by Jami Alden
As a result, she knew she was coming off as flat and distracted on-screen, but couldn’t seem to do anything about it.
After the director demanded a fifth take on an intro shot one afternoon in San Antonio, Carrie pulled her aside once again. “Reggie, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind lately, but you have got to pull it together. The last two days have taken twice as long as they should have, and I hate to say it, but it’s pretty much all your fault.”
As a rule, Reggie liked the shoot-from-the-hip, pull-no-punches style of the petite, dynamic producer. But not when she was on the receiving end of her sharp tongue.
Taking a few deep breaths, Reggie raised her face to the warm fall Texas sun as though she could absorb its energy through her pores. In the past few days, her usually boundless energy had abandoned her, leaving her listless, disconnected, and even a little depressed.
She snuck a glance over at G.I. Gabe, looking cool and composed, even as the sun beat down on his light wool sport coat. In his dark sunglasses, the sunlight playing off the sharp bones of his face and that sinfully voluptuous mouth, he looked like a Hollywood fantasy of a tough but sexy protector.
What she needed to do was take a page from Gabe’s book. Be a stickler about not letting personal matters interfere with work. Besides, while her fans might love her because she seemed so down to earth and approachable, she didn’t think she wanted to be everyone’s friend if it meant some people might take it as an invitation to break into her room and soil her underwear drawer.
The rest of the day went better. She managed to do the rest of the shoot with minimal takes, and they all piled into minivans to be shuttled off to Austin.
Thankfully, they were spending two nights in Austin with no early calls, and Reggie was hoping for a chance to rest and rejuvenate. She collapsed in her bed that night, looking forward to a long, leisurely sleep.
Gabe apparently had other ideas.
“Hey, wake up.”
Reggie rolled over and squinted at him, then at the clock. She pulled the pillow over her head and snuggled deeper under the comforter to ward off the air-conditioned chill.
Gabe ripped back the comforter and plucked the pillow from her grasp. “Come on, lazy, we’re going for a run.”
“It’s only six-fifteen.” Her gaze momentarily locked on his muscular, hair-dusted thighs displayed quite nicely by his nylon running shorts. She closed her eyes again. The last thing she needed was to start the day horny.
“It’s the best time of day,” he cajoled, reaching down to tug on her arm. He looked adorable, short hair tousled, eyes still a little sleepy, smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Besides, by the time you finish your coffee ritual, it’ll be after seven.”
She sat up, resenting how good he looked when she probably had a bed crease the size of the Grand Canyon running down her cheek. “I don’t have to be at the restaurant until ten,” she grumbled.
Gabe started rifling through her suitcase, pulled out a pair of shorts, jog bra, socks, and a T-shirt, then threw them at her. “That gives us time for a good, long run. And I’m going to teach you some self-defense moves.”
“Self-defense moves?” Her feet were on the floor and she thought about standing up.
“After having the guy break into your hotel room, even you have to start taking him seriously.” He left her to get dressed.
Forty minutes later, her caffeine needs met, Reggie trotted off after Gabe. Within ten minutes they reached the jogging trail that ran alongside the city’s Town Lake.
It took only a few minutes for the beauty of the early morning light glinting off the lake to lift her spirits. Soon she found it impossible to keep up the icy indifference of the past couple of days and was chatting with Gabe about anything and everything. When he remarked she might run faster if she didn’t talk so much, Reggie couldn’t bring herself to take offense.
They ran in silence for a little over forty-five minutes, Gabe slowing his pace considerably to match hers. She’d tried once in their travels to encourage him to go as fast as he wanted. He’d given her his “you’re an idiot” glare and informed her he’d never jeopardize her safety like that.
They passed a grassy clearing and Gabe pulled her off the trail.
“Is this the part where I get to beat you up?” she asked. She plopped on the grass, damp blades tickling the backs of her thighs as she took the opportunity to stretch.
“You can try,” he said with a slight grin as he assumed a defensive stance, feet braced wide on the grassy earth. “First, let’s go over the basics. You should never try to overpower a man, even if he’s smaller than you. There are, however, several points of vulnerability you can go for.”
“Oh wait, I know this,” she said, her mind rifling through its extensive pop culture database. “Something, instep, nose, and groin, right?”
“Have you been reading up?” he grinned.
She bent one knee into a hurdler’s stretch and folded over her straight leg. “Nope. But I’ve seen Miss Congeniality a hundred times.” She widened her legs into a straddle and bent her nose toward the grass. When she looked up, Gabe was staring at her with a slightly dazed expression. She widened her legs another few inches. His face flushed a darker shade of red, and it wasn’t from the slowly rising Texas heat.
He cleared his throat and seemed to shake himself a little, disappointing Reggie with how quickly he regained control. “You forgot solar plexus. Now, if you want to get up, we can do a little practice run. You jog across the field, and I’ll act like I’m attacking you from behind.”
Reggie rolled to her feet and started to jog. “How is this supposed to work if I know you’re coming?”
Her only answer was heavy footfalls in the grass behind her. Funny how even though she knew it was Gabe and knew he was harmless, relatively speaking, her adrenaline still picked up and she instinctively broke into a sprint. He caught her easily, one thickly muscled arm wrapping around her waist as his other hand engulfed the lower half of her face. “What are you gonna do now, little girl,” he whispered menacingly in her ear.
Thrashing, she kicked at his legs and clawed at his arms, all to no avail. After several seconds, he eased his hold on her waist and uncovered her mouth. Holding her like this, his chest was plastered against her back and she could feel his hair-roughened legs brushing against hers. His scent invaded her brain, clean sweat and soap that made her want to turn around and lick every salty drop from his body.
So wrapped up in her fantasy of giving him a tongue bath, she barely heard what he was saying.
“Focus. Try to stay calm so you can locate points of vulnerability, and save your energy to land blows that count.” She nodded, trying to ignore the way his hand splayed across her belly in a casual, yet intimate hold. He stiffened, every sinew tensing as he, too, became aware of how closely he was holding her. There was no denying the stirring pressure against her lower back as he carefully set her away from him. His voice, when he spoke, sounded like he’d swallowed ground glass. “Let’s try that again.”
This time when he caught her, she ignored the delicious feel of him rubbing against her and focused on channeling all of the past two weeks’ frustration into incapacitating blows. While she couldn’t get to his knee, she landed a blow on his instep that made him howl, leaving his groin vulnerable to attack.
But even in her frustrated state, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Call her an idiotic optimist, but she couldn’t help but hope she’d have occasion to use that part again soon, and she didn’t want it in any way incapacitated.
“Good job,” he said, wincing slightly as he put weight on his right foot. “We’ll work more on that, but for today I want to stop before I break any bones.”
They set off back to the hotel, and as they rounded the corner of the last block, Gabe slanted her a sly, boyish look. “Race you.”
He was off like a rocket. After putting her heart into it for about ten yards, Reggie realized it was much more entertaining
to watch the tight muscles of his ass flex as he sprinted down the street.
“What about never leaving me to danger?” she said mock-testily when she caught up.
He grinned down at her, sweat beading in sexy trickles down his face as he caught his breath. “Best defense of all. If you’re running fast, who’s gonna catch you?”
Winded, legs heavy from exertion, Reggie felt better than she had since New Orleans. Though she had protested at first, the run left her energetic and rejuvenated, and she had to admit a greater feeling of empowerment and security now that she had at least a passing familiarity with some self-defense moves.
Within half an hour she was showered and dressed in one of her many pairs of black pants and a cobalt blue knit top with little lacings along the sides. She took extra care with her makeup, apprehensive about how she’d look next to today’s guest.
With good reason. As they arrived at Peliroja’s, the restaurant where they were filming today, Reggie saw that Katrina Garrett was as beautiful as she remembered. About ten feet tall, mile-long legs, boobs out to here, and a waist so small Reggie suspected she’d had a couple of ribs removed, the striking redhead strode across the elegant dining room to meet them. She held out her hand to Reggie and shook it in a firm, confident grip. “So good to see you. Rosie, isn’t it?”
Reggie’s eyes squinted as she struggled to maintain her smile. Katrina was still gorgeous, and apparently still a bitch. Reggie knew the slight was intentional. She’d met Katrina once before at a Cuisine Network function—Katrina’s show was set to debut early next year—but even if Katrina didn’t remember her name from that, she’d been well briefed on Reggie and the show when they’d scheduled this segment.
When Carrie had suggested the idea of bringing together two of Cuisine Network’s sexiest (Carrie’s word, not Reggie’s) female chefs and doing a little cross-promotion, Reggie had inwardly balked at the idea. But knowing full well she wasn’t yet big enough to argue every little misgiving, she’d agreed to Carrie’s idea.
Now, noting the undisguised feminine interest in Katrina’s eyes as she turned her gaze to Gabe, Reggie wished she’d exercised a little veto power.
With a warm, unmistakably suggestive smile, Katrina introduced herself to Gabe.
Gabe introduced himself, quickly explaining his presence.
Katrina’s laugh tinkled up to the ceiling. In her high-heeled, hand-tooled cowboy boots, she could almost look Gabe in the eye. Moving infinitesimally closer, she spared Reggie a quick glance. “That’s right. I heard about the stalker situation.” She turned to Reggie with a saccharinely sympathetic smile. “Amazing, isn’t it, how some people will obsess over just about anyone.”
Reggie chewed on the inside of her cheeks to prevent herself from lashing back. Katrina wanted to play queen bee? Fine. She was not going to lower herself by engaging in a catfight. “Thanks again for letting us film a segment here. Hopefully the show will be good publicity.”
Katrina finally released Gabe’s hand and tossed her glorious auburn mane over her shoulder. “Not that we need it. We’re booked solid for months. I wish I could return the favor and have you on my show, but I’m only visiting other chefs who have four-star restaurants. Speaking of which, are you and Craig Ferguson still an item?”
Reggie feared her cheek muscles would start spasming at the force of her strained smile as she shook her head. “No, we broke up over a year ago, actually. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to appear on your show. Now, I thought before we started, it would be a good idea to go over the recipes again.”
As unobtrusively as possible, Reggie steered Katrina back to the kitchen and away from Gabe. Once in the kitchen, setting up the shots, Reggie’s good mood from the morning deflated. With her skin-tight jeans hugging her tiny, firm ass and exotic good looks, Katrina made Reggie feel about as attractive as a pile of mud. How could a woman work in a restaurant and still have a body like that?
Brushing off Reggie’s attempts to go over the talking points, Katrina assured her rehearsal of any sort was not needed. “So what’s with muscles there?” Katrina said, nodding her head in the general direction of the dining room where Gabe waited. “Is he really a bodyguard, or just paid companionship?”
Reggie wasn’t sure on whose behalf she should be more insulted: her own, for the insinuation that she had to pay for companionship, or Gabe’s, for the insinuation that he was the sort of man who would allow his companionship to be paid for.
“I have a man sneaking into my hotel rooms to frolic in my panty drawer,” she explained, unable to keep the testiness from her tone. “Why do you think he’s here?”
The shoot, at least in Reggie’s mind, went downhill from there. Not that they made any major flubs—in fact, they got almost everything done in one take. The issue was that Katrina didn’t hesitate to get in her subtle digs at every opportunity. Like when she told Reggie how to cut an onion as though Reggie were a particularly slow five-year-old. Or when she explained that she was making a chiffonade of the basil, and maybe Reggie didn’t realize that since she never went to cooking school.
All little reminders that she, Katrina the Amazon goddess, was an award-winning graduate of the Cordon Bleu, whereas Reggie’s lack of education left her unqualified to run a hotdog stand.
By the end of the day, Reggie actually missed Biddy Lee Hughes.
When they wrapped, Reggie lingered in the kitchen. Trapped in the presence of perfection, Reggie hadn’t been able to bring herself to eat. Now starving, she shoveled in several bites of roasted quail with poblano chile reduction. Katrina charged out the yin yang for her “Tex-Mex fare with a nouveau twist,” but damned if it didn’t taste like a rather anemic plate of good old mole poblano. Tyler was right. Good PR could turn manure to gold.
She left the rest to the crew, determined to get some really good tacos before her book signing tonight.
She emerged from the kitchen, the sight before her threatening to send the quail spewing all over Katrina’s bright white tablecloths. Katrina and Gabe were seated at a table in the otherwise empty bar, sipping what looked like margaritas. Christ, the man wouldn’t even have a glass of wine with her and here he was boozing it up with the whore of Babylon. Gabe smiled and laughed at whatever Katrina said, and in that moment she was vividly reminded of the man she’d met that night in Hawaii, with his dark, intense gaze and sexy, lopsided smile. Except now both were focused on someone else.
She got to the table just in time to hear Katrina say, “So if you’re not busy later, I’d love to show you more of Austin.”
Before Gabe could answer, Reggie interrupted, “Unfortunately, I pay Gabe very well for his time, and tonight he has to go with me to a book signing.”
Katrina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, where?”
Gabe told her the name of the bookstore.
“I’ll join you! Nothing like having a local celebrity there to help draw a crowd.”
And Katrina made good on her word. But instead of meeting and greeting the fans, she kept herself planted next to Gabe the entire evening. On several occasions Reggie caught her leaning in and whispering something in his ear. Though he wasn’t obviously flirting back, he sure as hell wasn’t giving Katrina the aloof impersonal vibe he strove for with Reggie.
As Reggie smiled and penned a message for yet another fan, she wondered what would happen if she leapt across the room and stabbed Katrina, Bourne Identity style, with her ballpoint pen. Except she’d aim for her boob instead of her hand.
After most of the crowd had dissipated, a younger man approached the table. He was cute, in an executive kind of way. He had pretty green eyes and a great smile. She couldn’t help responding to it with one of her own.
“So, whom do I make this out to?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes. Definitely attractive, and definitely more her regular speed than Gabe ever was.
“Make it out to Trey,” he replied. As she signed the book he leaned over, close enough that Reggie caught a subtle w
hiff of his cologne. “I actually owe you for saving my ass with dinner a couple of months ago.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said with the tiniest stab of disappointment, “you pissed off your girlfriend and made her my patented ‘I’m sorry’ menu.”
“Worse,” he chuckled. “I was out of town for my mom’s birthday, and I forgot to call her, send a card, anything. But I made her one of your recipes off the show Web site, and all was forgiven.”
“You can always tell a guy’s a good catch when he treats his mother well.” She looked up and gave him a quick wink, then a teasing frown. “Unless, of course, he still lives with her.”
Trey laughed, and without asking he pulled up a chair next to her. “No way. I live in San Francisco. I’m in town on business. My mom lives up in Mill Valley. That’s about twenty minutes away.”
Hmm. Gabe wasn’t the only one who could find a little companionship on the road. “I know where that is. I live in Pacific Heights.”
He gave a sincerely delighted, ego-boosting smile. “I had no idea you were a local girl. I live in the Marina.”
They were quickly absorbed in conversation, discussing favorite restaurants and hangouts in the city. Suddenly, Trey cut off midsentence. Reggie didn’t need to look behind her. She felt Gabe’s overwhelming, ominous presence like a physical force.
Spinning in her chair, she looked up.
She could see why Trey looked so nervous. Gabe’s deep-set eyes were like chips of black ice stabbing down at them. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and even in his work uniform of dress slacks and a sport coat, he looked dangerously uncivilized.
“I’m sorry to interrupt this,” a dark undercurrent of rage throbbing in his voice, “but Miss Caldwell has to get up early tomorrow.”
A bald-faced lie, but something told Reggie that arguing with Gabe at this point would not give her the results she wanted. Still, the night wasn’t a total loss. She stood and offered her hand to Trey, who glanced apprehensively at Gabe before accepting it. Pretending Gabe wasn’t hovering over them like a medieval ogre, she smiled and said, “I really enjoyed meeting you, Trey. Why don’t you give me your card, and maybe I’ll call you when I get back to San Francisco?”
