Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) by Rochelle French Page A

volley of artillery shells going off.
    A camera?
    Adrenaline sent her heart pumping. She opened her eyes to stare directly at the man holding a large camera in front of his face. A young man, not the sixty-year-old she’d seen the other night . Obviously this wasn’t Gregor Johansson. Who the heck was it, then? Emotions clashed and rocketed through her—anger, betrayal, shame—as the camera continued clacking. She pulled her arms around her body, desperately covering her breasts and belly and yelled, “Stop!”
    The man immediately stopped and lowered the camera.
    Heat flashed over her and the sound of the insects disappeared, drowned out by the rhythmic thump of her heavily beating heart.
    Mac.
    What was he doing here? And why was he photographing her? Naked ?

T rudy gaped at the man she’d hoped to never see again. Ever. In her entire life of living. Her breathing came out in choppy puffs. “What the heck are you doing here? Where is Gregor Johansson? And get rid of that camera . Now!”
    Mac stared back at her, his shocked expression mirroring hers. “Holy hell. You mean you don’t know?”
    Suddenly she became aware that she was very naked. And he was staring. She widened her hands, trying unsuccessfully to cover her hoo-ha and belly and breasts simultaneously. She looked around, desperate for the robe, but Mac stood directly in front of it. What the heck was going on? “Could you turn around?” she asked. “I’m still rather naked here.”
    “Yeah, sure, sorry,” Mac said, his voice gentle as he ducked his head. He reached behind him and grabbed the robe she’d left on the table, then held it out to her without looking.
    On shaky legs, she stepped forward and took the robe, then put it on.
    “You covered now?” he asked.
    Grudgingly, she said, “Yes. You can look.”
    He raised his head and their gazes connected. Something sparked between them, like it had the first night they’d met, when he’d been up on the balcony and she’d had just eliminated a squished grape from her cleavage. She cut her gaze away, unwilling to keep the connection as that had definitely not served her well the last time.
    “Now can you explain why you stalked me to my place of employment? And why you’re taking pictures? This is most definitely not the actions of a perfect gentleman, if I may be so bold as to point out.”
    “I can’t believe you really didn’t know.” Mac’s voice was quiet.
    “Know what?”
    “That the contract is with me , not my father.”
    His father ? Oh, god. The pieces swirling around in her mind fell into place. “Your father’s Gregor Johansson,” she said bluntly. “Please tell me I’m having a nightmare.”
    Mac swept a hand over his face, then swore quietly before looking her straight in the face. “Uh, yeah. His legal name is Macgregor, actually, but…yeah. He’s my dad. Doe’s, too. But you probably figured that part out.”
    She stared at him blankly, the ability to think rationally seemingly gone straight out of her head. “You’re saying that I signed a contract with you ? But how?”
    He shrugged. “My father and I are both artists, and we both have the same name. Only publically he goes by Gregor Johansson and I go by Mac Johns. I’m the one who hired you.”
    Her mind whirled, thoughts tumbling around like vodka and ice in a martini shaker. None of this made any sense. Gregor Johansson was a sixty-year-old sculptor, not the thirty-something photographer currently staring at her. The artist Gregor Johansson of Meadowview had been looking for a nude model. That’s who she’d been hired to work for. Right? Right ?
    “I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly. “I thought you knew. I mean, I knew you weren’t aware of the connection when we met, but I really believed you knew who I was before you signed the contract.”
    “This cannot be happening.” All emotions emptied from her body, rendering her core limp. She’d signed a contract not with a world-famous sculptor,