by Amy Andrews
And she did have a book to write.
“I’m going to work on my book,” she said.
Taylor was fairly certain she heard chicken noises—bok bok—as she swept out of the room and made a beeline for her office.
*
And she tried really hard to get words down on the page but they just didn’t seem to flow. Normally if the words were being difficult, Taylor found solace and inspiration in the view. Natural light from the large windows flooded the spacious room, bringing Central Park right inside. It was a glorious vista. But today, the park didn’t even register. She had far more pressing things on her mind and, after two hours, she’d achieved nothing.
Between her stalker outside and her ex-lover inside, her brain refused to cooperate. Thoughts jumbled around and around like clothes in a tumble dryer, not leaving any room for creative expression.
It didn’t help that she could hear Rick. Or, more accurately, she could hear the television. It was muffled by the door so it wasn’t loud, but she couldn’t help imagining him stretched out on her couch, feet bare, eating popcorn and laughing at whatever it was he’d found to watch.
The image was quite alluring and she had to grind her feet into the carpet to stop herself from getting up.
She shook her head and returned her attention to the chapter she was writing. Or supposed to be writing anyway. It was centered around narcissism, and the research notes she’d scribbled for herself a couple of days ago had included stalking.
Her heart banged a little louder as the word stared back at her. Had it been some kind of premonition? Her fingers typed the word “stalker” into the search engine on her computer and her finger hovered over the enter key. And was it purely professional or was it self-interest?
Did she really want to know?
She stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, awaiting her next keystroke. She already knew a lot about what went on in the minds of stalkers, so did she really need to embellish it with misinformation and thousands of scary internet stories?
No, she did not.
Not if she ever wanted to sleep again.
She highlighted the word, hit delete, then pushed two sleek ear buds into her ears. Classical music floated into her head, blocking out the distracting images of Rick and his bare-footed popcorn movie marathon.
*
An hour later, finally absorbed in her work, Taylor startled as she felt a figure looming over her. A surge of adrenalin hit her system, her pupils dilated and she dragged in an enormous breath, preparing to flee—preparing to fight if she had to.
“Taylor, it’s fine, it’s just me,” Rick said, his hand sliding onto her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
She ripped the ear buds out and clutched at her chest. “You just about sent me into cardiac arrest, Rick,” she protested as her heart pounded so hard she thought it was going to burst right out.
“Sorry,” he said, his hand rubbing her back. He was breaking rule three but it felt extraordinarily soothing. “I did call your name at the door.”
“I was listening to music,” she said, unnecessarily.
“Yes. Sorry.”
Taylor nodded, feeling flustered and a little foolish now at her reaction. Her overreaction. Mack was outside. No one could get into her apartment. Of course it could only have been Rick. She shrugged his hand from her shoulder.
“Did you want something?” she asked, struggling to pull back from the fear that clearly lurked close by and to get her mind back on track.
“Thought I might head out for a couple of hours. Go for a jog. I’ll bring back something to eat. Any preferences?”
It was then Taylor realized that Rick had changed into shorts and a different T-shirt and was wearing running shoes. She wondered absently what the time was and noted the computer clock said four. Her stomach grumbled and she realized she hadn’t eaten any lunch. Hadn’t eaten anything since the coffee and muffin that Rosco made her consume before she left the studio because she’d still looked pale enough to faint clear away.
“Surprise me.”
“Ah,” Rick said, rubbing his hands together. “A challenge.” Taylor gave him a half-smile and his eyes grew concerned. “Will you be alright here by yourself? I don’t have to go.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, plastering a bigger smile on her face. “I’m just a bit jumpy, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” She nodded. “I’ve got Mack remember?” But that didn’t seem to ease Rick’s reluctance. “Go,” Taylor ordered. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” He squeezed her shoulder and she let him. “I’m on my cell if you need me.”
“Okay,” Taylor said, and she meant it. But when the door clicked shut behind him a minute later, she’d never felt more alone.
Chapter Eight
Taylor couldn’t put her mind back to her work after Rick left and she gave up trying. Not even classical music was helping to distract her and eight hundred words was far better than she’d thought she was going to get down a few hours ago.
She backed up her work, shut down her computer and wandered out to the living room. She expected a mess from Rick’s slovenly television marathon but things were as pristine as they had been. Sure, he’d left the television going but Taylor was surprisingly grateful for the distraction of it. A silent apartment in her state of mind was probably not a good thing.
She glanced at the door, suddenly afraid that Mack wasn’t there at all, or that the stalker had come along and slit Mack’s throat and he was lying outside, bleeding, too weak to call for help.
Both prospects alarmed her and before she knew it, she was heading for the door, her heart pounding. The security company had given her a personal alarm device and she swiped it off the coffee table as she went past, prepared to push it.
Her hand slid onto the door knob, her fingers trembling. She looked through the peephole. Nothing. Why couldn’t she see Mack?
Terrified but resolute, feeling brave and foolhardy all in one, Taylor took a deep steadying breath and yanked the door open. Mack, who’d been lounging against the wall beside the door, sprang into action, automatically barring the doorway with his body.
Taylor wasn’t sure who was more startled—him or her. But she wouldn’t mind betting that she had the higher heart rate.
“Dr. Hayes?” Mack enquired. “Everything okay?”
Taylor leaned against the doorjamb momentarily for support. “Yes,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t see you … I think I got a little panicky.”
“I’m fine, ma’am,” Mack assured. “I’m not going anywhere. You can take that to the bank.”
Suddenly he grinned and the very serious, very meaty-looking Mack appeared about twenty years younger.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor apologized again. “I guess I’m just a bit rattled by … you know … everything.”
“Understandable.”
Taylor didn’t think her actions had been very understandable at all but it was sweet of Mack to try to make her feel less foolish over it.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Something to eat or drink? Do you need the restroom?”
Mack smiled but shook his head. “I’m good, thank you, ma’am.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll meet my new security guy tonight?” She’d met them all at the studio earlier but it had been one of those days and she hadn’t taken a lot in.
“Yes. Tank will be here about twenty-one forty-five and I’ll introduce him.”
Taylor squinted as she tried to remember the faces she’d met and put names to them. “Tank’s the one with the goatee or the dragon tat?”
“Dragon tat,” Mack confirmed.
“Okay.” Taylor nodded as conversation ran dry. She didn’t seem to have a legitimate excuse to talk with him and Mack didn’t seem big on chitchat anyway. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”
Mack gave her a reassuring
smile. “Yes, ma’am. Just holler if you need me, okay?”
Taylor returned his smile as she shut the door and wandered back into the living area. She glanced over to the usually pristine formal dining table, surprised to see its high gloss was obscured by what appeared to be a mini office setup. A laptop and printer sat at one end, the Forrester Creations logo staring back at her from the laptop lid. Behind them were a series of black and white photographs laid out next to each other. She drew closer and looked at them. They appeared to be catwalk shots from Fashion Week in New York.
Rick had been busy.
So much for a vacation.
Taylor was drawn to some sketch print outs, despite having told herself when she’d left LA that she never wanted to see another Forrester Creations collection ever again. But these made her curious.
She did miss this about being part of the Forrester family: the excitement and passion that was part of their work. The smell of paper and ink and the heady rush of creativity that took concepts constructed from charcoal lines and squiggles and turned them into something tangible. Something that made a woman feel like a million bucks.
How many times had she slipped a Forrester Creations gown over her head and felt like the sexiest woman in the world?
Taylor looked down at two of the images. She frowned, unsure of what to make of them for long moments. They weren’t what she was used to seeing. Forrester Creations was known for its bold designs, for using cut and fabric and drape to accentuate the female form to perfection. For outlandish gowns that made a woman stand out from the crowd.
That was the Forrester Creations mission, after all.
But these … they weren’t the usual Forrester Creations style. They were work wear. Suits?
She sat and inspected them more closely. Okay, they weren’t just ordinary suits. They had a line and flow to them that was both business-like and flirty. Wide collars, flared hems, two different styles of pinstriping that looked fresh and original, a new take on an old staple. Like something she would wear in front of the camera, yet less generic.
Taylor liked them. She liked them a lot. They might not have been standard Forrester Creations designs but that didn’t make them any less special. And this was smart. If Forrester Creations was going to bring their talents to work wear, they would reach a whole new demographic.
Hell, she’d be first in line.
*
Rick greeted Mack as he drew level with the apartment just after six. “Everything okay?”
Mack nodded. “All quiet.”
“Any breakthroughs?” The good part about having the security team involved was they now had another party on the stalker case following up leads for them.
“The boss just rang to tell me the police have lifted a couple of good prints off the note.”
“That’s good, yes?”
Mack shrugged. “It would be if the prints were in the system, but they’re not.”
“So he’s never been involved with the police before?”
Mack shook his head. “He’s never had his prints taken before,” he clarified.
Rick frowned. “Don’t these kinds of criminals usually wear gloves? They do in the movies.”
Mack nodded. “The police think he’s either a clueless amateur or a cocky bastard who knows his prints aren’t in the system.”
“What’s your gut tell you?”
“Clueless amateur,” Mack said without a second’s hesitation and Rick felt instantly assured. “Either way, we’ll get our man, we always do.”
Rick nodded as Mack let him in. He liked the ex-SAS man’s confidence. He liked it a lot. Between them and the police, Rick was sure they’d get their man too.
Taylor was just walking from her room as Rick strode into the kitchen, placing the plastic bag that Joe had filled for him on the counter. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a ponytail, making her look like a cheerleader. But her clothes were far from teenage fare.
She was wearing a kaftan-style dress with a deep V neckline. It flowed against her body, outlining her slender thighs and full breasts as she walked toward him. The wild peacock-plumage pattern in vivid blues and greens swirled all the way to the floor. She reminded him of some exotic tropical bird and his breath hitched a little.
He felt like a vagabond, in his sweaty jogging clothes.
She smiled at him, and she had color back in her cheeks. “Mmm,” she said breathing in appreciatively, as she stopped on the other side of the counter. “That smells good. What is it? I’m starving.”
“I called in to Joe’s. He was more than happy to prepare something for the woman who charmed him so easily last night.”
Rick watched as Taylor reached into the bag, pulled out a plastic container and cracked open the lid. She leaned into the steam that escaped.
“His nonna’s spaghetti,” Rick said.
“God bless Nonna,” Taylor murmured.
Rick laughed. “Yes indeed.” He paused. “Can you wait till I have a quick shower? I stink.”
She looked at him then, her eyes trekking all over him, from the hollow of his throat to the expanse of his chest and the flat of his belly. Her nostrils flared a little and he got the sudden impression that she didn’t seem to mind the way he smelled at all.
He swallowed, his mouth parched, as her gaze returned to his face. To his lips, to be precise. “Or you can start without me,” he offered. “That’s fine too.”
She seemed to contemplate him for a long time and Rick held his breath. “How fast can you be?” she asked, her voice husky.
He swallowed again to get the answer out from around sandpapery vocal cords. And also to stop himself from giving her the more suggestive answer. He’d spent an hour in Central Park pounding the pathways, trying to erase the images of Taylor in her black satin negligee but one look from her and the images had flared to life again.
Only this time she was in a peacock-blue kaftan.
“Ten minutes?”
She didn’t answer. It looked to Rick as if she was grappling with the right thing to say. Like maybe, “Any longer and I’m coming in to get you.” Or, “How about I wash your back to speed things up?”
He gripped the edge of the expensive granite bench top.
“Okay. But I’m timing you.” She looked at a slim, gold watch on her wrist. “I’ll dish up and I’m starting in ten minutes with or without you.”
Rick nodded although he didn’t move immediately. He’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to recognize the sudden undercurrent between them. Taylor’s rules sat large between them but he wondered if she actually just wanted him to sweep them aside and take her here and now on the kitchen counter.
“Nine minutes and fifty seconds,” Taylor said, looking at him pointedly.
Rick shook his head. She came across all prim and proper sometimes but he could see the extra color in her cheeks.
“Yeah, I hear you,” he said, then quickly pulled his T-shirt over his head. “I’m going.”
Her eyes widened as they devoured the sight before her. The sweat had dried long ago but there wasn’t one part of his chest that didn’t feel the heat of her gaze. Rick pressed his lips together hard to stop the triumphant smile.
Oh yeah, there was definitely an undercurrent.
“Rick,” she warned, dragging her eyes up, her gaze turning accusing as it clashed with his. “No walking round half clothed.”
“What?” he asked innocently as he walked out of the kitchen. “Just trying to save a little time.”
He grinned to himself as he strolled across the living room, his back practically on fire from her gaze.
He added a little swagger to his walk for good measure.
*
Ten minutes later he emerged, soaped and cleaned, his breath toothpaste fresh.
“That’s better,” he said, running his hand through his damp blond locks, which he knew would pull up the T-shirt he’d teamed with his boxers to display a slice of abdomen.
But T
aylor, it appeared, had gotten herself under control and was not falling for his cheap ploy. She pushed his plate toward him, making no comment.
He sat on the kitchen stool opposite Taylor and watched her as she ate. It was good to see a woman who appreciated food and wasn’t afraid to eat. He’d worked around one too many starving models for his liking and he’d never been comfortable with that part of the industry. Yes, designers created clothes for models, but he’d never seen the necessity for any of them to be a size zero when models in a more healthy weight range looked just as good, if not better.
They ate in silence for a while but eventually Taylor asked him where he’d been and he gave her a rundown as well as filling her in on Mack’s news. They chatted for a while as they inhaled Nonna’s spaghetti. Joe had said it made grown men weep and Rick could totally understand why. It was the real deal.
“Mmm,” he groaned as he mopped up the last of his spaghetti sauce with the wickedly good garlic bread Joe had insisted that Rick also take. “That was divine.”
“Yes,” Taylor agreed. “I think I just found myself a regular place to eat.”
Rick grinned. “Joe will love that.”
“If I’m ever allowed out again.”
“Hey.” He reached across the bench and put his hand over hers. “This isn’t going to last forever. It’ll be over soon and things will get back to normal.”
She looked down at their joined hands then said, “I hope so,” before she moved her hand out from under his.
“So do I,” Rick said placing his hand on his thigh. “But I have to admit, I’m finding New York quite inspiring. I don’t know what it is but I feel this … vision welling up inside me that I haven’t felt for a long time.”
Of course, that was a lie. He knew exactly what it was.
“Yes,” Taylor said. “I was looking at the designs over there earlier. Since when does Forrester Creations design suits? Isn’t that a little … work wear?”
Rick laughed. “I’m sure Coco Chanel would beg to differ.”
Taylor laughed as well. “Touché,” she murmured. “But what brought on this sudden change in direction? Or did you decide the company should start channeling Coco?”
