Man of Fantasy

Resting her chin on the heel of her hand, she made a sensual moue, bringing his gaze to linger on her mouth. “I’m thirty-one.”

“You had me fooled,” Ivan admitted. “I thought you were at least ten years younger.”

“I guess there’s some truth in the saying ‘Black don’t crack.’”

Ivan assumed a similar pose when he rested his elbows inches from hers. “I’d attribute it more to a good gene pool.”

Nayo lifted her shoulders. “It could be a combination of the two. Since you’ve asked me a very personal question, I’m going to return the favor. How old are you?”

Attractive lines fanned out around his eyes when he smiled, a smile she yearned to capture for posterity. “I’m thirty-nine.” He’d celebrated a birthday earlier that spring.

“You don’t look that old.”

“How old do I look?”

“Younger than thirty-nine,” Nayo said.

“How many thirty-nine-year-old men have you known?”

“I haven’t known as many as I’ve seen. I’m a photographer, Ivan, so whenever I meet someone, my first instinct is to study their face. And yours is a very interesting face.”

Ivan gave Nayo a long, penetrating stare. He’d been called a lot of things, but he couldn’t remember anyone referring to him as interesting. The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other.

“Did I embarrass you, Dr. Campbell?”

“No,” he countered. “And please don’t call me Dr. Campbell. You’re not my student or my patient.”

Nayo nodded, but didn’t drop her gaze. “Point taken,” she said. “I think the coffee’s ready for my latte.”

Ivan leaned closer. “To be continued.”

His comment told Nayo more than she wanted to know about the psychotherapist. He didn’t like conceding. She stared at the breadth of his shoulders under the cotton pullover. “Will you allow me to photograph you?” It was a question that had nagged at her since she’d come face-to-face with Ivan at the gallery.

Ivan’s hand didn’t waver as he poured a small amount of steaming, frothy milk into a cup of black coffee.

Carrying the cup and napkin, he placed them on the counter in front of her. “Why do want to photograph me?”

“Aren’t you going to make a cup for yourself?”

“No. I’ve already had three cups today, and that’s my limit.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s a lot of coffee.”

Ivan nodded. “I’m down from six cups a day. Why do you want to photograph me?” he asked again.

“I like your face.”

“It’s interesting,” he teased.

Nayo winked at him. “Very. Your features are very symmetrical, and you have what I think of as a beguiling smile. It’s warm, inviting and as a woman I find it quite sensual. You also have beautiful hands.”

“Stop it, Nayo. I thank you for your glowing assessment, but I can’t.”

“I’ll pay you, Ivan.”

“It’s not about money.”

“What is it about, then?”

“I don’t want or need my face on display at some gallery. I’m a therapist and teacher, not some celebrity.”

“But you are a celebrity, Dr. Campbell,” Nayo argued softly. “Are you aware of how many sites come up when your name is searched on Google? Thirty-eight,” she said when he gave her an impassive stare. “Don’t worry, Ivan, I won’t sell your photograph.”

“What do you plan to do with it?”

“Use it in a retrospective.”

“That’s it?”

She smiled. “That’s it, Ivan. And I would stipulate this when you sign a release.”

Ivan shook his head. “I don’t know, Nayo. I have to think about it.”

She wanted to ask him what there was to think about. Most people she knew would jump at the opportunity to have their photographs taken by a professional photographer. She’d spent four years photographing bridges, and now her focus had become people—people from every race, ethnic group and every walk of life. The world was her canvas and she planned to fill every inch of it.

She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “At least you didn’t say no.”

“But I could,” Ivan countered.

A shiver of annoyance shook her. It was the second time in two days that Ivan Campbell had her close to losing her temper. “Either it’s yes or no, Ivan, because I’m not into playing games.”

Ivan bared his beautiful white teeth. “I told you I have to think about it.”

“Dial down the bully-boy attitude. You don’t frighten me.”

A slow smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. “It wasn’t my intent to frighten you.”

Nayo drew the back of her hand over her forehead, mimicking a gesture of relief. “Whew! For a moment I thought you were going to put me under the bright lights and pull out the rubber hose.”

Throwing back his head, Ivan laughed loudly. “Either you’re overly dramatic or you’ve been watching too many old police-procedural movies.”

She gave him a bright smile. “I’ve always had a secret desire to act.”

Ivan sobered. “You’d be a very beautiful actress.”

Two pairs of dark eyes met and fused as a beat passed. Nayo broke the visual impasse when she picked up her cup, staring at Ivan over the rim, and took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“What’s the matter, Nayo? Cat got your tongue?”