Part 11 (1/2)
”She started watching Fantastic Four for the umpteenth time. But she fell asleep pretty fast.” He smiled faintly. ”She was worn out.”
”After three martinis, I don't suppose Vernie put up any fuss about going to bed, either.” Nicky wasn't sure how long she could remain calm when the heat from his body was bombarding her senses. Smile politely and think good thoughts, her voice of reason suggested, loosely paraphrasing the advice Queen Victoria had given her daughter on her marriage-”Lie back and think of England.”
”Vernie was out before Jordi.” He offered her a sympathetic look. ”You must be tired, too.”
”I'm oka y ,” she managed to say. ”I slept last night.”
”I didn't, but I'm too psyched about having Jordi back to be tired.”
Was that a hidden clue; was he saying he was good for all night? Did that mean he wouldn't take offense if she jumped him? ”It's great how everything worked out with Jordi,” she said, feeling the weight of virtue on her shoulders as she responded responsibly.
”The understatement of the century,” he murmured. ”Getting her away from Lisa's crowd was a relief. Those guys my ex knows have fathers who launder more money than Enron ever did.”
The thought of actual criminal activity was mega-sobering. ”They don't sound like nice characters,” she said, a jolt of apprehension partially mitigating her l.u.s.t.
”No s.h.i.+t. They're way the h.e.l.l out of Lisa's league. But she likes the drugs, and they have it by the truckload.”
Funny how actual fear could raise havoc with s.e.xual desire. ”These guys aren't run-of-the-mill street dealers, are they?” she asked, nervous now.
He shook his head. ”This is big-time worldwide traffic.”
”Jesus.” Her heart did a nervous pit-a-pat. ”Like in the movies.”
”Unfortunately, it's not the movies,” he said, ultra - calm, like they were talking about the weather. ”No way do you want to f.u.c.k with these people.”
”No kidding?” She could feel th e hairs rise on the back of her neck. ”Maybe we should find another hotel. Or another country. Black Duck didn't prepare me for stuff like this.”
”We're out of here soon. It's not a problem anyway.”
She must have seen too many movies about drugs that had bad endings. ”You're way more cavalier about this than I am.”
”In my business I run into big money that isn't always on the up and up. People like that are always looking for legitimate investments. They like the glitz and glamour of the entertainment world; they can get rid of some money legitimately and also rub shoulders with-” He glanced up at the knock on the door. ”Excuse me,” he said, coming to his feet. ”The cognac's here.”
Or maybe drug dealers with guns, Nicky thought, the knock on the door ultra-discreet like maybe it was some cunning artifice, and seconds from now she'd be blown away by an automatic weapon with a silencer.
But as Nicky was bracing herself against the worst-case scenario playing in her head, Johnny opened the door to a young waiter with a dusty bottle of cognac. After politely bon soiring them, he set about opening the bottle and pouring them each a gla.s.s of an obviously very old liquor.
Johnny handed the man a large bill, then glanced at Nicky. ”Tell him we appreciate the quick se rvic e.”
She did, the man told her to tell Johnny how much he liked his record label, and after a few minutes more of translating a conversation about specific artists the waiter favored along with a ton of effusive praise for Johnny, the man left.
”I suppose you get that a lot. Adulation.”
”More than I need, that's for sure,” he said, sitting down again and handing her a cognac. ”I'm only the producer. I don't make the music. Cheers.” He lifted his gla.s.s. ”This is usually good.”
It was, in a slightly fruity, high-octane way. Her previously heated senses revived, her close proximity to a man who no doubt featured in thousands of women's dreams was not without its potent effect. And since no killers had materialized, her morbid fears had been dispelled. Also, he smelled divine, not something she usually noticed-then again, maybe the men she dated didn't buy their cologne in the same high-end shops as Johnny Patrick.
She found herself thinking she'd like to lick him all over he smelled so good, the fragrance kind of vanilla-ee with a hint of- really... she had to say chocolate. Was that possible? If she hadn't had wine at dinner, two small bottles of champagne, and now cognac, she might not have said, ”Is that chocolate I smell in your cologne, or am I crazy?”
”Dunno,” he said like a guy would. ”I get it at a shop in San Francisco. I t' s French, though. I forget the name.”
”I adore chocolate.” Oops, that was open to a possible subtext, and she'd warned herself about openly drooling over him. ”I mean I eat it all the time. Oh, s.h.i.+t,” she muttered, flus.h.i.+ng pink at his smirk. ”Strike those last inanities. I just like your cologne, that's all.”
”Don't get bent out of shape. I like a h.e.l.luva lot more than your perfume, or I wouldn't be here.”
That was nice. Succinct, yet sweet. ”So this isn't any port in a storm.”
”No storm here, babe. I know what I'm doing.”
”It's good one of us does. I'm not so sure.”
His brows rose. ”Of?”
She blew out a breath. ”Celebrity types like you.” Her anxieties about a.s.sa.s.sins giving way to more basic, everyday doubts.
He grinned. ”That's all bulls.h.i.+t. I'm as ordinary as the next guy.”
”Puleese.”
”Okay, so I know a few more people than you.”
”A-list people who are all infinitely familiar with the red carpets of the world.”
”What's that got to do with this?” His dark gaze was suddenly intense. ”Seriously?”
She held his gaze for a moment, then melted under his boyish smile, which appeared like suns.h.i.+ne after the rain and effectively obliterated the red carpets of the world in one fell swoop. He looked like a kid from some small California town.
”So can we dispense with the celebrity s.h.i.+t?” he murmured.
”Yeah, I guess.” It was incredible how he could transform himself with that f.u.c.king sweet smile.
”And we're not going to get hung up on anything more than having a good time?”
”I guess.”
He laughed. ”You're gonna give me a complex.”
She grinned. ”Maybe it's about time someone did.”
”So, you're gonna take me on?”
”I was thinking about it.”
”Not as long as I've been thinking about it.”
”Betcha.”
”Since I first saw you,” he said smoothly, not an amateur with women.
”Okay... we're even. You looked d.a.m.ned nice in that Speedo.”