AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Well,” she said, turning on the sun-drenched hardwood floor to run her gaze around the room. The wall on her right was white-painted brick that enclosed a well-used fireplace. Other walls that weren’t taken up with glass had been paneled with wood finished in a warm oak color. It only made her small dark condo seem more dreary by comparison. “This house is incredible.”
His pointing finger dropped. “You like it?”
She hid her smile. Good. He was already off the lover thing, thank God, and she’d work him around to what she was really after—the private chef position. “I love it.”
Not that she didn’t mean the compliment. The uncomplicated style of the large room didn’t take anything away from the out-of-this-world view. On the other side of a short counter to her left, she glimpsed the narrow kitchen with an adjacent small breakfast table positioned near more glass. Over her shoulder, she could see the atrium they’d passed on the way to the living area. A banana tree was growing inside and more sunlight fell onto a plain-styled dining room set. Tucked in the farthest corner were two reading chairs surrounded by white-painted shelves of books.
The whole place had a straightforward, unpretentious ambience, reminding her of a man comfortable in his own skin. But a mature man, because there was a definite 1950s vibe to the paneling and the built-in cabinets in that sunny dining area.
“I thought your magazine was going to make over your place into the ultimate bachelor’s It Pad. You know, the supreme destination for all of L.A.’s It Girls.”
He shook his head. “I nixed that idea. My grandparents built the house in 1955 before they called this stretch of sand Millionaire’s Beach, which was before they had to change that to Billionaire’s Beach. It’s bad enough that the dealmakers are buying up as many as three or even four adjacent homes. They scrape them and then build compounds totally out of character with what Malibu once was. I’ve decided to keep what I have just as it is.”
His eyes glinted with a renewed sparkle and an eyebrow rose. “So…you read NYFM?”
NYFM, short for Not Your Father’s Magazine—the symbolic “father” in this case rumored to be the one and only Hugh Hefner—was a magazine not quite as skincentric as Playboy yet not as New York–styled as GQ. After Sandy had mentioned possible employment, Nikki had flipped through a few copies. Though it featured pictorials of half-naked women, there was also information on cars, work, and relationships, as well as well-regarded, in-depth writing on global issues.
She shrugged. “I like the articles.”
“Admit it. You buy it to check out the girls.” He was grinning.
God, he was attractive, she had to admit it. That wide, white smile and tumble of golden hair topping his high-cheekboned face, the strong column of his neck, his bare chest. He was still shoeless and half-naked and she remembered his delicious smell. Somewhere nearby was a bed of those tumbled sheets that might still hold the heat of his bare skin.
Her skin prickled with goose bumps and in her head an internal movie screen blazed to life, flashing the image of a woman’s body stretched out on the wide mattress, waiting for a man. Though it didn’t happen often, it was her typical fantasy vehicle—her imagination conjuring up a scenario between two strangers.
Except, unprecedented and a little alarming, in this mental film the starring roles weren’t played by strangers. It was her own eyes she saw opening as Jay Buchanan entered the room, their blue and green turning slumberous as he loosened the fastening at his waist and dropped those low-slung shorts—
You buy it to check out the girls.
The words echoed in her head, and the sexual chills racing over her skin stopped mid-dash.
A flush burned her cheeks. Obviously he thought…
“I do not buy it to check out the girls.” She’d said she didn’t like men—when she’d only meant that at that particular moment she hadn’t liked him for trying to get rid of her—and he’d taken it completely wrong.
He didn’t stop grinning as he stepped closer. Too close. She held her breath so she wouldn’t start thinking of beds again. Of her on his bed and his naked body against hers.
One of his lean fingers chucked her under the chin. “Hey, it doesn’t matter to me. I like girls, too.”
She opened her mouth to set him straight—and then closed it. What had he said when he’d tried to shut the door on her? “I thought you’d sworn off women.”
He grimaced, then shot a look in the direction in which his neighbor Shanna had disappeared. “What a damn mess.” His gaze switched back to Nikki again, his eyes narrowing. “Which reminds me that you—”
“Can really do a great job as your chef.” As she went for distraction again, she made a hasty shuffle backward and had to ignore the answering twinge in her knee. “Do you mind if I check out the kitchen?”
He trailed behind her. “Could you make a pot of coffee?”
The pitiful note in his voice only gave her more hope. “Absolutely.”
The cooking space had been recently remodeled. State-of-the-art appliances were built into cabinetry with open shelves and included a warming drawer, a sink with instant boiling water, and a refrigerator large enough to defrost two turkeys—or hold three cases of beer, which was the situation now. She set down the pail of cookies, then frowned as she peeked in the freezer and found a bag of coffee beans.
“These shouldn’t be in here. And don’t you have any actual groceries?”
“I think there’s some leftover steak around. Check in the lettuce crisper.”
“Don’t tell me,” Nikki answered, moving away from the fridge to locate the bean grinder. “Your favorite food group arrives on your plate still bleeding.”
“Yep. And if grilled by me, charred black on the outside.”
While she finished preparing the coffee, she got him talking about what his expectations for the chef position were. His teenage cousin was staying with him until September, so he wanted decent meals for her. There was an anniversary party he was throwing for his parents at the end of the month. And though he was taking August off, on Monday mornings the NYFM editorial staff would meet at his house for breakfast.
But when she put a tall mug of coffee in front of him at the breakfast table, as well as a quick snack she’d made with the one egg, the one-half avocado, the wedge of hard cheese, and the frostbitten croissant she’d found in the freezer, he quieted down. Nikki leaned against the counter to give her knee a break and thought over the situation as he ate.
If she got the job, she could drag one of the bar stools sitting on the other side of the counter to the chopping area and keep off her feet even during food prep. And though she didn’t know anything about the markets nearby, surely she could find ingredients for the meals Jay liked. He wasn’t picky.
And then there was Malibu itself. Her gaze drifted out the glass to the curve of white-hemmed blue ocean that kept tossing itself against the sugary sand. Who wouldn’t want to work here?
Though she’d have to fight traffic getting to and from, she couldn’t fault people for swarming to this spectacular place. Craning her neck, she took more of it in.
The houses along this stretch of beach were built shoulder-to-shoulder. As she followed the curve of the sand, she understood what Jay meant about the out-of-character compounds. From here she could see some houses that looked like small resorts rather than actual homes. Right next door—Shanna’s house?—was a place that looked to be built with gleaming marble. A pool stood between it and the beach, and inside a threatening fence, a sun-hatted gardener was squeezed behind a Grecian-styled statue, manicuring an already perfectly trimmed box hedge.
To her surprise, though, the beach itself wasn’t crowded in front of the houses, maybe because of the public access controversy that Jay had spoken of when she’d first arrived. On her way to his address she’d passed the packed state and county beaches, but here there were just a few towels and paraphernalia scattered in front of the homes, and those were set close to the waterline. No one seemed inclined to park themselves any nearer to the private residences.
At that thought, a young couple came into sight and paused on the sand at the corner of Jay’s deck. The girl couldn’t be long into her teens. She had a gentle curve up top, but her string bikini was tied on either side of narrow, almost childish hips. What she lacked in womanliness, she made up for in mascara, however. Though her natural hair color was nearly as blonde as Shanna’s bleached stuff, her eye makeup was closer to Cleopatra’s. Her mouth was glossed the color of a raspberry lollipop.
The black-haired boy with her leaned down to take a taste of it.
The girl made an instinctive move away, and the boy’s eyes narrowed. The skin on Nikki’s nape crawled as she watched his lean fingers grab the girl’s chin. A memory reared from her subconscious.
Dark party. Loud music. Dim lights. She had on the clunky black shoes she’d worn to her mother’s funeral and a skinny boy with thin hands was holding a glass to her mouth. The liquid inside it smelled like medicine and she hoped it would cure the cold, lonely sickness inside of her.
