Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ she hugged her arms. “I should probably get back.”

      “Already?”

      The disappointment in his tone came as another surprise.

      Turning away, she dug her toe into the sand. “Yes, I have a lot of homework to do. I haven’t even unpacked.”

      “Mmm.” His mouth turned down. “Sorry.”

      She grinned. Another odd thing he remembered.

      As slowly as they’d come, they strolled back to the Jeep. When Radiohead came on the radio, he uttered, “Oh!” and turned up the volume, drumming on the steering wheel.

      When he glanced over, he caught her smile. “What?”

      “Nothing. I see you’re a Radiohead fan.”

      His voice was infused with enthusiasm, and his gestures became livelier. “Did you see them at the Grammies? He played this song with a marching band and it sounded fantastic.” He shook his head, as if he’d never thought of such a thing.

      “I did. It amazed me too. Really inventive.” Music still moved him, made him come alive. The genius of other bands must inspire him, why didn’t it move him to create new songs of his own? A question better left to another day, she thought as they reached the house. Discussions about music could last long into the night, and she still had work to do.

      Shadows darkened the walkways, the light draining from the sky.

      He walked her to the cottage, leaned on the jamb. “Anything else you need?”

      She unlocked the door and gripped the knob. “Can’t think of anything,” she lied. If he were anyone but Jet Trently, she could think of plenty.

      Easing away, he gazed down the path. “Guess I’ll go find my guitar then.”

      “Good night.” She stepped inside.

      He stood, hands in his pockets. “Mmm.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he walked on away from the house and disappeared around the bend.

      After closing the door, she slid the deadbolt across. A key wouldn’t get anyone inside.

      With a sigh, she turned. Unpack, she told herself. Frowning at the suitcase, she instead sank into the overstuffed sofa, her muscles reminding her how many hours they’d put in.

      “Better not get too comfy yet.” Scooting to the edge, she dug out her laptop and powered up. Sure enough, the internet came up on the first try. She downloaded the photos and skimmed through them. The beach photo would be as big a hit as the dining room pic. She could almost hear the collective sigh of Jet fans across the globe.

      He hadn’t aimed that million-watt smile at them, though. Or taken them to dinner.

      She shot off a text to Zinta. Malibu better than expected.

      In a few minutes, her cell buzzed. Zinta’s name showed in the display.

      “Spill.”

      The events of the day bubbled forth from Billie’s mouth, somewhat incoherently. Zinta’s silence unnerved her. “Hello?”

      “You do know he’s playing you.” Zin’s words stung sure as a slap.

      “What?”

      “Buttering you up. To get you on his side.”

      “He’s not like that.” Irritated at her for ruining a nice day–unexpectedly nice–Billie hadn’t intended to snap her response, but felt no shame, either.

      “Billie, my sweet. Don’t fall for it.”

      Despair welled up. But he likes tree houses. Such a ridiculous thought, it snapped her to the realization she was heading for disaster. The kind of disaster she swore she’d never get into again. “God, you’re right. It’s like I landed in Oz instead of Malibu.” Maybe the two were closer than she’d thought. “My brain got lost in the whirlwind, but it’s on straight now. Thank you.”

      “I know you’d do the same for me.”

      And had several times, but she wouldn’t rub it in. In this business, the buddy system proved critical for survival. “Listen, I have to get this blog up. I’ll talk to you later.” She clicked off, thankful for her best friend, the person who knew her intimate secrets.

      Zin was right. Jet made a living from practiced charm. And she made a living from guarding against it. How careless could she be?

      She downloaded the photos onto the laptop, and scrolled through. Not bad, considering she had no photography training other than on-the-job. The pictures captured the house in a warm light, and Jet’s striking good looks. His ocean-blue eyes reached out from the screen and pierced hers as they had when she’d snapped the shot. Yes, the pic would get great reader reaction. But posting it on the blog felt almost like sharing something personal.

      Drafting an accompanying entry proved more difficult. She typed a sentence, read it over and deleted it, sickened by its gushing. Did the Malibu breezes infect her brain? Disconnect her thought process? She came across as an empty-headed fool with stars in her eyes. True to her original thought, she left it at: The Bu.

      Logging off, she yawned. The time difference had caught up to her, and her energy faded.

      After rummaging some items from her suitcase, she changed in the bathroom and climbed the stairs to the loft.

      Windows ringed the space, and she wound them open to let in the night air. Muted music sounded, and a light shone through the trees. Jet’s studio? Another thing to investigate. Tomorrow.

      The house stood in the opposite direction, a light on the far side silhouetting it, Jet’s bedroom dark and empty.

      Weariness washed over her. She laid her head on the pillow, and the soft strains of his guitar lulled her to sleep.

      * * * *

      Muted musical tones caused her eyes to flicker open. Much too bright sunlight stabbed them closed again. Instinctively, she reached for her cell phone. Unable to read the display in the morning glare, she flipped it open. “Billie Prescott.”

      “The one and only?” Everett teased.

      At hearing his voice, she sat up. “Hey. What’s up?”

      The washed-out blue walls crowded the king-sized bed, which seemed suspended in space. Like one of her nightmares where she awakened naked in public. But she wore a tank top and shorts, and no one else was in sight. All seemed quiet. So where the hell was she?

      “Apparently not you. But I’ll let it slide, since you worked so hard yesterday.”

      “Oh.” Cobwebs slowly dissipated from her brain. “Thanks.” Rubbing her forehead, she couldn’t think straight. The enthusiasm in his voice confused her more than her surroundings. “What are you talking about?”

      “The blog–fifty-some comments already. Did I seriously wake you?”

      “Uh, СКАЧАТЬ