Exposed by Suzanne Ferrell

Author:Suzanne Ferrell [Ferrell, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Suzanne Ferrell Productions
Published: 2016-06-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The bed shifted, waking Sydney.

In the soft light of dawn, she shifted and watched Frank wiggle into his boxer shorts then haul his T-shirt over his head. Unlike so many men she’d photographed over the years whose bodies had been defined and honed by working out for hours in a gym, Frank’s body reminded her of an old-time warrior. He definitely had well defined muscles, and she imagined he did keep fit for his job by working out, but she suspected part of his work-out routine was manual labor on this house.

More telling were the scars. Two round, puckered scars near his lower left side, and some wicked long scars up the other side. He’d literally put his body in harm’s way to protect people.

Last time he’d gotten up, he’d left the room naked, except for his knee brace and thigh bandage. The moonlit view of his backside had been quite…enjoyable. A few minutes later, he’d returned with another condom and made love to her again, slower and with great detail.

She doubted he’d be back for a third go-round this time. After he left the room, she pulled his pillow in close, cuddling its warmth against her naked flesh and inhaling the soft spice of his aftershave.

A few minutes later, her door opened. He stepped inside, carrying the clothes she’d littered the floor with—now all neatly folded. He stacked them on the dresser and laid her purse on the chair beside it, then left the room again.

She smothered the giggle that threatened to escape.

The man couldn’t help it. He was habitually tidy, probably psychotically prone to neatness. So different from the other men she’d had in her life.

Dad had been organized when it came to his photography equipment and his darkroom, but about the rest of his life he’d been like an absent-minded professor. She remembered how much he couldn’t find anything without Mom’s help. Ian had been worse. He seemed to thrive on the chaos of his room. The messier it was, the more he liked it. His life took on the same pattern.

St. Jacque, the photographer she’d mentored under in Paris and New York, had been a slob, too. Not just in his daily life, but in his business and personal relationships. He expected his intern to not only pick up the mess he made at photoshoots, but she’d had to put more than one hysterical model on the straight-and-narrow path out of his life.

So why was Castello’s borderline obsession with neatness so fascinating to her? Hell, it wasn’t just his OCD tendency she found fascinating. The man was like one giant puzzle—a sexy, gruff, grumpy, neat puzzle. She’d always loved puzzles.

Rolling onto her side, she stared out the window into the grey morning light. Rain splattered against the window. It was going to be a dreary, slow-rain, Central Ohio sort of day.

If she were in her own home, she’d put on her sneakers and raincoat and head out with her camera to take some black and white images of the city.

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