"Not a thing." He handed off his camera to his assistant, then leaned over the bed to kiss Margo warmly. "I've missed seeing that billion-dollar face in my viewfinder. Glad I could help." He glanced at Josh. "Be out of your way in a shake."
"Josh, be a doll and get Zack and Bob a couple of beers." Without a flicker, she dropped the sheet, then reached for a robe to cover her lovely breasts.
"A couple of beers." His smile was quick and feral. "Sure, why not?''
"We met before." Leaving his assistant to pack up, Zack followed Josh back into the office. "In Paris—no, no, Rome. You dropped by one of Margo's shoots."
The green lights of jealousy faded a bit. It was hard to forget a man with a foot-long red ponytail. "Yeah. I think she was dressed at the time."
Zack took the beer. "Just to clear the air here, I've seen more naked women than a bouncer in a strip joint. It's just part of the job."
"Not that you enjoy it."
"I'm willing to sacrifice for my art." He grinned winningly. "Pal, I fucking love it. But it's still part of the job. If you want a professional's opinion, you've got yourself the top of the line. Some women you have to know how to shoot, what angle, what lighting, so the camera'll love them. Doesn't matter if they're beautiful—the camera's fickle, and it's picky." He took a long, satisfying gulp of beer. "It don't matter a damn how you shoot Margo Sullivan. It just don't matter a damn. The camera fucking worships her."
He looked toward the bedroom as her warm, throaty laugh flowed out. "And I'll tell you, if she wasn't set on running this store of hers, I'd talk her into coming back to L.A. with me and giving fashion photography a try."
"Then I'd have to break all the bones in your fingers."
Zack nodded. "I thought you might. And since you're bigger than me, I think I'll take Bob his beer to go."
"Good choice." Josh decided a beer might go down well and was just tipping a bottle back when Margo came into the room.
"God, it was good to see Zack again. Is there a split of champagne in there? I'm parched. I'd forgotten how hot you get under the lights."
Her face was glowing as she tilted her head back and ran her fingers through her hair. She'd done something curling and sexy with it, he noted, so that it spiraled wildly.
"And how much I love it," she went on. "There's just something about the whole process. Looking into the camera, the way it looks at you. The lights, the sound of the shutter."
When she let her hair fall and opened her eyes, he was staring at her in a way that made her heart stutter. "What is it?"
"Nothing." His eyes never left hers as he held out the glass of wine he'd poured. "I didn't realize you were thinking of going back to it."
"I'm not." But she sipped, knowing that for a moment it had been a tantalizing thought. "I don't mean I'd never pose again or take an intriguing offer, but the shop's my priority now and making it a success is number one on my list."
"Number one." Had he carried this mood back with him from San Francisco, he wondered, or had it dropped on him like a cloud when he'd walked into the suite and seen her? "Tell me, duchess, just what position do you and I rate on that list?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Simple question. Are we five, seven? Have we even made it to the list yet?"
She looked into her glass, watched the wine bubble like dreams. "Are you asking me for something?"
"I think it's about time I did. And that, I imagine, is your cue to exit stage right." When she said nothing, he set down his beer. "Why don't we try something different? You stay and I'll go."
"Don't." She still didn't look at him, but kept staring at the bubbles rising and dancing in her glass. "Please don't. I know you don't think much of me. You care about me, but you don't think much of me. And maybe I deserve that."
"We're even there, aren't we? You don't think much of me either."
How could she answer when she wasn't at all sure just what she thought of Joshua Templeton? She turned then. He was waiting, and she was grateful for that. Halfway across the room, but waiting.
"You're important to me," she told him. "More important than I expected or wanted you to be. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't know, Margo. I just don't know."
Why was her hand shaking? It was civilized, wasn't it? Just as it was supposed to be. "If you're… if this has run its course for you, I'll understand." She set her glass down. "But I don't want to lose you altogether. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't in my life."
This wasn't what he wanted, this calm, gentle understanding. He wanted her to rage, to throw the wine at his head, to scream at him for having the nerve to think he could walk out on her.