Free Maximum Exposure by Alison Kent - Smithson Group SG-5 10 - Maximum Exposure Page A

series?”
    He shook his head, a shock of his shaggy dark hair falling onto his forehead. “Me. Not a photographer. An investigator. Remember?”
    An investigator who had been hired out of Key Largo, was staying in his client’s beach condo, and who knew Dustin…Why would Dustin have hired a PI? And why would that PI have been parked in front of Splash & Flambé?
    Crossing her arms while still holding her flute of champagne, she stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Maine coon and the tits he liked. “Are you working for Dustin?”
    He pressed his lips together tightly in answer.
    “I’m not asking for details, just whether or not he’s the one who hired you.”
    “Investigator-client privilege.”
    “It’s obvious that he did. You’re here. You’re staying in your client’s condo.”
    “I’m pretty sure there are more people than Parks who own one.”
    “Yes, but you’re just a guy working on your beach house, remember? Not a guy who circulates in Dustin’s world.”
    “I’m here, aren’t I?”
    “Yes, and you still haven’t told me why.”
    “I was invited. Isn’t that reason enough?”
    She shook her head. “You’re not Dustin’s type.”
    Finn tossed his head back and laughed. “What type am I then?”
    Originally, she might have been talking about Dustin’s sexual orientation and the fact that Finn was too…messy to appeal to the other man. But Finn’s question prompted a response that required answers of its own. “You’re the type to come here only for a specific reason, and if Dustin invited you personally, then you’re here to do something for him.”
    He stared at her while she finished her second flute of champagne, his eyes dark when she’d expected them to light with the same irreverent mischief she’d seen in them that first morning in front of her store. Instead, what she saw had her holding her breath, waiting for the words the intensity in his gaze promised would send more than a chill down her spine.
    It was a promise that held true when he said, “I’m here because of you.”

Ten
    R oman had no idea what he was doing here. Hell, he had no business being here. The heroin he’d been waiting months for Tomás to deliver would be arriving tomorrow at Splash & Flambé. And Roman was supposed to spend tonight as Roland Green, acting like there was nothing he’d rather look at than cats and women’s tits.
    His touching base with his task force hadn’t gone as planned. Had, in fact, brought up a brand-new scenario. Why were they in such a rush to bust Tomás Bebé, when waiting a week would give them his buyers?
    And if his buyers then demanded more product—seeing as how they’d be given a choice between doing that and life without parole—then another few weeks, months maybe, would put the DEA one step closer to the top of the chain and the motherfucker supplying the shit.
    Tonight Roman had come to the gallery alone. Sure, he was meeting Jodi, but doing that here was a lot more convenient than picking her up and hauling her back to her place at the end of the night.
    Not to mention a lot safer than having her and her legs and all that blond hair in his car. Having her sunshine scent linger to tease him every time he climbed behind the wheel was more mind game than he wanted to play.
    His head was already FUBAR because of her. Yeah, he knew who he was, knew his place, his role, and his goal. Work was not a problem, and he wasn’t going to let her make it one. That didn’t mean his personal deal with her wasn’t giving him the devil’s sort of hell.
    “There you are,” said his object of X-rated lust, her voice at his shoulder, her fingers closing around his biceps and squeezing, her breasts pressed to his back. “What do you think about the show?”
    He searched for the right response, hoping for a high note to bring his mind out of the gutter. “I think the photographer has a lot of explaining to do.”
    Jodi’s laugh rocked through him like a