Brushing off Reggie’s attempts to go over the talking points, Katrina assured her rehearsal of any sort was not needed. “So what’s with muscles there?” Katrina said, nodding her head in the general direction of the dining room where Gabe waited. “Is he really a bodyguard, or just paid companionship?”
Reggie wasn’t sure on whose behalf she should be more insulted: her own, for the insinuation that she had to pay for companionship, or Gabe’s, for the insinuation that he was the sort of man who would allow his companionship to be paid for.
“I have a man sneaking into my hotel rooms to frolic in my panty drawer,” she explained, unable to keep the testiness from her tone. “Why do you think he’s here?”
The shoot, at least in Reggie’s mind, went downhill from there. Not that they made any major flubs—in fact, they got almost everything done in one take. The issue was that Katrina didn’t hesitate to get in her subtle digs at every opportunity. Like when she told Reggie how to cut an onion as though Reggie were a particularly slow five-year-old. Or when she explained that she was making a chiffonade of the basil, and maybe Reggie didn’t realize that since she never went to cooking school.
All little reminders that she, Katrina the Amazon goddess, was an award-winning graduate of the Cordon Bleu, whereas Reggie’s lack of education left her unqualified to run a hotdog stand.
By the end of the day, Reggie actually missed Biddy Lee Hughes.
When they wrapped, Reggie lingered in the kitchen. Trapped in the presence of perfection, Reggie hadn’t been able to bring herself to eat. Now starving, she shoveled in several bites of roasted quail with poblano chile reduction. Katrina charged out the yin yang for her “Tex-Mex fare with a nouveau twist,” but damned if it didn’t taste like a rather anemic plate of good old mole poblano. Tyler was right. Good PR could turn manure to gold.
She left the rest to the crew, determined to get some really good tacos before her book signing tonight.
She emerged from the kitchen, the sight before her threatening to send the quail spewing all over Katrina’s bright white tablecloths. Katrina and Gabe were seated at a table in the otherwise empty bar, sipping what looked like margaritas. Christ, the man wouldn’t even have a glass of wine with her and here he was boozing it up with the whore of Babylon. Gabe smiled and laughed at whatever Katrina said, and in that moment she was vividly reminded of the man she’d met that night in Hawaii, with his dark, intense gaze and sexy, lopsided smile. Except now both were focused on someone else.
She got to the table just in time to hear Katrina say, “So if you’re not busy later, I’d love to show you more of Austin.”
Before Gabe could answer, Reggie interrupted, “Unfortunately, I pay Gabe very well for his time, and tonight he has to go with me to a book signing.”
Katrina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, where?”
Gabe told her the name of the bookstore.
“I’ll join you! Nothing like having a local celebrity there to help draw a crowd.”
And Katrina made good on her word. But instead of meeting and greeting the fans, she kept herself planted next to Gabe the entire evening. On several occasions Reggie caught her leaning in and whispering something in his ear. Though he wasn’t obviously flirting back, he sure as hell wasn’t giving Katrina the aloof impersonal vibe he strove for with Reggie.
As Reggie smiled and penned a message for yet another fan, she wondered what would happen if she leapt across the room and stabbed Katrina,
Bourne Identity
style, with her ballpoint pen. Except she’d aim for her boob instead of her hand.
After most of the crowd had dissipated, a younger man approached the table. He was cute, in an executive kind of way. He had pretty green eyes and a great smile. She couldn’t help responding to it with one of her own.
“So, whom do I make this out to?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes. Definitely attractive, and definitely more her regular speed than Gabe ever was.
“Make it out to Trey,” he replied. As she signed the book he leaned over, close enough that Reggie caught a subtle whiff of his cologne. “I actually owe you for saving my ass with dinner a couple of months ago.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said with the tiniest stab of disappointment, “you pissed off your girlfriend and made her my patented ‘I’m sorry’ menu.”
“Worse,” he chuckled. “I was out of town for my mom’s birthday, and I forgot to call her, send a card, anything. But I made her one of your recipes off the show Web site, and all was forgiven.”
“You can always tell a guy’s a good catch when he treats his mother well.” She looked up and gave him a quick wink, then a teasing frown. “Unless, of course, he still lives with her.”
Trey laughed, and without asking he pulled up a chair next to her. “No way. I live in San Francisco. I’m in town on business. My mom lives up in Mill Valley. That’s about twenty minutes away.”
Hmm. Gabe wasn’t the only one who could find a little companionship on the road. “I know where that is. I live in Pacific Heights.”
He gave a sincerely delighted, ego-boosting smile. “I had no idea you were a local girl. I live in the Marina.”
They were quickly absorbed in conversation, discussing favorite restaurants and hangouts in the city. Suddenly, Trey cut off midsentence. Reggie didn’t need to look behind her. She felt Gabe’s overwhelming, ominous presence like a physical force.
Spinning in her chair, she looked up.
She could see why Trey looked so nervous. Gabe’s deep-set eyes were like chips of black ice stabbing down at them. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and even in his work uniform of dress slacks and a sport coat, he looked dangerously uncivilized.
“I’m sorry to interrupt this,” a dark undercurrent of rage throbbing in his voice, “but Miss Caldwell has to get up early tomorrow.”
A bald-faced lie, but something told Reggie that arguing with Gabe at this point would not give her the results she wanted. Still, the night wasn’t a total loss. She stood and offered her hand to Trey, who glanced apprehensively at Gabe before accepting it. Pretending Gabe wasn’t hovering over them like a medieval ogre, she smiled and said, “I really enjoyed meeting you, Trey. Why don’t you give me your card, and maybe I’ll call you when I get back to San Francisco?”
Still looking uncertain, Trey handed her the card, and she made a big show of tucking it in her wallet so it wouldn’t get lost.
Without a word to Katrina or anyone else, Gabe pulled her out of the bookstore and barely got a block before his simmering rage exploded into a high boil. Backing her into the dark doorway of a store, he hissed, “Are you completely naive or just incredibly stupid?” Before Reggie could form a comeback, he continued, “After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I thought you were taking this more seriously. But either your short-term memory is shot, or you lack the capacity to apply knowledge to other situations.”
Pushing futilely at his chest, Reggie yelled, “I don’t know what your problem is. I was just talking to a nice guy while you were busy burying your face in that glamazon’s cleavage.”
“You weren’t just talking to him. You practically drew him a map to your apartment.” He affected a high, singsong falsetto. “Oh, I live in Pacific Heights. I eat at Belelnut all the time. I get my coffee at exactly eight oh two every morning at the Starbucks on Lombard Street. If you pass my apartment at precisely seven oh two you can catch me coming out of the shower.”
“It was nothing like that,” she snapped, swatting him across the chest. Deep down, she knew he was right, that she’d let her little fit of jealousy override common sense. But with images of Gabe’s head bent attentively toward Katrina seething in her brain, she wasn’t willing to concede just yet. “Besides, you said the stalker is someone who knows me. I’ve never met Trey before.”
“How do you know? How many people do you meet every goddamned day of your life? Forget your show—you talk to everyone. How can you be sure you never met him in San Francisco? Maybe he’s been following you around. Maybe he works for the network and has access to your schedule.”
He plowed his hands through his hair as though he wanted to tear out every strand. “And even though he’s probably not the guy, that’s not the point. The point is you’re a celebrity. Like it or not, people assume they have a relationship with you, whether you know it or not. When you go batting your eyelashes and shaking that sweet ass in front of every guy you meet, the crazier ones are going to get ideas!”
Though she couldn’t tell for certain in the dim streetlight, Reggie thought maybe Gabe’s face had turned purple. “Are you saying I
asked
for the guy to stalk me?” Still royally pissed, she didn’t allow herself to be distracted by Gabe’s “sweet ass” comment.
Gabe let out a frustrated sigh. “Reggie, I’m not blaming you. But it’s not safe for you to make eyes at every guy you meet and give him detailed directions to your bedroom.”
Stepping back, he let her out of the alcove and started down the block to their hotel.
“I don’t do that with every guy,” Reggie called. “Just the cute ones.”
Gabe looked like he was about to argue further, then snapped his mouth shut, apparently thinking better of it. He walked her back to the hotel, saying nothing but a gruff “good night” as he dropped her at her door. Two seconds later, the door to his adjoining room slammed with enough force to rattle the mirror over her dresser.
Reggie tried to work on her book, but she was too irritated and distracted by Gabe’s overreaction to concentrate. Flopping back down on the bed, she called Natalie.
When her sister answered, Reggie quickly filled her in on the details of the past few days, including Katrina’s shameless flirting and Gabe’s behavior tonight.
“I don’t know how I can stand him for another month, Natalie,” she sighed. “One minute I think we’ve settled into some workable relationship, and the next it’s like we’re walking on eggshells. He’s getting to be more of a distraction than the stalker.”
“Poor Gabe,” Natalie laughed. “He wants you so bad he can taste it, but he’s trying so hard to maintain a professional distance.” She said the last so derisively Reggie could practically hear her eyes rolling.
I wish.
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Reggie sighed, aimlessly flipping through the channels. “Besides, he wasn’t exactly fighting Katrina off, if you know what I mean.” The image of them sharing margaritas was still seared in her memory.
“That redheaded cowgirl slut?” Natalie scoffed. “Trust me, Reggie. I could tell by the way he looked at you. He remembers exactly how good it was in Hawaii, and he wants it again. Bad. I’m surprised he hasn’t succumbed to temptation already.”
A sudden image popped into Reggie’s head, of her, coming her brains out on the flimsy kitchenette table in New Orleans as Gabe heaved and growled above her. Followed by an equally vivid image of how he’d coolly apologized, as though he’d accidentally dented her car or something.
Natalie was still talking. Like Reggie, once she got on a roll, she didn’t let up until she was sure she’d made her point. “As far as the guy goes tonight, Gabe was jealous. It’s so obvious.”
“I don’t think so, Natalie.” No matter how bad she wanted it to be true. “You saw the way he treated that woman in San Francisco. Tonight was the same.”
“That night you disappeared. Were you ever out of his sight tonight?”
“No.”
“You were in view, totally within his protection at all times. There was no need to pull you away from the guy, except that Gabe couldn’t stand the sight of you flirting with someone else.”
“Did I not mention that Katrina was practically giving him a lap dance at this point?”
Natalie made a scoffing sound on the other end. “And yet he still kept a close enough eye and ear on you to come running over when he thought you were getting too cozy. Trust me, Reggie. I only had to be in the room with you two for five minutes to see he’s still into you, big time. All he needs is the proper encouragement to break his stupid rules.”
Maybe Natalie was right, Reggie thought as she hung up. Gabe had, after all, practically attacked her the other night. It wasn’t as though she’d been the instigator. Obviously there was some attraction there.
But then the coldness afterward…maybe he was one of those guys who could casually fuck a woman and turn off the passion as soon as he was through. And maybe the other night had been about stress relief, with no more meaning for him than if he’d gone out for a jog. It wasn’t like their “relationship” in Hawaii had engendered any big commitments.
Then again…
Sometimes, like this morning, she did catch him looking at her.
Digging through her suitcase, Reggie pulled out her favorite Ella Moss top and cutest, most flattering pair of Lucky Brand jeans.
Maybe she’d get lucky tonight.
She did a quick makeup check, twisted her hair up into a clip, and grabbed her key. Shifting nervously from one booted foot to the other, she rapped lightly on Gabe’s door. Maybe if she was really lucky, he’d answer it shirtless.
“What?”
Reggie stepped back at the gruff, abrupt greeting.
Unfortunately, he still wore a blue cotton button-down, but a couple of buttons were undone. That vee of exposed tan skin was nearly her undoing.
Remembering what she was there about, Reggie smiled up at him. “I didn’t eat much today and I’m starving, so I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to go downstairs and grab a bite to eat with me.” At his uncomfortable frown, she quickly added, “No big deal, just keep me company since I’m going crazy cooped up in my room.”
And I’m wondering if, in fact, you want to jump my bones.
Gabe shifted from foot to foot, not responding. God, he looked sexy. His short, dark hair was ruffled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. His surprisingly sensuous mouth was slightly pink and a little swollen. He almost looked like he was wearing…lip gloss?
“Uh, Reggie,” he stammered, “I don’t, uh, this isn’t…”
Her stomach cramped and started an abrupt slide to somewhere around her ankles even before the slender, feminine hand appeared to slide up the firm muscle of Gabe’s chest.