Just for Show Page 8

  The subtitle of the chapter caught her attention. Sex Begins in the Kitchen. Lana raised her brows. “Wow. I didn’t know you were writing that kind of book.”

  “What?”

  Lana pointed at the subheading.

  “Oh, no, no.” Claire vehemently shook her head. “It’s not what you think. I mean, yes, a healthy sex life is part of a good relationship, but this chapter isn’t about sex. It’s about making your partner feel loved by sharing household chores. The subtitle is merely meant to grab the reader’s attention.”

  “Oh. It definitely worked.”

  Claire laughed. “You sound disappointed.”

  “Yeah, well, sex on the kitchen table sounds way more interesting than taking out the garbage.”

  Claire smacked her lips as if her mouth had gone dry.

  Lana couldn’t see her face because she was looking at the screen, but she had a feeling Claire was blushing.

  “So…” Claire cleared her throat. “Was there something you needed?”

  “Photos.”

  When Claire turned around in her leather office chair, the color of her face had either gone back to normal or she hadn’t blushed after all. “Photos?”

  “Yes. We need photos. My sister asked to see a photo of you, and I didn’t have one I could show her. There’s also not a single photo of us in the entire house. Don’t you think people will find that strange?”

  Claire rubbed her chin. “You might be right. It won’t be long before Vanessa will start eyeing that empty spot on my desk where Abby’s photo used to be, wondering why I haven’t replaced it with one of you.”

  “Vanessa?” Lana asked.

  “She’s a colleague of mine.” Claire looked the way Lana’s childhood dog had when he’d accidentally bitten into an olive.

  “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like her?”

  “Because I don’t.” A bit of heat entered Claire’s usually neutral voice. “She’s the most career-focused, arrogant b…person you can imagine.”

  That’s rich, coming from a workaholic like Claire. Lana struggled to keep a straight face.

  “She always pretends to be nice to me, but I know she’d love nothing better than to see me humiliated in front of the entire staff,” Claire continued. “If she ever finds out about our arrangement…”

  Lana put her hand on Claire’s shoulder. The slim muscles beneath her fingers were tense like tightly wound springs. “We won’t let that happen.” She withdrew her hand and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Want me to snap a few selfies of us?”

  Claire stopped her before she could try to perch on the chair next to her. “Uh, I don’t think that’s going to cut it. Wishing Tree’s marketing department might also want a photo of the two of us.”

  That sounded like a job for a professional. A thought occurred to Lana, and she opened the contact list on her phone.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked.

  “Jill knows this photographer who helps out actresses by doing their headshots for free. She did mine last year, and they got me that role as a corpse on Central Precinct.”

  “Uh, I don’t know if that’s such a high compliment.”

  “Trust me, it is.” Lana was already making the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Besides, this photographer is hot.”

  “Hey!” Claire’s indignant cry followed her out of the office. “You’re supposed to be my fiancée, remember? No flirting with hot photographers allowed!”

  The next day, Claire was home early again because Lana had somehow managed to talk the photographer into coming over to take photos of them on short notice.

  When Lana stepped into the living room, Claire looked up from the journal article on empty-nest couples she’d been reading.

  “This is what you’re wearing for the photo shoot?” She pointed at Lana’s faded jean shorts, her bare feet, and the pink T-shirt that said abs are great, but have you tried chocolate-chip cookies? in big, black letters.

  Lana glanced down at herself. “Um, yes. Why? Something wrong with it?”

  How could she answer without hurting Lana’s feelings? “Oh no, it’s fine. I just thought…”

  Lana laughed. “Relax. I was about to get changed.”

  Claire gave her a stern look. “You enjoy teasing me, don’t you?”

  “Just a little.” Grinning, Lana held her thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart. “Sorry. I grew up in a household where teasing each other mercilessly was our favorite sport. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

  “Um, no. I’m just not used to it.”

  “So there wasn’t any teasing at la Casa de Renshaw?”

  It occurred to Claire that they hadn’t talked about their families so far. “Not much, no. My parents always thought that teasing and sarcasm came too close to being passive-aggressive.”

  “True. My second stepfather had that down to an art form.”

  “Second?” The journal slid from Claire’s grasp. “How many do you have?”

  “Four and counting,” Lana answered with a big smile.

  Claire didn’t need her degrees in psychology to sense that Lana’s grin hid her discomfort with the topic, so she decided to curb her curiosity and not to ask any more questions for the time being. “So, do you need any help deciding what to wear?”

  “I’ll let you pick what I’ll be wearing if I get to pick your outfit,” Lana said.

  “Um, I was planning on wearing this.” Claire gestured at her Armani skirt suit.

  “Seriously?”

  Now Claire was the one who stared down at herself. “What’s wrong with this outfit?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I think women in power suits are hot, but…”

  Heat rushed into Claire’s cheeks. Sometimes, she got the feeling that Lana said stuff like that only to see her blush. “But?”

  “I think we should be going for a more relaxed look. Two women newly in love lounging around at home, you know?”

  Claire pointed to where she was sitting in the recliner. “I am lounging.”

  “Then you’re doing it wrong.” Lana grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “Come on.” As she dragged her down the hall, she didn’t let go of Claire’s hand.

  Claire stared down at their hands, then shrugged it off. Lana was obviously a person comfortable with touching others, or maybe she was preparing herself for the role she’d have to play once the photographer arrived in twenty minutes.

  “First stop: Lana Henderson’s modest closet,” Lana announced and led her into the guest room.

  Only some of her clothes had made it into the closet, though. Others were still stacked in messy piles on top of two unpacked moving boxes.

  Claire looked over her choices. For an actress, Lana was amazingly unglamorous when it came to her fashion choices. T-shirts, shorts, and capris dominated her wardrobe. They’d definitely have to go shopping before their trip to New York.

  “How about this?” Claire laid out a nice pair of white capris on the bed. They were long enough to cover Lana’s scar, and the color would complement Lana’s tan. She draped a burgundy blouse with three-quarter sleeves over it and looked at Lana for approval.

  “Why not? The blouse is a little tight, but if you’ve got it, why not flaunt it?” Grinning, Lana slid down the zipper of her shorts.

  The tips of Claire’s ears burned. She whirled around.

  Lana chuckled. “You’re too cute.” Clothes rustled, then Lana said, “Okay, you can look now. I’m decent—or as decent as I’m going to get in this top.”

  Claire turned around.

  The blouse clung to Lana’s full breasts, and the two top buttons were undone, showing off a hint of cleavage.

  “Is this okay?” Lana asked, and for the first time, a bit of insecurity crept into her voice.

  Cl
aire forced her gaze up and looked her in the eyes. “You look great.”

  This time, Lana was the one blushing.

  Claire smiled and decided to go easy on her. “Come on. Let’s go pick my outfit.”

  Lana discreetly adjusted the cups of her bra while she followed Claire to her bedroom. Did Claire really think she looked good in this top, or had she just said that to be polite? With her carefully neutral therapist voice, it was sometimes hard to tell.

  That was probably why Lana liked teasing her: to get behind that polished facade.

  Claire crossed her bedroom, opened the door to her walk-in closet, and turned on the light.

  Lana joined her. Side by side, they peered into the closet. Wow. This thing is larger than my apartment!

  Three walls were lined with full-length mirrors. Half of the closet was empty, probably where Abby’s clothes had once been. The other half was filled with rows of blazers, pencil skirts, slacks, and an army of silk blouses, all neatly sorted by color. A three-shelf shoe rack ran the entire length of one wall.

  “If you’re putting on any of these, we won’t be looking as if we’re going to the same event.”

  “That’s a problem,” Claire said. “Couples usually have a matching style.”

  Lana raised herself on her tiptoes and peeked into the upper compartment of the closet, hoping to find more casual clothes there. Instead, she encountered silk camisoles. Ooh. Sexy. But not what we need.

  She turned toward Claire. “Don’t you have any cargo shorts? No flannel shirts? What kind of lesbian are you?”

  “A well-dressed one,” Claire answered.

  Lana laughed. “We really need to get you a pair of jeans.”

  “Oh, I have a pair of those.”

  “Let me see.”

  Claire reached into the very back of her closet and presented Lana with a pair of designer jeans that looked as if they had never been worn.

  Lana wouldn’t have been surprised if they still had the tags on them. “Put them on. I’ll find you a top.” She managed not to peek as clothing rustled behind her. When she finally found a top that would do, she whirled around and triumphantly held it out to Claire. “I think this will…um…”

  Growing up with seven stepsiblings and then later, as an actress in commercials, Lana had quickly learned not to be shy about nudity, but she hadn’t been prepared to see Claire standing there clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a black lace bra.

  Claire looked like a statue carved from white marble, her fair skin as smooth and flawless as the silk blouses she normally wore. She wasn’t overly muscular, but with barely any excess fat on her body, a hint of abs played beneath her skin.

  Wow. Maybe I should cut out carbs after six too. Lana gave herself a mental kick.

  Luckily, Claire was busy threading a belt through the loops of her jeans and hadn’t caught her ogling.

  When Claire looked up, Lana thrust the top at her. “Um, here. Put this on.” Now.

  Claire slipped into the sleeveless V-neck silk shirt that showed off her slim arms. Its turquoise color matched the frame of her glasses and made her eyes appear more green than gray. She slid her hands over her jeans-clad hips and regarded her reflection. “Is this okay?” she asked, making eye contact with Lana in the mirror.

  “It’ll do,” Lana said.

  Claire turned and just looked at her.

  Jeez, I bet her patients never get away with even a little bit of evasion. “You look great. Really. I like you in jeans. But you’ve got to stop looking at them like a lumberjack someone put in a dress.”

  Claire laughed.

  The sound made Lana smile reflexively. “Now all we’ve got to do is find you some sneakers.” She pointed at Claire’s bare feet.

  The doorbell interrupted them.

  They looked at each other, all laughter now gone.

  Lana tugged on the front of her blouse one final time. “Showtime.”

  Lana had been right, Claire had to admit. Michelle Osinski, their photographer, was hot, at least if you went for butch women, which Claire usually didn’t.

  Michelle ran one strong hand through her short, brown hair, several shades darker than Lana’s, as she looked around the house. “There,” she finally said with a decisive nod toward the backyard. “We’ll do it out there. Do you have some cheese and grapes or something?”

  “Sure,” Claire said. “Good thinking.” They would sit at the dining table next to the outdoor kitchen with the integrated bar, eat cheese and grapes, and sip wine while Michelle took a few pictures.

  Claire still wasn’t wearing shoes, but when she wanted to go find a pair, Michelle stopped her. “No need. Barefoot is great.”

  The grass tickled her toes as Claire crossed the lawn, and it occurred to her that she’d never been barefoot in her own backyard. Heck, it must have been weeks or even months since she had last been out here. Maybe Abby hadn’t been completely wrong about her working too much.

  They sat on rattan chairs in the shade of a large umbrella.

  “Can you slide the chairs closer to each other?” Michelle asked. “And maybe put an arm around each other or something?”

  Claire dragged her chair a few inches closer and put her arm around Lana’s shoulders, overly aware that her fingers were resting on Lana’s left arm, right where her scar was. Did this look as awkward as it felt?

  “Come on, you two. Is this what you call a hug? You look like complete strangers.”

  They turned their heads and glanced at each other.

  That’s because we are complete strangers.

  A twitch at the corner of Lana’s mouth revealed that she was probably thinking the same.

  Okay, maybe they weren’t complete strangers if she could guess what Lana was thinking.

  “Don’t be shy on my account. It’s not like I’ve never seen two women being, um, affectionate with each other.” Michelle winked at them. “You should see me with my fiancée.”

  The mention of a fiancée didn’t help Claire relax at all, reminding her of how crazy this entire arrangement was.

  “Okay, let’s get you two moving a little,” Michelle said.

  Moving? Claire eyed her nervously.

  “Claire, can you feed Lana some of the grapes?”

  Feed her the grapes? She could do that. Claire took one piece of fruit and unceremoniously popped it between Lana’s slightly parted lips.

  Michelle hadn’t taken a single photograph yet. “Uh, that looks about as sexy as me feeding my little nieces and nephews.” She sighed. “You know what? Let’s start with something else.” She gestured for them to get up and led them over to the lawn. “Let’s do a tickle fight.”

  Claire stared at her. “A…a tickle fight?”

  “Yeah. It’s great for photos that you don’t want to look rehearsed or artificial. It gets you laughing, and it’s very intimate, so it’ll give the photos that romantic touch that Lana said you wanted.” Michelle looked from Claire to Lana and back. A tiny scar at the corner of her left eye made her look as if she were constantly winking. “Right?”

  Claire stared at Lana, who stared back but then shrugged. “Sure, why not. It’ll get you out of your uptight mode.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just teasing, honey.” Lana sidled up to her and put one arm around her. “You know I love you.”

  Claire glared at her through narrowed eyes. “It won’t work. I’m not even ticklish.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lana snuck her fingers up Claire’s side. “Not ticklish at all?”

  “No!” Claire twitched and struggled to escape.

  “Oh yeah, this is great.” Michelle lifted her camera to eye level and started snapping away. “Can you put your other arm around her too?”

  Lana followed orders. She stood half behind Claire, half to the side, and wrapped both arms aro
und her, trapping her in the circle of her arms. Her fingers pressed into her ribs and tickled up her sensitive sides.

  Claire let out an undignified squeak and tried to squirm away, but Lana was amazingly strong. “Why…do I…have to…be the one…being…tickled?” In between bursts of protest, helpless laughter exploded from her. She tried to fight it, tried to keep it in, but couldn’t.

  “Because I have seven younger siblings.” Lana was pressed against her, both arms looped around her, so her words and her laughter vibrated through Claire. “I’m a master at finding ticklish spots.” She proved it by running her fingers along the curve of Claire’s waist.

  Oh God. Claire laughed so hard that she felt as if she would pee her pants any moment. She bent and twirled in a circle, trying to toss her off, but Lana hung on to her from behind like a cowgirl on a bucking mustang.

  Her fingers somehow ended up beneath Claire’s top, finding even more skin to tickle.

  Claire gasped, yelped, and laughed uncontrollably. “S-stop!”

  Lana paused. Her chin rested on Claire’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed together so that Claire could feel the heat emanating from Lana’s flushed face. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the mischief sparking in Lana’s hazel eyes. “I thought you weren’t ticklish?”

  “I didn’t…think…I was.” Claire’s chest was heaving in an attempt to suck enough air into her lungs. “No one ever…tried.”

  “No one?” Lana ran her fingers over the bend of Claire’s elbow, which suddenly was ticklish too.

  Claire squeaked and tried to pull away.

  “Okay, okay.” Michelle laughed and lowered the camera. “You can let her up now.”

  Let me up? Only now did Claire notice that they’d both dropped to their knees in the middle of the lawn, with Lana’s front flush against her back. When Lana let go, Claire shakily got to her feet. Her sides hurt from laughing so much, and now her brand-new jeans had large grass stains on them. “Um, I think I need to go change.”

  “No, no, that’s fine,” Michelle called after her. “That natural look is exactly what I’m after.”