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“Why not? Couldn’t you show them samples of your work? Valeria would pose for you. I bet Gian Carlo would too. I look good enough in a suit to pass for a model in a few photos.”
He was challenging her to work for her future, to seize it, rather than simply dream it. She wouldn’t admit to cowardice, but the prospect terrified her. “You’re making my head hurt.” She reached for another piece of bread.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re tired of being a model and want to switch to photography, you’ll have to do something to move toward it. Unless you want to wait for the first dreaded wrinkle to doom your career.”
He made her laugh in spite of herself. She gave his shoulder a playful punch. He was the youngest man she’d ever dated, and he’d fallen for her when he’d thought she was a taciturn Goth girl. That still amazed her. “I’ve some candid photos of you. They’re on my camera. Would you like to see them?”
He looked startled. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Let’s finish dinner, and I’ll show you.” She immediately doubted the wisdom of mentioning them and finished eating in silence. They cleared the table and piled the dishes in the sink. “We should do the dishes now,” she suggested. “All it takes is a little soap and water.”
“We can wait until after dessert. I want to see the photos. Let’s put them on the computer.”
She brought her camera and sat down in front of his Mac, but hesitated. “The afternoon we met, you fell asleep almost immediately. It was such a great pose of a student, and I took photos before you woke.”
He looked over her shoulder and remembered meeting her, but not how tired he’d been. When she loaded the photos, he was as impressed as he’d been with her photos of his tiny model houses. “Those are good. It’s strong as a composition, with my body curved over the round table, and the straight lines of El Gato Café behind me. All the angles are good. You ought to put these in your portfolio. Do you have one?”
“Only for modeling.”
“Start one of your photography. Put everything on a disk and hand them out every time you model.”
Ana loaded the photo of him stretched out on the futon and held her breath. The sexy photo showed off his lean body to perfection. “What do you think?” When he didn’t respond, she turned to look up at him. “I’ll never show it to anyone. It was just for me because you looked so handsome.”
He pulled up a chair from the worktable and sat beside her. “My face doesn’t show, so no one would know it was me if you did sell it to the tabloids.”
Jarred to the bone, she had to swallow hard to speak. “What made you think of them?”
“They print every embarrassing photo they can get their hands on, don’t they? But I’m not embarrassed. This is another great shot. Jaime pointed out Mapplethorpe has been dead a long time. Maybe you ought to give some thought to showing men, mostly undressed, for your own show.”
“I’m not going to compete with a dead man,” she objected with a grimace.
He smoothed a curl behind her ear. “Are you referring to Mapplethorpe or Jaime Campos?”
She would love to do a hundred candid shots of Alejandro, but solely for herself. “Both. Now what’s for dessert?”
“You’re trying to distract me, but I get your message. I bought some lemon tarts. Do you want coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please.” She left her chair, put her camera in her bag and followed him to the kitchen alcove. She raked her lower lip through her teeth. Although she wanted to be honest with him, it was a risk she really didn’t want to take. “I have sold photos to the tabloids, Alejandro, but they were of well-known people, and there was nothing scandalous about them.”
He filled the teakettle with water, put it on the stove and leaned back against the counter. “Would you care to name them?”
She looked down at her ballet flats. “No, I’d rather not, but you needn’t fear I’ll sell any photos of you.”
“You look so damn apologetic, it must not have turned out well.”
After a poignant shrug, she answered honestly. “You could say that, but it’s all over and done.”
He pulled her into his arms. “You’re the most remarkable creature. Do you have an endless number of things to confess?”
She might have deserved that but wouldn’t admit it, ever. “I wouldn’t call them confessions.”
“Fine. Unlimited fascinating facets. How’s that?”
His warm embrace soothed her temper. “I’m trying to tell the truth. You shouldn’t make fun of me.”
He reached over to turn off the kettle. “Dessert can wait. I love the way your skirt flows around your ankles when you walk.” He took her hand and pulled her out into the main room. He raised his arm and twirled her a couple of times. “I have to take dance lessons.”
She moved close and rested her hand on his chest. “You’re changing the subject.”
