralds.
Oh. My. If this was R. S. Morgan, she would have to change her opinion on eccentric artists.
“I’m sorry. I’m blocking your driveway. I’m lost.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “My cell won’t work and I’m really low on gas.” She shushed her conscience. Those other things were true. “I’m on my way to the Black Bear Inn in Huntsville.”
“You missed the turnoff for County Line Road. It’s about ten miles back.” A Southern accent laced his voice, smooth as warm caramel.
“Oh.”
He stepped closer. Despite her five feet ten inches, Jayne looked up at him. Nice.
“It’s another ten miles into town from the turn,” he said. “Will your Jeep make it that far?”
It would, but just driving off wouldn’t give her any more information. “I’m not sure.” Sheesh. The next time she went to confession, she was going to be saying Hail Marys for a week straight.
“I’ll get you a gallon of gas.” No offer to accompany him to the house. Drat. And he was being awfully, inconveniently nice. Her job would be a lot easier if he were as rude as the puking diva.
“Thanks so much.” She offered her hand and a grateful smile. “I’m Jayne Sullivan.”
He hesitated, staring down at her extended hand for a few seconds before accepting. His long, elegant fingers were marred by numerous small scars, and his callused grasp was burning hot as it engulfed Jayne’s frozen fingers. She felt like something inside her was softening, slowly melting like an M&M on her tongue.
“I’m Reed Kimball. If you’ll just move your Jeep, I’ll get that gas.” He tugged his hand free, and Jayne realized how hard she’d been holding it.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Face hot, Jayne hurried back to her vehicle and pulled forward. The gate opened and Reed Kimball drove through. A few minutes later, the truck reappeared. He tilted the nozzle of a fuel can into her Jeep without a word.
Jayne bounced on her toes, forcing blood into her frozen feet. “Nice piece of property.”
“Mm.” He made a vague sound of agreement and focused on the gas can.
“Have you lived here long?”
“A while.”
“You don’t sound like a Maine native.” Jayne pressed on. “Where are you from originally?”
He removed the can and screwed on the fuel cap. “There you go. That should get you to town.”
A sudden gust of wind ripped through the pines at her back. Needles trembled. His polite dismissal made her suddenly aware of her remote surroundings and of the size of the quiet man standing so close to her. Despite all her self-defense training, he looked like he could overpower her in seconds. She didn’t get a threatening vibe from him, but their isolation felt acute. As did her vulnerability.
Relax. If he had sinister intentions, he wouldn’t send you away. But her subconscious ignored reason, and a familiar ache sprung into her well-knitted jawbone. She forced a smile and hoped he attributed the slight trembling of her voice to the cold. “Thanks again.”