Say You Love Me Read Free Page B

on to the picture all day hoping to convince herself the note and
     picture had been a joke, but finally her conscience had worn her down. She
     hadn’t been able to justify not showing R.J. the photograph.
    Not even to save her own
     skin.
    Hopefully, it
     wouldn’t come down to that. This was an isolated incident. The police would
     investigate.
    And she
     wouldn’t have to be involved or divulge her secrets.
    â€œI know you’re shaken, Britta,” R.J.
     muttered.
    â€œI’ll be
     fine. After all, this is probably a false alarm. We aren’t positive the
     woman is really dead. The photographer could have staged the scene to look
     like a murder. For shock value.”
    â€œTrue. But he had to know we’d check it out before
     we printed it.”
    Britta shrugged and rubbed at her temple, appalled that R.J. would
     consider showcasing such violence in their magazine. “Who knows what drives
     people. Maybe he’s a photographer and wants to impress us so he can land a
     job here.” Or maybe he meant for her to call the police because he wanted
     public recognition.
    R.J. stopped pacing, his tall lanky frame silhouetted in the window,
     his laser eyes piercing her as if contemplating the possibility. Outside,
     gray clouds cast shadows across the office, making the room seem even
     smaller and more claustrophobic. Zydeco music pounded the air, the shouts of
     partiers from the street below echoed through the dirt-streaked window.
     Crowds of tourists still cheered and talked about the parade. Although it
     was early evening, tourists had already dipped into the happy-hour specials
     with tequila and pitchers of beer and were filing into the strip joints for
     their first peep show of the night.
    â€œI have to meet with our legal team. Do you think
     you can handle the police?” R.J. asked.
    Britta clenched her hands together.
     “Sure.”
    For a moment,
     R.J. reached for her. Twice when they’d discussed her column, debating over
     which submissions to print and which ones were too graphic, R.J. had hinted
     at wanting a personal relationship with her. Hinted that he’d like to share
     his secret sexual fantasies with her.
    She backed toward the door. R.J. was barely
     thirty, only a few years older than her and was well-dressed in his Armani
     suits. Attractive. Single. Sexy. Mysterious.
    But dangerous.
    The collection of gargoyles on his bookshelf made
     her uneasy. And he had dozens of nude sketchings on his walls—all macabre
     with scenes of violence—along with an S and M calendar and bronze sculptures
     of mutant creatures—part human, part animal.
    Some men had dark sides. R.J. was one of them.
     She’d witnessed his charm and ability to seduce a woman. Then his volatile
     temper.
    His
     fantasies teetered on the narcissistic side.
    And she didn’t want to be any part of
     them.
    * * *
    T HE HEAT FROM the New Orleans air simmered
     with sexuality and smelled of raw body sweat that only heightened R.J.’s
     lustful thoughts. The magic of Mardi Gras fed his addiction to the night
     life and celebration of man’s greatest pleasure—the physical coupling of man
     and woman.
    He wanted
     Britta. He had wanted her for a long damn time.
    But she wasn’t ready—yet.
    In fact, if she knew the gritty
     cravings in his mind, she would run a million miles away.
    She might even suspect that he’d sent
     that lurid photograph.
    A soft laugh escaped him. But she couldn’t run forever. One day she’d
     see that the two of them were meant to be together. That he had built this
     magazine with her in mind. That each day as he walked the streets of the
     French Quarter, he imagined seducing her in his office, ripping off her
     clothes and taking her on his desk. Each night he fell asleep with fantasies
     of her on top of him, her legs spread wide on his bed, taking his aching
     length into her warm body. With her tied