Hot Spot. Debbi Rawlins

silky, the kind his coanchor had to slave for and frequently complained about. He’d only listened with half an ear. Skin wasn’t what he normally noticed about a woman. He didn’t know why he did now.

      She looked away, probably because he’d stared too long.

      “It’s still about sex,” he said finally.

      She let out an exasperated sound and looked at him again. “How can you say that? This is about attention to detail. Making the place beautiful. Romantic.”

      “Which is conducive to sex.”

      “Romance and sex aren’t the same things.”

      He gave her an appalled look. “They aren’t?”

      A smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t be such a guy.”

      “I’ll ignore that sexist remark.”

      “Thank you. Want to see the pool?”

      “Sure.”

      “It’s this way.” When she turned, the camera bag hanging on her shoulder swung hard enough to smack his arm. She covered her mouth and murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

      His hand reflexively went to the assaulted area. “What do you have in that thing?”

      She gingerly touched his bicep. “I hope I didn’t bruise you.”

      He laughed. “I think I’ll live.”

      “Of course a little makeup would take care of that,” she murmured mostly to herself but her warm breath managed to drift across his cheek.

      The sudden urge to touch her face really confused him, and he stepped back, afraid his body’s reaction might take an embarrassing turn. Only then did her comment sink in. “Makeup? On my arm?”

      She nodded and lowered her hand. “For the photos.”

      He stared at the spot, closer to his shoulder than his elbow, and then met her eyes. “I’m not taking off my shirt.”

      “You have to.”

      “I wouldn’t bet your camera on it.”

      3

      MADISON WASN’T ABOUT to argue. He would take off his shirt when the time was right. So far she’d been able to coax even the most reluctant subject to comply with her requests, be it to smile or show a little skin. Nothing too risqué. Just tantalizing. He’d be no different, as long as she didn’t blow it by shooting off her big mouth. She knew better than to bring up the issue. But for a moment he’d gotten her so damn flustered she couldn’t think straight.

      It wasn’t just her. There was definitely a je ne sais quoi thing happening with him. A mysterious appeal that couldn’t be defined by mortal beings. It was just there.

      “I only meant that if we take a shot with you in the pool or spa—” She shrugged and smiled when his expression darkened. “Forget I said that. Let’s go.”

      She headed for the pool without glancing back, hoping like hell he followed. She didn’t have a lot of time to get her photos in to Today’s Man, and with his schedule he probably had even less time to pose for them. It wasn’t as if they had a contract. If he were to suddenly withdraw…

      Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about that.

      “Madison? Slow down.”

      She swallowed and then turned to face him. “Yes?”

      “Let’s skip the pool.”

      “It’s just right there.” She pointed. “Have you seen the bottom? It’s a mosaic of black and pink tiles and the same Plexiglas roof—”

      He didn’t look happy as he glanced at his watch. “I have only twenty minutes.”

      “Right. Okay. Let’s go look at one of the suites.” She knew what he was doing. Warning her not to waste time with the pool because he wouldn’t be removing his shirt. Fine. There was always the spa.

      The elevator trip down to the eighteenth floor was short and silent. His mood had definitely shifted, and Madison decided it would be wise to give as little information as possible for now. Once they started the shoot, she’d get him relaxed and more amenable to her suggestions.

      Using the card key, she opened the double doors to the penthouse suite, three thousand square feet of sheer decadence. One night in this pleasure palace would cost her the equivalent of five months’ rent.

      The foyer alone was huge, massive, and the floor an incredible Italian marble that made her want to tiptoe across so she wouldn’t leave a single mark. On the walls hung Warhol originals that Madison had already drooled over when Janice Foster, the hotel’s manager, had graciously given Madison the tour yesterday.

      “Not bad, huh?” She grinned at Jack. “They call this the Pop Suite. Two bedrooms, three baths, with butler service.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have my arm twisted.”

      He smiled and strolled over to look at the artwork. “I didn’t see this one during the opening.”

      “I’ve only seen two other penthouse suites. One being the bridal suite, so I don’t think we’ll be doing a photo spread there.”

      “I’m surprised.” Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I figured that would be your first choice.”

      “You’re supposed to be the city’s most eligible bachelor. The last thing I want to do is dispel the fantasy.”

      He turned away, the smile gone. Clearly he hadn’t considered that angle, and like a damn fool, she’d pointed it out. He went to the window and stared out at the skyline, and she quietly went to stand beside him.

      “Amazing city, huh?” she said, glancing sideways at him. Great profile. Straight nose. Strong jaw. Her heart foolishly skipped a beat.

      “That it is.”

      “Are you from here?”

      He looked at her, briefly, probably wondering if she’d read his bio…which she had, but now with his gaze on hers, she couldn’t remember detail one as he turned his attention back to the glittering symphony of lights. “Nebraska.”

      “No kidding.”

      “No kidding,” he repeated. “Know where that is?”

      “Midwest.”

      A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Close enough.”

      “Do you miss it?”

      He turned back to her again, an odd look on his face.

      Oh, no. Now what had she said wrong?

      “I had to think for a moment,” he said. “That’s not a typical question.”

      “And here I thought I was being so cliché.”

      He really smiled, causing that flutter in her chest again.

      She silently cleared her throat. “So? Do you?”

      “You’d make a hell of an interviewer. You don’t give up.”

      “I’ve been accused of persistence on occasion.”

      “Not a bad quality.”

      “Depends on who you ask.” She shrugged and moved away from the window, becoming increasingly aware of his nearness. Of the way his chin was starting to shadow…of the attractive crease in his cheek when he smiled. “If you don’t want to talk about your family that’s fine.”

      “They’re all still in Omaha and I go back to see them about once a year. My parents and I have a great relationship, so there’s no dirt to dig up.”

      Nothing in the world annoyed her more than to be associated with paparazzi