by Bianca D'Arc
“This is fantastic,” she enthused at one point, when she came up for air. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This morning, I just couldn’t face a big breakfast, though it was sweet of you to offer. I just felt sick to my stomach when I remembered last night.”
“Understandable,” Nick said quietly. He’d been insensitive, he realized.
She was human. Unused to violent situations that were his stock in trade. She’d probably never been threatened like that before. He should have thought about that and been more understanding.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better now,” he added while she reapplied herself to her lunch.
“Yeah, getting back to work helped,” she told him a minute later, after she had chewed and swallowed. “Some of those scripts are really good. My agent wants me to lock in at least three more deals while I’m hot, as he put it. He claims he can get me top dollar, right now, while the timing is right. I’m not keen on the idea of tying myself up for that long, but I told him I would at least read through the scripts he’d selected. I’m glad I agreed now because some of those are juicy roles and incredible stories that will probably make great movies.”
“Three movie projects?” Nick asked. “What kind of time commitment is that? A year? Two years?”
“Oh, my part in filming only takes a month or two, depending on how involved the character is in the story. Depending on when they want to start filming—they have to secure funding, locations, costume design, sets, travel, and all that kind of thing—three movies could be done in six months or a year. But they’d probably do a staggered release because you don’t want to over-saturate the market. Too many Sullivan Lane movies coming out all at once might compete against each other.”
“I suppose a lot of planning goes into each project,” Nick surmised.
“Yeah, scheduling is one of the biggest considerations. Timing is everything in this business, or so I’ve been told.” She cleaned her plate and seemed to be eyeing the rest of the chicken.
Nick had to stifle a laugh. He’d been worried about nothing. She ate. She wasn’t a foolish woman. His mate was strong of will, body and mind. She was perfect.
“You can have the rest, if you want. I had a big working breakfast with Collin,” he told her.
Her eyes lit up. “I hope you don’t think I’m a pig, but this was so good…” She went ahead and dumped the remainder of the rice and chicken on to her plate.
Nick decided to gather the empty dishes while she finished her seconds. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, sitting there staring at her while she ate.
After lunch, she went back to her reading while he cleaned up. He’d declined her offer of help with the dishes because he didn’t think he could take sharing the limited space in the kitchen without kissing her some more. He wanted to kiss her again more than anything, but it was too soon. He had to be patient or he’d scare her away, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
In the middle of the afternoon, Linelli himself showed up at Nick’s door. It wasn’t unexpected. Linelli was the point man from Halibut—one of the three partners who had signed the contract with Miss Lane. He had a vested interest in keeping her happy and making sure she was all right. Frankly, Nick had expected Linelli to show up sooner. The fact that he’d waited this long meant that he trusted Nick more than Nick had realized. Oddly touched by the trust Linelli had placed in him, Nick ushered him into the opulent apartment.
Linelli whistled low, between his teeth as he got a look around. “Man. I must be paying you too much.”
“It’s a rental,” Nick told his human friend. “And Mark’s paying for it.”
“You’re still working for Mark Pepard?” Linelli asked, though he probably already knew the answer.
“He’s my best friend,” Nick answered honestly. “Even if I’m not officially on the payroll, I’d walk through fire for that guy.”
While true, that wasn’t even the half of it. Mark Pepard was the jaguar Alpha. Nick was loyal to him for that reason, but also because they’d grown up together and really were best friends. They were as close as brothers, though Nick was glad to give Mark and his new mate some space, right now, while they celebrated their honeymoon and Nick took care of this little problem for the Clan.
“So, what you’re saying is that not all billionaires as assholes,” Linelli summed up with a smirk.
“In my experience, definitely not. At least not Mark. And his wife is good people, too,” Nick put in.
“Yeah, I’d heard he’d gotten hitched. She’s from old money, right? A society gal?” Linelli was clearly fishing, but Nick was happy enough to spread the news that Mark’s mate was a straight arrow.
“She’s a professional, actually. Her father was rich, but he’d had a reversal of fortune in recent years, so she became an architect. She designs houses for a living—mostly for that elite social circle her family was part of, true enough—but she’s not a snob. Far from it. She’s actually very sweet.” Nick didn’t want to think about the hard time he’d given the woman when he’d thought she might be involved in a plot to assassinate Mark.
They’d both agreed to forget their first meeting, but he still thought about it and winced every once in a while. He’d been rough on her. Even threatened to make her disappear. He really hoped she could truly forgive him in time, but for now, he still sensed a certain reticence when she had to deal with him.
The two men entered the living room to find Sal still sitting on the couch, reading. She looked up and smiled when she saw Nick, lighting his whole world.
“Miss Lane, please let me express my regret over the incident last night.” Linelli launched into his appease-the-client shtick, and Nick just stood back and watched. This was Linelli’s show for the moment. It was Linelli’s business reputation on the line. Nick wouldn’t interfere.
He watched them chat back and forth for a bit. Linelli being apologetic and Sal being forgiving and very gracious. He realized she really wasn’t upset with Linelli or the guys from Halibut, which was very big of her, but Nick wondered why she was so ready to forgive the oversight that had let her be menaced by a madman in her own bedroom.
Was there something else going on here than what appeared on the surface? Nick frowned. Something wasn’t kosher, but he was very hesitant to accuse Sal of anything. She was his mate, after all. That fact alone earned his loyalty. He was convinced—based solely on instinct—that whatever she was hiding, it wasn’t something evil. His mate could never be evil.
Nick let Linelli sit with her while he went into the room he was using as a study and got his laptop. While Nick might prefer pen and paper, Linelli was a computer guy all the way. Nick would show Linelli the details of the plan he and Hastings had come up with and email the big-picture items. Nick didn’t trust the details to the uncertain security of the World Wide Web. Not when dealing with systems he hadn’t had vetted by his own Clan’s tech experts.
Halibut may think they had state-of-the-art protection on their electronic systems, but Nick wasn’t taking any chances. Luckily, Linelli was content to let Nick run this show the way he saw fit, and the minutiae of scheduling each and every operative wasn’t something Linelli needed to know beforehand. He understood operational security as well as Nick did, and was willing to give Nick the authority to make those decisions on his own.
When Nick came back out to the living room, Sal was gone. He could hear her faint footsteps going down the hall toward her bedroom and didn’t worry. She was giving them some privacy to discuss business matters. His mate was considerate that way. And as long as she was in the apartment with Hastings’ people in the sky and on the ground, she was as safe as Nick could make her.
Linelli left after the meeting, and Hastings reported that his first shift of operatives hadn’t seen anything or caught any scents. He’d already dispatched a ground-based team of shifters—a werewolf and a werebear—to see if they could follow the scent trail left by last night’s interloper at t
he mansion, but the trail had gone cold after a mile or two when the feral had taken time to cross a few highways then go down into a culvert. The residue of water in the culvert had dissipated the scent enough that the tracker team couldn’t reacquire the trail, no matter how many times they tried.
Nick wasn’t happy with the results and would have preferred to give his own nose a try at the scent trail, but he couldn’t leave Sal. He had to trust that Hastings’ people had done their best and move on from there. He’d get another crack at the feral. And with any luck, next time, he’d get to the bastard before he got near Sal again.
She came out of her room after Hastings had left, and Nick was just finishing up with the laptop, sending the overview report on last night’s incident to Linelli’s email address. He looked up, and the sight of her stole his breath. Damn. She was not only gorgeous, but as he’d gotten to know her over these past hours, he found himself attracted to everything about her. Her quick wit, her no-nonsense attitude, even her willingness to lay low today while they sorted out her security arrangements.
A stereotypical spoiled Hollywood starlet wouldn’t have done that. Nick had been around a few bratty humans in his time, and he knew that type would insist on having things their own way, regardless of the difficulties that might create for others. Not Sal. She seemed to put other people’s comfort before her own. She was a kind soul that hadn’t been damaged by the Hollywood environment. At least, not yet.
If he had his way, she never would be. She was his to protect, not just now, but for the rest of their lives—if he could get her to agree to those terms. He had time yet, to figure out the best approach. They’d only met a few days ago, but already, she trusted him with her safety, and given the choice, she had opted to stay with him, in the condo. That meant a lot to him.
“What do you feel like having for dinner?” he asked. “I thought I’d order in, since I got sidetracked with work and lost track of time.”
“Oh, I don’t expect you to cook for me,” she told him quickly. “I could cook…” she said, then trailed off, glancing at the clock.
“That’s okay. I know a few different restaurants that deliver. I know a great burger place, Chinese, Mexican, a good steak house…” He ticked off all the choices.
“Burgers sound good,” she told him, surprising him yet again. Most women he’d known would opt for something more exotic, but his own first choice would have been the burgers, so they were definitely on the same page.
“Burgers, it is,” he replied with a smile. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of printed menus. Locating the one for the burger joint, he handed it to her before putting the others back in the drawer.
All of the menus were from local establishments owned and operated by shapeshifters of one kind or another. Nick had vetted them all personally, patronizing their restaurants one at a time since he’d moved in. He trusted them to deliver wholesome, delicious food in a timely manner.
Sal made her choices, checking off items on the menu with a pencil that had been lying on the table. Nick was pleased to see that she didn’t skimp and even ordered dessert. He called in the order and was given a delivery time of forty-five minutes. He then called down to the men on duty, to give them the heads up that they would be receiving a delivery.
“I’ve got one more script to get through,” Sal told Nick as she stood from her seat at the table. “I’ll probably be able to finish it before the dinner arrives. Just give me a shout when it gets here, okay?”
Nick agreed, watching her walk away. She really had the nicest ass. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her, but he understood the need to win over her heart, as well. He knew he could seduce her body. He’d never left a woman wanting in his life. But he wanted it all. Her luscious body, her quick mind, her tender heart, and her very soul.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dinner was delicious. The burgers were perfectly cooked and seasoned, and the fries were crisp and tasty. The dessert Sal had chosen—a slice of New York-style cheesecake—melted in her mouth and probably went straight to her hips, but she didn’t care.
The pressure to stay rail thin now that she’d had some success in the movies was getting on her nerves. She had never aspired to be a model. She’d never been a fitness freak, though she enjoyed a healthy lifestyle. But she was never going to be a size zero. It just wasn’t something she would or could do. So be it.
The movie-going public and also people who seemed to think her newfound success gave them the right to tell her how to live, what to eat, how she should look, and all the other stuff were just going to have to chill. Sal decided those things for herself. Thank you very much.
Maybe she was going through a bit of a rebellious phase. The fame was something completely new, and not altogether welcome. Especially when it brought baggage along with it like crazy expectations and potentially violent stalkers. Yeah, maybe fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Although, at least one good thing had come out of her recent problems. Nick. Nick was the good thing in her life right now. The one thing she could cling to in the midst of her turmoil. Without him, she would probably be a basket case right about now.
He was just such a commanding presence. Such a strong man—both physically and in a spiritual way she couldn’t quite define. There was just something about him. Something that made her trust him in ways she hadn’t trusted anyone before.
He was easy on the eyes, as well. A regular hunk. She couldn’t imagine why he didn’t have a live-in girlfriend. Were all the women in this town blind as well as stupid? Nick was a hottie, and he was smart, too. Decisive and manly in ways that made her tingle in unmentionable places.
She was grateful to him for giving her a place to hide. He hadn’t needed to open up his home to her. She knew she was imposing on his better nature, but she really didn’t want to be separated from him right now. He was her port in the storm. Her rock. Her anchor. He was helping her stay calm, just by his mere presence.
She felt a little bad about invading his space this way, but he truly didn’t seem to mind. She’d heard him talking to Mr. Linelli about the condo being a rental, and she’d recognized the name they had bandied about. Mark Pepard was one of the richest men in the country and had a mysterious reputation.
No wonder Nick had seemed so familiar to her. She’d seen the pictures on the pages of the tabloids, just like everyone else. Mark Pepard, flying off all over the world on adventures and humanitarian missions, always surrounded by people from his companies. And always nearby, right next to him in many of the photos, was Nick. An unnamed companion, or bodyguard, or security agent.
After hearing Nick’s conversation, she now understood that he wasn’t just another employee to Mark Pepard. They were friends. That put Nick in a whole other social stratum. If he hobnobbed with billionaires, what was he doing playing at being a private security guard for a newcomer to the Hollywood scene?
Her instincts were clamoring. Something wasn’t quite right with the situation, but it also didn’t feel threatening. Nick felt absolutely safe to her. As if he would protect her with his life, if necessary. And he felt good to the core. Not an ounce of evil could last around this man. She trusted those instincts of hers when it came to things like good and evil.
But the puzzle remained. Why was he here? Why had he taken the time—and the job—to protect her? Strange as it seemed, she began to wonder if he was a fan. Maybe he’d liked her performance on the screen and wanted to get closer to her.
While flattering, that was also a bit of a creepy thought. She didn’t think the scenario fit. It had to be something else, but she couldn’t imagine what.
Having finished dinner, they retired to the living room area. There was a big screen television hiding behind a painting that slid down out of sight when Nick pressed a button on the complicated-looking remote control. Everything about this condo was top notch and high tech. Expensive.
Which made sense if the place was truly intended for
someone of Mark Pepard’s stature. The fact that Nick seemed right at home here spoke of a vast experience with wealth that she, herself, had never had until recently.
“Shall we watch the news? See what’s going on in the world?” Nick asked quietly.
She agreed, and he put on the news station that she preferred. Impressive. Had he somehow intuited her preferences, or did they have the same taste and political leanings? Either way, she gave him a point on her mental tally sheet in his favor.
On the commercial breaks, they talked about current events and exchanged points of view on the various topics of interest from around the world. Nick’s firsthand knowledge of the political situations in some very remote foreign countries gave her pause. Nick was a world traveler. A true citizen of the globe.
She was just a gal who had gotten lucky with a good movie role. She had never traveled outside the United States, though she had gotten a few offers in recent weeks to film in Europe and other exotic locations.
She had been a little giddy at the idea, but then, reality had set in. She couldn’t stray too far from where her mother was being held. Even if her mother would never be free again, she was still her mother. Her flesh and blood. Sal would visit every chance she could and be available should her mother need her. It was the right thing to do.
Still, she enjoyed talking with Nick. And when the news was over and they put on a documentary about UFOs and aliens visiting the earth in the distant past, she discovered they shared another interest, and what were probably wild imaginations.
They sat together on the couch, and Sal couldn’t help but want to get closer to him. He was so warm. So solid. So amazingly handsome and attractive in every way. And the more she got to know him, the more attractive he became.
A lot of men had given her the opposite experience. Familiarity often bred contempt. It was refreshing and reassuring to discover that getting to know a guy didn’t always mean disliking him and his ideas.
