I Thee Bed...

“I HEAR WHAT YOU’RE SAYING,” Seth began after they’d crossed Hudson Street and had claimed a back booth at a place called Hunan Pan, ordering a sampler platter that included various Chinese dishes they could share. “But—” he turned the newspaper around on the table-top, so she could look at it again “—Jimmy Delaney wasn’t the photographer.”

Surprised, Edie edged the paper toward the flickering flame from a candle on the table and squinted, so she could see in the dim light of the restaurant. “He wasn’t?”

“No. It was some guy named Jack Stevens.”

“Really?” Edie could barely believe it, but when she ducked her head and peered more closely, to read the byline, she saw Seth was right. She shook her head. “Most pictures of this sort have been taken by Jimmy Delaney,” she murmured. Glancing up, she caught Seth’s gaze. “He’s a freelancer,” she continued, explaining. “A member of the paparazzi. Pete Shriver—he’s head of the Darden security staff—has been instrumental in getting eleven orders of protection against him. For some reason, Jimmy’s really into shooting pictures of Julia.”

“She is photogenic,” Seth offered. “And I’ve seen enough pictures of her that Jimmy Delaney can’t be the only guy taking them.”

“True. But Celebrity Weddings has exclusive rights to shoot the wedding preparations, as well as the event at the estate, and Jimmy goes out of his way to show up where he’s not wanted.”

“You’re on a first-name basis,” quipped Seth. “The sure sign he’s a real archenemy.”

“We’re terrified he’ll ruin the wedding.”

Seth looked genuinely surprised. “Ruin the wedding? By trying to take pictures?”

She nodded. “He hardly has Julia and Lorenzo’s best interests at heart.”

“I doubt he wishes them ill.”

“Maybe not.”

“And people like this kind of picture,” Seth argued.

She studied him a long moment. “Lorenzo’s good-looking,” she admitted. “I’ll give you that. And people are interested in following Julia’s life, mostly because she’s the epitome of class—wealthy, beautiful and also a genuinely nice person. But a picture such as this is calculated to harm her relationship with her fiancé.”

“The headline maybe, but not the picture itself,” Seth countered, playing devil’s advocate. “Without the text, you’d just see a guy in the buff in a locker room with an unidentified woman.”

Her jaw slackened. “I can’t believe you’re saying this, Seth! You’re actually defending the photographer! The person who took this picture—” She looked down at the paper again, reading. “Jack Stevens,” she repeated. “He knew exactly what the Post would do with such a picture. He knew how it would be used.”

“Mere conjecture.”

“You’ve been hanging around too long with your best friend,” she scoffed, a smile lifting her lips abruptly, since Seth was obviously trying to rile her. He’d told her his best buddy from Ohio had become a lawyer and that they were still close. Seth was even playing uncle to the kids, which had further piqued Edie’s interest. Her own family was tightly knit, and Seth’s involvement with kids showed he might share her values, as had the way he’d spoken about his parents when the subject had come up. She suppressed a shiver that, coupled with her intense sexual attraction, could make for quite the combination.

“Well, you can’t know what was going on in Jack Stevens’s mind when he took the picture,” Seth pointed out.

“And I don’t want to,” she shot back.

Smiling, he clucked his tongue. “What venom! And for people you don’t even know.”

“And don’t want to,” she repeated, her lips curling.

Lowering his chin, he sent her a long look from under heavily lidded eyes. “Are you really saying you’ve never been sucked into staring at a lurid tabloid headline with curiosity? That you’ve never stopped in your tracks in the street near a news kiosk, just to look at the headlines?”

Crossing her arms, she leaned back in the booth, narrowed her gaze and glared at him playfully. After a long pause, she assured, “Never.”

“Hmm. Never watched Entertainment Tonight?”

She squinted. “You’re trying to make which point?”

“That if you didn’t contribute by becoming part of the market for pictures such as this, the paparazzi would cease to exist. If no one looked, photographers would be out of business. You could cancel your subscription to the Post, you know.” He paused. “Now, tell me you’ve never once bought People magazine.”

Even she could feel the guilty flush creeping into her cheeks. “Not even once,” she lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“I didn’t know I had to choose.”

“Playing both sides of the fence?”

“Always.”

“You must be a Gemini.”

“Guess again.”

“Leo.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ve got a lot of outward charm.”

“Thanks. And you were warm. It’s my rising sign.”

“Ah. Virgo,” she guessed again. “Into control.”

“Nope. Scorpio. In three planets.”

“Dangerous.”

“Sexy. You?”

He was asking for her sun sign, but she only laughed. “Ditto. Very sexy. So I’ve been told.”

“Let me say it to you again then. Sexy.”

“Less so if you’re a two-timer,” she retorted. “Around me, you need to choose sides.”

“If you insist.”

“Okay. So once more, whose side are you on?”

“The one that gets you the most agitated.”

Or aroused.