Total Package Read Free

shaking her hand, slowly, as though he were studying the fit of it within his own. Just maybe he was wondering if he could drag her to the edge, and—
    “Russian. My father and uncles immigrated, and I was born here.” He was looking at her hand in his, studying it. “You have good hands. Working hands. Small.”
    Sidney withdrew her hand, but the feel of his remained—warm, rough, big. She fought the little unexplained shiver that shot through her. “Ah. See there. You have family. They probably worry about you. Think of them.”
    “Okay, I will. What’s your story?”
    “First, I want your promise that you won’t jump off that cliff after I tell you. Promise, and that’s a direct order.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She thought she heard humor in that tone, and then dismissed it. “That’s better—Danya. You have a last name?”
    “Stepanov.”
    “As in the Stepanov family who lives here? Mikhail, who manages the Amoteh Resort, and Stepanov as in Stepanov Furniture? But then you have a family here. I’ve heard about them, and they’re hard to miss. You’re not alone.”
    “I have just moved here last fall with my father, so that he can retire and relax near his brother—that is Fadey Stepanov, the owner of the furniture line. I’ve gone into business with my brother, Alexi. We’re builders and remodelers.” His smile was slow and thoughtful, as if he loved the ones who would go on living without him…. “Tell me your story. Maybe I can help you? Ships passing in the night and all that?”
    She shook her head. “Keep the roles straight. I’m the one saving you, got it? You just go along and everything will be fine. You’ve got to realize that you’re not alone, that’s the first thing.”
    “But you are here with me—so I am not alone, is that not so? Are you always this bossy?”
    Sidney frowned as she ran through her day in hell. “Like I said, it’s been a rough day. I’m shooting a calendar, not my usual gig. I’m not into commercial portraits, but I wanted out of what I usually do—you know, to try something different. The pay is good, the work stinks—especially the off-hours when the models want to chum it up with me. We’re staying at the Amoteh Resort, doing some beach shots, and at night, they want to play pajama party. They want to include me. I’m hiding out now. There’s nothing worse than a bunch of women moaning over their boyfriends, talking lipstick and hair, and waxing their legs. You have no idea how bad that hurts. To shut them up, I let them do it…almost killed me. It doesn’t stop at the legs, you know—they have to worry about their bikini lines. Now, that really hurts.”
    “Ouch.”
    Sidney nodded; Danya seemed to understand about bikinipain. She could tell by his slight grimace. Communication was progressing; soon he would forget about jumping. She decided to find out the reason for his crossing-out-life-tonight gambit. Touching was always good, according to Bulldog, so Sidney reached out and patted Danya’s jeaned thigh. It was hard and muscles tightened beneath her hand; Danya was in really good shape. He sucked in a breath and his hand had locked over hers, his thumb caressing her palm. It was probably because he needed human touch; Sidney allowed her hand to be held captive. “So, buddy, what’s your story? I’m a good listener—at least, my boyfriend used to tell me that.”
    The mention of Ben took her backtracking to his choice of Fluffy, the blond bimbo, and Sidney was unfolding her whole miserable tale before she knew it. “His name was Ben. We’d been on a few photo shoots together, in some pretty tight places. I’d watch his back, he’d watch mine, that sort of thing. We camped together, went through land mines together, stood on the cusp of a lava river together, shooting away. It was great. He’s a photojournalist. You may have seen our stuff in magazines. Though a lot of people really don’t care about the photographer’s