It was a five minute walk from my house to the beach. The morning air was fresh and balmy, carrying the salty scent of ocean with each stroke of the wind through my hair. I was pleased to notice the beach wasn’t all that crowded, seeing as it was barely nine a.m. The sun was shining strong, but somehow milder compared to the blinding glare of the afternoons. However, it promised to be a hot day. Sweat beaded over my forehead by the time I reached a more secluded spot along the wall of cliffs sprinkled with vegetation, where I decided to set camp. As I’d passed by, a few guys had given me long looks and some whistles, but my sphere of solitude must have been palpable, because no one approached me.
I laid out my towel and peeled off my shorts and tee, then shook off my flip flops, letting my toes curl into the warm sand. I loved its fine texture that tickled my skin, enveloping my feet in grainy silk. I gazed out at the ocean, mesmerized by the live entity facing me. That it was alive, it was no mistake. It seemed to breathe, each rising wall of water seemed to be a heartfelt sigh coming from the depths. Waves crashed against waves, and by the time they reached the shore they only caressed it with fluid, foamy strokes.
Laying back to let the sun bathe my skin, I watched the surfers riding the waters, becoming one with them. They looked so free, so bold, defying gravity along with the seagulls and other winged creatures whose cries echoed on the roaring background of the ocean. I deeply envied them, because although I loved water, I could barely swim.
With a long sigh that filled my lungs with salty, humid air, I applied some sunscreen and turned onto my belly, closing my eyes in contentment. Half an hour later, I was seriously starting to bake, or even fry. The scorching sunrays, no longer pleasant, now burned my skin. It was unusually hot, even for July. I looked up at the sky, so cloudless and blue it made my eyes hurt. But the oppressive heat made me believe a storm was brewing somewhere beyond that clear facade.
A trace of dizziness made me slow down when I began to sit up, so I reached for the bottle of water. It was tepid, but I drank anyway, then dressed and gathered up my stuff. I looked longingly at the ocean, which drenched the shore again and again, promising coolness and bliss. It was too hot to stay a moment longer though. Besides, my dizziness hadn’t completely faded. As I started the walk back home, hunting every patch of shade, I used the rest of the water to dampen my face and neck. It cleared my head some. When I reached home I went straight to the shower, letting the luke-warm water cool my skin and wash away the oil. I didn’t yet have the tan I wanted, but my body sported the promising beginning of a warm, peachy glow. I would look great tonight. That is, if Blake would call me.
My stomach muscles tightened once again in anticipation, as I wondered what the evening was going to be like. Would we end up the night in bed, or with a steamy kiss? Of course, I thought grimly, there was the possibility of Blake having already forgotten all about me, and his dinner invitation.
A bit deflated at this prospect, I toweled off and began to dress for the meeting with Danny. I selected a professional two-piece suit. The beige jacket and skirt were chosen specifically. If fabric could speak, this one would say: I’m all business, so don’t even think about flirting with me. I giggled, wishing I had a T-shirt imprinted with those words, to wear it especially for Danny.
My makeup consisted of mascara and lip balm. I guess I was deliberately attempting to make myself look plain and unattractive. I shook my head in disgust. Why couldn’t I just say Fuck off to a guy? Probably because my Mom had raised me too well. Huffing out a breath, I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door.
****
Danny’s office was located in a snazzy building in downtown Los Angeles, an area where armies of skyscrapers lined the streets and shadowed the people who moved like ants, in an incessant to and fro. I’d never been here, of course, but the address was etched in gold letters on his business card.
When I stepped out of the elevator on the twenty-first floor, I was greeted by a woman who told me her name was Nina and she was Danny’s secretary. Nina was a six foot voluptuous redhead, whose measurements surely exceeded her IQ. I deduced that from the few standard sentences she spoke, in that tone specific to brainwashed corporate minions. However, I assumed Danny had his reasons for keeping her around, which I doubted included intelligent conversation.
When I stepped into his office, he stood and circled the massive semi-oval desk.
“Hi,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Glad you made it. Want something to drink?”
“Mineral water would be great, thank you.”
I sat in the leather chair he indicated, looking around at the impossibly tidy room. There was not a spot of color anywhere. Everything was white, black, and transparent glass. It resembled a chessboard, but I had to admit the view framed by a glass wall was spectacular. Los Angeles looked even better from twenty stories up.
“Pretty fancy,” I remarked, then thanked Nina when she returned with a glass of fizzy water.
“I like it.” Danny circled his desk and took a stack of papers from a drawer. “Here, take a look at your contracts. They’re practically identical, so you only need to read one.”
While I read both of them carefully, the discreet hum of the air conditioning unit was the only thing that disturbed the silence. Finally, I sat back in my chair. My lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“Got a pen?”
Danny produced one from the inside pocked of his tailored gray suit, returning my grin.
“Are you pleased?”
“You bet I am. My bank account has receded faster than my dad’s hairline.”
We laughed, as I scribbled my signature on the first contract. With an absent frown, I asked Danny, “What’s today’s date? I can’t remember.”
When several seconds passed and he hadn’t replied, I stared up at him.
“What?” I asked, puzzled to see a grim, even exasperated expression on his face.
“It’s the 4th of July, Kendra. You know, our national holiday, Independence Day and all that?”
My lips parted in a silent oh. Having been so busy with work on the house, I had lost track of the days completely.
“Um, sure. I knew that,” I tried to bluff.
He gave me a pitying look. “You had no clue. This is just sad. You need to take a day off. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. We’ll celebrate, drink champagne, then go eat hotdogs and watch the fireworks. You haven’t got an ounce of patriotism!”
Crap! How was I going to get myself out of this one? I signed both contracts, then tucked my copies into my bag, thinking of a plausible excuse.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m feeling kind of exhausted, Danny. All this work has drained me. I was looking forward to a weekend off. I think I’ll take a rain check, sit at home and... sleep. But nonetheless, I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
His face didn’t exactly darken, but the warmth in his eyes faded. He had his pride after all, and inadvertently I had bashed it one time too many. He sat in his chair, feigning indifference.
“Your choice. I have other plans anyway.” The words were a verbal shrug. “I only came to the office to meet with you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. If I remembered today’s the 4th...”
“No sweat. I’m making money off this too.”
Though he tried to adopt a casual joking tone, I could sense he was still miffed. I stood quickly, grabbing my bag.
“Thank you. I’ll get going then. Have a fun time tonight,” I said, throwing him a smile over my shoulder as I made my way to the door.
“That’s the plan. Goodbye, Kendra.”
As I escaped from his office, I wondered again why I hadn’t just told him I had a date with someone else. Geez, I needed to grow some balls. I didn’t do him any favors by lying to him, or by refusing him repeatedly without plausible reasons. As the elevator glided down, I thought once again our partnership was seriously deteriorating. Perhaps I should start looking for another agent.
The ringing of my phone st
artled me out of my troubled ponderings. I knew it must be Blake, and my pulse accelerated as I heard his voice.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, trying to control my breathlessness as I stepped out of the crowded elevator.
“Are we still having dinner tonight?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Pick you up at eight?”
“Okay.”
“See you then.”
Minutes later I was still standing on the sidewalk, staring at the phone, wondering if I’d imagined the brief conversation. He certainly didn’t waste words. I shook my head and laughed under my breath, saving his number into my phone. Then I began obsessing about what I was going to wear.
****
At 7:15 I was still rummaging through my clothes, which were strewn everywhere. I had decided already on the underwear: white lace bikini briefs and a white pushup bra that made me applaud Victoria’s Secret. The lingerie had cost a fortune, but it made my breasts look so great I couldn’t help a whistle as I stared in the bathroom mirror. But what the hell to wear on top of this mouthwatering ensemble?
I returned to the bedroom and looked around, deciding to start by process of elimination. Nothing too casual, nor too colorful. Preferably something to show off some of my newly-tanned skin, but not too slutty. I looked best in black or white, but black was too conservative for a day of national celebration. Besides, I needed something unwrinkable, since I didn’t have an ironing board. Finally, I chose a white, stretchy dress that reached my knees. It was simple, with spaghetti straps, and because it was a size too small, the faint creases were perfectly stretched as the dress gloved my body. I looked great, even if I said so myself.
I did my makeup carefully, just a classic pinup look, with eyes emphasized by black eyeliner and mascara, a little blusher over my cheekbones, and delicate rose lipstick. As for my hair, I brushed it and twisted it into a simple knot at the nape of my neck, leaving a few strands to frame my face in a deliberately careless style.
“Wow!”
Just as I was admiring myself, I glanced at my watch and let out a squeal of alarm. It was 7:50! I scrambled about the bedroom, hastily gathering up clothes and shoving them back into their suitcases, which served as a dresser before the real thing arrived. I pulled on red shoes and stuffed my things in a tiny red evening bag, just as I heard a car driving down my lane. A glance through the window showed the shiny Maserati gliding on the stone path toward the house.
I zipped shut the last suitcase with the strength of desperation, then looked around frantically to see if the room was tidy enough. The bed was made, and... the floor was clean. There was something to be said about not having much furniture. God, would I dare invite Blake inside when he drove me back home? Would he want to come in?
The car door slammed closed. My entire being tensed as I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Oh, my!” I whispered under my breath, trying not to gape at the living fantasy walking toward me. He was the epitome of male magnificence, and since this was also the first time I’d seen him elegantly dressed, the sight of him took my breath away. Perhaps elegant was not a good description for the midnight blue shirt open at the neck and simple black slacks, but his athletic body and posture made the outfit worthy of the red carpet. When his dimples winked in a smile, the twilight sunrays seemed to grow dimmer. The gray of his eyes appeared to deepen as he moved his gaze over me, almost caressingly.
“You look like the best reason to celebrate,” he said softly, holding out his hand to me. “The fireworks will be the second most spectacular thing tonight.”
Chapter Fourteen
The rooftop restaurant in downtown Los Angeles was the most spectacular place I’d ever seen. I didn’t know which was more magnificent: the spacious interior with its warm lights, jazz music and sheen of luxury, or the panorama beyond it. The maître d’ led us to a table on the spacious terrace. As I gazed out over the city, my skin rippled into goose bumps.
“My God, it’s beautiful out here,” I whispered.
“I hoped you’d like it,” Blake replied with a smile, holding the chair for me to sit. “I like it too, although I don’t get the chance to come here often.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged slightly, reaching for the menu.
“It’s hard to have much privacy when you’re in the public eye. I’ve learned to ignore the paparazzi, but they never stop hunting for fresh gossip. And when they don’t have anything real, they make it up. You’ve no idea how many weird stories I’ve read about myself,” he said, rolling his eyes in amusement.
I laughed, glancing at my own menu, but my eyes were drawn back to him.
“It must be frustrating to have your every move studied, interpreted, speculated upon. Do you ever get tired of it? Of thousands of women craving and adoring you?”
He answered in the same daring, humorous tone I’d used. “Well, now that you mentioned it, I do get some unusual mail...”
“Like what?”
“Oh, your average marriage proposals, sexual fantasies, loads of panties—I hate it when I get unwashed ones, by the way. Who would think that’s sexy?”
Laughter vibrated in my chest, and I was still trying to suppress my giggles when a dignified waiter arrived to take our order.
“Do you like Dom Perignon?” Blake asked me.
I nodded, wondering what the hell that was. I had heard the name of course, and figured it must be a classy alcoholic beverage, probably wine or champagne.
“Bring us a bottle of ‘81, please,” Blake asked the waiter.
“Of course, Mister Blake,” the man said with reverence. “And to eat?” he asked, bowing slightly to me.
I chose a Caesar salad and grilled chicken, while Blake opted for a medium rare steak, accompanied by something called golden potatoes.
“A typical man’s meal,” I remarked after the waiter left. “What are golden potatoes anyway?”
“They’re my favorites. I’m not sure how they’re cooked, but I assume they’re just boiled potatoes, which are then fried to give them a golden crust. The spices are the secret though. You can try some of mine—I guarantee you’ll love them.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sound as if you can cook.”
“I’m a very good cook.”
“Really?”
He must have sensed my skepticism because he smiled cockily. “I’ll give you a demonstration if you ask me nicely. Very nicely,” he emphasized the word. “But it’ll have to wait until I get back. Tomorrow we’re leaving for New York.”
“New York?”
“Yep. Mark has finally found a spot where he wants to film—Bannerman Castle, on Pollepel Island.”
My forehead creased as I tried to place the name. “It sounds familiar.”
“It’s a famous setting, which was used in several movies, novels, even music videos. Thanks,” he said to the waiter, who brought us our wine bottle. He opened it expertly, filled our glasses, and then withdrew quietly.
“Anyway,” Blake resumed, “aren’t you going to join us? I know you want to come along as our consultant.”
I nibbled at my lower lip, thinking. “Well, I can’t go tomorrow. My furniture is supposed to arrive next week. I can come after that though, as soon as possible. How long will you film there?”
“A couple of weeks, I think. Depends on how many lines we’ll screw up daily,” he replied with a grin. “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
“Definitely. I’ll be there by next weekend.”
“Here’s to that! And Happy Independence Day, by the way.” He raised his glass expectantly.
“Here’s to our country!” I clinked mine against it with a crystalline sound.
We both sipped, then he said, “When I asked you to dinner, I didn’t realize today was the Fourth of July. Would you rather do something else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Go to a fair, eat hotdogs, win silly prizes at shootin
g... You know, typical Fourth of July stuff.”
I smiled contentedly with my eyes half closed, letting the fine champagne bubbles caress my taste buds before I swallowed. I shook my head dreamily, gazing into his spellbinding eyes.
“There’s no place I’d rather be than here, with you.”
As our gazes held above the single candle burning on the table, I could swear the air crackled, sparkled, and sizzled between us. The round table had four chairs, but we were seated side by side rather than face to face. Still, it seemed it wasn’t close enough to suit Blake. A moment later, he reached out and effortlessly dragged my chair even closer to his. I was vaguely aware of the glances darted toward us when the chair’s legs scraped on the marble tiles. However, my attention was focused on Blake. Amusement shimmered in his eyes when our faces were only inches away.
“You’re just saying that so I’ll share my potatoes with you.”
A throaty laugh I barely recognized as my own tickled the air. As he held his fork out to my mouth, I accepted the small piece of vegetable coated in a delicious-looking golden crust. He watched my lips close around it, and the apparently innocent gesture made his eyes go smoky. The delicious, spicy aroma was faint compared with the potent way he was looking at me, as though he wanted to savor me instead of the food. It was a few seconds before I realized the potato was smoking hot.
“What’s wrong?” he asked puzzled as I reached for my champagne glass and gulped it down, to cool off my taste buds.
“I think I burned my tongue,” I lisped comically when I could speak.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t know they were that hot.” A wicked expression hovered over his face. “Here, let me kiss it and make it better.”
Whispering this, he leaned toward me and cupped my cheek in his large, warm palm, drawing my face close to his. When our lips touched and he slipped his tongue into my mouth, it wasn’t the soothing sensation of a balm that assaulted me, but a fierce, explosive arousal. Derived from the incredibly erotic strokes of our tongues, it spread through my body like liquid fire. When the kiss ended, I was dizzy with more than alcohol.
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