by Peggy Jaeger
“I was watching. You did pretty good, kid. Better than the others.”
An eyebrow-grazing eye roll was accompanied by a huge grin. “I know. It was cool knowing so much more than the rest of them. Burbank, btw, is a huge tool. He was, like, blatantly hitting on Stacy. So lame.”
The muscles in Nikko’s stomach gnarled into knots. “What did he say to her that was so lame?” he asked, trying to keep the irritation from spilling into his voice.
They started walking to the elevator.
“Just really dumb comments about private yoga lessons, and if, like, doing yoga would make him more limber in certain departments.” She snorted as they got in the elevator. “He said that really skanky and suggestive-like. Stacy hit him.” She snorted again.
Nikko wanted to do more than hit the chef. The urge to hurt him flashed fast and furious across his mind.
He blinked, surprised at the sudden possessiveness rearing its head again.
What to do about it was the question of the day.
* * * *
Stacy rubbed the back of her neck and sighed.
The day had started out perfectly with the early-morning yoga class—a class she’d been surprised to be asked to lead—but had deteriorated as quick as rapid gunfire right before filming was due to start.
As usual, Jade Quartermaine had been late to arrive on set, no excuse given. The red lines train-tracking the whites of her eyes and the sandy rasp in her voice told Stacy the woman had had a late night, obviously spent with a bottle of alcohol. The huge hickey on the side of her neck told everyone she hadn’t been drinking alone.
When all the chefs were in place in the restaurant kitchen waiting for their first challenge to be issued, the film crew set to begin, it became apparent Jade was even more unprepared than usual.
While her words weren’t slurred, they were garbled when she spoke and it was obvious she hadn’t gone over her lines before coming to set. Nikko was forced to stop filming several times due to the woman’s inability to get even one line of script correct.
“Christ. Jade, what the hell is the matter with you?” He stormed from off set where the production crew was situated and right up into her face. Stacy had to give the woman credit for not shrinking back from the accusatory and threatening scowl facing her.
With her own frown pulling at her crimson-colored mouth, Jade shot out a French-manicured, pointed fingernail and poked it squarely in his chest.
“Back off, Nikko. I’m not in the mood for one of your testosterone-fueled temper tantrums.”
The noise level in the kitchen dropped to a silent hum. From next to her, Stacy heard Todd mumble, “That she can say, but not the easy words written in the script?”
“I wouldn’t lose my temper if you did your job,” Nikko roared.
Stacy flinched.
Jade wasn’t a woman to be yelled at and not respond in kind. “Whoever wrote this drivel has no concept of the spoken word,” she screeched. “These lines are ridiculous.”
“It’s you who are ridiculous,” Nikko tossed back.
Within a heartbeat, the argument escalated to three times the volume, with both star and director screaming at the same time.
“Somebody needs to stop this before we get bloodshed,” Clay Burbank said, loud enough to be heard above the din.
When no one else moved, Stacy did. Into the fire she strode, wedging herself between them. At her back she could feel the heat of Jade’s breath on her neck as she continued to yell; from her front, the natural heat of Nikko’s body bearing down on her.
“Both of you, please stop,” she said loud enough to be heard, but not shouting. “Please.”
Maybe it was because they were both stunned someone had intervened, or that Stacy’s presence between them acted as an obstacle; or perhaps they’d both come to their senses at the same moment, but for whatever reason, the commotion came to an abrupt halt. All eyes were trained on Stacy, breaths held, as she looked from Nikko to Jade and then back to the director.
“Thank you,” she told him.
Something in his eyes changed as he stared down at her. She swore the hard, angry glare he’d thrown at Jade just seconds before, shifted now to a gentler, calmer one. His furrowed brow smoothed, his mouth softened from a tight, hard line, and his shoulders pulled down from their hunched position around his ears.
It was captivating to watch him gain control of himself. On any given day, Nikko Stamp was a force of nature. Volatile and unpredictable, like a threatening storm. And right now, with the echo of his anger floating around them as he valiantly warred to get his emotions under control, he was the most fascinating man she’d ever encountered.
Realizing she could have stood all day, just gazing up at him, hit her hard. He made her forget the reason she was standing there, lodged between himself and his obnoxious program host.
Stacy blinked, swallowed, and turned to face Jade.
“Why don’t we go run through your lines a few times? Maybe”—she held her hand up, anticipating what the disgruntled star was about to say—“we can rework the text so the words flow more naturally.”
Jade’s mouth snapped shut. With a withering, narrow-eyed glare at Nikko, she nodded. “At least someone involved with this production understands what I’ve been saying.”
She turned and strode from the set, a red-faced Carrie, who’d been standing on the sidelines nervously twisting her fingers together, following.
“There’s nothing wrong with that intro,” Nikko said when Stacy turned her attention back to him.
With a subtle nod, she moved a step closer and said, “I know. I just wanted to get her off set. Maybe get her a cup of coffee. She seems, well…not at her best right now.”
Nikko snorted, sounding so much like his daughter Stacy bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“What she seems is either badly hungover or still soused.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head in disgust.
Stacy didn’t feel the need to respond.
“Okay.” He blew out a breath. “Go and try to calm her down. Sober her up if she needs it. Whatever it takes. We can film around her for now.”
With another nod, Stacy moved away from him.
“Okay, everyone,” she heard him address the chefs and crew. “Show’s over. Let’s get this challenge underway. Dan? You good to go with your lines?”
She didn’t hear his response, but knew what it was. At least one of the cohosts acted like a professional.
Outside an office abutting the kitchen that had been designated as the show makeup room, Stacy heard Jade’s voice clear as a ringing bell, complaining about what had just happened.
Steeling herself, Stacy walked into the proverbial fire.
A half-hour later, with two cups of caffeinated coffee forced on her, a quick makeup refresh to hide the hickey, and her intro reworded ever so slightly, Jade was ready.
When she marched back to the kitchen, the challenge was already underway.
“Nikko says we can film your part when they’re done and he’ll edit it in,” Dan told Jade when she came to stand next to him off set.
The diva pursed her lips and said nothing.
Stacy squeezed Carrie’s shoulder, the producer’s fingers still nervously tapping a rhythm against one another, and went to take her place behind Nikko.
The noise in the kitchen was cacophonic and it resounded in the area cordoned off for the direction team.
Stacy slid back into her chair, took a deep breath and, along with everyone else, turned her attention to the monitors.
Nikko tilted his chair back, slid his headset off one ear, and over his shoulder asked, “She good to go now?”
Stacy nodded. “She knows you’re going to film her intro after the challenge tasting.”
“How much did she
change it?”
“Just a word or two. I think she’ll be fine.”
He called time two minutes later. While Dan and a now camera-ready, professional-acting Jade went through the tasting, Stacy snuck surreptitious glances at Nikko.
Had she noticed before how long and dexterous his fingers were, watching them snap in time to his commands to give the crew an editing beat? His timing was perfection in itself, and Stacy made a wish when she had her own show she could be as precise and on target as Nikko always was.
Noticing his fingers led her to remembering how they’d felt gliding along her face and then her body when he’d kissed her. His warm, gentle touch had sent her insides bouncing and her toes tingling.
Had a man’s touch ever made her come so undone so swiftly before?
No, it hadn’t. And the notion she wanted to feel his hands on her again was so uncanny, she shook her head a few times to clear it of the thought.
After Jade’s intro was done—letter-perfect—they’d issued the challenge to rework one of the restaurant’s signature dishes into something of their own conception. The chefs had been given twenty-four hours to devise their recipes. Stacy, Nikko, and the film crew then followed them to a local market to purchase ingredients they’d need that weren’t supplied in Jimmy Rodgers’s kitchen.
When the entire crew and cast had gotten back to the hotel, the chefs were left to their own devices for the evening. Several decided to take advantage of the free time and pair up to sightsee. Others spent the time lounging at the pool. Since they weren’t allowed any contact with family or friends, several of them had formed friendly alliances, Riley MacNeill and Clay Burbank among them.
With none of the privacy constrictions placed on her, Stacy took the time to call and chat with Kandy.
“You didn’t use the code word when I answered,” her cousin said, making Stacy smile, “so that lets me know this isn’t a distress call. You doing okay out there in God’s country?”
“Yeah. Things are…good. Interesting, but good.”
“Interesting, huh? What’s that mean?”
Not having had a sister growing up, Stacy had looked toward her older girl cousins for guidance on questions or concerns she didn’t want to address with her mother. Kandy, the oldest cousin and five years Stacy’s senior, had typically been the one she turned to. Kandy was a sympathetic listener and a thoughtful advisor, two traits Stacy had come to treasure.
“It means I’ve changed my opinion about certain things since I’ve arrived.”
“Things?” Kandy asked. “Or people? One person in particular, maybe?”
Stacy sighed, then chuckled. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Know exactly what I’m going to say, before I even say it? It’s creepy sometimes.”
Kandy’s own deep chuckle tickled through the phone. “Grandpa said it was because I knew how to read a room, just like he did. Grandma disagreed and said it was because I was just naturally nosy.”
“Either way, it’s uncanny. But you’re right. I have changed my mind about Dominick Stamp.”
“For better or worse?”
“Definitely better. He’s everything I’d heard he was: arrogant, rude, a perfectionist to his core.”
“I hear a big but in there.”
“But,” Stacy stretched out in her comfortable hotel chair, “he’s so much more.” She told her about Melora, about the teen’s struggles, and how Nikko was devoting himself to her recovery.
“He’s a wonderful father and anyone can see how much he loves her,” Stacy said. “He’s got the filming schedule blocked so he can cook and spend time with her every day no matter what happens to wreck the schedule on set.”
“How’s he doing physically? I heard the accident really screwed up one of his legs.”
Stacy told her of Nikko’s struggles and how he’d allowed her to help him.
“And speaking of that, can you overnight something to me?”
“Sure. What?”
“I want to give him some of my medicated cream and there are no drugstores near the ranch I can have it shipped to or ordered from. I’m sure the menthol in it will help him with the cramping and the pain. There’s a bunch of it in my apartment in the bathroom. I ordered a new batch of it about a month ago.”
The silence that met her had her checking the cell screen to see if the call had been dropped.
“Kan?”
“I’m still here. You just caught me off guard. You never, ever, talk about…what happened. And none of us like to push.”
“No, you don’t. And I love you for that.” Stacy bit down on a corner of her lip.
“So you still have pain?” Kandy asked, her voice filled with concern. “Enough to need to medicate it?”
With a sigh, Stacy said, “Sometimes. If I don’t work out for a few days my arm tends to get stiff. When it does, the pain worms its way in, and I need the cream to help relax the muscles and tendons. It penetrates deep. That’s why I think giving it to Nikko would help him.”
Kandy waited a beat. “So it’s Nikko, now, not Dominick?”
Even though her cousin couldn’t see her face, Stacy blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Everyone calls him that,” she said, trying for nonchalant and hoping she succeeded. She should have known better. Look who she was talking to, after all? Kandy Laine could have been a top-notch criminal interrogator, she was that skillful at worming things out of people. Things they never wanted to divulge.
“Maybe,” Kandy said. “But I hear something in your voice that I don’t hear when most people talk about him.”
“What?” She was terrified to hear the answer.
“Why don’t you tell me?” her cousin asked. “Because I think you know what it is I’m hearing.”
She’d called Kandy’s intuition uncanny. It was too tame a word.
Maybe if she told her cousin what she was feeling, the mixed-up jumble of emotions she was tethered with every time she and Nikko were alone together, maybe it would help her clarify and understand what was going on inside her head.
Or maybe it would just confuse her more.
Either way, Stacy did what she’d done for most of her life. Settling into the chair, she crossed her ankles together and told her cousin everything.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are we, like, eating here first?” Melora asked the next afternoon when Nikko came back to the suite for a few minutes during a break in filming. The chefs were all getting ready to serve the restaurant of packed patrons, and he had needed a few minutes to himself.
“I thought you might want to eat downstairs with Stacy again and help her with gathering the votes,” he told her while he got a bottled water from the room’s mini-fridge.
“Is it the same setup as at the ranch? Buffet and then people vote?”
“A little different. The challenge was for the chefs to modify and individualize one of the restaurant’s beef dishes. The guests are going to order off the reimagined menus and each chef will serve them.”
“So, I have to, like, sit there in the restaurant with all those strangers, and eat?”
Knowing how much his daughter despised eating in front of people she wasn’t comfortable with, he’d already thought this through.
Melora had no trouble eating in front of him, but he needed to direct, so he couldn’t watch her. But Stacy could. “I’ve arranged a table for you and Stacy just off the main dining area. You won’t be seen or watched by anyone. When you’re done, you can help Stacy gather the patron votes. Okay?”
The unexpected and rarely-seen smile that bloomed across her face had a little twinge twisting in his heart.
She looked…happy. Really happy. For the first time in more months than he could remember.
Melora threw her arms around his waist and squ
eezed tight, rubbing her cheek against his chest. “Wicked more than just okay. Thanks, Daddy.”
“Anything for you, kid,” he said, squeezing back. “Now we’ve got to get down there. Service starts in a little under a half hour and I’ve got to make sure everything is set.”
He spotted Stacy the moment they walked into the kitchen. She was engaged in conversation with several of the producers. He took a moment to study her as he and Melora walked over. Her shoulder-length hair was tied up into a messy topknot, a stylus sticking out of its center. She wore her glasses and absently pushed them up over the bridge of her nose when she looked down and then back up again.
Another long-sleeved white blouse—silk, he’d bet on it—covered her, one button undone at the neck, giving him a subtle view of the unlined skin peeking through. Casual fawn-colored ankle-length trousers dropped down her legs, legs he knew were toned and trim after seeing them covered by body-hugging yoga pants. She looked polished, professional, and totally in control and all he could think about was yanking that stylus out and twining her freed hair around his fingers as he pulled her into his arms and gave vent to this irresistible, persistent craving to kiss her senseless.
After observing her in the gym, Nikko understood Stacy had become something more than just his executive producer, more than just an available, single woman. The thought solidified inside him when she stepped between him and Jade in the kitchen. Glancing down at her, hearing her plea, he’d instantly gone from royally pissed to a peaceful calm he’d forgotten he could possess. Just looking at her tranquil face and hearing her soft voice had turned his anger switch to silent. His entire body relaxed, and in that moment he knew she was the reason. The knot untangled from his gut and all he wanted to do was bend down and thank her with a kiss.
Well, maybe more than thank her. And maybe more than with just a kiss.
Definitely, more than just a kiss.
As they approached, she glanced up. That instantaneous smile he was beginning to dream about broke across her mouth as her gaze shifted from Melora to settle on him.
