“Trading services,” she said, relieved to get her thoughts back under control. “You insinuated that you desired my services and that you were not talking about photography.”
She crossed her arms in triumph.
“That’s right, Carrie Logan,” he answered. “I don’t want you to take pictures of me. I want to know if you’ll go out with me.”
Shock left her speechless. Go out, as in a date? They’d met each other a total of two times. They had a business relationship, and at the moment, that was iffy.
Her fingers tingled, reminding her of the sensation of his body underneath hers.
“Why on earth would I go out with you?” she said.
“Halo effect,” he answered.
“What?”
“It’s time I made some friends in Cherry Lake. Problem is, people don’t like me. However, everyone likes you. Ergo, if you appear to like me, others might give me a chance. Your halo might brighten me up. What do you say? Will you have dinner with me?”
“Why on God’s green earth would I do that for you?”
“Did I forget to mention? In exchange, I won’t charge you for my work. Trust me, it’s a good deal.”
She gaped at him. Yeah, it was a good deal. She knew he’d underquoted her for the original estimate; the additional work represented more than she could afford.
“Dinner,” she said.
“Lunch probably too. Drinks occasionally. You’re familiar with the concept of dating, I assume.”
“Of course,” she snapped. Just because she hadn’t partaken in the activity for way too long didn’t mean she didn’t know how it worked. And what it often led to.
“So to be absolutely clear.” She paused to clear her throat. “We’re not talking about sex.”
His grin returned, wider now and something deep down in Carrie’s belly quivered.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” said Ethan. “At least, not until you brought it up.”
He didn’t look like Bluebeard so much as the big, bad wolf.
Chapter Seven
‡
Carrie felt her insides melt like a forgotten bowl of ice cream. How had the conversation suddenly veered onto sex? She hadn’t taken it there.
Had she?
And sexy and dangerous and mysterious as he might be, she wasn’t looking for sex in any way, shape or form.
If anything, her behavior needed to be even more beyond reproach, in case her little secret got out and she needed to defend her reputation.
“We can be seen together,” said Carrie. “But in a strictly utilitarian way.”
“Utilitarian,” he said. He narrowed his eyes. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Like my Land Rover. So you’re not into hot cars, then?”
Her face grew warm. “I didn’t say that. It looks like a very nice car. But we’re not talking about cars. Or… sex. Or… don’t change the subject. I’m setting out some parameters for our agreement. It’s a non-dating agreement, for the purpose of earning you some positive regard among my circle of acquaintances.”
The smile changed from teasing to outright amusement. “Shall I have my lawyer draw up papers?”
She pursed her lips, then frowned, trying and failing to find an appropriate facial expression. It felt like her everyday mask suddenly didn’t fit properly.
Which was ridiculous. She wasn’t wearing a mask. This is who she was. Who she’d always been. Except that now she, who’d been content to play the role of best friend, dutiful daughter, proper role model and town image-maker, had a whole new set of thoughts running through her head.
She’d always thought that the girl she’d been when she posed with the blue vase had been the poseur, a briefly donned costume now used only as window dressing for a select few.
Three conversations with Ethan Nash, and she was questioning her own identity.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she blurted, then put a hand to her head. “Oh dear. I can’t believe I just said that. Can we both pretend I didn’t?”
Ethan was quiet and when she looked up at him between her splayed fingers, she thought she saw a similar discomfort, a flicker of anger, quickly replaced by fear, followed by something else, something that looked like… sorrow? Fear? Regret?