Page 44 of Wicked Fortune

How could I not have noticed him at a kid’s birthday party?

As if in response to my unanswered question, he shrugs, saying, “I only dropped by to give Damien something for an upcoming project. I had to leave right after to catch a plane. But I saw you.” His gaze softens. “You were ordering eggs at the cook station. Over easy.”

“Oh.” My mouth has gone suddenly dry.

“I remember exactly what you were wearing, too. A green dress with little white flowers. Strappy sandals. Your hair was shorter and darker, and the tips were pink and purple. You looked like a fairy princess sparkling in the sun.

My stomach flips, and not because of the food. “You noticed all that?”

“You caught my attention that morning,” he says simply, and there’s something in his tone that makes the air between us hum. “Actually, you’ve had it for a long time.”

My pulse quickens, and I suddenly feel exposed in a way I’m not used to. “Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, clearly searching for words. “Because you’re you,” he finally says, his expression open, as if he has nothing to hide from me. “Sharp, bold, unafraid to speak your mind.” His attention is so fully on me that I feel as if I’m under a spotlight. “But that’s not the only reason you’ve been on my radar.”

“It’s not?” The words sound lame, but I’m having trouble thinking.

He steps closer, until he’s only an arms-length away. “It’s because of what’s between us. The sizzle. The pop,” he adds, with just a tiny bit of humor. “I felt it the first time we met.” He reaches for me, his fingertips stroking my face as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think you did, too.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. My chest feels tight, my skin too warm. “I⁠—”

I cut myself off. I have no idea where that sentence was going, and I need space—now. Grabbing my coffee and a strip of bacon, I push back from the stool and wander into the living area, which seems like a different room in the light of day. The huge windows offer a panoramic view of the Valley. Beneath the panes, bookshelves filled with novels, scripts, and rows of DVDs line the walls.

I sip my coffee, letting the rich flavor ground me as I scan the various titles. My gaze catches on an entire shelf of DVDs with familiar titles. I pull one out and see Vivien Lorainne’s striking face. I turn, holding the case up for Matthew to see. “There are so many. Do you have all of her films?”

“Every last one. I’ve been a fan for years.”

“Me, too. I love her movies. I was practically weaned on them.” Vivien Lorainne was one of the biggest stars during Hollywood’s Golden Age, an exceptional accomplishment considering her time in front of the camera was cut short when she was brutally murdered. An act which, some say, bore a curse.

“She was a brilliant actor,” Matthew says. “Range like that doesn’t come around often. We should watch one soon,” he adds. “A movie. Popcorn. My sofa’s comfy.”

I glance around at the plush seating and panoramic view. “Just one tiny problem. You don’t have a TV.”

“Don’t I? Huh.” He turns in a circle as if checking out his living room. “Well, that’s odd. And considering my job, that’s a little embarrassing.”

I bite back a fit of giggles. “Let me guess. There’s one in the bedroom.”

“Not at the moment,” he says. “But whatever the lady wants,” he adds, sounding more than a little lascivious.

I laugh. “Sorry. Bedroom’s off limits.” I smile sweetly. “I don’t think I can survive another night on the edge.”

“Oh?” He steps closer, his voice low and his presence magnetic. “Are you suggesting that you want fall ?”

My mouth goes dry, and my heart flutters as his scent—a mix of soap, bacon, and something distinctly him—fills the air between us. “You heard me,” I whisper.

His grin is as bright as the sun. “I think we can make that happen. Some wine. A movie. And so many possibilities.”

“And still, you have no TV,” I remind him, my tone teasing.

“Ye of little faith. Eight? You bring you. I’ll take care of everything else.”

I should say no. I’m supposed to be getting closer to him because I’m investigating Jenny’s death. Not because he makes me laugh. And certainly not because the memory of his fingers on me is enough to make me want to drop onto the sofa right now and say yes to everything.

“Did I lose you?”

“Just trying to remember if I had plans tonight.” I flash a playful smile. “You slid right into the only empty slot in my very active social calendar.”

“Did I?”