by Jami Alden
Once the shoot started, Reggie was too busy to say two words to Gabe, but she remained, as always, intensely aware of his presence. It was hard to believe how intrusive he’d seemed at the beginning, especially now that the thought of not having him around to shadow her every move left a big, gaping hole in her chest.
Chapter Thirteen
Natalie opened the door to Tyler’s knock. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his blond hair slightly disheveled from the blustery November wind whipping around San Francisco.
He looked better than he had a right to in a gray single-breasted suit and a French blue shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. Like some yuppie bad boy guaranteed to break hearts and take no prisoners.
He’s a total player, she reminded herself sternly, a sort she’d had more than enough exposure to over the past several years, thank you very much. And at the end of the day, he wasn’t even her type, with his clean-cut businessman look. She liked guys with an edge, guys with long hair and tattoos.
“What’s with the suit?”
“Client meeting. Management flew in from the east coast, and those guys still tend to equate work casual with west coast flakiness.”
“Hmm. You look like a Bank of America escapee.” Actually, hot was how he looked, but the last thing Tyler’s ego needed was yet another woman drooling all over him.
Besides, clothes could hide a multitude of sins. He probably had a decent set of love handles hidden under the fabric of his dress shirt. She led him over to Reggie’s couch and offered him a seat. “I just got here so I still need to print out a copy of the updated schedule.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be a jerk,” he said, glancing at his watch, “but I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Got your latest shipment from Bimbos ’R Us?” she teased, trying to convince herself she was absolutely not jealous.
He laughed good-naturedly. “No, I’m having dinner with the lawyer across the street again.”
Later she’d analyze and agonize over why she cared. Right now she seized on the first smart-ass remark that popped into her head. “Ooh, three whole dates with the same girl? Better be careful or the male slut club will revoke your membership.”
He raised his eyebrow and tapped his watch meaningfully.
She stood, eager for the excuse to get away from him. What was it about him? No matter how cool and collected she tried to be, he inevitably made her feel like a flustered teenager, alternately trying to gain his approval or goad him into an argument. “Help yourself to anything you find in the fridge.”
The sound of a cabinet door opening and shutting followed by the hum of the faucet echoed down the hall as she walked into the office and snapped on the light.
As she reached for the computer, an eerie chill washed through her, distracting her from the Tyler-induced butterflies in her stomach. A stack of bills sat on the top edge of the desk, just to the left of center. She could have sworn she left them on the top right-hand corner, like Reggie always did.
She flipped on the computer and took a look around while she waited for it to boot up.
From what she could tell, none of the books on the shelves was disturbed. All of Reggie’s office equipment, anything that might have attracted a thief, was all accounted for.
She went into the bedroom. Discarded clothes from Natalie’s last-minute cleanout of Reggie’s suitcase still lay in a pile on the bed. Her Manolo slides were in the precise spot where Natalie had kicked them off last week after she’d borrowed them.
Moving closer to the dresser, she squinted at the carefully organized items on Reggie’s dresser. Perfume bottles, jewelry case, and framed photos were all perfectly arranged, with none of the clutter of carelessly strewn knickknacks, pocket change, and scraps of paper that decorated Natalie’s own dresser.
But something was odd. Different from the last time she’d been in here, but so subtle she immediately dismissed it as paranoia.
She couldn’t dismiss the creepy feeling that someone had been here, someone had touched Reggie’s things and replaced them, but not quite precisely enough. Reggie had mentioned in her e-mail that she hadn’t heard from the stalker in two weeks. But maybe she’d spoken too soon.
She went back to the office and in a few short keystrokes accessed and printed Reggie’s schedule for the upcoming trip to L.A., along with their travel itinerary.
She walked back out into the living room and handed Tyler the schedule. “Is anything wrong?” he asked when he saw her frown.
“No,” she said distractedly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill that had suddenly engulfed her. “I have the weirdest feeling, like someone’s been in here.”
Tyler looked around and she waited for him to tell her she was crazy. But he only asked if anything was missing.
“No, but things have been moved.” She frowned, thinking of the bills on the desk. “At least, I think so. It’s just a sense I get, you know? Like a premonition or something.” She watched him look over the printout. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ll be joining you in L.A. Reggie said she wanted me there.”
That wasn’t precisely true, but Natalie had managed to convince Reggie that she needed her there as a fashion consultant on the photo shoot.
“Who else can you trust to make sure they don’t put you in anything unflattering?” she’d said.
Tyler unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and pushed the sleeves up ropy forearms dusted with a sprinkling of blond hair. Hair that would rasp against her fingertips as she traced every muscle and tendon…
Natalie’s throat went bone dry. Desperate for a diet soda, she retreated for the kitchen. Her stomach seized as she caught something strange in the corner of her eye.
Rex, Reggie’s prized ficus, was in its usual place in the corner next to her kitchen table. But his green, glossy leaves were scattered all over the floor. Branches were torn off as though in a fit of rage.
Her soda slipped from nerveless fingers as she hurried over for a closer look. The main stalk had been twisted off near the base and now lay forlornly against the side of the pot.
Pooling at the roots was a shallow puddle of blood.
Her screech brought Tyler skidding across the slate floor.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and caught her as her knees buckled.
“What?” His voice was frantic in her ear.
“He killed Rex!”
“Huh?”
His arm was still around her waist, and through her terror she became aware of his hard, lean body pressing against her back. What do you know, no potbelly after all.
But this was no time to succumb to inappropriate lust. “Rex, Reggie’s ficus, the one she’s been nursing for the past five years. The stalker ripped him apart and there’s blood all over it.”
She felt him gasp as he spotted the carnage. “Jesus.” Tyler knelt down, careful not to get any sticky red liquid on his suit pants. He leaned closer and sniffed. “I think it’s just paint.” He stood and pulled her into a soothing embrace.
Relief coursed through her at the fact it wasn’t blood, but only briefly. Someone had broken into Reggie’s apartment. Even though it wasn’t her own stuff that had been pawed through, she felt violated on her sister’s behalf, and couldn’t imagine how Reggie was going to take the news.
Another wave of panic shot through her belly. Turning, she burrowed her face in Tyler’s chest. The silk of his tie rasped against her cheek, and she inhaled the scent of his faint sandalwood cologne and underneath his own musky, enticing scent.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, his hands moving in strong, calming strokes down her back. “When was the last time you were here?”
“Last night. I brought in the mail and watered Rex before I did some work on the computer.” Little by little her panic was subsiding; his big, warm hands helped to dissipate the chill that had settled deep in her bones. “Poor Reggie. Why won’t this guy leave her alone?”
“Just be glad you didn’t interrupt
him.”
Another shudder racked her body at the thought of catching the deranged fan on her own. Tyler squeezed her harder and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She tilted her head back. Even in her three-inch heels, she had to tilt way back to look into his face. The bright overhead lights of the kitchen picked up white blond highlights in his hair, and she wondered inanely if they were natural. They must be, she decided. As well groomed as he was, she couldn’t imagine Tyler sitting quietly with a head full of foil wraps. A faint shadow of beard dusted his jaw, and she noticed that some of his whiskers were dark red.
He stared down at her, his blue eyes soft with concern. Her gaze dipped to his firm, full lips, and she was suddenly, achingly curious to find out how good they would taste.
Flustered, she stepped back, stumbling a little on her spike heel. “We better call the police.”
He dropped his hands, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe they lingered for a few extra seconds on her hips.
Fifteen minutes later, two uniforms were there to take their statement. “…and then I found Rex, my sister’s plant, ripped apart with paint all over it.”
While the first officer did a walk-through of the apartment, she and Tyler gave them a quick rundown on the stalker and the harassing activity to date.
“But you say he’s never broken into the house before?” the officer asked.
Natalie shook her head. “Not that we know of.”
“And the alarm didn’t go off?” His eyes did a quick survey of the room. “This looks like a sophisticated system. It should have gone off.”
“The only time it went off was when I didn’t turn it off in time,” she admitted.
The officer’s dark eyes narrowed on Natalie’s face. “You say you’ve been watching the place while your sister’s out of town?”
She nodded.
“Any chance you forgot to set the alarm after you left yesterday?”
“No,” she denied vehemently. “I’m extremely careful to always set it before I leave.”
“Sometimes you leave in a rush, you forget things.”
Before Natalie could deny carelessness, Tyler broke in. “Officer, if she set the alarm, she set the alarm. Natalie doesn’t forget stuff like that.”
The patrolman looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He flipped his notebook closed. “We’ll have someone over to dust for prints. And since this is likely connected to your sister’s stalker, the detective assigned to the case will call you both in the next few days and will come by to interview the neighbors.”
“Do we need to stick around, or can we leave?”
Right. The date with the lawyer. Wasn’t Tyler lucky that he could so easily deal with a break-in, a hysterical sister, and still have the energy to go bone his latest conquest.
The officer said they could leave if they wanted.
She sighed, suddenly exhausted as the final drops of fear-based adrenaline evaporated from her bloodstream. “Should we call Reggie?”
Tyler was silent a moment, considering, then shook his head. “Let’s wait and see what the police have to say tomorrow. Nothing she can do about it from Seattle. For now, let’s go. You shouldn’t stay here. Tyler grabbed her arm and she let him lead her out the door, even though she didn’t particularly relish the idea of going home, alone, to her none-too-secure flat within spitting distance of the Tenderloin. “Come on, we can finish going over everything back at my place.”
He led her down the block and ushered her into his silver BMW. She’d never admit it, but Natalie loved this car, with its smooth leather seats and dashboard that reminded her of a cockpit. “Did you know the BMW is one of the top five most popular cars with gay males?”
He shot her a quelling look and reached for his cell phone. “Hi, Christine.”
What a prince, calling her to tell her he’d be late. Natalie stared out the window and tried not to eavesdrop.
“I’m sorry for the short notice, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight.”
Now that got her attention. She listened with interest as he explained that something had come up with work, and no, he couldn’t meet her later.
Sounded like a brush-off to her, which was strange coming from a guy who, less than an hour ago, had seemed so eager to get on with this evening’s plans.
“You can go over the schedule yourself and call me with any changes,” she said when he hung up. “You didn’t have to cancel your plans.”
“It’s okay,” he said shortly. “I have some ideas I want to talk to you regarding your idea for pitching Reggie to women’s magazines like Glamour and Marie Claire, and besides”—he cleared his throat uncomfortably—“you’re pretty shaken up about the break-in, and I don’t think you should be alone.”
He didn’t sound exactly resentful, but he also didn’t sound overjoyed at the prospect of spending the evening with her. Besides, since he hadn’t said anything since she’d initially proposed getting Reggie in some younger skewing publications, she was pretty sure of what he thought of her idea. She didn’t need him feeling sorry for her. “You don’t have to babysit me,” she snapped. “I have plenty of people to call if I don’t want to be alone.”
He didn’t bother answering and he guided his car through the heavy evening traffic back to his loft. He unlocked the door, tossed his keys on the entry table, and shrugged out of his suit jacket. She hung up her own coat and headed automatically for the office.
His voice caught her before she started downstairs. “I’m going to change clothes,” he nodded his head toward the bedroom, an open loft at the top of a steep spiral staircase. “Why don’t you open a bottle of wine, and then we can fix some dinner?”
“I thought we were working,” she said uneasily.
“I’m starving,” he said matter-of-factly. Then, with a sly smile she’d never seen on his face, he said, “And somehow I think we’ll get along better if we both loosen up a little.”
What the hell was going on? Then again, after the afternoon she’d had, a glass of wine sounded heavenly. Who was she to argue?
“Open whatever you like,” he called.
She didn’t know much about wine, other than that she liked it. Her usual method of purchase was to see what was on special at Safeway. Judging from Tyler’s collection, he didn’t shop at Safeway.
After she’d poured herself a generous glass of Australian Shiraz, she took the opportunity to snoop through his considerable CD collection. Probably the usual preppy boy mix of Dave Matthews, U2, a little Van Halen mixed in for nostalgia, and John Mayer for when he wanted to charm the ladies’ pants off.
Much to her surprise, she found a wide assortment of alternative rock including the Foo Fighters and harder stuff like Nine Inch Nails and Tool. Maybe Tyler had some anger issues to work out under that Ken-doll exterior. She slid a Foo Fighters CD into the Bose surround sound.
He emerged from the loft a few minutes later dressed in a pair of jeans so old they were bleached almost white in places and the hems were frayed around his big bare feet. “I hope you don’t mind.” He gestured to his equally well-worn T-shirt. “I was dying to get out of that monkey suit and figured that since we weren’t going anywhere…” his voice trailed off.
She didn’t think he could look any better than he did in his GQ wear. But instead of looking like a slob, he looked rumpled and sexy, and more human than she’d ever seen him. Though not tight, the soft cotton of the shirt draped against his chest, clearly delineating the muscles she’d felt shifting against her earlier.
This was Tyler, she reminded herself. The guy who’s barely civil to you on good days and treats you like you’re mentally challenged most of the time. Drooling over him was a very, very bad idea. He was an asshole, for starters. Which for some sick reason she always found irresistible in a guy. But she couldn’t justify slavering over a guy who so obviously thought she was a complete idiot. Even if he had defended her to the cops…
This was only
happening because it had been a long, lonely six months since she’d had any action beyond a little heavy petting.
And it had been even longer since she’d experienced anything particularly noteworthy.
She took a fortifying gulp of wine, its warmth coursing through her veins. She’d bet anything Tyler really sucked in bed. Guys that good looking always did.
Oblivious to her internal vilification of his character and bedroom skills, Tyler poured himself a glass of wine, clinking it briefly against hers. “Cheers.” He gave her another one of those weird looks and turned back to the refrigerator. “Let’s see what we can rustle up here.”
She watched uneasily as he pulled out a package of chicken and assorted bunches of vegetables. Okay, that didn’t look too bad. He placed a cutting board and knife in front of her, along with the broccoli and bell peppers. “Here, julienne these.”
That was a cut, she knew. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember more than that.
Tyler gave her a look, but this time it was more teasing than condescending. “That means cut it into little matchsticks. And you want to have your own cooking show,” he scoffed.
She didn’t bother to tell him that her idea was dead in the water, based on her last meeting with Max. If she had to listen to Tyler tell her “I told you so,” she very well might commit hari-kari with his paring knife. “Every week I’ll have a different chef co-host. That’s the whole point,” she said loftily. She picked up her knife and started in on the vegetables, giving it her best guess as to the size.
Meanwhile, Tyler sliced the chicken into thin strips and put on rice to boil.
No way was she consuming all those carbs, but she didn’t want to be rude.
He tossed the chicken into a pan coated with, in her opinion, way too much oil.
“You know you can save tons of calories using a cooking spray.”
He shot her a quelling look over his shoulder. “Why don’t you just drink your wine and leave the cooking up to me?”
Mellow warmth surged through her, and it occurred to her that maybe she should slow down on the wine since she hadn’t eaten anything since her small dry salad at lunch.
