Picture Perfect (The Wilsons) Read online

  Since that night, Lea had changed. Her life had gotten better. But that didn't make the paps happy - they wanted her to slip up, to do something stupid again. There were always photos of her at the galas and charity events she still attended, and the occasional tabloid article about how "sad" her life was now.

  But the worst was when they snapped her on an off day - on the rare occasion when she went to a nightclub, or when she visited Vegas for a friend's bachelorette party. "Wild Times Start Again", the headlines would proclaim, and investors in her boutique fund would call up to check that she, and their funds, were doing ok. She didn't need that drama now, not when she'd just taken some time off.

  She'd almost reached the photographer by now. He didn't look worried that she'd seen him and come up to him - he hadn't attempted to run away, he didn't have that nervous look most of them got when she approached them, and strangely enough, he hadn't tried to take any more photos of her.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and he smiled at her in an irritatingly friendly way.

  Lea wasn't about to waste time on pleasantries. "Give me your camera," she demanded coldly.

  He raised on eyebrow quizzically, the smile never leaving his face. Now that she was closer, Lea realized it was a rather nice smile - softly curving lips, and happily sparkling chocolate-brown eyes. The man had a strangely unkempt look about himself - his hair fell to his eyes in soft waves, and looked like it hadn't been cut in a while. Dark stubble covered his square jaw, and shadows under his eyes gave her the impression that he hadn't slept in a while. And there was something haunting behind his smile, too, something dark and curious…

  Stop it. She must've gone without men for a long time if she found this annoying camera-slinger attractive. She tried to ignore the fact that he was tall and lean, and his baby-blue t-shirt and cargo shorts hinted at well-defined muscles, and focused on his eyes. Why was he still smiling?

  "Excuse me?" His voice was dark and smooth like his hair.

  "You heard me. Your camera, now."

  She held out her hand and her scowl deepened.

  ***

  The woman was nuts. There was no other explanation for it.

  Why else would she, a perfect stranger, be demanding his camera? This was a puzzling wrinkle in what had been an otherwise nice morning.

  Adam had arrived late last night and had slept fitfully. This is a strange hotel, he kept thinking to himself. It had only a few dozen rooms, and was surprisingly luxurious, more like a resort than a typical hotel. Larry must've pulled some strings to get a room here for a month. Why did he have to keep insisting on this silly holiday? He didn't need a break from work - it might be stressful and unpleasant in some ways, but he knew he was making a difference and that's what counted. He remembered the numerous wars and famines he'd captured on camera, and decided the bed was too soft.

  The morning brought with it another dose of guilt - why was he trapped on an island for the rich and pretentious when he could just as easily be taking snaps of Rohingya refugees? And just look at that stick-thin blonde over there picking at her croissant, ready to throw the contents in the bin. He shook his head in disgust, wolfed down his cereal and coffee and headed out to the beach.

  The sunshine and holiday vibe had rubbed off on him a little, but the first beach had been crowded and full of wannabes. There was a small group of paparazzi taking pictures of a D-list celebrity, and near him two excited women chatted about a reality TV star and her sisters who'd visited that beach recently. The overheard conversation had made him decide to get directions to the smaller, quieter beach, and once he’d reached The Rocks, he'd suddenly felt happy. The warm sunshine, the balmy breeze and the crash of waves - no wonder people picked St Martin's as a holiday destination.

  Adam carried his camera everywhere, and though there was nothing particularly exciting about The Rocks, he was soon snapping photos of the surf, the kids playing in the sand, and the surfers who kept getting knocked off their boards.

  And then he saw her in the distance - a slender, dark-haired woman playing with her dog. Both of them were so happy and carefree, radiating the kind of true love that only exists between a dog and its owner.

  So he'd done the natural thing - he'd stood up, zoomed in with his lens and snapped away. As he took one photo after another, he thought hazily that she was quite pretty, and the whole scene was just perfect.

  Her face shone with intelligence and joy, and she would probably be a fun person to know. Too bad she was wearing a sundress and not a bikini, he thought distractedly, wondering how she'd look in one. But then she looked at him and stood up angrily. Uh-oh.

  As she strode towards him, he put the camera down. Some people didn't like taken their picture taken, maybe she was one of them?

  She was even prettier up close. There were golden specks in her amber eyes, and her hair fell down in long, dark waves. Her button nose had the beginnings of a few freckles and she smelled like jasmine.

  And then she'd asked for his camera.

  It had taken a surprising amount of willpower not to ask her if she was nuts. When she repeated her request he asked politely, "Why?"

  Her angry frown and flashing eyes made her look cuter, he decided. She would probably be fun to annoy, but on the other hand, she did seem like one of those crazy women who might just grab his camera and smash it.

  "I saw you taking my photos," she said pointedly, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd delete them."

  Normally, he'd just apologize and delete them. But he had a strange urge to spend more time with Angry Girl and he decided to stall before asking her out for a coffee.

  "There's nothing wrong with taking photos of a beach."

  She rolled her eyes dismissively. "If you think you're selling my photos to some tabloid, think again. I will have my lawyers sue you for damages."

  Now this was amusing. "Why would I sell your photos to a tabloid?"

  She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, as if the answer was self-evident.

  "Look, it's not like you're a celebrity…" Or was she? He'd been out of touch with pop culture for so long, he had no idea if she was the next Madonna or something. Or maybe just another reality TV star? Either way, she seemed pretty determined about those photos. And if she was some kind of celebrity, he didn't want to waste time having coffee with her.

  "Fine, I'll delete them."

  He stepped around so that she could see the LCD viewer on his camera, and he started deleting all the photos of her, one by one. It was a shame, too - they were incredibly nice photos.

  She leaned over slightly to check that he really was deleting them, and he caught a whiff of her jasminey-citrusy scent again. Who was she?

  "I'm Adam, by the way," he offered as he continued deleting the photos.

  "And you obviously know who I am," she responded snidely, as he deleted the last one. "Thanks for that."

  She sounded dubious, as if he hadn't really deleted the photos.

  "What now?" he asked, slightly exasperated.

  "Nothing," she said, shaking her head, and walking away, "Just stay away from me, ok?"

  "Sure thing." A note of doubt had crept into his voice.

  They looked at each other warily, and then she walked away. He tried not to stare after her, but he did notice that she went into the car park and climbed into a jeep and drove away.

  Well, that was that. It was a strange, puzzling encounter, but this was St Martin's, the hangout of the rich and pretentious. What else had he expected?

  ***

  The first day of his holiday had gotten off to a strange start. What was it with beautiful women, were they getting crazier with each passing year? Adam shook his head and decided to forget about that encounter - he busied himself by asking a friendly-looking family of four to keep an eye on his camera and went for a vigorous swim.

  Was there a gym at this tiny hotel? He might hit it up later. His leg hurt as powered through the water, trying to rely mainly on his arms and his one g
ood leg. But the exercise was probably useful - the sooner his leg healed, the sooner he'd be out on the field.

  A while later, when his leg began to hurt quite badly, he made his way back to the shore, toweled off, and lay on the warm sand to give his muscles the chance to recover. The sun had gotten pretty high, so he headed over to one of the open beach-side cafes and ordered a plate of fish and chips. It was fast food, beach-style, and hit the spot. Maybe tonight he'd visit a bar or two and find someone who was beautiful and not crazy, he thought, trying to forget Crazy Girl and her beautiful hazel eyes.

  The hotel was a short car ride from The Rocks, and after Adam parked his cheap rental car and wandered into the lobby, he wanted to pinch himself.

  What was Crazy Girl doing here?

  And from the looks of it, she didn't seem pleased to see him this time, either. He groaned inside as she walked towards him with pursed lips.

  Her eyes were icy. "What're you doing here?"

  "I could ask you the same thing," he replied lightly.

  The brown eyes narrowed. "No, you couldn't. Since you already knew I was staying here."

  She said it in a pointed, matter-of-fact way, and Adam sighed and rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Really. I'm staying here. I'm a guest at this hotel."

  He was tired, the swim had been exhausting, and he realized they were both walking towards the elevator.

  "You're wasting your time."

  The elevator doors closed behind them, and suddenly Adam realized they were trapped together in a tiny space. She was looking up at him now, standing surprisingly close. "You won't get any interesting photos of me again, so you might as well stop wasting your time."

  What was she talking about? He had no idea, but as the elevator moved up, her feminine scent wafted towards him and he imagined the lights going out, getting stuck in this tiny space with her, maybe pulling her close and … Snap out of it.

  He blinked, hoping his desire hadn't been apparent and tried to say something intelligent. "I'm confused," he managed to say, "Who are you, why d'you think I want your photos?"

  The doors opened and she made an exasperated noise. "I'm Lea Wilson," she said, "As if you didn't know that already."

  He stepped out and watched her walk gracefully down the corridor towards her room. She really did have a nice ass… Just before she turned to her door, she glanced back at him and Adam tried not to look guilty as he quickly turned around and walked in the opposite direction towards his room.

  Lea Wilson.

  As soon as he'd taken a shower, he looked her up online, and after a bit of reading up on her, he wasn't surprised that she was so paranoid about paparazzi. Hmm, she wasn't such a crazy girl after all. Of course, she sounded spoilt, pretentious and was - or at least used to be, until six years ago, at which points the tabloids stopped mentioning her - an airheaded party girl who was interested in drugs, drinking and going out with male models and pop stars. Not someone he'd ever share a coffee with, no matter how sexy her ass was.

  ***

  "Lea, Lea… wait!"

  Lea turned around and saw that annoying photographer limping towards her rapidly. She suppressed a smile - he looked so earnest and almost comical, but why should she be happy to see him? Sure, he had a cute smile and muscles that rippled under his clothes. And yes, he did smell like cedar and peppermint and the way he ran his hand through his long hair was cute. But she didn't have to smile back at him - oh wait, it was too late.

  His limp was quite pronounced - she'd never before met a paparazzo with a limp. It obviously hindered their ability to run after their subjects, and she wondered why she was waiting for him in the lobby after he'd called out. She should probably turn and walk out to her car. But he said her name in a strange, lilting way, and she found it hard to be annoyed by the time he caught up with her.

  But she still tried to inject some annoyance into her voice as she crossed her arms and said, "What it is?"

  "I need to apologize."

  Now she was really surprised. "What do you mean?"

  "I didn't realize who you were, I'm not a paparazzo, I work for World News Wire." He pulled out his wallet and fished out his press ID card, which he handed to her. "See?"

  "Adam Brenner." She shrugged and made a cynical face. "Photojournalist, WWN. Sure, but you could've just made up these cards."

  "Really? You think someone would go to all that trouble just to pretend to be a journalist?" It was his turn to look skeptical.

  She stared at him, taking in the disheveled hair and stubble, the camera bag slung around his shoulder. He sure didn't look like a paparazzo. But then again, he didn't look much like anyone she'd ever met before - who went around St Martin's looking like they were a well-dressed bum? Well, a cute bum maybe, but still… "What's with the limp?"

  He seemed taken aback by the directness of her question, but she didn't feel like wasting time, and that limp made her curious.

  "I got injured on the job."

  "Oh, really? Pop star kick you when you were following too close?"

  Adam grinned, revealing even, white teeth. There was something about his smile that took her breath away. "No," he said, "I was shot by Libyan rebels, if you must know."

  Her heart sank. He said it like it was a joke, and he grinned as if he'd just said something funny, but she knew it was the truth. "I'm so sorry."

  Lea felt like an idiot and knew she must look stricken, but Adam just laughed.

  "Don't worry, it's no biggie. Just means I have to take time off and get better." He shrugged his shoulders and made a silly face. "Stupid editor with his stupid sick leave rules."

  It was Lea's turn to laugh, but it was a polite and nervous one. She'd never been around anyone shot by Libyan rebels before. Now that she knew, she could easily imagine him in the African desert, with his stubble and unkempt hair and expensive camera. And for some reason, that image made her feel a bit sad.

  "Anyway," he smiled again, "I just wanted to say, I didn't realize who you were but now I do, I understand why you're paranoid about guys with cameras taking snaps of you. I'll stay away from now on."

  "Uh, sure. Ok. Thanks."

  Lea stared after him uncertainly, as he turned around and limped back towards the hotel's breakfast bar. She had a strange sinking feeling in her stomach, as if someone had just given her a magnificent present and then taken it away immediately.

  Chapter ThreeThe next morning Lea decided to try out the hotel's breakfast bar and settled down with a late breakfast - a chocolate croissant and a cup of black coffee. Just as she bit into the chocolate croissant, she saw Adam enter the room.

  The croissant was delicious, rich and chocolaty, but Lea swallowed her mouthful in a rush, trying her best not to choke. She stared at Adam wide-eyed, wondering if she should raise her arm and wave, or would that make her look stupid?

  Adam was looking away from her, checking out the foods arranged on the breakfast buffet. What if he didn't notice her and went and sat somewhere else? Should she call out to him? Wait, why did she even care, he could go sit somewhere else and maybe they'd never talk again and that was completely fine with her.

  Stop acting like a silly teenager with a crush, she told herself. And it wasn't like she was remotely interested in him - he was the last man she'd ever be interested in.

  After the accident, she'd moved on from the kind of men she dated - no more musicians and actors, only intelligent, well-educated men with stable careers who wanted to start a family. There was no way she'd be more than politely interested in a war-zone photojournalist who had didn't even know what a good haircut looked like.

  And just when she thought he'd never look her way - he did.

  Lea smiled and waved at him instinctively, forgetting about looking silly. He smiled back and limped towards her, ignoring the breakfast buffet.

  "Would you like to join me?"

  Immediately she cursed herself - she must sound so lame. But Adam didn't seem to notice. He s
hrugged and pulled out a chair for himself. "Sure, why not."

  She sipped her coffee intently, feeling a bit awkward while he went through the menu and then finally ordered a trifle muesli when a waitress appeared.

  "So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Do you come here often?"

  They both laughed, and the ice between them melted. "Actually, this is my first day breakfasting here,” said Lea. “I was considering just having some cereal in my room."

  His dark eyes twinkled and he raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a 'cereal in my room' kind of girl. I didn't know Park Avenue Princesses ever ate alone."

  Just like that, any sympathy she'd ever felt for him, and any guilt for calling him a paparazzo melted away and was replaced by a quick, sharp anger.

  "I'm not a Park Avenue Princess," she said, "I'll have you know that I own and manage a successful hedge fund."

  Adam threw his head back and laughed, as though she'd said the funniest thing in the world.

  "What's so funny?"

  He managed to control his laughter and looked at her. "I think you are."

  Huh. He got shot in the African desert and thought she was funny.

  "You have a strange sense of humor," Lea said coldly, trying to be polite. She'd be happy when the breakfast was over and she could get away from him. She regretted waving to him, or wanting him to join her. There was an animal sexuality about him, and something about his annoying, confident manner made her a bit nervous.

  "You want to know why you're so funny?"

  She turned back to her food. "Not particularly." Her chocolate croissant was so much more interesting than this man's conversation. Although even when she wasn't looking at him, his sharp, cedar and peppermint scent was a bit distracting.

  "I'll tell you anyway." He leaned forward and lowered his voice as though he was telling her a massive secret. "You get annoyed really easily. Your face gets all flushed and your eyes narrow and you look really cute."

  He leaned back again, smug and satisfied and Lea tried not to blush. He called me cute! But the way he spoke made her nervous, or was it the way he leaned back in his chair, or just… she looked up and smiled at him. He really did look amused.