Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ From her bag, she pulled the Canon Rebel. “Do you mind if I get some still shots for the blog?”

      “Not at all. The house has been filmed so many times I’m surprised people aren’t tired of it.”

      “Not at the start of a new season. People can’t get enough.” Other people, not her. She couldn’t admit to the star of Rock Bottom she hated reality shows, thought them a total bore.

      He made a noise of acknowledgment, the sound of a thought held back.

      “That doesn’t thrill you, huh?” Curiosity piqued her interest, and she leaned on the counter beside him.

      “Oh yeah. I’m happy people want to watch the show.” Straightening, he gestured. “Shall we?”

      “Yes.” Following him through the dining room, she let the subject drop. Whatever his thought, he obviously had no intention of sharing it. She’d have to make him feel at ease again. “Amazing house.” Snapping random photos, she couldn’t imagine wanting to purchase such a monstrosity, but he probably needed something this large to house his reportedly oversized ego.

      “Isn’t it? The architecture’s 1930s, tweaked by a designer to modernize it. We’d planned to set the show in LA, but someone told me about this place.”

      “You bought this place specifically for Rock Bottom?” She aimed the camera at him.

      He leaned against the back of a chair, legs crossed, and aimed those amazing blue eyes at her. Snapping a few shots, she thought his smoldering gaze might melt the lens, but had the odd sensation he looked beyond the camera–to her.

      Strolling into the hallway, he continued, “Actually it’s a rental. A little large for my taste, but the additional rooms come in handy for the girls to stay in.”

      Ah yes. The girls. His personal harem. A good reminder not to get too caught up in the Jet mystique.

      To keep the casual conversation flowing, she asked, “What sort of house do you prefer, if not one like this?”

      He flashed a wry smile. “Something cozier, less flashy. I always thought McCartney had the right idea, living in a small house where the entire family had to watch TV in the same room.”

      Her breath caught in her throat. “You have kids?” She hadn’t heard that. Maybe he’d kept them secret. She gripped the camera more tightly, awaiting his response.

      “Not yet. I hope to someday.”

      Whatever knot twisted inside her released. Instinctively, her palm went to her belly. What did she care if he had kids? “Ah, after you find your soul mate.”

      His voice thickened. “Ideally, yes.”

      Surprise made her turn. Her open mouth clamped shut when she realized the emotion he struggled to restrain seemed to be amusement, not yearning.

      Grinning, he leaned in. “What about you?”

      He had a way of zeroing in on her, catching her off guard. “Sorry?”

      “Any kids?” His casual tone conflicted with his sharp gaze.

      She turned away, pretending interest in the abstract painting hanging over the dining room credenza, red squares within other red squares, echoing like a tunnel. “No.”

      He moved behind her. “Don’t want them?”

      The space between them crackled to life like a science experiment. If she touched him, she felt sure the resulting zap would have damaging consequences to her psyche. She stepped away. “Yes. But not now.”

      Following, he asked softly, “When you find your soul mate?”

      A blush burned her cheeks. “Let’s stick with you, shall we?”

      “You’re more interesting.”

      Did he always pursue women so relentlessly? Probably her lack of interest made her seem more interesting to him.

      “Can you turn it off, at least for the interview?” It came out more sharply than she’d intended, and she ducked her head.

      “My charm? Sorry, it’s natural.” He smirked.

      “Mmm.” Her noncommittal grunt neither confirmed nor denied it. If pressed, she’d admit he had charm–but not to him, of course. For Billie, a man’s charm diminished when overshadowed by ego. Someone should school Jet in the less is more concept. Though right now, she needed more space between them to clear her head.

      * * * *

      Following her, Jet chuckled to himself. Billie Prescott was not what he expected in any sense. Female. Smart. A little shy–cute, he hadn’t run up against a shy girl in a while. Even cuter, she tried to hide it by acting tough. Despite the act, she had another quality he hadn’t come across in too long. She was genuine. Grounded. She knew what she wanted, apparently, and wasn’t easily impressed. Because of that, he found he could relax. It felt good. So good, he wanted to keep teasing her.

      In the front hall, she touched the banister. “I think I’ve seen most of the first floor. Can we go upstairs?”

      “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured near her ear. His hand grazed the small of her back.

      She stiffened at his touch. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she ascended the steps.

      Huh. Not the usual reaction. A contestant would have draped herself around him and pulled him down to the steps. “Would you like me to carry that? It looks heavy.”

      “I’m used to it. But thanks.” Her look of surprise disappeared and she started upstairs again. “So all the contestants stay here while you’re taping the show? How many to start?”

      Okay. Strictly business. So be it. “Six. They stay in these three bedrooms.” He jogged to the top of the steps and swung to the right.

      This house fit the show. Each bedroom held two double beds, two vanities and had its own small bathroom. Less for the women to share, so presumably less to fuss about. Or so he’d thought.

      As they strolled past, Billie shot some pics. “Nice. So where do you stay?”

      He held back a grin at her formality. “On the other side.” He walked past the stairway and opened the first door. “This is a getaway space. To read, whatever.”

      Her gaze took in the L-shaped overstuffed sofa facing the French door to the balcony to the staircase winding to the first floor.

      “Read?” She bit her lip as if realizing her insult.

      Too late. No retractions. He pursed his lips. “Yeah. Sometimes I even read Strung Out.”

      A faint blush tinged her cheeks. “Where does that lead?” She nodded toward the stairs.

      “To the downstairs office, where we first met.” He opened the door behind him. “Through here is my room.”

      Taking in the view, СКАЧАТЬ