Hot Spot. Debbi Rawlins
a second he regretted that they couldn’t come to terms. He wouldn’t mind working with her. But this obviously was a bad idea. The whole shoot celebrated an image he was trying to get away from. He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
2
MADISON EYED HIM for a moment, trying to decide her best approach. Getting angry would obviously get her nowhere, no matter how much she wanted to tell him to get off his high horse. The waitress arrived with his drink, which gave Madison another few moments to consider pointing out that his agent and producer had both, on his behalf, agreed to this magazine spread.
Nah, too antagonistic. She didn’t need him getting defensive. She wanted his complete cooperation. Besides, it was apparent his agent had couched the truth. The spread had nothing to do with Manhattan and everything to do with the sex appeal of the man sitting across from her. And, oh, baby, was she sitting on a gold mine. She was going to kick ass. Make the other photographers seethe with envy.
But she had to be careful. His agent had confided that Jack Logan valued his privacy. That his initial response had been an unequivocal no. What had changed his mind, she had no idea. All she knew was that she couldn’t have him backing out now.
She watched him flash that million-dollar smile at the waitress, and had to swallow. He truly was beautiful. With those keen hazel eyes that danced with just enough amusement and the kind of daring that could make a girl leap before she looked.
Madison considered herself fairly immune to pretty faces, but even she carefully avoided gazing too long for fear of getting off track, forgetting her goal. He was a meal ticket for her. Nothing more. Anyway, guys like him didn’t go for women like her, which made it easier to stay focused. Most of the time.
He pushed his fingers through his light-brown hair, and for a second she was tempted to ask the burning question. The one that always came up in the gossip columns. The one he always rebuffed. Was there someone special who got to run their fingers through those golden highlights?
As soon as the waitress left, Madison said, “Okay, let’s discuss Central Park. Midday lighting would be best.” She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. Like hell they’d shoot there. Or anywhere outside. She was getting at least two shots with his shirt off, or her name wasn’t Madison Marie Tate. “Of course, a lot of people eat lunch there. Any later and people will be commuting or jogging. That’s okay. We can shoot around them.”
He paused to stare at her over his glass, and then downed the scotch.
Damn, she hoped he didn’t order another one too quickly. The drinks were coming out of her pocket, and at fourteen dollars a pop…God, if her credit card was maxed out she’d kick herself.
“The park’s a big place. Surely we can find some privacy.”
“Maybe. But we can’t shoot in only one spot, we need a variety of backdrops, and we’re bound to attract some attention.” She smiled. “Of course, you’re used to being in the public eye. That shouldn’t bother you.”
His face tightened. Damn. Even frowning he looked good. “Where else did you have in mind?”
“Well, your studio might be interesting. A shot of you in your office, one on the set.”
He thoughtfully pursed his lips, looking entirely too interested in the idea.
“There won’t always be staff around, right?” she added quickly. “I will have to pose you at times, and well, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable with an audience.”
“Pose me?”
“Of course.”
He thought for a moment. “No, not the studio.”
“Okay…” She paused for effect, and shifted her legs. Their knees touched under the table, and the awareness that sparked nearly threw her off track. “Sorry.”
“My fault.” He winced as he moved his legs to the side.
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah, old war wound.”
“Oh. You were in the service?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Close. I was a field reporter back in the day.”
“Right.” She remembered reading his bio. “The Gulf War. Your first big assignment out of college.” The one that had launched his career, she almost said, but something in his grim expression warned her to drop the subject.
“You had another idea for a location?” he prompted.
She smiled sweetly. “How about your apartment?”
“I have a house.”
“Better yet. Where?”
“That’s out.”
“Why? We’d have privacy. People would love getting a peek into your private domain.”
He grunted. “Not going to happen.”
She’d actually started warming to the idea, and threw up her hands. “Then what’s your suggestion?”
He studied her for a long uncomfortable moment. Made her want to check her teeth. Take a swipe at her cheek in case something god-awful clung to her skin. Finally he said, “You’re manipulating me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it. “Is it working?”
He smiled, briefly, and then shook his head. “What about another hotel? The Plaza? The Waldorf Astoria?”
“They’re stuffy. They don’t suit your image.”
“And Hush does?”
“Absolutely.”
He didn’t look happy.
“Look.” She leaned forward. “I know you don’t like the sex symbol image. Your agent told me. But that’s part of what’s earning you the big bucks.”
Frowning, he broke eye contact and stared down at his empty glass.
“Hey, it’s not like I’m shooting a Playgirl layout,” Madison said, her confidence beginning to slip. If he backed out now, she’d be so screwed. “My name is gonna be attached to this. I’m motivated to keep the photos tasteful.”
He looked up and studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You won’t make a big production out of the hotel.”
“Nope. You’re the star attraction. Today’s Man is a woman’s magazine, and every female head turned when you walked in.”
“I didn’t notice,” he muttered.
“You’re used to it.” She shrugged, amazed that even the sudden scowl didn’t detract from his good looks. “That’s probably part of your appeal.”
“Are you always this frank?”
Madison nodded. “It saves a lot of time.”
His lips curved suddenly, surprising her, and unleashing a mass of butterflies in her stomach. The smile reached his eyes and they actually seemed to change color right before her, going from cool green to warm amber. “Okay, Hush it is.”
“Yeah?” She smiled back, words deserting her. Unusual for her. But there was something about this man…
“But…” He held up a finger as if admonishing a naughty child. Even his hands were noteworthy. Tan, with lean fingers and evenly clipped nails. No prissy manicure.
“I’m listening.” Barely. Her stomach was just beginning to calm down.
“I still have veto power.”
“Of course.” Her gaze went again to his hands, to that perfect golden color, so perfect it had to be artificial.
He