by Mia Carson
“I’m glad you had such a good time tonight, Lexi. I’ll see you Monday.”
He was gone before I could reply, and I went into my apartment feeling empty and definitely unsatisfied. The exhilaration and drinks from dinner made me heedless of my own rules. I’d have to make sure our boundaries were re-set on Monday. We were traveling to Rio on Wednesday, and I had to keep everything strictly professional and not fall prey to the powerful attraction I felt towards this man.
***
“Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing.” The pilot’s voice came through the private jet’s speakers as Braden, Keith, the head of the art department, Marissa, the director of Hot on Her Heels, and I descended into Rio. It was nearly midnight Brazil time, which was four hours ahead of Los Angeles.
The trip had been quicker than taking commercial airlines since those usually had at least one stop between, but it was still a long flight. Everyone was either asleep or tired from sitting for so long. I exchanged a look with Braden, who sat one table over in one of the plush chairs that also had plane safety belts.
Braden and I had talked Monday, after I’d told Clara and Beth about Friday night with the almost-kiss, and we both agreed never to cross that line. Our relationship would become far too complicated to have any kind of personal relationship outside of work, especially since we worked so closely together. We’d promised to act professionally and refrain from acting on any impulsive flirting or physical interactions.
However, as I watched him from my seat in the plane, my pulse sped up—not just from the fact that I was on my first trip outside the U.S., but from the hypnotic blue intensity of his eyes as they watched me from under thick lashes. I broke the gaze, buckled my seatbelt, and forced myself to smile at Marissa, who sat next to me.
I’d have to really keep my feelings for Braden in check in Rio since, on top of work and the excitement of overseeing the beginning of an actual film shoot, we’d be there until Sunday—four whole nights of sun, surf, and bathing suits, all after work, of course.
Braden
The two days after our late arrival in Rio on Wednesday had been hectic, and everyone took a well-deserved Friday night off. I’d worked hard overseeing the start of shooting Hot on Her Heels—which began in the streets of Rio and in an ocean-side apartment—and teaching Lexi the ins and outs of the actual filming process. I was ready for the break.
When Keith had asked me to go with him and some other guys to a hot beach dance club that night, I declined, earning a disapproving head shake from him. I didn’t care, though. All I wanted to do was relax in a low-key way, not go out for a wild Brazilian night of drinking, dancing, and random women. That was probably what my dad was doing at this very moment, come to think of it.
To be honest, all I really wanted to do was invite Lexi over and hang out in my hotel suite, which, like her room three doors down, overlooked the ocean, had a huge living room area, dining and kitchen sections, and a separate bedroom with a king-sized canopy bed. I’d bought some groceries so I could cook dinner that night to unwind. I forced myself to resist the temptation to text Lexi to join me.
Since the night of the celebrity dinner and the occurrence outside her apartment when we’d nearly kissed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lexi. I fantasized about kissing those pink, full lips and raking my hands through her silky, dark hair. But after our talk Monday, when we’d agreed to back off and keep our relationship professional and platonic, I’d stuck to our deal. I had to stick with it through this trip and wait until she was ready for a relationship.
As I pulled the fresh ingredients out to make garlic shrimp over pasta tossed with tomatoes and basil, there was a knock at the door. With a frown, I put the garlic clove and knife on the cutting board and looked through the peep-hole before I opened my door. My stomach leapt when I saw Lexi, glancing nervously around. Had she ached to hang out with me and broken her resolve?
I opened the door with a tentative smile. “Hey, Lexi, what’s going on?”
She held up the brown paper bag in her hand. “Hey, Braden. Sorry to disturb you, but Marissa insisted that I bring you her set design plans for the beach-hut scene shooting in a few weeks. Oh, and she said to enjoy the wine.” Lexi rummaged through the bag and held up a bottle of Chianti with a wry smile.
“Oh, okay,” I answered as I wondered why Marissa hadn’t brought it herself or just waited until tomorrow—was she trying to set Lexi and me up? I clamped my lips together to suppress an amused smile and gestured for her to come in. “Thanks for bringing that. Come on in.”
I was supposed to behave, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this, not when it was handed to me. Besides, it would be nice to have a bit of friendly company for dinner, and some wine and conversation. Nothing more, of course. Lexi hesitated for a moment, then came in and put the bag on a table between the kitchen and living room areas. My eyes traveled down her long hair, which was partially up. The rest reached halfway down her back.
My gaze continued downward over her snug white t-shirt and the very small jean shorts she wore that hugged her rounded ass like a second skin and showed off her long, toned legs. Damn, even when she wore just a casual tee, shorts, and flat pink flip-flops, she was sexy as hell. As she moved by me, I caught the intoxicating scent of saltwater and a subtle floral perfume. Easy there, boy, I thought to myself as Lexi turned around and my eyes moved back up to meet hers. You have to be professional and rein in the hormones or she’ll never trust you.
Her eyes looked over my shoulder to the kitchen and back to me. They sparkled with curiosity. “So, you’re staying in tonight? Not out partying in Rio? I’m surprised.”
This was exactly why I had to keep my libido in check; so I could show her how she made me want to change my playboy ways and be my true self. I shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Not really in the mood,” I told her as I reached for the wine from Marissa off the table. I took the bottle to the kitchen and uncorked the Chianti. Lexi followed me and eyed the ingredients I had out on the counter. “Actually,” I continued, “I don’t really go out all that much with Keith and the others.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinets.
When she arched an eyebrow at me, I added, “Well, not much anymore. Seriously. I was just about to cook a shrimp pasta dish for dinner. There’s enough for two. You wanna join me?” I’d poured one glass, and the bottle was poised over the second glass as I awaited her answer.
Lexi looked from the ingredients on the counter to the wine, then up to me. “Okay, I’m actually starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat. Do you want some help? Just remember, I’m not a very skilled cook or anything.”
I poured the second glass of wine and tried to hide the huge grin that wanted to spread across my face. I handed her one glass and sipped from mine. “Not a problem. I could teach you a little, since I did have a private lesson with Chef Henri and all.”
She sipped her wine as well, placed the glass on the counter, and moved to the sink to wash her hands as she said, “Well, thanks. I’d love to learn some pro tips.”
Ten minutes later, after we’d put on some bossa nova music on my laptop to get in the Brazilian spirit, the skillet was full of garlic and sizzling shrimp and the water for the pasta was about to boil. The only thing left to do was chop the grape tomatoes and fresh basil leaves. Lexi had watched me do everything as I explained what I was doing.
“Hey,” she said after she’d taken another drink from her wine glass, which was almost empty. “I think I’ve had enough verbal explanation. I’m ready to get in on the action now.”
My eyebrows shot up and a blazing heat coursed through my gut and pooled in my crotch. I could feel my face blushing hard as she laughed and grabbed a knife.
“I mean the chopping action, Braden,” she said with a teasing smile. “Hand me those tomatoes, and I’ll get working.”
I laughed nervously and placed a handful of washed grape tomatoes on the cutting board in fron
t of her. “Let’s see what you got.” I used a playful tone and stood back to watch. The air between us had become increasingly thick with electricity.
I watched her try to chop one little tomato, but it slipped from under the knife onto the counter. “Whoops, let’s try that again.” She giggled, clearly a little tipsy. She tried for a minute and managed to cut some tomatoes, though not very smoothly or as small as they should be.
Without hesitation, I moved in behind her, my body only an inch from hers, and leaned forward to gently place my hand over her knife-wielding one. “Here, try to make it more rhythmic. Let me show you,” I said, my voice low and gravelly. I was an inch from pushing my crotch into her butt, and as I leaned in, my chest lightly touched her back and shoulders and my arms brushed against hers. I heard her take a sharp breath and felt her body grow still.
Lexi tilted her head to look at me out of the corner of her eye. “Uh, okay. Go slowly, though, I’m new at this.” The way she said it made me think she spoke about more than just chopping tomatoes—like she was trying to tell me she was new at other, more intimate, activities as well.
Was Lexi a virgin? That meshed with how I’d always sensed a certain innocence about her, and the thought of me getting to teach her not only how to cook but also about sexual endeavors got me hot and bothered beyond belief. Okay, now I was unquestioningly hard and stood close enough that my erection pushed against her gorgeous, plump ass through our clothes.
I didn’t back off. I smiled devilishly at her and guided her hand to carefully chop the rest of the tomatoes in a slow, sensual rhythm. “It’s okay. I’ll definitely go slowly,” I whispered hoarsely into her ear, which caused a shiver to run through her body. I was one second away from leaving the food and knife in the kitchen, stripping her down, and having my way with her.
For several tantalizing moments, we stayed like that, dicing the tomatoes to the beat of a bossa nova song playing in the background. Once they were all diced, I let go of her hand slowly as she turned around, still holding the knife. I had to step back from her so the knife point wouldn’t push against my chest.
Lexi’s eyes narrowed, though they were a dark, passionate green, and she lifted one corner of her mouth in a smirk. “I appreciate the lesson, Mr. Huntington, but I somehow doubt Chef Henri got that up close and personal during his instruction. Watch yourself.” She cocked her head and brandished the knife playfully.
I put my hands up in surrender, turned to put the pasta in the boiling water, and turned off the skillet with the shrimp. “Duly noted, Ms. Montgomery,” I replied as I turned back from the stove. “Now, if you please, just put the knife down and step away slowly.”
She tried to look menacing for another second, failed miserably, broke into a smile, and put the knife down. “Okay,” she agreed as she walked over and sniffed the garlic shrimp. “But only if we can eat this amazing smelling food and have more wine.”
Five minutes later, we sat across from each other at the little table with steaming plates of sautéed garlic shrimp over tomato-basil tossed pasta and refilled glasses of Chianti. Several bites into the meal, Lexi closed her eyes, moaned, and said, “Oh my God, this is seriously gourmet. Where did you learn to cook like this, Braden? It’s clearly not all from one lesson with that Henri guy.”
I’d paused mid-chew to stare at Lexi’s dark lashes laying on her cheekbones as she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure at my food. Yet again, I had to ignore the wash of fire through my body. She opened her eyes and took a drink of wine while she cast her gaze towards me, her vivid green eyes dancing.
One thing was certain. I’d have to either rush to get Lexi out of here immediately after dinner or I’d be forced to take her right here on the table. We’d have a nice conversation while we finished dinner, then I’d quickly usher her out. I drank my wine and replied, “Growing up, my dad was always traveling, and he and my mom divorced when I was ten.”
I allowed myself a thoughtful pause as Lexi looked at me with a sympathetic frown, then continued. “After the divorce, my sister and I moved with my mom to Pasadena where we had this amazing cook for a while, Anatoli. He was a lively guy and loved teaching me various dishes and culinary tips. And it just took off from there. Now, I love cooking and experimenting whenever I have time. For some reason, it helps me unwind and straighten out my thoughts…something about working with my hands.”
I took a deep breath and looked down at my plate, surprised by how much I’d opened up to Lexi. I’d never talked like this with other women, but this stunning young lady made me feel comfortable and easy-going enough to share who I really was, even personal stuff like my parents’ divorce.
She thought for a moment before speaking. “That’s so cool you like to cook and are clearly quite skilled at it—it’s not a typical guy hobby. You know, the way cooking makes you feel clear-headed and relaxed, that’s how I feel when I’m surfing or writing. It’s funny how we all have our different, unique ways to relax and express ourselves.”
Lexi spoke with a quiet passion and with such intelligence that I fell for her even more as we sat in my suite and shared dinner. I could really see myself with this young woman in a serious, long-term relationship—for the rest of my life.
“That’s so true,” I said. “And I think it’s really cool you surf… not your typical girl hobby. It’s kind of badass, actually.” I grinned and added, “Maybe you can teach me, since now you owe me for the cooking lesson.”
“Maybe.” She bit back a smile. “Tomorrow, I might be persuaded to help you out… If we’re not too busy working, that is.”
I swallowed a bite of pasta with the flavorful shrimp and replied, “Oh, I’ll make time for a surfing lesson with you, you can be sure of that.”
We ate in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, both almost done, then I asked, “So, what about your family? Do they live in L.A.? Any siblings?” I actually knew the basics from the private detective I’d hired, but I wanted to hear about Lexi’s family from her own lips.
I saw a brief look of sadness cross her face before she smiled and replied, “Yes and yes. Both my dad and younger brother live in L.A. Sean’s fifteen, an amazing soccer player, and he lives with my dad three blocks from my apartment. Dad is… um, in a wheelchair. He has MS, and my mom passed away when I was eight.”
Lexi hid the hurt she felt about both her mom’s death and her dad’s situation well, though I could see a deep pain flicker below the surface of her expression. “I’m sorry, Lexi. That must be hard to deal with… Losing your mom and your dad’s illness. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?” I put a gentle hand over her forearm for a moment and removed it without lingering, wanting my touch to be the genuine show of caring it was.
She mustered a half-smile and shrugged. “Thank you, but actually, being able to put my dad on the insurance has been perfect. We’ve already made an appointment with one of the top MS neurologists in L.A. And my mom… well, not much you can do about that.” Her attempt at dark humor made me admire her strength in dealing with these hardships. “Enough about my family issues… How old’s your sister? Are you guys close?” Lexi asked before eating the last bite of her pasta.
“She’s right around your age, actually—twenty-two, and we’re definitely close. We run together on the beach just about every Sunday, have lunch, and we always have dinner with our mom in Pasadena on Sunday evenings. It’s tradition.” I moved to clear our plates, walked towards the kitchen, and said, “Can I interest you in some chocolate-covered strawberries I bought for dessert?”
Lexi’s face lit up, and she nodded. “Are you kidding? Anything with chocolate involved—how decadent.”
Moments later, I put a bowl of the dark chocolate-dipped strawberries in the middle of the table, handed her a dessert plate, and poured the last of the Chianti into our glasses.
“You know, Braden,” Lexi suddenly said after she’d bitten into one of the succulent strawberries and licked her lips. I had to f
orce myself to focus on her eyes and register her words. Fuck, I had to get her out of there after dessert.
She continued as she tilted her head at me. “You kind of surprise me. I always heard—from the media—and thought of you as this partying playboy, but these last few weeks, and talking with you tonight, there’s this whole other side to you. You’re much more than what the magazines and gossip TV shows say.”
I nodded slowly and finished my bite of strawberry. “Well, you can’t believe everything you hear—which, by the way, I’m surprised you read and watch those kinds of magazines and shows.” I flashed her a boyish grin and continued before she could defend herself. “Honestly? I know you might not believe me, but underneath it all, I’m not the chauvinistic pig my media image portrays.”
She quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she listened patiently. “I started that bad behavior when I was twenty-one and working more and more with my dad at Huntington Productions. He was—still is—a major playboy, and he’s actually traveling around Brazil right now.”
I could see Lexi thinking about what I’d said as she studied her wine. She held the stem in one hand and moved it in circles to make the Chianti twirl gently around the bowl of the glass. “So basically, you’re blaming your dad and using his behavior as a scapegoat for your own?” Her tone was casual, but she looked at me with a critical eye.
“I guess you’re right. Damn, you don’t cut a guy any slack, do you?” I half teased. She shrugged and smiled wryly but didn’t say anything, so I added, “Okay, I get it. I should take responsibility for my actions and not put it all on my dad. I do… I’m starting to regret the way I’ve acted, and I’m getting tired of this double life I’ve been leading with my real self that likes to hang with my family and my best friend Scott and cook, and my fake media-image self that hangs with assholes like Keith and treats women like playthings.”
