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“How do you find time for that?”
“My days off, if it falls on the weekend.”
He didn’t know about that, that she taught dance to kids. “Do you get paid for that?”
“Hell, no,” she stopped, seeing the look on his face. “No. I’d like to think of it as giving back to the community.”
“Are these street kids or something? Orphans?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re just kids who live close to the coffee shop. They saw me dancing before, but that dance studio closed down. It was my way of exercising.”
So that explained her figure. She was curvy in all the right places and she was lithe in bed… He took a breath, controlling his lust. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Thanks,” she replied, not looking at him.
“Did you always like dancing?”
She smiled wistfully. “Since I could remember. Mom and Dad loved jazz dance. Jazz music, basically classic Hollywood.”
Justin remembered the posters in her previous apartment. She liked classic movies, which he found strange. He hadn’t bothered to ask, he just thought it was a mismatch against her personality. He had seen her current apartment, and while her own things looked unkempt, the things he had gotten for her remained neat. He had finally seen more photos of her family in that quick visit to her apartment. She looked exactly like her mother, those were some good genes. They arrived twenty minutes after an easy drive, a cooler breeze flipping through her hair.
She couldn’t see much of the house yet. Just a whitewashed wall with an automatic gate in a wooden finish. Was it going to be as stark as his penthouse? As soon as the gates slid open, her eyes popped out.
This was his house? It was probably the biggest house she had ever seen. From the entrance, she could see the coastline, with some boats and their lights like fireflies in the sea. She heard the wave after wave crash on the shore, high tide was coming. She gingerly took a first step, as if afraid she would mess up the floor.
He smiled at her. “Come on. This way.”
He led her into the dining area with its open plan, adjacent to the common living room area, which had its own billiards table. She found herself walking straight for the balcony, staring in awe at the infinity-edged swimming pool with its glass walls for security. Beyond that was a series of steps that led to the beach. It looked like heaven in Malibu.
“You live here alone?” she asked him.
“Most of the time,” he admitted.
“How many bedrooms are there?”
“Six. Not counting the movie room and the gym.”
“How can you have so many houses?” she asked, walking closer to the pool.
“I don’t. It’s the company’s,” he said.
“The company is yours.”
“This was my dad’s favorite vacation house.”
“Was?”
“He’s… He passed away years ago.”
“Oh.” Her tone changed. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. That was years ago. Anyway, what do you want to have for dinner? I’ve narrowed it down to pasta and hamburgers and fries.”
“Pasta sounds faster,” she said.
He nodded. “Pasta it is.”
They walked back into the kitchen, with Mikaela still looking around the place. Everything screamed designer in the house. Why the hell would anyone w
