Part 163 (1/2)

to the intrigue. Blackpool had entertained more than one fantasy about

luring both women into bed. TWo slick, lithe bodies, two agile young

students. His suspicion that Emma was as virginal as Marianne had been

only heightened the appeal.

But he put that thought aside a moment and studied the shadowy

black-and-white prints.

”Marianne said you were good, but I thought that was because you're her

friend.”

”No.” Even in the small room, Emma managed to keep at arm's length. ”I

am good.”

He laughed at that, a low rumble that rushed along her skin. When she

felt her muscles tighten, she s.h.i.+fted farther away. Dammit, he was

s.e.xy. But beneath the primitive appeal was something that repelled her.

”So you are, sweet thing.” When he turned she caught the light scent he

carried with him-leather from his jacket, sweat, and the faint whisper

of beer. ”So, still waters run deep.”

”I know my work.”

”It's more than work.” Casually he braced a hand against the wall and

effectively trapped her. There was an element of danger here he

couldn't resist. ”Photography's an art, isn't it? An artist is born

with things other people lack.” He reached out and plucked a pin from

her hair. She stood still, as jumpy and dazed as a rabbit caught in the

beams of a truck. ”I know. Artists recognize each other.” Slowly, he

drew out another pin. ”Do you recognize me, Emma?”

She couldn't speak or move. For an instant she couldn't even think. As

she started to shake her head, he swooped, dragging his hand