Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ a straight face. “Such as?”

      “Things I like. It’s the only way to know if I’m compatible with someone.”

      “But what sort of activities?”

      His voice turned teasing. “You haven’t read your packet, have you?”

      “I haven’t had a chance.” I’ve been with you, she wanted to say. It now struck her as odd. They’d been together practically every minute since meeting. Talking as easily as friends.

      Jet’s gaze swept her face. “Mmm.”

      The grunt somehow had an underlying meaning.

      “Stop doing that.” The words slipped across her tongue before she could trap them.

      His eyes crinkled in amusement.

      So unprofessional. Shame crept over her. “Sorry. I–”

      “–don’t travel well, I know.” He reached across the table and his hand enveloped hers.

      His warmth sent a buzz of energy along her nerves. “Thanks for remembering.” Captured in his gaze, she felt the bustling restaurant around them fall away.

      Until the waiter reappeared and asked if they needed anything else.

      Sliding her hand away, she fidgeted with her napkin. What the hell was wrong with her today?

      “Dessert?” Jet sounded as casual as a business associate.

      Sipping her wine, Billie declined. “I’m sorry, my nerves really are frazzled. I’m exhausted from the trip.” Though saying it made her realize she felt fine. Good, in fact.

      “We’ll continue the interview some other time. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss.”

      Everett. She hadn’t thought of him in hours. That felt good too.

      “You’re very generous.”

      He held her gaze. “Only with people I like.”

      Her insides tightened as if drawn up along a tether toward Jet. Compliments flowed freely, she reminded herself, because he had schooled himself in self-marketing. People in power extended grace. Every bit as much as flexing his muscles, it was a show of machismo. She’d have to be very careful around him. In many ways.

      Forcing her focus out the window allowed her to clear her head. “What a shame the windows don’t face the sunset.”

      “Contrary to popular belief, most of Malibu faces south, not west. I think that’s why there are so many windows in my house. The colors of the sunset permeate the house, light up the walls. But next time, I’ll take you to the Sunset Restaurant.”

      Her breath hitched in her chest. Next time?

      He signaled the waiter, oblivious to her stare.

      An offhand remark, obviously meaningless.

      They drove back to the house, the sky a multicolored light show.

      Driving down his street, he glanced over. “It’s a shame you’re so tired. It’s a great night for a walk along the beach.”

      Unable to admit her inexplicable second wind, she shrugged. “I could handle a walk.”

      Arching his brows, he smiled. “Well, all right. We’ll make a traveler out of you yet.”

      Unconsciously, her grip tightened around her bag. She hadn’t intended to stay long enough for him to make anything of her.

      He hit the gas and sped past the gate. “We have to go down a mile or so. The bluff behind the house is useful for keeping people out, but it’s a little too high to climb down.” He pulled off the road. “If you want, I can stash that bag. Unless you want to lug it around.”

      “That would be great.” Before handing it over, she decided to bring the camera. Such a gorgeous sunset might make for a great shot, all the better if she could work Jet into it. The more photos she snapped for the blog the less she’d have to write. Tonight, her initial post would say something like: The Bu. Anything more might come out as gibberish.

      He climbed out, lifted the locker lid behind the seat and stowed her bag.

      She’d unlatched her seat belt and was reaching for the handle when the door opened.

      Smiling, Jet waited.

      They crossed a short expanse of brush to the sand. The warm, salty breeze wafted over her, filled her senses. Better than the Jersey shore, she had to admit.

      “So how do you like living in Malibu?”

      He wrinkled his nose, his aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. “It’s nice.”

      “So enthusiastic,” she chided.

      Chuckling, he jammed his hands in his pockets as he strolled. “It just doesn’t feel like home. Occupational hazard, I guess. Not many places do.”

      “What about your sister? Did she settle anywhere, or is she a drifter too?”

      He gazed to the horizon.

      “Sorry, if family’s off-limits, I won’t write about them.”

      “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

      She nodded. “I won’t.”

      “Off the record…it’s another reason I wanted the show to be based here. She lives less than an hour away, so when there’s any downtime, I’ll be able to visit.”

      “Nice.”

      His protectiveness touched her. So many things about him surprised her. For a rocker, he seemed surprisingly down to earth. Authentic, like his earlier music.

      “I remember going to see you play many years ago. Even then I was struck by the quality of your sound. Not overwhelming like some bands who crank up the speakers to blast the audience from their seats.” An unusual attention to detail, signaling a perfectionist. An artist who cared about every level of the performance.

      “No, our music never set out to deafen anyone. Unlike The Who. Did you know someone measured their decibel level at a concert, and it equaled the noise of an airplane takeoff only fifteen feet away?” He glanced over.

      She’d read something like that, but forgotten it. “No kidding.” She liked to hear him talk. Liked the way he leaned toward her as he spoke, the wind ruffling his hair. It made her want to run her fingers through it. Instead, she raised the camera, framed him against the orange-pink sky and bracketed several shots.

      He chuckled. “Makes me wonder how many Boomers walk around with hearing aids now because of The Who.”

      Reviewing the pictures, she thought they’d be perfect for the first blog, along with the photo of him in the dining room. Something clenched inside her to think she had to share that shot with others. It felt so private. Intimate. СКАЧАТЬ