Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay) by Nan Reinhardt

Author:Nan Reinhardt [Reinhardt, Nan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Fine Wine Romances
Published: 2013-09-24T07:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

After he returned from rehearsal on Friday afternoon, Liam simply followed Carrie around. Loitering in the background as she photographed kids at the Methodist church vacation Bible school. Carrying her tripod and gig bag for a quick shoot down at the sailing club. Later, relaxing on a beanbag chair in the corner of the studio with his Kindle while she did a sitting of senior pictures.

“You’re staring,” she accused him as Heather Harmon and her mother left the studio, outfits and paraphernalia over their arms. It had been a good session—Carrie loved working with a subject who had fun with the experience. Locking the door behind them, Carrie flipped the sign to Closed, then stood at her desk to enter the invoice information into her computer.

Liam rose in one lithe move, coming over to stand behind her. “You know, you’re very good at this.” His warm breath on her neck sent a tingle through her.

Shivering, she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. “Does that surprise you?” Finished, she shut down the computer and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Not at all.” He replaced her fingers with his, massaging her skin. “Did it surprise you?”

She turned around to find herself staring at the open neck of his shirt. He slid his fingers into the curls at her nape, lifting her chin with his thumb. The current between them sparked and flashed every time they were within twenty feet of each other. She swallowed with effort, breathing deeply to control the rapid beat of her heart.

“Honestly?” she said. “It surprised the hell out of me.”

“Why?” He resumed the massage, letting his fingers knead and caress her shoulders, his thumbs only inches from her breasts.

“I’m not like you... or Jack. Both of you have always known what you wanted. From the first moment you touched the keys of a piano. But n–not me.” She was stammering. His touch made thinking practically impossible.

Just breathe.

Inhaling, she tried to find the words. “I–I did what I thought other people wanted me to do. In particular, my dad. I think I was trying to live up to my mother’s memory. The piano. Horses. Always someone else’s dream.”

“When did you start taking pictures?”

“When Jack was born.” She smiled up into his eyes, loving how curious he was about everything and happy to see no judgment reflected there. “Eliot gave me a nice digital camera, and from the first shot, I knew I’d found my true talent. I photographed everyone and everything. Took some night classes at Northwestern in Traverse City. Read voraciously. Invested in equipment, a Mac, software.”

Please, please don’t ask me where the money for the equipment came from. Not yet. I can’t tell you about that until I’m sure we’re going to make it this time.

He pivoted her back around as his fingers found the knot that inevitably developed between her neck and shoulder after a long day’s work. “When did you open this place?”

“About four years ago.” Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder how she afforded the cameras and computer.

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