Rock Bottom (5 page)

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, she caught her breath.

Almost the same reaction he’d first had at seeing the three sets of double French doors that opened to the balcony, framed by the branches of the towering Cypress trees. Beyond, a rocky bluff, where ocean waves crashed and exploded upward like a geyser.

“It’s incredible. Almost like a tree house.”

He turned to her. “Exactly. That’s what I thought the first time I saw it.” He eased past her. “Sometimes I spot dolphins playing in the waves, or a whale in the distance. It’s really something.”

“I can only imagine.” Delight filled her face.

His gaze steadied on hers. Something in her look reached inside him, and unearthed a deep yearning in need of release. He could swear she felt it too.

Abruptly, she turned away. Faced with the four-poster bed, she stammered, “Nice… fireplace.”

The mantle sat beside the bed. She strode past the loveseat and coffee table near the balcony, then turned toward the alcove. “What’s down there?”

“Bathroom.” He affected a bored tone.

After taking a few shots, she strolled through. At the entrance, she halted and laughed breathlessly. “Are you kidding? This is amazing too.”

One of his favorite rooms. Golden-red Mexican tile spanned the floor. To one side, a walk-in shower, bordered by a wide picture window. Weathered white stone climbed half the adjoining walls, topped by a botanical print wallpaper.

To the left stood a double-sink vanity encrusted with seashells. She ran her fingers along their whorls and curves.

He leaned on the doorjamb. “Pretty cool, huh? According to the realtor, the former owner collected those shells.”

“Nice touch.”

“Yes.” Nicer if he could give her a demonstration of the shower.

She stood at her full height, eye level with him. “So this concludes the tour, I guess?”

“It usually ends up here, yeah.”

Her eyes glazed over. “Fascinating. But I should get back to my room and settle in. What time is it?”

He shrugged. “Six thirty? Seven?”

“No wonder I’m starving. Do any local places deliver here?”

Wincing, he straightened. “Takeout? No, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“No, I can’t let you.”

“Come on, there’s a great sushi place not far from here. You need to re-energize and unwind.”

After a beat, she agreed. “All right. But it’s on me.”

“No.” He laid a hand on her arm.

She grasped his shirt. “Yes.
Strung Out
will pay.”

Shifting his hips, he eased closer. “Since you put it that way. It’s a date.”

A fleeting look of horror crossed her face. Releasing him, she stepped back. “No. It’s an interview, or the magazine won’t cover it.”

Pretending surrender, he clucked his tongue, but he was the one who’d won. “You drive a tough bargain.” He wished more women would challenge him once in a while. For now, he’d enjoy the company of Ms. Billie Prescott.

* * * *

Billie let herself relax when the hostess seated them in the noisy front room. Her fears of Jet’s public appearance causing a stir proved unfounded. At least three other major celebrities sat in the restaurant with a few minor stars forming a less impressive constellation. No one would bother them during dinner.

Ordering the sushi, Jet recommended it to Billie, and appeared pleased when she followed his recommendation. The waiter returned with the bottle of wine and poured.

Raising her glass, she toasted. “To
Rock Bottom
.”

“Cheers.”

Odd he didn’t echo her toast. Had season one stripped the luster from his quest to find love?

“So what happened to the first set of contestants?”

His smile appeared forced. “They went on to lead their lives, relatively unscathed by their short association with me.”

He probably intended for his self-deprecating humor to deflect her questions. “I didn’t mean--”

“Cindy could tell you their last known contact info if you need it.”

Actually, she hadn’t thought of it, but not a bad idea. “Throughout the show, you put them through their paces, so to speak, and eliminate a girl every other week?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“The final contestant--what happened to her?”

With a shrug, he sat back.

The waiter delivered their food, refreshed their wine and left.

Jet’s sudden coyness wouldn’t deter her. Still, she inflected a casual tone to make it seem like conversation rather than an interrogation. “She apparently isn’t your soul mate, but did you date for a while after the show ended?”

Averting his gaze, his mouth turned down. “A while, yes.”

“What happened?”

“She moved on.” He clammed up tighter than the sushi roll he put between his lips.

Nice lips, she noted. Not too full or too thin. Too bad so many other mouths had tasted them.

Again, her train of thought had veered off track and she struggled to regain it. “To where?”

“Another reality show. Tanya’s a serial contestant. If a new show’s proposed, Tanya will be in line ready to compete.”

“So her interest centered on merely participating, and not in having a relationship with you?” At his noncommittal shrug, she probed further. “Don’t you screen the contestants ahead of time?”

His chest swelled with a deep breath, and his nostrils flared. Oops. Must have touched a nerve.

She sat back. Body language for
I’m not here to cut you open
, even though she hoped to do exactly that. Metaphorically. “Sorry, I’m trying to get a feel for the mechanics of the show.”

With a quick glance, his blue eyes appeared laser sharp. “We altered it for this season.”

Ah, progress. An in, however vague. Nodding, she sipped her wine. “How will this year differ from last?”

“Throwing people together in a social setting doesn’t allow them to get to know each other. Not in important ways.”

Maybe her brain still circled waiting to land, but she couldn’t follow. “So you didn’t get to know the contestants by dating them?”

“To a degree, sure. But this year, we’re including other… activities.”

Besides making out? She forced 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.
Don’t be an ass. Do your damn job.
If she intended getting anything done tonight, she needed to settle in, make sure no technical issues reared their ugly heads.

Halting, 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?”