Just Another Pretty Face (HT 459) (4 page)

Nikki nodded.
Of course,
she reminded herself, mentally hitting the heel of her hand to her forehead,
I
knew that.
"Bill said you didn't want anyone knowing you'd hired a bodyguard because of the new movie coming out. And I've certainly been in Hollywood long enough to understand the reasoning behind that decision. But is it really necessary to pretend I'm his—" she cast a quick, nervous glance at Pierce out of the corners of her eyes "—latest..." She floundered, searching for any word other than the one that had sprung instantly to mind when she looked at him. "His latest..."

"Lover," Pierce supplied helpfully.

Nikki forgot herself long enough to glare at him.

He smiled back at her, his expression bland and innocent. And full of wicked speculation.

Nikki hurriedly turned her gaze back to Claire. "Wouldn't it be just as effective," she continued, trying to pretend Pierce Kingston wasn't even on the same planet, let alone in the same room with her, "if I pretended to be his—oh, I don't know—his secretary or something?"

"I already have a secretary," Pierce said, as if she'd addressed the question to him. "Kathy Frye. Great secretary," he added musingly. "She's been with me for— what?" He glanced at his sister. "A year, now?"

"Just about," Claire said.

"She's been with me for a year, and she's probably the best secretary I've ever had," he said to Nikki. "I couldn't fire her just to provide you with a cover. Besides—" he grinned again, triumphantly "—she doesn't live in. Stays over once in a while if she's had to work late," he admitted with a shrug, "but she doesn't live in."

"I could pose as a new maid," Nikki said to Claire, knowing, even as she said it, that she was clutching at straws. "A maid would live in, wouldn't she?"

"I don't have a maid," Pierce said. "A service comes in once a week to help Mrs. Gilmore with the heavy cleaning. Sometimes her niece helps out, too, if there's something special going on."

Exasperated, Nikki finally looked directly at him. "Well, you could
hire
a maid, couldn't you?"

Pierce shook his head. "Mrs. Gilmore wouldn't like it."

No,
Nikki thought, as a picture of the formidable little woman formed in her mind,
I don't imagine she would.
"And is Mrs. Gilmore the one in charge of things around here?"

"As a matter of fact, she is," Pierce said mildly, refusing to take offense at the implied challenge to his authority. "Nothing would get done around here if it wasn't for her."

"I can believe that," Nikki began.

"Having you pose as a maid really wouldn't do us any good, anyway," Claire interrupted smoothly, steering the conversation back in the direction she wanted it to go before things got out of hand. "We need someone who can accompany Pierce everywhere he goes without arousing any speculation or suspicion. A maid couldn't do that."

"No, of course not," Nikki conceded. "I should have thought of that myself." And she would have, too, if Pierce Kingston's laserlike stare hadn't rattled her to her bones. "But having me pretend to be his new girlfriend—" she refused to say 'lover' "—is going to raise all kinds of speculation."

"Speculation, yes," Claire agreed. "But not suspicion."

"But if I pose as his assistant, maybe some kind of glorified gofer or something, that would eliminate the suspicion
and
the speculation."

Gage chuckled. "Maybe if you wore a bag over your head," he said, quoting his brother's earlier remark.

Nikki looked up at him, a request for clarification in her clear green eyes.

"What my husband is trying to say," Tara explained, "is that you're a very attractive woman and, even if you really were Pierce's assistant, no one would ever believe that's
all
you were to him."

Nikki considered that. "Because of his playboy reputation, you mean?" she said, nodding toward Pierce.

"Well, there is that, of course." Tara flashed a teasing smile at her brother-in-law. "But I was thinking more of the Hollywood gossip mill than anything else," she said seriously, speaking as a woman who'd spent her entire career surrounded by whispers and innuendo. "It's always voracious and can be vicious, as well."

Nikki nodded her understanding—and her acceptance. "Okay," she said, looking at Claire. "How do you want to set this up?"

"Shouldn't you be asking
me
that question?" Pierce asked.

Nikki continued to look at Claire. "I thought you were the one who was hiring me."

"Actually, no. Kingston Productions is hiring you. I only made the arrangements. And since it's Pierce's body you'll be guarding," she said slanting a teasing smile at her brother, "I guess he should have
some
say in things."

"Thank you so much," Pierce drawled. He came out of his casual slouch and slid forward on the sofa, prepared to take charge of the situation now that the preliminaries were over. It was time this long-legged Amazon learned just exactly who she was dealing with. "As Claire's already said," he began, "you'll live in and—" He broke off, looking over her shoulder at the woman in the doorway. "Yes, Mrs. Gilmore? What is it?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," she said briskly, "but the baby is awake and fussing. Mrs. Kingston asked me to let her know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gilmore. I'll be right there," Tara said as she stood up. "Beau has a bit of a cold," she explained to no one in particular as she edged around the coffee table to follow the housekeeper. "It's been making him miserable."

"And everyone else within earshot," her husband added, coming to his feet beside his wife as he spoke. She looked up at him questioningly. "It's time we were leaving, anyway," he said, slipping his hand under Tara's elbow to keep her by his side while he made his goodbyes. "Pleasure to meet you, Nikki," he said, nodding at his brother's new bodyguard. His amber eyes gleamed with amusement. "I wish you luck with him." He transferred his gaze to his brother. "Try not to be too big a pain in the ass," he ordered gruffly. "Claire" he said, bending to kiss his sister's cheek. "See you at the studio tomorrow."

"I've got to be going, too," Claire said, standing up to join the general exodus. "I've got a meeting with Sly Stallone about that
Glory Days
script. We're having lunch at Le Dome." She glanced back and forth between her brother and Nikki. "Don't murder each other," she said, only half-teasing. "And let me know what arrangements you make."

And then, suddenly, just like that, there were only two people in the sunny, plant-filled garden room of Pierce Kingston's plush Beverly Hills estate. Five tense, silent seconds ticked by on an unseen clock. And then Nikki steeled her spine and turned her head to look across the coffee table at her new employer.

Pierce gave her his most roguish smile, the one that caused good girls to swoon in fearful excitement and bad girls to shiver in delicious anticipation of imminent ravishment. It started in his eyes, crinkling them up at the corners, and moved downward, causing his finely molded lips to turn upward in a slow, teasing grin that somehow managed to combine boyish innocence with the indecent, decadent intentions of an experienced rakehell.

Nikki narrowed her eyes at him. "You might as well save that movie-star smile for someone who's susceptible to it," she said. She used the uninterested, seen-it-all tone of voice that had always worked so well with hotshot jet jockeys intent on putting another notch on their throttles, and amorous GIs who wanted something exciting to write home about. "I'm not the least bit impressed," she added, trying to sound bored.

She wondered if he could tell she was lying.

3

NIKKI SPENT THE REST of the afternoon trying very hard not to be impressed as her new employer showed her around his palatial Beverly Hills estate, but it was a nearly impossible task. Everything she saw impressed her right down to the toes of her cowboy boots. The house was one of the most beautiful she'd ever been inside, warm and cozy and quietly grand, despite the overdone theatricality of the castlelike exterior. It was full of cheerful English chintzes, fine-grained leather, polished wood, luxuriantly healthy houseplants, and more priceless works of art than Nikki had ever seen outside of a museum.

The grounds were a marvel of the gardener's skills. A perfect mix of fragrant, fecund growth and precision grooming surrounded the sparkling blue pool, hot tub and cabana area before spreading out in a lush emerald carpet to encompass the tennis court beyond.

And the man—ah, the man!—was the most fascinating, the most effortlessly charming, the most splendidly male animal she'd ever run into in her life.

And she'd grown up in a house full of splendid men who had enough charm between them to turn Queen Elizabeth of England into a flustered, giggling schoolgirl.

"So just treat him like one of your brothers," Nikki mumbled to herself as she followed her host up the wide curving staircase to the second floor.

"Beg pardon?" Pierce asked, his large, elegant hand unconsciously caressing the polished black walnut railing as he turned back to look at her.

"I, ah... asked if that was a Picasso," she said, gesturing toward the painting at the top of the stairs. It depicted a woman with one eye, two noses and three breasts, with skin a color no real woman had ever had. Unless, Nikki thought whimsically, the poor thing had been standing naked out in the snow for a couple of hours.

Pierce nodded. "From his blue period," he said. "It's not really to my taste," he added, grimacing at it over his shoulder as they passed it. "But Claire said it was a good investment. And I always listen to Claire when it comes to making investments."

They passed a few more pieces of artwork as they moved down the hall—a delicate art deco sculpture displayed under glass on a narrow marble column, a colorful abstract with an Oriental feeling and a bold silk screen done in a style that looked vaguely familiar.

"Are these wired?" Nikki asked, leaning down a bit to peer at the signature on the silk screen. It was an Andy Warhol.

"Wired?"

"With an alarm," she clarified. "They're just—" she waved a hand at the wall"—hanging there. Don't you worry about someone waltzing in here and walking off with one?"

Pierce shook his head. "Try to take one off the wall and all hell breaks loose. Sirens. Lights. The whole nine yards."

Nikki leaned a little closer, carefully inspecting the edges of the frame for wires or sensors. None were visible. "What kind of system is it?"

Pierce shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest idea," he said. "Claire had it installed after I bought this place." He paused and pushed open a door. "Here's your room." He stood back to usher her in ahead of him.

Nikki sidled past him, careful not to brush up against his splendid body, and stepped into the room. The decor was quaint, comfortable and quietly wealthy, calling up visions of country weekends at English manor houses. The flowing drapes on the tall, multipaned windows, the thick, puffy bedspread with its matching pillow shams, and one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace were all done in a Laura Ashley-type print overrun with rambling ivy in soft shades of green on a pale ivory background. The rest of the room was done in spruce green and cream with touches of faded rose. The whole thing was bigger than her entire apartment. And the bed was absolutely, decadently huge.

Nikki turned away from it to admire the misty Impressionist painting hanging over the fireplace. It depicted three Edwardian ladies in various stages of dishabille cavorting by a stream. "Lovely," she said, determined not to enthuse all over her host.

"The bathroom's through there." Pierce nodded toward a half-open door and Nikki peered in, catching a glimpse of thick dark green towels and gleaming rose-colored tile. "You've got it all to yourself," he said. "So you don't have to worry about hogging the tub."

"I prefer showers."

"Well, there's one of those, too. But you really ought to give the tub a try while you're here. It has massage jets." He lifted his arm to push the door further open, moving forward as if he meant to point them out to her.

Nikki backed against the door frame, instinctively retreating from the zing of awareness that shot through her at his nearness.

"Most women find massage jets very—" he paused, smiling wolfishly to let her know he was aware of what she'd done—and why she'd done it "—relaxing," he finished with a suggestive lift of his eyebrow.

"Mmm-hmm," Nikki said, sidestepping the remark— and him. She turned toward the windows. "It's a lovely view from in here."

Pierce stared at her ramrod-straight back for a moment, wondering what she'd do if he put his hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the bed. He decided it was too soon to find out.
Maybe torn orrow,
he thought. He'd give her a day to get used to him before he jumped her gorgeous bones. "It's even lovelier from outside," he said.

He moved around her and lifted the latch on one of the long windows, pulling them inward.

"Oh, it's a door." Nikki hurried past him, trying not to run in her eagerness to be out of the bedroom, and stepped through the glass doors and onto a wide stone terrace overlooking the grounds. It was topped by an ivy and bougainvillea-draped balustrade like that at the top of a castle wall. A smooth stone staircase led down to the pool below. Nikki hurried to the rail and leaned over it to look down.

"You're right," she said when Pierce sauntered over to join her. "It is better from out here." She didn't turn her head as she spoke, preferring to let him think she was enthralled by the view of his backyard.

"Yes," Pierce said. He leaned an elbow on the wide stone balustrade and turned to face her, positioning himself just a little closer than he knew she'd be comfortable with but not so close that she could reasonably object.

Nikki tensed with instinctive feminine caution. She wanted to move away but didn't, deciding to hold her ground instead. She knew all the sneaky little stratagems men used to intimidate and impress women— having four older brothers gave a woman quite an eduction—and she knew the best way to counter that first,tentative come-on was to pretend she hadn't even noticed it. The male ego couldn't take being ignored.