Exposure by Kelly Moran

watching her.
    Her feminine characteristics were unique,
which was why he'd wanted her on film. A mix of siren and
innocence. Everything about her was contradictory. Dark hair, light
skin. Brazen sexual abandon with innate fear lurking in shadow. A
control freak, yet soft at heart. Where did she get such artistic
perfection? She didn't resemble her mother at all but, then again,
Raven wasn't Willow's biological child.
    "How old were you when your mom adopted
you?" They'd talked about it a time or two, but he couldn't
remember.
    Her chewing slowed, then she swallowed just
as slowly. "Seven. Why?"
    He shrugged. "Just curious. Do you remember
anything about your life before?"
    She faced the fire, chopsticks stabbing her
food. "A little here and there. It's mostly small flashes. I don't
know how accurate they are."
    Talking about this bothered her, judging by
the stiffness in her spine and avoidance of her eyes. She didn't
put up walls against him, not often. "What do you remember?"
    "I told you, it comes in spurts--"
    "I heard you. Why are you getting
defensive?"
    She glanced up and let out a harsh exhale.
"I'm not. I just don't like talking about it."
    His spine turned to ice. Her personality,
mannerisms, and inability to make love normally all blinked through
his conscious. He liked her just as she was, but was pushing for
more. Because she deserved that. Sexual creatures like her should
never be contained, especially behind fear. Did any of her walls
have to do with those formidable years?
    "Why don't you like talking about it?'
    She set the carton aside and hugged her
knees to her chest.
    The ice along his spine spread to other
areas. "Raven."
    She closed her eyes. Shook her head. Sighed.
"Do you remember hearing in the news about that naturist group in
California, Lambs of Christ? We were young when they
disbanded."
    Wondering what the hell this had to do with
anything, his gaze got lost in the flames as he thought back. He'd
certainly heard of them. They were one of those cult groups in
southern Cali. "A little. Weren't the leaders arrested on weapons
charges?"
    "Among other things. I think most of the
members, like my birth parents, went into it thinking they'd live
in a small, Christian community to raise their daughter. By the
time I was starting to babble, it was too late to get out." Her
voice went reflective. "According to my mom, some tried to leave
the group and were never seen again."
    If he tried to move, he'd snap. That's how
tight, how cold, her words left him. "You were raised in a
cult?"
    Her gaze whipped to his as if she sensed his
tension. "All I know is what my mom told me. I have almost no
memory of it."
    She pried the carton away from his fingers
before he could crush it to a pulp. Grabbing her wine, she leaned
against the couch. "From what I understand, the kids slept in a
separate bunker from their parents and were treated well. After
their school studies, they helped farm the fields." She cleared her
throat. "My parents died during the ATF raid. My mother was living
in the area at the time, heard about a lot of the newly orphaned
kids, and adopted me. A shrink told her it might be best to move me
from familiar settings, so she packed us up and we've been in
Alaska ever since."
    The air slowly seeped from his lungs. He
forced himself to draw more in. Two weeks ago, she'd told him she'd
never been abused or assaulted. He'd believed her. Of course he
had, but doubt niggled in the back of his mind there was more going
on than her need for control. She may not remember it, but
something had happened to her back then that made her like this
today.
    He doubted she even realized it. When they'd
first started going at each other, she wouldn't let him touch her.
Now, he did so freely, but he had to go slowly in the beginning.
She didn't like enclosed spaces and hated surprises of any
kind.
    He looked over to find her watching him.
Grabbing his own wine, he downed half the glass. They had sex
often, in a