Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(27)
Author: Anna DePalo

“So what’s the problem?”

Her face shuttered. “I just didn’t want to cause my family any embarrassment.”

“What’s to be embarrassed about?” He frowned. “Are you sure your motivation was simply that you didn’t want to embarrass your family? Or was this your little private act of rebellion against the strictures of being an Elliott?”

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Let me guess. Striking provocative poses for an up-and-coming but unknown photographer didn’t mesh well with the image of Summer Elliott as the oh-so-proper publishing heiress and Manhattan debutante.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He grinned. “Tsk, tsk. Not very polite.”

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“In fact, I do,” he concurred. “Amusing and fascinating. You see, I already own a photograph of Daphne, er, you.”

She looked surprised. “You do?”

He nodded. “It’s hanging in my home in Los Angeles. That’s why I asked you that first night after the concert whether you’d done any modeling.”

“I denied doing any because no one was supposed to know about it.”

He grinned. “Caitlin, Daphne, Summer. Are there any other personas that I should know about?”

“Very funny.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “Daphne has darker hair, though.”

“My hair was digitally enhanced in the photos to make it a couple of shades darker than its natural color.”

“Ah.” No wonder both Summer and Daphne called forth the song for him: they were one and the same person. In his mind’s eye, he saw “Daphne at Play.” The woman’s face was heavily made-up, her body draped sensuously on a chaise longue.

“You know,” he mused, “I love the photograph of you that I have back in L.A. It was the reason I was so dumbstruck when you walked into my dressing room after the concert.”

“You do? You were?” She looked pleased, flattered, and—he hoped this wasn’t just a figment of his fevered imagination—as if she wanted to jump his bones.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said huskily.

She nodded.

He wanted her badly. As he punched the button for the elevator, he just hoped he could hold out until they got back to the Waldorf. He didn’t want to think of tomorrow’s newspaper headlines if they got caught ha**ng s*x in his car.

Before leaving the gallery, however, he stopped long enough to convince Oren to consider selling him the copyright to all the Daphne photos.

He’d pay whatever it took. If one photo of Daphne could stir his imagination, who knew what a roomful of photos would do for his creativity? And then, of course, there was the stimulating idea of possessing Summer’s little secret.

Ten

S ummer looked around Zeke’s mansion again as she waited for him to return from running an errand. It was a bright Sunday morning, and she relished the mild southern California weather. She couldn’t remember being happier.

After leaving the art gallery on Wednesday night, they’d wound up back at Zeke’s hotel suite, where they’d made love until the early hours of the morning and then fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

On Thursday, they’d dined with his parents, whom she’d found to be smart, witty and charming. Sort of, she thought with a smile, like their son.

And then, somehow, she’d let Zeke talk her into coming out to L.A. this weekend. She’d announced at work that she wouldn’t be in on Friday, so the two of them had been able to fly out to theWest Coast together.

Now, as she walked from room to room in Zeke’s Beverly Hills mansion, she was struck anew by how impressive his estate was. When they’d arrived on Friday afternoon, he’d shown her around a bit, but she didn’t have a chance to form more than a general impression. She’d seen that the landscaped grounds boasted an indoor pool, a tennis court and a guest cottage. The house itself, a two-story in the Spanish Mission style, had a red-tile roof, arched doorways and a wonderful veranda, where they’d dined their first night al fresco because of the unseasonably warm weather.

This morning she picked up details that she’d missed in her first walk-through. She loved the way his decor blended antiques of different periods for a look that was stately but still warm and welcoming.

Gram would have approved. She herself approved. Very much. His style reflected her own tastes.

As she walked to the back of the house, she couldn’t help thinking that, so far, their time in L.A. had been idyllic. Yesterday she’d snapped photos of him shirtless, then he’d laughingly taken the camera from her and snapped pictures of her. They’d played tennis, then taken a dip in the pool, which had led to their making love in the pool house, despite her halfhearted protests that someone might stumble upon them. At night, they’d eaten dinner at the Hotel Bel-Air, which had one of the city’s swankiest restaurants.

On top of it all, Zeke was having a subtle but sure influence on other aspects of her life. Her wardrobe had become sexier and more stylish—in no small part, she realized, because she wanted to entice him. And, of course, thanks to him, she was playing hooky from work—and liking it—for the first time in her life.

Summer stopped as she entered Zeke’s music room, where, he’d told her, he liked to play and compose. She looked again at the photograph that hung over the mantel.

She remembered when Oren had taken that shot of her as Daphne, the Greek goddess. She’d been nervous because she’d felt as if she were rebelling, just as Zeke had guessed.

It gave her a thrill to think Zeke had seen “Daphne at Play,” and known that he had to have it. It made her believe that it hadn’t just been she who’d felt an instant connection, as if they’d known each other forever, when they’d met for the first time. It made her think that something significant had started that night—significant enough to necessitate breaking off her engagement to John.

“I see you’ve spotted the photo,” said a voice behind her.

She turned from the photograph to face the man who was sauntering into the room.

“Hello, Marty,” she said. She’d been introduced to Zeke’s manager yesterday. He’d struck her as an experienced music-industry operator who always kept his eye on his client’s interests and who’d perhaps seen too many rising music stars combust on their way to the top.

Marty stopped beside her. “You know, when Zeke told me that you’d walked into his dressing room back in New York, I thought, what an amazing coincidence.”