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Seducing the data out of a beautiful blonde sounded like a hell of a lot more fun than breaking into offices after dark.
She brought her camera up and snapped more pictures. “So, what’s it’s really like being a SEAL? Do you guys get special treatment—I mean, special forces and all that.”
He frowned. He’d much rather be the one asking the questions. There wasn’t a ton he was at liberty to share about what he did. So many of his missions were classified. Linda dashed over, yanked off the hat, and pushed a sword into his hands. “Seriously?” he asked. She shrugged.
Anna glanced at him. “SEAL? Talking? Come on, Gage, we’re cooking now.” She gave him a grin that made it hard not to smile in reply. Maybe he could tell her afewthings.
“Okay, yeah, it’s different. We all have unique qualifications, and they’ve been known to come in handy in unexpected ways. Doesn’t matter what your rank is—an ensign could be in charge of a team of officers, something that’s been known to piss off some of the brass.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Anna motioned to Linda. “Swap the sword for a gun.” Gage liked that better. The modern weapon felt natural in his hand. And from the admiring look Anna gave him at the competent, relaxed way he handled it, she thought the same thing.
“It really does make a difference, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“What does?”
“The fact that you know what you’re doing. We get a lot of models in here who pose and pretend to be soldiers or warriors—but they always seem a little like they’re playing dress-up. But not you. You’re the real deal.”
She smiled at him, and this time, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, warm and real. The moment hung, suspended, between the two of them—until Linda cleared her throat, and Anna snapped back into work mode.
“Story?” she reminded him.
“It’s not much of one. Happened on practice maneuvers. Some admiral had been bragging about his time as a SEAL, and our CO offered him a chance to sit in on one of our runs when we were one man short.”
Gage stopped, glanced at the fake gun in his hand. One man short—that’s how they were again now. He looked up. “We got the admiral, and it was a sh—crapshow. He may have been okay once upon a time, I dunno, but…” He shook his head. “Anyhow, we were losing time, so Nick, our ensign—who was running the team that night—gets an idea that ends with the admiral covered in sludge that might be hazardous, meaning he had to stay behind and get hosed down while the rest of us got the job done. He was not a happy camper, but there was not a damn thing he could do about it.”
Gage watched for reactions to the mention of Nick’s name—he hadn’t mentioned anyone else’s name before. If anyone here had known Nick, knew that he was a SEAL and might be the same one Gage was talking about, surely there would be some kind of reaction. But they just grinned and smiled as if they had no idea who he was talking about—and no idea that Nick was dead.
But Nick’s wife was alive—as far as he knew—and Gage and his teammates needed to find her. Somehow, in some way, she was connected to this publishing house. If Nick’s name wasn’t one they recognized, he could still hope that Natalie’s would ring a bell. So how did he drop her name into things?
2
Anna took a deep breath. Her arms ached from holding the Hasselblad—she really should go digital, but nothing looked as good as the Hasselblad’s shots. She also still liked developing her own film. Something about the darkroom brought the images to life for her in a way that looking at them on a computer screen could never match. And with a model like this…the thought of watching his form bloom to life under her hands held quite a lot of appeal.
She put the camera back on its tripod and grabbed two bottles of water from the ice chest. “Take five.”
He gave a nod and tucked the prop gun away in the back of his jeans after checking to make sure it wasn’t functional. “Thanks. These lights really make you sweat.”
Yes, they did. On him, it looked incredibly sexy. Maybe a littletoosexy. She grabbed a towel from Linda and tossed it at him. “Have a seat. I need to reload my camera.” She grabbed the Hasselblad and headed for the darkroom to get the first roll developed—she wanted to see how things were looking.
She still couldn’t figure out why a Navy SEAL would want to be a cover model, but she wasn’t going to complain. Her boss was going to be more than happy about the variety of images, and Gage was downright yummy in all the right places.
Well over six feet, he had no tan lines, a lot of muscle, and a light spray of hair across his chest. A happy trail disappeared under the waistband of his jeans, which had her fantasizing about the pot of gold at the end. And when he smiled…there was no doubt that he belongedon the covers of romance novels. No woman would be able to walk past books featuring that face and that body without wanting to take them home. While she had sworn off men—she did not have the best track record when it came to guys—the sight of a truly delicious one sure sent her imagination into high gear. And this one got under her skin in a way that no one had for a long time.
She tried to tell herself that she could look and not touch—but when they’d shaken hands, she’d felt an electric tingling run all the way through her body. He hadn’t squeezed her hand too hard or too lightly—just right. His hands were warm, calloused, strong, but he was so careful and deliberate that it made her wonder how his touch would feel in other places. She itched to run her finger down his straight nose and nibble on his firm jaw…
But she was not going there. Not with anyone, and most definitely not with him.
She reloaded the camera, then started developing. Gage looked better when he talked. His face lit up; his eyes went from flat and guarded to bright. He was missing his right earlobe, and she wondered if he’d lost it in the line of duty. She could shoot around it in the next session to give the art team some options if they didn’t want to show it, but she liked the small flaw. It somehow made him more…real.
Leaving the photos to dry, she headed back out with her camera. Gage was sitting in a canvas chair, and Linda was fussing over him, touching up his makeup. The sound of loud voices echoed from the hall a moment before the door slammed open and Marcella strode in, dressed in tight leather pants, a fitted vest, and stiletto boots. Anna winced.
Marcella had recently been hired as the company’s art director. She was good at her job, but she also had more affectation than Lady Gaga, a voice that could cut glass, and an artistic temperament. You never knew if you were going to get the happy Marcella, the sulky one, the angry one, or the pouting one. Her moods changed as fast as her fashions did.
She stepped up to Gage, who’d stood when she entered, and held out her hand with her wrist arched as if she was expecting him to kiss it rather than shake it. “Marcella Bianchi. And who might you be, lover?”
“Lieutenant Gage Jackelson,” he answered stiffly. He gave her hand a hard pump.
Marcella’s smile faded, but a predatory look came into her eyes. “A lieutenant,” she said slowly. “How positively yummy.”
