Silas Tucker leaned back against the wall of the spacious Buckhead loft and regarded the woman posing in front of the camera with Curtis Jackson, wide receiver for the Atlanta Cougars.
She was stunning.
Beautiful.
Glamorous.
Sexy.
With curves for days.
Janelle was a supermodel extraordinaire who’d graced the covers of American and British Vogue and strutted the runways of every major fashion designer. She had been ranked as the Sexiest Woman Alive and Sexiest Model Alive by publications in several countries and had recently acted in a big budget motion picture. She was a philanthropist who supported charitable endeavors, including Save the Children, Doctors Without Borders and this new collaboration with the Lockett Foundation, the charity run by the family who owned the Atlanta Cougars.
She was Silas’s long-estranged wife.
And he needed to talk to her, but he was going to have to bide his time until she was finished with this dog and pony show. When he’d arrived, security had no idea who he was and wouldn’t let him. But once Silas had name-dropped the Locketts, who frequented his restaurants often, security reluctantly gave him a visitor badge. Now here he was.
He watched as two assistants ran back and forth to do the bad-tempered photographer’s bidding. Janelle didn’t seem to mind, even when the photographer yelled at her to contort into various poses a normal body wasn’t made to do, all the while, her lusciously long hair flowing over her shoulders. She was a professional and did her job. Silas couldn’t help but admire her work ethic, even though it had conflicted with his dreams for the future and torn them apart.
After a few more poses, another young woman came and helped Janelle into a robe and led her away from the set.
Pulling himself to his full six foot, two inches, Silas sauntered toward one of the beleaguered assistants. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could lead me to Janelle.”
The fresh-faced redhead with a smattering of freckles across her face pushed back the glasses perched on the edge of her nose and asked, “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
Silas grinned. “I own several restaurants here in Atlanta, but you may have seen me on America’s Next Top Chef or one of my other cooking shows.”
“Oh yes, I absolutely love that show. But how do you know Janelle?”
“I’m her husband. Tell her I’m not leaving until we talk.”
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