“You’re not a little girl anymore, Rosemary. Don’t worry about what people think of you. It’s none of your business.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it was easy enough to be so cavalier when you were the only son of a Hollywood power broker. Instead, I “hmmed” noncommittally.
He pulled into the fifteen-minute loading zone spot in front of my building, turned on his hazards, and killed the engine. “I’ll walk you up.”
I let myself out slowly, trying to think of a way to invite him in that didn’t sound slutty.
Don’t worry so much about what people think of you, I chided myself.
I waited on the sidewalk until he joined me beside the car. He immediately reached for my hand. “I had a great time,” he said.
“Me, too.” I swallowed and tried to work up some saliva in my suddenly dry throat. “Do you want to come up for a drink?” I said in what was supposed to be a casual tone. It sounded strained to me.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall beside the intercom. He pulled me toward him. “I would love to come up—and not for a drink.”
He kissed me hungrily, and my lips parted. His tongue darted into my mouth, exploring and probing. I pressed against him and made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a kitten being strangled. When I could breathe, I rested my palms on his chest and looked up at him, about to reiterate the invitation was for a drink only.
“Then I think you’d better not come up.”
Disappointment warred with longing in his eyes. I started to step away.
Felix grabbed my waist and held me still. “Don’t do that. I like you, Rosemary. I like you a lot.”
“And?” I breathed.
“And right now, I want you.” His voice was a growl.
I felt my heart beating in my throat. “But?” I whispered.
“But I’m going to want you tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that. So I’m going to kiss you good night like a gentleman and ask you to see me again.” His eyes grew dark and heavy-lidded.
“You’ll see me at your house. I work there, remember?”
“I mean after work.”
“Another proper date?” I said, my mouth curving into a smile.
“Exactly.”
“Okay.”
“Great. Think about what you want to do for our next date. Now about that good night kiss …” He trailed off and tangled his fingers in my hair, kissing my lips, my neck, the base of my throat.
“Very gentlemanly,” I managed.
His tongue danced across the skin of my bare shoulder and I shivered. He lifted my hand and kissed it then bowed in an exaggerated gesture. He left me laughing on the front stairs to my apartment building. I sagged against the wall, grinning like an absolute idiot, and watched him walk back to his car. Then I pressed a hand to my tender, bruised lips and floated into the building and up the stairs to call Sage and squeal at her about my date.
12
We fell into a pattern. I’d go to the Patrick mansion every morning, just like I used to when Amber was alive. But instead of juicing beets and assembling micro-green salads, I sourced local meats and fish for Pat, Antonio, and Felix. Although being freed from Amber’s dietary restrictions allowed me to unleash my creativity in the kitchen, cooking for Pat was awkward. He posted bond (of course—I mean, I can’t imagine how many zeroes the number would have to have to be out of his reach) but didn’t return to the house. He was staying with Antonio just down the road. According to his statements to the press, the two were relieved and overjoyed that they could finally go public with their relationship, even though the news had cost Antonio his body spray contract. I suspected the real reason they were shacking up had more to do with the frosty relationship between Pat and Felix than with the romance between Pat and Antonio. But as long as my salary kept being direct deposited into my bank account, I was happy to cook for him.
Antonio would zip up in one of his sports cars at eight a.m., noon, and seven p.m. and idle his engine loudly in the driveway while Alayna ran out whatever meal I’d boxed up for him and Pat. Felix usually made himself scarce until Antonio left. Then Felix would appear in the kitchen, steal a few kisses, and try to convince me to eat with him. I tried to explain that I didn’t want to further blur the lines between my job and our budding relationship, but he was relentless. He made the point that it was lonely for him, all alone in the big house. So I conceded to join him—provided that he invited Alayna, too. He rolled his eyes at that but dutifully asked her to join us before each meal.
Every once in a while she’d deign to eat with us—usually when I’d prepared one of her favorites. Most of the time, she declined and muttered some version of ‘poor little rich boy with no friends’ once Felix was out of earshot. Her veiled hostility toward him struck me. He’d said she hated men, but it seemed as if she mainly hated him. It was an attitude I hadn’t noticed before Felix and I became involved.
But then there were lots of things I’d failed to observe B.F. (before Felix). Things like the abundance of hidden nooks scattered throughout his family’s home, all of which were perfectly suited to a quick session of nuzzling, caressing, and, of course, kissing. Felix was the best kisser whose lips I’d ever encountered. He left poor Thor the podiatrist in the dust. Another thing I hadn’t noticed was how strong his arms were. I’d be pureeing the base for a gazpacho or dicing potatoes for a low country boil and suddenly he’d be pressed up against me, his arms encircling me tightly from behind. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that in the days and weeks after our first proper date, the world seemed new and strange to me. All of my senses were heightened. Colors were brighter. Sounds were louder. Food tasted stronger. Smells were sharper. And touch—all he had to do was trail a finger down my arm or brush against my hip when we passed in the hallway, and my breath would catch and my knees would threaten to buckle.
I tried explaining this to Sage and Thyme on our monthly conference call to discuss the resort’s dismal financial condition.
“I think you’re in love,” Thyme said in her serious psychology student voice.
“What? I’m not —”
Sage broke in. “Or in lust.”
I sputtered a protest they couldn’t possibly have heard over their combined laughter.
“Are you still going on your proper dates?” Thyme asked once she was able to breathe again.
“Um, well, yeah,” I admitted. As a mater of fact, we were. Since the jazz concert at the Hollywood Bowl, we’d gone to a Lakers game (courtside), attended the opening of a Spanish restaurant, bowled at some retro hipster bowling alley, and represented the recording label at a fancy silent auction fundraiser. Each date had ended the same way: with us making out in a frenzy in front of my building, and me gently refusing to let Felix come upstairs. At this point, I imagined the people who lived directly across the street were viewing us as free entertainment.
“And you still haven’t boned?” Sage asked in disbelief.
Boned? I felt the heat creep up my face. Although Sage and Thyme always shared the intimate details of their personal lives with me and one another, I was intensely private—even with my sisters.
“No.” I hoped my tone made clear that this wasn’t a subject I wanted to elaborate on.
No such luck.
“Maybe he’s gay like his dad?” Thyme ventured.
The image of Felix pressed against me, his hands and mouth urgently roaming my body, flashed in my mind. “He’s not gay,” I said faintly.
“Then what’s with all the proper dates?” Thyme said.
I was about to explain for the hundredth time that I just wanted to take it slow. I was a family employee. And according to the staff scuttlebutt, he could be a bit of a playboy. I didn’t need a messy heartbreak. But I never had a chance to get the words out, because Sage offered her own theory.
“Maybe he thinks you’re a virgin?” Sage suggested.
Before I could even
respond, Thyme gasped. “Maybe she is. Are you, Rosie?”
“What? No.”
“Oh, not Thor. Tell us it wasn’t Thor,” Sage said. The two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter again.
“That’s it. This conversation is over,” I said firmly in my oldest sister voice before changing the subject to something slightly less mortifying. “Have you reviewed the most recent P & L statements from the accountant?”
13
The next morning at work, Felix turned up in the kitchen in his swim trunks while I was whipping up two frittatas—one for us and one for Pat and Antonio. He scanned the room, no doubt looking for Alayna.
“She’s in the laundry room,” I said.
He grinned and crossed the room in a hurry. “Good morning, beautiful.” He planted a warm kiss on the nape of my neck.
“Mmmm. Morning,” I managed, acutely aware of his mostly naked body about two inches from my non-naked one. I kept my eyes on the eggs.
He spun me around to face him.
“Are you free tonight?” he asked in a low voice as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me toward him.
I swallowed hard. “Let’s see.” I pretended to think for a few seconds before smiling up at him. “Yep, free. What do you have in mind for tonight’s proper date?”
Although I didn’t think it was possible to get any closer than we already were, he pulled me even tighter. I could feel the heat rising from his bare chest. His voice grew husky, and he caressed the small of my back before his hands rested on my hips. “Well I’ve been thinking. We’d have five proper dates. I thought maybe tonight, we could do something quieter. I’d offer to make you dinner, but you’re the pro. How does dinner for two at the apartment in Santa Monica sound?”
My pulse quickened at the thought of spending a whole evening alone with him, out of sight of public eyes. I wet my lips. “Sounds great. I’ll go grocery shopping after work. Meet you there at eight?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
He ran his hands through my hair. I pulled his head down toward mine. His lips met mine, salty and open-mouthed.
“You have no idea how crazy you drive me,” he said.
I uttered a wordless sound before he covered my mouth again. I leaned back against the counter and he moved his lips down my throat and ran his hands along my body. I arched, quivering.
A door banged shut. We both jumped at the loud sound and pulled apart guiltily. I opened my eyes expecting to see Alayna glaring at us with her arms full of towels and sheets. Instead, Antonio Santos stood awkwardly in the doorway, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“I knocked. I guess you didn’t hear me.” He raised his right eyebrow.
“I guess not,” Felix agreed in a strangled voice.
I smoothed a hand over my hair and tried to form a thought so that I could possibly form words. What I came up with was both rude and defensive-sounding. “What are you doing here?”
Antonio’s left eyebrow joined his right at his hairline.
“Sorry. I mean, you’ve never come into the house before. And you’re early. Breakfast isn’t ready,” I said in a rush, tripping over myself to clarify what I meant. After all, he was Pat’s significant other. I really didn’t need to lose my job over a perceived slight.
“I can see that you’re running a bit late this morning, eh?” he asked as the smirk returned.
I blushed and turned away, busying myself with the ingredients to get the blasted frittata into the pan already.
“To answer the question,” Antonio said to my back, “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to your boyfriend. Felix, a word?”
Beside me, Felix stiffened. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Actually, we do. I love your father. And he loves you. It’s time to stop this silent treatment. You’re hurting him.” Antonio pressed on as though he wasn’t the least bit perturbed by Felix’s discomfort or rising anger. Of course, a man who made his living driving a little car around a track at high speeds probably had sufficient testosterone to weather a showdown with just about anyone.
“This is none of your business.”
“You’re wrong. I love Pat—that makes it my business whether you like it or not.”
I sneaked a peek at Felix. His mouth was a hard, angry slash and he was clenching and relaxing his fists rhythmically. The hair on his bare arms stood up.
Oh, man.
If this was going to escalate, I didn’t want to be a witness to it. I cleared my throat. “This frittata can wait. Why don’t I step into the library and give you two some privacy?”
“Thank you,” Antonio said at the same time that Felix barked, “No.”
I stifled a sigh.
“No,” Felix repeated. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Rosemary. I’ll give you two minutes. Clock’s running.”
I forced myself to concentrate on assembling breakfast and to ignore the tension between the two men.
“If that’s the way you want to do this, fine. You have to know your father didn’t kill Amber. So why the cold shoulder, huh? Is it because you disapprove of our relationship?”
“Please. I don’t give two craps about his personal life. Whatever makes him happy. I mean, why would I pass judgment on my dad when he’s always been so supportive of me and my dreams. Like when I told him I got into Julliard. He was so proud of me … Oh, wait.” Felix’s words were laced with bitter sarcasm.
“Felix,” Antonio said in a low, kind voice, “can’t you put the past aside? Your dad needs you.”
From the corner of my eye, I watched as Felix’s face grew increasingly redder. After a long moment, he jutted his chin and said, “If he needed me, he’d have come here himself. But the thing you don’t seem to understand about your boyfriend is that he doesn’t need anybody. You need to stop meddling.” He turned to me and snarled, “I’ll be in my room. Let me know when Speed Racer’s gone and my breakfast is ready.”
As he stomped out of the kitchen, I pushed down the sting from the way he spoke to me. Once I could manage a wobbly grin, I faced Antonio. “Do you want a cup of coffee while you wait for your food?”
“I’d love that,” he said with a hint of his trademark sexy smolder. But his dark eyes were subdued.
* * *
After Antonio left, I waited until Alayna headed out to run errands and then went upstairs to Felix’s room. I stood for a moment in the hall, gathering my thoughts, before rapping lightly on his closed bedroom door. The heavy bass line of his dad’s label’s latest hit was audible through the door.
A few seconds later, the music switched off and the door swung open. Felix had traded his swim trunks for a pair of low-slung jeans but hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. I kept my gaze away from his shirtless torso and pinned my eyes on his face.
“Your breakfast is ready,” I said stiffly.
As I turned to go, he caught my wrist. “Hey, come on. Don’t be that way.”
I gave him a long look. He sighed, slumping his shoulders. I waited to see if he’d apologize for his behavior in the kitchen.
When he didn’t, I took a centering breath then said, “I didn’t like the way you talked to me downstairs—not as an employee and definitely not as … a whatever I am to you.” My voice sounded shaky and I was burning with embarrassment at having to tiptoe around the issue of our relationship status, but I felt good about standing up for myself. Even if it ended up meaning the end of our … whatever it was.
I moved to shake my wrist loose of his hand, but he shook his head. “No. Don’t go. Stay here and talk to me.” He released my wrist and put his hands on the doorframe, one of each side of me. “You’re not my employee. You happen to work for my dad, but you’re my girlfriend, or at least I hope you are.” The color of his eyes deepened with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
Girlfriend? The word echoed in my mind.
He didn’t move to touch me but my traitorous body reacted as
if he had, quivering and yielding. I forced myself to ignore my physical reaction and said, “Not if you think you can talk to me like you did in the kitchen, I’m not.”
The beginning of a laugh escaped his mouth, but he must have belatedly realized I wasn’t joking because the sound died almost instantly. He gave me what I can only describe as a wounded look. “You’re really mad about that, aren’t you?”
“I am. You need to be more careful about how you treat people,” I said, cringing a little at my lecturing tone. But, I figured, in for a dime, in for a dollar, so I pressed on. “And that goes for your dad as well as for me.”
His eyes widened in shock that I’d side with Antonio but before he had a chance to respond, Alayna called up the stairs. “Rosemary? Are you up there? The policeman is here looking for you.”
Felix blinked at that news, and I imagine I did, too. I shot him a look that said our conversation was far from over and headed down the main staircase to the front of the house wondering what Detective Drummond wanted to harass me about now.
I didn’t have long to wonder. As I was descending the stairs, he was already yapping at me.
“I didn’t realize there was a second-floor kitchen in this place,” he said dryly.
I smiled in what I hoped was a mysterious way to show that his needling didn’t affect me. “What can I do for you, detective?”
He switched on his cop voice. “I wanted to let you know the district attorney is going to subpoena you.”
“What? Why me?” Panic was rising in my throat.
“Take it easy. It’s routine. You’ve seen Roland Patrick lose his temper on multiple occasions. The prosecutors are building a case that he’s a volatile man, prone to outbursts and capable of murder. They’ll want you to testify about your experiences as a household employee.” He gestured with a rolled-up piece of paper in his hands for emphasis. I figured that was the subpoena.
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