Taking It All Off

She headed toward Stacy’s office, turning the corner just as the stairway door burst open and a familiar figure in motorcycle leathers barely missed colliding with her. He jerked back just in time, though the saddlebag slung over his shoulder popped open, spilling manila envelopes across the floor at her feet.

“Hey, sorry.” Jake Dawson, staff photographer and unconventional thorn in her father’s side, reached out to steady her. “I didn’t expect anybody to be out here.”

She shrugged out of his grasp, the leather of his fingerless gloves dragging against the silk of her blouse. With the ends of his shoulder-length blond hair tangled by the wind and his jacket unzipped to reveal a Museum of Modern Art T-shirt, Jake stood out amidst the suited office workers like a cobra in a cage of pigeons. And he was about as dangerous, at least to her sense of well-being. He had the annoying ability to fluster her, in spite of her best efforts to remain cool. Maybe it was the unnerving way his steel-blue gaze met hers directly, as if daring her to hide anything from him. Or the obvious enjoyment he got from refusing to adhere to any accepted standard of corporate behavior.

Or maybe it was the heat that built within her whenever he was near, an unbidden flicker of desire that reminded her that she was a woman and Jake was a man with a capital M. A man she didn’t want anything to do with, despite the automatic way her body responded to him. Why was it she could control everything else about her life but the way this one man made her feel?

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” She hid her agitation by stooping and picking up a handful of the envelopes that had slipped from his bag. As she rose, one of them opened and a black and white photograph slid to the floor.

She stared at the photo, warmth flooding her face as she realized it was the image of a nude woman—a full-breasted, round-hipped woman seated in a chair, hair falling across her face, hiding her identity, while her spread-legged posture left nothing else to the imagination.

“Do you mind?” Jake eased the photo from her hand.

“Wh—what are you doing with those?” Glynna stepped back, struggling to remain calm, though her heart beat wildly and tension coiled between her thighs.

Jake glanced at the photo, a half smile on his lips. “Didn’t anyone tell you? We figured it would really increase the readership of Texas Style if we started including centerfolds.”

Typical Jake. He could never give a straight answer. Fine. She could play his game. “Uh-huh. And of course, you volunteered to do all the photography.”

“Of course.”

“And is that some of your work?” She nodded to the photograph, struggling not to stare at the arresting image. It was erotic, without being pornographic. Artistic, even. Not that she was an expert or anything….

“As a matter of fact, it is.” He slipped the photo back into the envelope and replaced it in his bag. When he looked at her again, his expression was teasing. “Maybe you’d care to pose for me sometime? Bet your dad would like that, huh?”

She stiffened, even as her nipples tightened at the thought of getting naked with Jake. “What does my father have to do with it? Not that I have any intention of ‘posing’ for you.”

He shrugged. “No surprise there. You’re daddy’s girl, after all.” His gaze traveled up her legs, across her torso, lingering on her breasts before meeting her eyes once more. “It’s a shame, really.”

He turned and sauntered down the hall, his boot heels making muffled thuds on the carpet.

Glynna stared after him. “What do you mean by that?” But she spoke too softly for him to hear her.

Not that she didn’t already have an idea of what his answer would be. Jake had made no secret of the fact that he thought she and her father were uptight, image-obsessed corporate clones “who wouldn’t know fun and sexy if it climbed up on the conference table and did a dance.” Or such had been his assessment at the last staff meeting he’d been forced to attend.

If he wasn’t such a brilliant photographer, her father would have fired him weeks ago. But brilliance—and advertiser and reader praise—could convince a publisher to overlook a lot.

On shaky legs, she continued down the corridor toward Stacy’s office. Jake was a gifted photographer. His work had won recognition from the Texas Press Association and he’d garnered awards in regional shows. So why was he taking pictures of naked women? Was the woman in the photo a model—or a girlfriend?

She frowned, ignoring the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. What difference did it make to her? No doubt Jake Dawson had a string of model-girlfriends eager to pose for him. Women who were as “fun and sexy” as Glynna wasn’t.

Pondering this disturbing thought, she knocked on Stacy’s open door.

“Glynna! Come in.” Smiling, Stacy turned from her computer to greet her friend. A thirty-something blonde with a reputation for making change happen, Stacy had been hired to turn things around at the ailing magazine. But already she and Gordon had butted heads over what direction Texas Style should take. Glynna figured the battle would be interesting, as long as she herself stayed out of the line of fire.

She settled in the chair in front of Stacy’s desk and slipped out of her high heels. “What’s up?”

“The usual Monday morning chaos.” Stacy nodded at the pile of paper in front of her. “Did you have a good weekend?”

Glynna shrugged. Her typical weekend was spent working on copy for the magazine, cleaning her condo and having Sunday dinner with her father. Nothing exciting there. “The usual.” Let Stacy make of that what she would.

Stacy arched one perfect brow. “No hot dates? Sexy men? Wild adventures?”

Glynna laughed out loud. “Since when does any of that apply to me?” When she did date, she favored conservative, bookish types. Not particularly thrilling, but the playing field wasn’t that broad in her social circle.

Stacy made a noncommittal noise and opened a file folder in front of her. “Was that Jake Dawson I heard in the hall just now?”

Glynna silently cursed the hot flush that rose to her face. “Yes.”

“Mmmm. Now there’s a sexy man for you. Gorgeous, smart, talented and a little crazy.” Stacy grinned. “You wouldn’t have a boring weekend with him.”

“I wouldn’t have any kind of weekend with him.” Glynna sat up straighter, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at the thought of a date with wild man Jake Dawson. “Honestly. He’s not my type and I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like you? Attractive, smart and talented. Sounds to me like the two of you have a lot in common.”

Glynna crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “You’ve been working too hard, Stace. You’re imagining things.” She leaned forward, eager to change the subject. “So what did you want to see me about?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love this.” Stacy riffled through the folder and pulled out a slick color brochure. “Take a look.”

Glynna glanced at the picture of a photogenic young couple clad in teeny, tiny swimsuits, lounging in the surf. What’s your romantic fantasy? the brochure asked.

She turned the page. An elaborate sandcastle-like structure sat on a beach where palm trees swayed and more young couples frolicked in the surf. “At La Paloma Resort, fantasies do come true,” she read from the brochure. “La Paloma? I’ve never heard of the place.” She slid the brochure back to Stacy. “Is it one of those Caribbean places for honeymooners?”

“You’re almost right. It’s a new couples-only resort on Paloma Island—off the coast of Galveston. The grand opening is this weekend, and we’ve been invited to send a reporter to cover it.”

“Why? I mean, I guess a new resort is nice, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing Texas Style usually covers.”

“Exactly. The old Texas Style would have had a one-paragraph blurb buried in the back of the magazine, behind an article on some oil baron’s redecorating project and a piece on downtown steak restaurants. Which explains why sales figures are plunging to the basement.” She picked up a hefty stack of computer printouts and shook them at Glynna. “If we want to attract more advertisers, we need to attract younger, hipper, sexier readers. And that means hipper, sexier articles.”

“But a new resort?”

“Not just a new resort. I’m thinking of a cover article with the theme ‘romantic fantasies.’ Something sexy and fun.”

Glynna shook her head. The typical Texas Style cover story focused on the upcoming opera season or the dismal state of oil futures or other topics deemed of interest to Houston’s Old Guard upper class. “My dad will never go for it.”

“Which is why I don’t intend to tell him until it’s too late to do anything about it.” Stacy leaned toward Glynna. “There’s not going to be a Texas Style magazine if we don’t do something drastic, and soon. The competition is killing us. But an article like this, done right, will get people talking about us. That kind of buzz translates into readers and ad dollars. Your father may balk at first, but he’ll thank me later.”

Glynna sighed. “You’re right. Dad is set in his ways, but he’s a good businessman. He won’t argue with results.”

“Great.” Stacy sat back, smiling. “Be at Pier Six at nine o’clock Friday morning. The resort’s yacht will transport you to La Paloma.”

“Yacht?” Glynna stood. “What are you talking about?”

“The grand opening? I told you they’ve invited a reporter to attend, to write about the resort.”

Glynna jumped to her feet. “But it doesn’t have to be me! Didn’t you say this was couples only? And I’m an investigative reporter. Romance isn’t my thing.”

“Then maybe it’s time you ‘investigated’ the topic.” Stacy set aside the computer printouts and leaned toward Glynna. “I’m taking a real risk here. This story has to be stellar if I’m going to pull this off. I need my best writer—and that’s you.”