TASTE ME

by Carrie Alexander

  Petra slammed the paper down, rattling the dishes on her breakfast tray. Why hadn't Julian recognized what was so obvious to everyone but him? They'd be perfect together.

  Absolutely perfect.

  She knew she could make him see that, if only she could get cozy with Nikki and move that drab little Mia Nobody out of the way.

  That evening, Mia was busy with her own plotting. Cress and Fred were hanging out; they'd discussed her scheme for the body-painting exhibition over a vegetarian pizza and then moved on to their love lives, both existent and nonexistent. Fred had been mooning over a Rent chorus boy for months now, and Cress was in denial about Angelika, which left Mia and Julian as the hot topic of conversation.

  "Did he send flowers again?" Cress asked with a touch of pity, once they'd pried it out of her that she and Julian had done the nasty at the museum party and he'd canceled with apologies earlier that day. "I sense a developing pattern."

  "No, he did not. Because it was different this time. I think. He had to go to a dinner at his mother's. She returned from their summer house on Martha's Vineyard and wanted to get the entire family together." On the phone, there'd been a moment when she'd wondered if Julian would invite her, but he hadn't. And how could she blame him? She'd made it clear that she did not want to be brought home to do the standard meet-the-parents thing. She had no reason to feel disappointed.

  Cress nodded. "Uh-huh." He wasn't up to his usual form since Angelika had dumped him.

  "I can't decide if I trust that man," Fred said as he paged through Mia's sketches. Fred's lithe, nearly hairless body was the ideal canvas, and he'd gladly accepted her offer of several days' work. "On the one hand, he's gorgeous, but on the other hand, he's gorgeous. My mother always told me—never trust gorgeous men. And she was right. Especially rich gorgeous playboys." His head tilted. "I wonder if there is any other kind of playboy."

  Cress, in the armchair with Mrs. Snookums curled up in his lap, snorted. "As if you have experience."

  "I do. I was an It Boy in the eighties."

  "As in 'Tag, you're it'?"

  Mia was spread out among the floor pillows, digesting her pizza while she stared at the gossip page photo that had appeared in the morning's paper. She kicked a foot at Cress to divert his attention from another snipe-fest with Fred.

  She balled up the page and lobbed it at him. "I blame this on you, Cress. You're supposed to be my most levelheaded best guy friend. With your experience, couldn't you have guessed that wearing painted underwear to a museum benefit would lead to naked shenanigans in a semiprivate courtyard?"

  "You have a problem with naked shenanigans?"

  "I'm just lucky that there were no lurking photographers to capture us in flagrante delicto."

  "Julian would have a lot of 'splaining to do to his board of directors then," Cress said. She'd told them all about Barron Spear and her cool, restrained performance.

  Mia didn't want to think about that too deeply. It only made her sad, knowing that for all their compatibility, she and Julian were still worlds apart.

  "Let's go back to talking about the competition," she said abruptly, sitting up. "Now that I've settled on the jungle theme, I have to book the models. Who'd be good for the leopard? I need a long, lean body with muscle definition." Like Julian's, she almost said, but pushed away the image of him, half out of his suit and thrusting hard, before it could get her hot again.

  "Maurizio?"

  "Way too bulky."

  "I'll put out the word at the gym," Fred offered. "I can find the right body."

  Cress shifted, prompting the cat to vault over his legs to the floor. "Lots of recruiting going on there."

  Fred made a shooing motion at him. "Beep, beep, beep. Back in the closet for you."

  Mia caught Mrs. Snookums and held the skinny cat up to her face. "Do you believe it? Not that old bone again." As long as she'd known him, Cress had gotten grief from those who believed a neat, handsome, artistic male had to be either gay or in denial. The prejudice hurt, especially when it came from his own dad, and they'd bonded over their mutual failures. She'd always figured that was why he was so visibly interested in the models. Well, that and their fabulous bodies.

  She looked for yet another topic. "Hey, guys, did I tell you about this weird thing with Phil Shavers, the photographer who did Angelika's Hard Candy cover?"

  Cress sat low in the chair, his face dark. He let out a grunt.

  "The one who's been recommending you all over town?" Fred said.

  "That's the weird part. Turns out I didn't get the Sweet campaign on his recommendation after all. I had sent him a thank-you note with a gift pack of my best edible paints, you know? But this morning he calls to say thanks for the thought, except it wasn't him."

  "Then who was it?"

  "Could be anyone … I guess." Mia petted Fred's hairless pet, absently wondering if it was possible to paint a cat. "Maybe simple word of mouth. I'll ask someone at the cosmetics company when we have our next pre-production meeting."

  "But who do you think?" Cress must have picked up on her vibe; she'd been having suspicious thoughts all day.

  "Hmm, well, who do I know who has a penchant for taking charge, doling out favors and fixing other people's lives for their benefit? All out of kindness, of course."

  Cress looked at her and nodded silently. Then Fred said, "I had no idea you knew my mother," and they ended on a good laugh.

  * * *

  12

  Mia tried to resist. She was a modern New Yorker; she didn't coo over sunsets or cutesy stuffed animals or fall for gushy hearts-and-flowers acts. She certainly never took a man at his word, no matter how buttery smooth and sugary sweet those words were to swallow.

  But as the evening wore on and the upscale elegance, rich food, fine wine and constant catering massaged away her defensive edges, she began to weaken. She began to melt.

  Had any woman—particularly a modern New Yorker—resisted the patented Julian Silk romantic evening of sophistication, seduction and sauterne?

  "Château d'Yquem, eighty-nine," the sommelier said, cradling the bottle like the Holy Grail, practically bowing and scraping for Julian's approval.

  Who remained James Bond cool. "Excellent. Thank you."

  As soon as they were alone, Mia leaned toward him in their horseshoe-shaped banquette. "Isn't this stuff like hundreds and hundreds a bottle?"

  He smiled at her awe. "This is an eighty-nine, not a fifty-nine, so you can drop a couple of the hundreds. But the price isn't important. What matters is if you like it."

  She sipped, trying to act sophisticated. The golden wine was very sweet, so rich it was almost sticky. "It's the best thing I've ever tasted."

  Julian's hand stroked her leg beneath the tablecloth. "The best?"

  She lowered her lashes, hiding a grin in the dainty crystal glass as she took another sip. "Mmm, yes. Better than body paint. You know…" She looked away, searching for distraction in the back room of the very swank, very dark restaurant. "You give me wicked thoughts when you look at me that way."

  The dinner had been splendid, the company superb. If there hadn't still been that hard nugget of uneasiness and doubt inside her, she'd have been putty in Julian's hands by now. Instead, she felt like Cinderella, living the enchanted life, charmed by her prince, but also waiting for the other shoe to fall.

  She set down the glass and picked up her spoon, digging out the remaining morsel of the lightest soufflé on earth or heaven. Like eating a cloud. Stopping the orgasmic moan of pleasure that wanted to slide out of her was extremely difficult. Especially with Julian watching her so attentively, looking good enough to eat for dessert all on his own.

  "Technically, you should have only melon or nuts with a sauterne this sweet, but I remembered that you're a chocoholic. I figured you could handle the sugar high."

  Thoughtful, too. The man really was perfect.

  If only he felt the same way about her.

  "Dinner was the absolute best,
" she said. "And I've dined well before. I've had black truffles. I've had caviar."

  Surprise flicked in his eyes. "You have?"

  "I'm not a gutter rat, you know."

  "Obviously."

  She went back in her head over their conversations, trying to remember what she'd said about her family. Did he know that she and Cress had been classmates at one of the country's more exclusive private schools? Had she ever explained that her present style of living was a choice, not a necessity?

  It was true that she was relatively poor herself. But there was no need for him to work behind the scenes to secure her a thriving future.

  "Julian, who do you think I am?" she asked, licking her spoon as she turned toward him.

  His left arm rested along the deeply tufted back of the upholstered booth. Throughout dessert, he'd touched her casually—on the leg, the arm, toying with her hair. Each touch had heightened her anticipation until her body ran with a honeyed arousal as sweet as any sauterne dessert wine.

  He brought his hand to his chin, considering the question with the same cool deliberation he'd had all evening. Dinner with the bachelor playboy Julian was as fluid and silky as slipping into a warm bath.

  "You're Mia," he said with a small smile. "Incorrigible, independent and unexpected."

  "That's very nice." She peered into his soufflé dish. "But aside from that. The actual details."

  He lifted a raspberry and popped it in his mouth, then slid the dish in front of her. "Favorite food, color, book, movie?"

  "No. I mean, I know about your background—the close family, the Ivy League schooling, la-di-da. But I think you've misunderstood something about mine…"

  "I know enough to like you. The rest of it—" He flicked a finger in dismissal.

  She devoured his soufflé. "I've mentioned that my father is a minister. Do you think I'm a poor little church mouse who's gone astray?"

  Julian's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

  She had another taste of the sauterne. So delicious. Was she getting drunk? No. Maybe a little extra glow; her cheeks were so warm. "I suppose it's true enough that I've gone astray, at least according to my parents. And I suppose I do qualify as poor, to you at least."

  "I thought your career was picking up."

  "Yes, indeed it is. I've even just signed on with one of the top booking agents, who's very pleased with the level of interest in my work." She blinked at Julian, suppressing an urge to give him a hug. And a sucker punch. "It's so sudden. Almost as if I've been anointed by someone with great power. Isn't that odd?"

  He adjusted his blue silk tie. "You're good at what you do. Word was sure to spread among the art directors. There can't be that many body painters to choose from in the city. You were bound to be noticed."

  He was repeating himself. Aha. She knew her suspicions had been on target.

  "Particularly when someone at the top of the industry puts the word out on me," she said softly. "Right, Julian?"

  He grimaced. "Okay, what do you know?"

  "And when did I know it?" She laughed. "It's mostly suspicion, after I found out that the Sweet job didn't come from Shavers, as I'd believed. Are you ready to admit that it was you?"

  "Don't know. Are you going to whine at me about trying to control your life?"

  "I've had enough wine for this evening, thank you.

  Though I do suddenly have a better understanding of how your sisters must feel."

  "Look, I'm sorry if I've butted in, but I just wanted to help you out, after you were talking about having a tight budget for your next project..,"

  "Promise me it had nothing to do with repayment for sex?"

  He stared, beginning to lose his mellow mood, judging by the clench of his jaw. "Of course it didn't. I can't believe you're still thinking that way."

  She shook her head. "No, I'm not. I only wanted to hear you say it out loud so I could be sure." But that meant she didn't quite trust him, even if it was only one percent out of a hundred.

  There was a short silence. Eventually, he dropped his chin and looked at her sidelong. A half grin lifted one corner his mouth. The look was pure naughty-boy-asking-for-forgiveness. "I suppose now you resent me for interfering?"

  "Actually, I thank you. But don't do it again. I'm capable of making my own successes." She took a breath. "Which brings us back to the start of this discussion."

  "Now I'm lost. Maybe you'd better come right out with it. Unless you're the secret runaway daughter of the pope…"

  "Wrong religion, but that's not so far off. My father is not your average do-gooding Methodist minister. He's a fairly well-known city figure. Some of your friends and neighbors may even be his parishioners." She named her father's church, a large, historic institution with one of the wealthiest congregations in the country. "Have you heard of it?"

  "Yes…" Julian began nodding as if he was finally getting her. "That had to put a lot of pressure on you to conform." He smiled. "But then I've always heard that it's pastor's daughters who are the wildest."

  "Hah. I don't know about that. But don't forget my mother—she was even more concerned with propriety. And still is." A note of sadness had crept into Mia's tone and she was determined to lighten it. "My mother is a very refined lady, who has lived a life of privilege and good breeding. She runs a household Martha Stewart can only dream of, works for a half-dozen church committees and has led a book club devoted to French literature for twenty-five years. She is formidable. We can't even begin to communicate." Whoops. Getting serious again. Mia threw in a tinkling laugh. "I, of course, never learned to speak Beaudelaire."

  Julian seemed unconcerned that the banquette had become an analyst's couch. "But you've said you're not actually estranged?"

  "Oh no. That would be too angry and gritty for them. We simply lead lives that rarely intersect."

  "They were strict with you?"

  "Tried to be, but as you said, I'm incorrigible. I've never fit into their mold. Cress and I went to school together. We were artistic rebels with far too many causes. For our senior art project, we staged my first body-painting exhibition."

  Julian blinked. "I can imagine."

  "Oh, I doubt it. It was a complete scandal. I copied popular works by Klee, Cezanne and Van Gogh onto the bodies of the most ordinary models I could find. A middle-aged insurance agent. A high school dropout. A new mother on welfare. Cress built large, overly fancy frames. The models posed stepping out of them to represent the triumph of ordinary man over the commercialization of great art. We were very pleased with ourselves, and even more so when we almost didn't graduate because of the reaction." She chuckled. "Looking back, I kind of get why my parents were so worried."

  "What did they do?" Julian said, with a sympathetic laugh.

  She pushed back her hair. It was wild tonight, a spiky black halo in contrast to her most conservative dress, a white silk shirtwaist paired with long strands of pearls. Julian had asked with a hopeful curiosity, but she'd assured him that she'd worn real undergarments tonight. "They told me I had to give up the idea of art as my major or they wouldn't pay for college. But they didn't know that I'd already been accepted at Cooper Union, here in Manhattan. Cress, too. We went out on our own and busted our asses to graduate."

  "That's impressive." Julian considered. "There are times I wonder if I should have been as stubborn."

  "Ah, well, truthfully, it's not easy, knowing I've disappointed my parents. I keep hoping that one day they'll understand me, but—" She frowned. "Not as long as I do what I'm doing."

  "Still, you don't let that stop you." He shrugged. "I don't have your staying power. When my dad asked me to take over the family business, I couldn't say no."

  She cocked her head at him, finding his self-doubt poignant. So he did have a flaw, other than his need for control. He should let his human side show more often, as she did all the damn time.

  "But that's admirable, too," she said. "And you like the work, don't you?"

  "Yeah, I
do. The corporate life suits me, now that I'm past the fast cars and faster women stage of my life."

  "Oh? What about me?"

  He grazed the back of his hand over her cheek. "You don't fit in a category. In fact, you blow the mere idea of categories to smithereens."

  She cozied up to him. "No more Bachelor Seventeen then, huh?"

  "I think we've moved beyond that."

  Very promising. Maybe she should stop letting his reputation as a ladies' man color her view of him. Let herself free-fall all the way into love with him.

  "Mmm, Jules, you're so good at what you do." The seduction scene was working on her, almost too well. Her defenses were down around her ankles, her panties soon to join them.

  "My job?" he said with a smile.

  "That, too. But maybe you can name Nikki a vice president someday, to tighten your load."

  "Nikki? You're kidding."

  "Why not Nikki? Someday. She's only in her early twenties. Lots of growing up to do yet. I was waiting tables and doing makeup for off-off-off-Broadway when I was that age. My biggest job was an all-nude Nutcracker revue. That was when I started experimenting with edible paint."

  He draped his arm around her, nudging her within cuddling distance again. "All right, you can stop the selling. I know it's time for Nikki to fly. My sister's never had a better booster, and I'm sure she appreciates it, but we didn't come here to discuss her."

  The soft suede of his voice and the heat from his body were making Mia slip back into warm bath, hot bod territory. "I wasn't aware the evening had an agenda."

  "Not an agenda." He plucked her hand off her lap. "I just thought that it was time we explored more of my world, since the party at the museum—"

  She nudged him. "Our private party at the museum was the best of both worlds, don't you think?"

  "We're getting there. But I'm still concerned with—oh, damn, here comes the waiter again."

  While the obsequious waiter delivered the check and asked what else he could do for them, Mia left to make a quick trip to the ladies' room. She was returning to the table when a woman who looked familiar stopped her to say hello.