Exposed (Let Me Love You #3)

Chapter 1

1

NOT WHAT IT SEEMS

2009

MATT

Y ou know how it feels to see someone living the life you thought you’d have? That’s where my head’s at tonight.

The couple I’m photographing today can’t keep their hands off of each other. The wedding ceremony is over, and I’m capturing photos of their reception now. The groom is leading his bride around the dance floor, and I got an excellent action shot of him twirling her under his arm as he smiles at her. They’re going to love it.

At 27, I’ve been doing this for seven years. I started as an assistant with another photographer, then branched out on my own three years ago.

Since I lost my girlfriend Grace in a car wreck four years ago, this job has become painful. Seeing happy couples is too hard when it reminds me of the life I wanted to have with Grace. I’m not sure I’ll ever have my own happy ending.

I’ve thought about applying to be a photographer with National Geographic or Time, or any place that would take me away from this area. My memories here are full of Grace, and I’d like a fresh start.

Two years after she died, I joined a kink club here in Miami. I thought it would help. I’ve always craved dominance in bed, so I went in search of feeling something other than pain and grief.

Although I thrive on being in control, I wasn’t concerned with chasing my climax as much as taking care of my partner and giving her intense pleasure. A couple of Doms quickly labeled me a pleasure Dom and taught me about the lifestyle. While it was enjoyable seeing women get off on the extreme ecstasy I could deliver, I only stayed for about a year.

My partners were women I didn’t know, and the experience felt shallow. No judgment to anyone who loves that, but it isn’t me. Doing kink scenes with random girls got old, but I wasn’t ready to give my heart to anyone. I left the club, but I’ll always be a pleasure Dom.

In the last year, I’ve tried dating, but it sucks. No one connects with me like Grace did. Lately, though, there’s a catering girl at work who’s caught my attention.

I scan the large reception again to see if I can spot her. Movement in my peripheral vision draws my eye. My server girl. Okay, she’s not mine, but I’ve noticed her at three other wedding events over the last two months. A magnetism pulls me to her every time I see her.

As my focus turns back to the bride and groom, my server girl stays in the forefront of my mind. She’s industrious, always flitting around and accomplishing twice as much as the other servers around her. Her short, dark brown hair is in a high little ponytail and swishes with every step she takes. She carries herself with an alarming amount of poise since she only looks about twenty. And physically, she’s stunning. Her petite frame is complemented by her big doe eyes.

I tried to talk with her the other three times I saw her, but she brushed me off. Each time she avoided eye contact with me, so I don’t know the color of her eyes. Every time the events were over, I looked but couldn't find her.

Tonight, I’m finding out what eye color she has. The fourth time will be my charm, and I’m not leaving here until I’ve asked her out or have her phone number.

My eyes scan the room to find my server again. A male guest is towering over her. The front of his shirt is wet, and he’s yelling at her.

Most of the guests are at least tipsy, and no one is intervening.

Hell, no . I snap into action, because she’s not getting chewed out on my watch.

Letting my camera hang from the thick strap around my neck, I hurry over. My fingers run over the smooth metal of the loaded gun in the holster around my waist. After a wild wedding two years ago, I got my license to carry a concealed weapon .

The bearded guy picking on her is at least twice her size and probably a decade older than me.

“Like I said, sir ,” the girl says with a tight smile as I step up to them, “you grabbed my butt and surprised me.”

The guy assaulted her?

“You’re not allowed to grope the servers,” I growl at the guy, placing myself between them.

The big guy glares at me, then gestures at the girl’s body. “Tell her to dress differently then.”

Are you fucking kidding me? I look at her modest uniform: a simple white button-up shirt and black pants, same as the other servers. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but he has no right to force himself on her. Plus, she’s way out of his league.

“This is my uniform,” the girl retorts, clearly frustrated.

Her glittering green eyes flit to mine. Green . More than the color, the spark of fire in them gets my attention.

This woman is a fighter. My world stops spinning as I try to memorize the way she looks at me. Her youthfulness and vulnerability are apparent, but her mysterious gaze seems to hold a lifetime of secrets.

I. Am. Shook.

Captivated .

Too quickly, her gaze focuses on the jerk again.

That won’t do. I’ve waited a month for this moment, and he’s interrupting. Rude .

My server girl grips the tray of drinks tightly, like she’s holding herself back from telling him off. I like her. She’s got impressive self-control.

I, however, do not.

“I’ll escort you out,” I growl. I’ll take him outside and beat him up for touching my server girl.

“Who are you? The photographer? You can’t escort anyone out,” the guy laughs.

Fuck around and find out, prick.

I love when people underestimate me, because it makes the payback that much sweeter.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. My job is to give the bride and groom wedding memories to last a lifetime. You groping the caterers impedes my ability to do that,” I reply, widening my stance and crossing my arms over my chest.

“Whatever,” the guy grumbles.

“Don’t mess with her again, or there’ll be hell to pay,” I promise.

Guys assaulting girls makes my blood boil. She shouldn’t have to deal with it.

My server girl slipped away while I was confronting the guy. Disappointment pricks me in the chest, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. Still, I’ll find her.

***

Four hours later, I’m dejectedly walking to my car in the dark. Once again, I lost my server girl. I asked every server I could find, but none of them know about her. Seems like she keeps to herself.

I parked in the back of the venue, and there’s hardly anyone around. Most of the guests dispersed right after the bride and groom made their exit through a human tunnel of guests holding sparklers. I’m almost to my car when I hear voices coming from the side of the building.

“Get away,” I hear a girl’s strained demand. My protective instincts kick in, and I rush in that direction.

I turn the corner of the building to see my server girl is struggling while the big, bearded guy from earlier tonight grips her bicep.

Oh, I’m going to enjoy breaking you, jackass . I leave my camera bag on the black pavement and pop my knuckles on my way to them.

“Come on. We can have fun tonight,” the guy drawls.

“No,” she says sternly.

My heart thuds against my rib cage as I run to intervene, and the girl whips out pepper spray and douses the guy’s face with it.

‘Atta girl .

Jerkface cries out as he stumbles backward and swipes at his eyes.I shove him hard and insert myself between them.

“What the fuck?” He shouts, then charges blindly in our direction.

I’m in front of her, and this amateur won’t get through me.

He throws a sloppy punch my way, but I easily dodge it. I land a solid right hook to his nose and grind out, “Told you not to touch her.”

He grabs his bloody nose with one hand and wipes his eyes with the other. “You broke my nose,” he whines.

“No means no, you dick. Get lost,” I nod my head away from us.

Don’t get lost. Come at me.

The universe is on my side, because the douchebag swings unsuccessfully in my direction again. With one more punch and a kick to his ribs, I lay him out flat as a small yet satisfying crack rings out.

He squeals in pain, then passes out on the asphalt.

“Did you break his ribs?” She asks with wide eyes.

“One, hopefully. Broken nose and a broken rib. Two broken bones for assaulting you twice,” I shrug and shake out my hand.That douche needs to leave women alone.

“Does he need help?” She asks in a trembling voice.

“Nah. He’s black out drunk. Let him sleep it off here. He’ll wake up with a hangover. Probably won’t even remember how it happened,” I chuckle.

Her finger is still on the pepper spray trigger.

I hold my hands up in surrender. Damn, she’s scared of me. “You okay? I got violent with that prick, but I won’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

“That guy was twice your size. All pepper spray did was piss him off.”

“It would’ve given me a chance to get away if you weren’t here,” she argues.

“Possibly.” I give a thoughtful frown.

“Thanks for your help,” she says warily, her body slanted sideways in a defensive stance.

“I won’t hurt you,” I promise softly.

I’m a tall, muscled guy, and I don’t want her afraid. Taking a step backwards, I put my hands in my pockets so I look less threatening.

Now is probably not the best time to ask her out, but what if I don’t see her again? I have to shoot my shot. “I’ve noticed you at the same events as me. You’re a hard worker.”

She lifts her chin at my compliment. “Thanks.”

“Want to grab a drink sometime?” I venture.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “That’s nice of you to ask, but no.”

“Why?” I press.

“I’ve got other stuff to focus on.”

Disappointing, but I’m not giving up that easily. “Okay. Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it,” I offer.

“I’m walking actually. Thanks, though.” She leaves the can of pepper spray ready at her side.

“You’re joking, right?” I grin.

“No,” she replies without smiling.

“It’s midnight in Miami. Where are you walking to?”

“To where I’m going,” she answers cryptically.

I’m a naturally protective guy, and I want to make sure no one else messes with her.

“You live near here? Let me give you a ride,” I suggest.

“I don’t take rides from strangers.” She shakes her head no, and her short ponytail swishes behind her. The urge to grab it, twist it around my fist and make her bend to my will pops up.

Not the time. Chill out.

“I’m Matt. What’s your name?” I ask, dismissing those thoughts from my head.

She pauses a beat before answering, “Lucy.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Lucy. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“What?”

“Go with it,” I urge.

“Cookies and cream,” she answers.

“Okay. We’re not strangers anymore,” I tilt my head toward my car. “Let me give you a lift home.”

There’s no way she should walk this late alone.

“I’m good.”

“Not asking you again,” I shake my head.

“Good,” she parks a hand on her hip with a self-satisfied smile. She thinks I’m giving up.

Wrong .

“I ought to throw you over my shoulder and carry you to my car,” I comment.

“I’d pepper spray you.”

“That’s why I’m not going to,” I concede. My eyes are already tired from the long day. They don’t need fiery spray in them. “Can I have your phone number so you can text me when you get home safely?” I ask.

“Don’t have a phone.”

“You don’t have a phone?” My chin tips forward in shock. “Who doesn’t own a phone?”

“Me. Thanks for your help with that guy. Good night.” She turns and walks toward the sidewalk.

She’s left me with no choice. I grab my camera bag and hightail it to my car.