She was aware of Web, though, the minute he came to stand before her with his legs planted apart and his eyes scrutinizing what she’d become. She felt her heart beat faster, so she conjured the image of that particularly brilliant competitor she wanted to head the market research division. She’d met the man several times, yet now his image kept fading. She blinked, swallowed and tried again, this time thinking of the upcoming stockholders’ meeting and the issues to be dealt with. But the issues slipped from mind. Something about rewriting bylaws … hostile takeover attempts …
Web turned to issue orders to his assistants, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A quartz floodlight was set here, another there. Reflectors were placed appropriately. A smaller spotlight was put farther to one side, another to the back, several more brought down from overhead. Web moved around her, studying her from every angle, consulting his light meter at each one.
She felt like a yo-yo, spinning to the end of its rope when he looked at her, recoiling in relief when he looked away. She didn’t want to think ahead to when he’d be behind his camera focusing solely on her, for it filled her with dread. So she closed her eyes and thought yoga thoughts, blank mind, deep steady breaths, relaxation.
She’d never been all that good at yoga.
She put herself into a field of wildflowers glowing in the springtime sun. But the sun was too hot, and the wildflowers began doing something to her sinuses, not to mention her stomach. And there was a noise that should have been appropriate but somehow was grating. The chirping of birds, the trickle of a nearby stream … No, the sounds of a gentle piano … a lilting love song …
Her eyes riveted to Web, who approached her bare-handed. “That music,” she breathed. “Is it necessary?”
He spoke as softly as she had. “I thought it might relax you, put you in the mood.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Actually, I wasn’t. If it bothers you—”
“It does. I don’t like it.”
“Would you like something else?”
“Silence would be fine.”
“I need to be put in the mood, too.”
“Then put on something else,” she whispered plaintively, and breathed a sigh of relief when he walked to the side to talk with one of his assistants, who promptly headed off in the other direction. Marni barely had time to register the spectators gathered in haphazard clusters beyond camera range, sipping coffee, munching doughnuts and talking among themselves as they observed the proceedings, when Web returned. He stood very close and regarded her gently. She felt the muscles around her heart constrict.
He put his hands on her shoulders and tightened his fingers when she would have leaned back out of his grasp. “I want you to relax,” he ordered very softly, his face inches above hers. He began to slowly knead the tension from her shoulders. “If we’re going to get anything out of this, you’ve got to relax.”
The background music stopped abruptly. “I can’t relax when you’re touching me,” she whispered.
“You’ll have to get used to that. I’ll have to touch you, to turn you here or there where I want you.”
“You can tell me what to do. You don’t have to do it for me.”
His hands kept up their kneading, though her muscles refused to respond. “I enjoy touching you. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
She closed her eyes. “Please, no. Don’t play your games with me.”
“I’m not playing games. I’m very serious.”
“I can’t take it.” Just then the music began again, this time to a more popular, faster beat. Her eyes flew open. “Oh, God, you’re not going to have memove,are you?”
He had to smile at the sheer terror in her eyes. “Would it be so awful?”
Her expression was mutinous. “I won’t do that, Web. I’m not a model, or a dancer, or an exhibitionist, and Irefuseto make an utter fool out of myself in front of all these people.”
He was still smiling. At the age of thirty-one, she was more beautiful than he’d ever imagined she’d be. Though he had no right to, he felt a certain pride in her. “Take it easy, Marni. I won’t make you dance. Or move. We’ll just both flow with the music. How does that sound?”
It sounded awful, and his smile was upsetting her all the more. “I’m not really up for flowing.”
“What are you up for?”
Her eyes widened on his face in search of smugness, but there was none. Nor had there been suggestiveness in his tone, which maintained the same soft and gentle lilt. He was trying to be understanding of her and of the situation they’d found themselves in, she realized. She also realized that there were tiny crow’s-feet at either corner of his eyes and smile lines by his mouth, and that his skin had the rougher texture maturity gave a man. A thicker beard, though recently shaven, left a virile shadow around his mouth and along his jaw.
His hands on her shoulders had stopped moving. She averted her gaze to the floor. “I’m not up for much right about now, but I guess we’d better get on with this.”
“A bit of pain … a blaze of glory?”
