A Damaged Trust by Amanda Carpenter Read Free Book Online

mean?” she asked. Reaching one of the lounge chairs, she dropped into it lightly, settling her feet in a graceful movement. The setting sun was still bright and she watched the water glimmer, unaware of those dark eyes watching her. He settled into a chair as well.
    “I’ve had my share of women who’ve tried to get my attention before, but using reverse psychology so strongly is a bit unusual, even for one of my experience.”
    Carrie’s head snapped around and her eyes widened.
    Then she caught sight of the light of amusement in Gabe’s eyes and the way his chest was quaking very slightly. He was laughing. She said dryly, “Well, I can see it worked.” Her sarcasm made him laugh harder, and she began to chuckle too. His charm was endearing and quite harmless, and it put her at ease with a surprising swiftness.
    Carrie tried to be honest with herself at all times, and this innate tendency prompted her to say impulsively, “You know, I was horribly rude the other day, and I’m sorry. You caught me at a bad time, and I’d had a bad day as it was, besides being late. I’m afraid when I get frustrated, I get a sort of a perverse attitude.”
    He nodded, an understanding look on his features. “A ’cutting off your nose to spite your face’ mood—I understand. I have those moods myself. And I didn’t really help matters any by butting in when you’d made it perfectly clear that my presence wasn’t wanted! Not,” he added humorously, “that my appearance helped matters much, as I recall.”
    “Yes, you were a bit of a wreck,” she laughed.
    He nodded again. “It had been a long day—a thirty-six-hour day, to be exact. And you saw me at the end of it. Not one of my prettier times. Are you a good photographer?”
    She blinked at the sudden question, and noticed again his eyes watching her, narrowed against the evening sun. “Very,” she answered calmly.
    “Are you any relation to Margaret Metcalfe, the photographer from Chicago?” Gabe asked another question and noting her reactions.
    “I am Margaret Metcalfe,” she said, amused. “At least, professionally I am. My middle name is Carol and somehow when I was small, everyone just started calling me Carrie. Margaret, Margie, or Maggie didn’t seem to fit .”
    “So you use your first name as a professional one,” he concluded for her.
    “That’s right. It saves me a lot of headaches and unwanted phone calls when I go home from work. Carrie Metcalfe is listed in the telephone book, but not Margaret. The only way to get in touch with Margaret is to call up where she works, and then the secretary of my agency deals with all of the offers of photographing weddings, anniversaries, etcetera.”
    “Good God! Do you really get offers like that?”
    “A surprising amount, yes.”
    “No wonder you use a different name for your business!” he remarked.
    “It’s not as if I’m a nationally known name, though!” She shook her head, laughing. “In fact, I’m surprised that you even know my work.”
    “I’ve done some digging into the profession,” he admitted, turning his gaze for a moment to the pool. “You do good work.” Carrie smiled briefly at this. She thought he really meant it. “Have you ever thought about photographing anything else besides beautiful people?”
    “I do have individual projects. Photographing for a modeling agency is just my work. I like to capture just about anything that catches my eye.”
    “Would you consider shooting architecture?” Leaning back in his chair, Gabe asked the question casually. Carrie, however, was not fooled. She somehow doubted whether this man did anything casual or offhand. Even the light teasing he had given her before was carefully calculated to make her put down her guard, and she knew it.
    She answered cautiously, “It really depends on the situation.”
    He turned his head quickly and looked directly at her, his eyes keen. She had been right; the casualness was just an act. He spoke