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tangle of arms and legs at the end of the block before he braced a hand on her shoulder.
You okay, Scout?
I& Good Lord, she had no idea. For the first time since she d mastered heels at the age of
fourteen, she had the craziest feeling she was about to topple off of them. Then she realized why. She
was shaking so damn hard it was a wonder she wasn t setting off earthquake sensors around the
globe. Yeah, I m okay. My phone She gestured toward the two fighting down the street, then
squeaked when her mugger kicked her would-be savior in the face before stumbling to his feet and
racing away. Oh, my God! Without a thought, she ran high heels, shaky knees and all to where
her rescuer was gaining his feet. Sir, are you all right? Are you& holy shit. Slowly he turned to
face her, and the sidewalk vanished out from under her. You?
As she stared in open-mouthed shock, Ivar Fournier wiped a hand at his nose, which came
away bloody.
Oh no, his perfect face&
Even with a bloody nose, Ivar Fournier was still the most physically beautiful being Scout had
ever had the good fortune to gape at. That made sense, of course. Though he was now a fashion
photographer famous for his soul-revealing portraits, mercurial temperament and making or breaking
careers, he d once been one of the highest paid male models in the world. Several inches over six
feet with broad shoulders that any world-class swimmer would have envied, Ivar struck an imposing
figure. But when it was combined with glacier-blue eyes, golden-hued skin and raven back hair, the
term irresistible was hard to avoid.
But somehow, she d been managing it.
Maybe she d been able to resist him because he d been at her like a pesky fly at a picnic,
wanting permission to do a photographic collection of House Of Payne s more famous tattoo designs.
Normally this wouldn t be a problem, and she d love the publicity for the business she had helped
Payne build. But there was a problem. To photograph the tats, Ivar needed to know who wore them.
Bottom-lining it, he wanted access to the House s private client list.
The words, Uh, yeah no, couldn t leave her mouth fast enough.
No matter how ridiculously hot the guy was.
When Ivar had first appeared on House Of Payne s doorstep and refused to budge, Scout
acted as she always did when it came to business she investigated who and what he was. Though
her official label at the House was office manager and assistant to Payne, her real job was to detect
any trouble for House Of Payne and eliminate it. Sensing trouble was a talent she d always had, from
the time she d grown up in some of the worst foster homes Chicago had to offer. It was an ability
linked to her survival instinct, and she figured that since she d survived one hell of a lot in her
twenty-six years, she never questioned it. When those instincts focused on Ivar Fournier, with his
devastating Prince Charming looks and pearly white smile that never reached dead-blank eyes, alarm
bells clanged in the worst fucking way.
Yep. No doubt about it. From the top of his stylishly tousled head to the bottom of his Armani
shoes, Ivar Fournier screamed trouble with a capital T.
And now he d popped up out of nowhere to do his impersonation of Good Samaritan and got
his beautiful face bloodied. How the hell was she supposed to react to that?
Are you out of your damn mind? You could have gotten yourself killed. Oh. So apparently
nagging like a shrew was how she was supposed to react.
Good to know.
Again Ivar wiped at his nose. You are most welcome, he drawled in that French-accented
voice that made her insides all gooey. Then, to her amazement, he held up her phone just as Leo
huffed his way over in a half-jog, half-shuffle. It is both an honor and a pleasure to risk life and limb
for such a gracious woman.
Ugh. As she took the phone from him, she wondered if she could feel any smaller. I m sorry,
it s just& you re bleeding. A phone isn t worth shedding blood over, even if I am grateful to have it
back, and& Oh geez, you re so totally bleeding. All at once her stomach executed a wowser of a
gymnastic move, and she sucked in a lungful of air to keep it from doing back flips all the way up her
throat and out her mouth.
Leo stepped forward, out of breath and sweaty. You did a good thing there, pal. Come on
into the restaurant and we ll get some ice on that, okay? Just try not to bleed all over the place,
though. Not that I ve got a problem with that, but the Board of Health would have my ass in a sling,
so&
It s cool, Leo, I ve got this. No one was more surprised than Scout when the words popped
out. Both men stared at her, but Leo was the first to find his voice.
What do you mean, you got this? Do you even know this guy?
As a matter of fact, I know Ivar quite well. Okay, that was a stretch. She knew what she d
dug up on him. He d been born in Montreal, but had worked most of his adult life in the U.S. She d
managed to find out his mother was Chantal Fournier, once a model but now retired and living in
Montreal with her shipping magnate husband, Rupert Rundstrom, who apparently owned as far as
Scout could tell approximately half the planet. There was no father recorded on Ivar s birth
certificate, but she did know he d been raised by his maternal grandmother, a totally legit blue-
blooded French baroness. Like her daughter before Ivar, the grandmother had managed Ivar s
modeling career until he dropped out to go behind the camera.
At the time, that decision seemed like a huge mistake; as a model he d been a rising star and
had been more in demand than ever. But over the years he d gained an uncanny reputation for
capturing the true soul of his subjects for better or worse. Now, would-be models flocked to him in
the hope of getting that angelic touch that had catapulted several careers to the supermodel level.
But there were times when his portraits wound up being downright hideous. He never pulled
his punches when this happened, refusing to accept responsibility for the model s so-called ugliness.
He would simply insist that the camera never lied.
With a crappy attitude like that, Scout was baffled why anyone would dare to put themselves
in front of his camera. But they did, and they did it in droves, no doubt hoping they d be the next
supermodel to pass the great Ivar s photographic litmus test.
Leo looked doubtfully from one to the other. Well, if you re sure&
No worries, Leo. Dropping her phone into her bag, she dug out a packet of tissues, pulled
one out and held it out to Ivar. Hold that to your nose until I get you to my place, okay?
He did so, tilting his head back a fraction. Not the best position in the world, but for now it
would do. Your place?
I live right across the street. She curled her arm around his and, with a farewell nod to Leo,
led him to the sidewalk and punched the button. Though, considering a greasy spoon like Pig In A
Poke is hardly the kind of place you d haunt, I suspect you already know that I live around here, so
you can drop the innocent act. Your being here is no coincidence.
Scout, you are much too cynical. Those killer eyes slid her way, and she wanted to cuss a
blue streak that not even a bloody nose could dampen his raw physical impact. I assure you, I m not
nearly the threat you seem to think I am.
In response, her internal alarm system clanged so loudly it was all she could do to stand still.
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