Her head shot up and, in that instant, the fact of his identity hit her squarely in the face again. The bright blotches that had risen on her cheeks faded quickly. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered tremulously.
“I am.” He leaned back and threw one long arm across the back of the sofa. His forearm was tanned, corded, lightly furred with hair. “You’re right for the cover, Marni. I’ve spent a lot of time going over the concept of the magazine with your staff, and you’re right for the cover. You’ve got the looks. You’ve always had the looks, only they’re better now. More mature. And God knows you’ve got the position to back them up.”
His voice took on a harder edge at the end. Marni thought she heard sarcasm in it, and she bolted to her feet.
It was a mistake. She swayed, whether from the wine or the lingering shock of seeing Web after all these years, she didn’t know. But that was irrelevant; before she could utter a protest, she found herself back in the chair with her head pressed between her knees.
Web was on his haunches before her. “Deep breaths. Just relax.” His large hand chafed her neck, urging the flow of blood back to her head. But the flood that came to Marni was of memories—memories of a gentler touch, of ecstasy, then of grief, utter and total. Seared by pain she hadn’t known in years, she threw his hand off and pressed herself back in the chair, clutching its arms with strained fingers.
“Don’t touch me,” she seethed, eyes wide and wild.
Web felt as though she’d struck him, yet she looked as though she’d been struck herself. As he watched, she seemed to crumble. Her chest caved in, her shoulders hunched, and she curled her arms protectively around her stomach. She was shaking again, and it looked like she might cry. She blinked once, twice, took a slow breath, then forcibly straightened her body. Only then did she look at him again.
“You knew. I didn’t, but you did. Why did you agree to this?”
“To work forClass? Because I think it’s an idea whose time has come.”
“But you had to have learned pretty quickly who the publisher was. Why did you go ahead?”
“If your father had still been at the helm, I might not have. I wouldn’t have worked for him. I knew he’d been kicked upstairs, and I’d been told you ran everything, but I wasn’t sure how involved he still was. For a while there I waited to get that thank-you-but-no-thank-you call, and if it had been from him I would have said the words before he did.”
“He only comes in for quarterly meetings,” she said, defending her father against the bitterness in Web’s tone. “He isn’t interested in the details of the business anymore. And even if he’d heard your name, I doubt he’d have said anything.”
Web gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t tell me he’s forgiven and forgotten.”
“Not by a long shot,” she muttered, then added pointedly, “None of us has. But he wouldn’t have associated that … that Web we once knew with Brian Webster the photographer any more than I did.” Her renewed disbelief mixed with confusion. “Butyouknew, and still you went ahead. Why?”
He shrugged, but it was a studied act. “I told you, the idea was good. I felt it might be the right move for my career.”
“I don’t recall your being ambitious.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’ve changed.”
He’d spoken in a deep voice that held cynicism, yes, but a certain sadness, even regret as well. All of it worked its painful way through Marni’s system. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “But when you found out you’d be photographing me, didn’t you have second thoughts?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And still you agreed to it.Why?”
It took him longer to answer, because he wanted to give her the truth. He felt he owed her that much. “Curiosity,” he said at last.
She shook her head, unable to believe him. If he’d said “revenge” or “arrogance” or “sadism,” she might have bought it, but he wouldn’t have said any of those. He’d always been a charmer.
She couldn’t take her eyes from his, and the longer she looked the more mired in memory she became. “This isn’t going to work,” she finally said in a low, shaky voice.
Web stood, feeling nearly as stiff as she looked. One part of him agreed with her, that part swamped with pain and guilt. The other part was the one that had grown over the years, that had come to accept things that couldn’t be changed. He was a professional now. He had a name, a reputation and a contract. “You can’t back out, Marni,” he forced himself to say. “There’s an entire crew out there waiting to go to work.”
She eyed him defensively. “I don’t care about the crew. I’ll pay for the services they would have given today, and for yours. We can find another model for this cover.”
“On such short notice? Not likely. And you’ve got a production deadline to meet.”
“We’re way ahead, and if necessary we’ll change the schedule. I can’t do this.”
His eyes hardened. He wasn’t sure why—yes, he’d had personal reservations when the idea had first been presented to him—but he was determined to photograph her. Oh, he’d been curious all right, curious as to what she’d be like, what she’d look like fourteen years later. He hadn’t expected to feel something for her, and those feelings were so confused that he couldn’t quickly sort them out. But they were there. And hewasgoing to photograph her.
He wondered if it was the challenge of it, or sheer pride on his part, or even the desire for a small measure of vengeance. Marni Lange’s family had treated him like scum once upon a time. He was damned if one of them, least of all Marni, would ever do it again.
“Why can’t you do it?” he asked coolly.
