Just Another Pretty Face (HT 459) (5 page)

"We must be right over the garden room up here," she said, as if architecture were the only thing on her mind.

"You've got a good sense of direction," Pierce complimented her. "I'd lived in this pile of stones a couple of weeks before I figured that out." His wide shoulders lifted in a self-deprecating shrug. "I still get lost sometimes," he confided, leaning just a tiny bit closer to her.

Nikki continued to hold her ground; she didn't move but she didn't look at him, either. "It's a big house," she agreed, her gaze glued to the bright red flower she was fiddling with as she tried to think of something else to say to him. Something clever. Idle, inconsequential words were great for creating distance between people; strained silences were... unnerving.

Pierce let her fidget for another thirty seconds before letting her off the hook. "I have breakfast out here nearly every morning when I'm home," he said easily, wondering if her hair was as fine and silky as it looked. Wondering, too, what she'd do if he reached out and touched it. Then, never having been one to deny himself anything he wanted—never having
been
denied— he decided to find out. "You're welcome to join me whenever you like," he said, reaching out to tuck a feathery wisp of hair behind her ear as he spoke.

She looked up quickly, uncertainly, her eyes darting to his in alarm and warning, but he'd already taken his hand away, robbing her of the need to tell him to keep his hands to himself.

She reached up with her own hand, nervously smoothing the place he'd touched. "Join you?" she said, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"For breakfast. Right there." He lifted his hand and gestured behind her at the wrought-iron, glass-topped table and chairs. "Every morning at eight-thirty unless I'm filming."

"Thank you, no," Nikki said politely. Virtuously. "I'm up much earlier than that."

"So am I."

"But you said—"

"I said I had breakfast at eighty-thirty. I get up at six."

"Oh?" It was the same time she usually woke up. She liked to get her daily workout over the first thing in the morning.

"I like to work out first thing in the morning." He nodded toward the pool. "Laps. Then weights. Then a round or two with the bags. There's a small gym in the cabana."

"You box?" Nikki asked, surprised into displaying her interest.

"Only with the bags."

Well, that explains the shoulders,
Nikki thought, covertly admiring them out of the corner of her eye.

"Have you ever tried it?"

"What?"

"The bags."

Nikki shook her head.

"You ought to. Lots of women do, these days. It's a great workout."

"I can tell," she said, her gaze flitting over the width of his shoulders beneath the black silk before she could think to stop herself.

Pierce's eyes took on a predatory gleam. "You noticed, huh?"

Too late, Nikki realized what she'd revealed. "Different workouts develop different muscle groups," she said, trying to cover her lapse with a veneer of brisk professionalism. "You've obviously done a lot of work on your pecs and deltoids and..." Her voice trailed off at the heated look in his eyes.

"I like the muscle groups your workout has developed, too," he said teasingly, and lifted his hand to touch her.

Nikki stiffened and leveled a killing glance at him, the one she'd learned early stopped most men from going any further.

But Pierce Kingston wasn't most men. He'd been spoiled and indulged by women from the cradle, given what he wanted without ever having to ask for it, sure of his welcome. And, besides, he didn't intend to do anything more than test the strength of her biceps.

"Impressive," he said, squeezing it lightly through the sleeve of her jacket, letting her go before she could object. "But tense." His blue eyes flashed teasingly, imbuing his next words with a wealth of innuendo. "You ought to learn to relax."

Nikki's green eyes turned frosty. "And you've got just the thing for that, I suppose," she said, knowing what was coming next.

She was wrong.

"A few rounds with the body bag would loosen you right up," Pierce said. He knew what she'd been expecting him to say; he could see it in her eyes. He also knew a man never got anywhere with a woman by doing what she expected him to. Disarm and conquer, that was his motto. He gave her a friendly smile. "Why don't we go downstairs and you can meet the staff?"

* * *

S
HE MET THE GARDENER
first, digging in a flower bed on the far side of the cabana. She was in her mid-thirties and California-girl pretty, with a wide smile and a trim figure encased in faded jeans and a light blue T-shirt with the words
flower power
emblazoned across the chest. She was also divorced, Nikki learned. And she looked at Pierce—when he wasn't looking at her—as if she'd like to nibble him to death. Nikki made a mental note that the gardener came in once a week and took care of all the houseplants, as well as the gardens, giving her free access to the entire estate.

She met his secretary in her well-appointed first floor office. "Nikki, this is Kathy Frye," Pierce said, his smile all careless charm and flattery as he made the introduction. "The best secretary a man ever had. Kathy, I'd like you to meet Nikki Martinelli, my new bodyguard."

Nikki reached across the desk to shake hands with the secretary. She was an attractive woman in her mid-to-late forties, with gleaming auburn hair, dark expressive eyes and the figure of a woman who took pains to keep herself in shape. She was meticulously groomed, Nikki noted, her nails short but beautifully manicured, her makeup skillfully applied to conceal all evidence of crow's-feet or laugh lines. Her teal suit was businesslike but feminine, and the scent of some expensive, exotic perfume lingered in the air around her.

"Bodyguard?" Kathy said, looking at Pierce.

He made a face. "The baby-blue letters," he explained. "Claire thinks I need protection."

Kathy Frye's forehead wrinkled. "You have that interview with
People
at three o'clock this afternoon," she warned him. "A writer and a photographer."

"Not to worry." Pierce dropped a brawny silk-clad arm around Nikki's shoulders and hugged her against his side. She fit him perfectly, he noted. "As far as the world is concerned, Ms. Martinelli is my latest squeeze." He dropped a light, nuzzling kiss on her temple. "Isn't that right, darling?"

"Right," Nikki said stiffly.

Kathy Frye laughed. "Well, either keep her out of sight or give her a few quick acting lessons," she advised. "She isn't going to fool anybody otherwise."

Pierce looked at the woman at his side. "I told you, you were too tense," he chided, looking pleased with himself. They found the housekeeper in the kitchen, fixing a tea tray for the afternoon's interview.

"You've already met Mrs. Gilmore," Pierce said, smiling at the woman who was standing at a butcher-block island near the gleaming double sink. She was cutting the crusts off bread with a very large, very sharp chef's knife. "The woman without whom this place would fall apart."

"Miss Martinelli," the housekeeper said, nodding her acknowledgment of the compliment without pausing in her work.

"And Lisbeth Greene," Pierce said, introducing the young woman who was sitting at the table, polishing silver. She was young, eighteen or nineteen at most, Nikki guessed, with straight, shoulder-length brown hair cut in a bouncy bob and big blue eyes. She cast a wary glance at Nikki from under her wispy, overlong bangs.

"Lisbeth is Mrs. Gilmore's niece," Pierce said. "Remember? I mentioned her earlier this afternoon?"

"Yes," Nikki said, watching the young woman's eyes light up with adoration at this sign that the great Pierce Kingston was actually aware of her existence. "You said she comes in to help Mrs. Gilmore sometimes."

"And just to visit, too," Lisbeth said, with a shy smile at Pierce. "Sometimes."

"Anytime at all," Pierce said, casually reaching out to pat her hand before he reached for one of the fresh-baked scones already arranged on a silver tray on the counter. His housekeeper frowned at him from under her brows. He grinned and snatched one anyway, devouring half of it in one bite. Then, with a wink at the giggling Lisbeth, he took Nikki's hand in his and dragged her out of the kitchen.

"Let's go get you loosened up before that photographer gets here," he said, and popped the other half of the raisin-studded scone into her mouth before she could answer.

* * *

PIERCE'S IDEA of loosening her up consisted mostly of trying to convince her to remove her jacket and shoulder holster in order to make herself more comfortable. "I doubt I'm in any danger in my own house," he said reasonably when Nikki balked. "And what if the photographer from
People
sees the gun under your arm? That'd blow the lid off our cover story before we even get started." He assumed a serious, concerned expression. "Claire would have a fit if that happened."

"I don't intend for the photographer to see me at all," Nikki retorted. "So there's no way he's going to see my gun."

"You mean you're planning to leave me alone with them when they get here?" He gave her a scandalized look. "Unprotected?"

Nikki narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you weren't in any danger in your own house."

"With people I know, sure," Pierce said, shameless in his attempt to get his own way. "But I've never met this reporter from
People.
Or the photographer. Either one of them could be a sex-crazed maniac who's after my body."

"If either one of them is female, I'm sure that's true," Nikki muttered to herself.

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm sure you've had lots of experience handling sex-crazed maniacs."

"Some," he admitted modestly, and then spoiled the effect by grinning his pirate's grin at her. "Want me to show you what experience has taught me?"

"No, thank you," Nikki said primly. "I'm not interested."

Pierce thought about letting that pass—for about two seconds. He was too much the dominant male animal to let a challenge like that go unanswered. "I could prove you wrong," he said silkily, moving toward her like a sleek jungle cat advancing on his prey.

Nikki trembled inwardly but held her ground, knowing she had to set some boundaries—now—before he got even more outrageous. "You could try," she said calmly. "But I wouldn't advise it."

Pierce moved closer, deliberately trying to make her break and run. "No?"

"No," she said firmly, not budging an inch.

They were practically nose to nose now, almost chest to breast, only a deep breath away from touching. "Who's gonna stop me?" he taunted.

Nikki didn't hesitate. "I am," she said, without taking her eyes from his.

He smiled wickedly. "You can try," he said, all but inviting her to do so. Hoping she would. "But you'd lose." He put his hands on her upper arms, his long fingers wrapping around her slender biceps, and felt her shiver. His eyes glittered with triumph. "You're going to like losing," he promised, and bent his head to kiss her.

Nikki pulled her head back a fraction of an inch. Just that, a small movement, a mere tensing of her neck muscles, a slight narrowing of her eyes as she stared at him, but it stopped him. For the moment. "It might interest you to know," she said coolly, in a tone that had caused more than one solider to back down from a confrontation, "that I know several very effective ways of disabling a man."

He grinned at the threat implied in her deceptively casual tone. "Do you?" he asked, as if inviting her to elaborate.

"Most of them are very painful. Or so I've been told." She lifted a mocking eyebrow, knowing its intimidation value from past experience. "I wouldn't want to hurt you but—"

"You will if you have to," he finished for her.

"Yes. I'm glad you understand me."

"Oh, I understand you, sweetheart," he said. "I understand you completely." And then he bent his head again and took her mouth with his.

Shock held her stock-still for a long, delicious moment. Shock that he would do such a thing after what she'd just said to him. Shock that he
dared
when other men had not. And then the heat of his mouth got through to her, his casual expertise and unmistakable, instinctive carnality touching a deeply buried nerve, and she felt herself begin to respond. Her skin began to tingle where he touched her. Her breasts began to pucker and ache. Her lips began to part, opening for his tongue. Panicked, she slid her booted foot behind his bare ankle and pushed against his chest with both hands.

He went down like a running back who'd been sandwiched between two opposing players coming from opposite directions.

"I told you not to—" Nikki began hotly, and then she shrieked as he scissored his feet around her legs and brought her tumbling down to join him on the floor. She felt his arms lock around her, pinning hers to her sides as he rolled over on top of her.

Nikki struggled with restrained ferocity, trying to free her arms or wind her leg around his to flip him, but he blocked her every move with insulting ease, silently informing her that the martial arts moves he displayed on the movie screen weren't all for show. She cursed and struggled a little harder.

"Is that the best you can do?" he inquired politely, his eyes twinkling with amusement—and arousal.

Nikki glared at him. "If I wasn't afraid of doing some permanent damage to that million-dollar hide of yours," she hissed, trying a few moves designed to twist her body outfrom underneath his, "I'd show you what I can do."

"Twelve-million-dollar hide," he corrected her with a grin.
God, her body feels good,
he thought, as she squirmed beneath him.
Soft and warm. And strong.
It was all he could do to hold her without hurting either of them. "They paid me twelve million dollars for my last movie. Plus a percentage of the gross."

Nikki stopped squirming and stared up at him. "That's obscene."

"Indeed, it is," he agreed cheerfully, and bent his head to kiss her again.

Nikki turned her head sharply.