Taste Me

Nikki, however, had no problem giving the butler orders. “Actually, I’m parched. Fetch me a Perrier and lime, will you, luv?”

“I should be getting back to work,” Mia said.

Nikki checked the recorder. “You haven’t explained about the Hard Candy connection yet.”

“I recently completed a body-painting assignment for the magazine’s cover.” She described the edible woman theme and how she’d achieved the look. “Julian was there, and that’s when he mentioned a ‘fashion’ layout, with the models wearing only my paint. It’s odd that he didn’t tell you.”

“Not that odd. He didn’t come right out and say so, but I know my brother. He doesn’t want me to work at Hard Candy.”

“Why not? Is he like W.C. Fields?”

“Huh?”

“Thinking you’re too good to work for your own—Oh, never mind.”

“It’s simple, really, but devious of him. He said you’d be featured in a fashion layout, but not what kind. Obviously because he didn’t want me getting in at Hard Candy. The magazine is pure sex. Even the offices are pretty well testosterone saturated, and my brother is so overprotective,” explained Nikki. “Or he tries to be. I usually don’t let him, except when he gets this weary expression and I start to feel sorry for him, because he does have to deal with the three of us and even I can imagine what a headache that is.”

“Three sisters,” Mia said, remembering the bachelor bio.

“There’s me, Very and Lis. Since our dad died, Julian feels responsible for us. He’s really very patient and loving. We all know we can count on him, no matter what kind of trouble we’re in.”

Mia’s respect for Julian increased. She didn’t need actual feelings complicating the matter, but there they were.

Nikki made a choking sound. “Ick, how sappy! I’m forgetting that Jules tried to mislead us about the article. But I’ll show him.” She clicked off the recorder. “I believe you’d make a fabulous feature article, Mia. My brother might interfere, but somehow, someway, I’m going to get us both into Hard Candy.”

She shoved the recorder into her pack and stood, throwing out her chin. “Julian can go suck a lemon drop.”

The image made Mia smile, especially since she already knew what Julian tasted like when flavored with candy.

She rose, shaking her head. “I’m not so sure that’s smart, Nikki.”

“You said you could use the publicity.”

“Sure. But I don’t want to cause trouble—”

“You don’t?” Nikki looked astonished, as if the thought of keeping peace had never occurred to her. “Oh, come on! Julian is just begging for trouble.”

“He’s powerful,” Mia said. Could hire me and fire me a hundred times over.

“But kind.”

“Arrogant.” And deserves to be hoisted on his own petard.

“Not cruel, though.”

“He’s also dangerously attractive.” You can say that again.

“Pah.” Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “You can resist.”

Someone has to, Mia thought. But why me?

“You won’t have to do anything but keep your mouth closed,” Nikki said. “I’ll turn in the background info to Julian like an obedient little airhead, and he’ll think I’m none the wiser that the fashion spread—if there really is one—was meant for Hard Candy. Meanwhile, I’ll get started on an article. I can pitch it to the magazine even if Julian doesn’t follow through. If you hear from him, play dumb. Remember, it’s possible that he’s only interested in getting into your—” Nikki’s lashes dropped to Mia’s lower half “—painter’s pants.”

“So it’s true that he’s had a lot of…relationships?” Mia said, even though she was slightly uncomfortable talking about Julian’s love life with his sister. Nikki didn’t seem bothered at all—she was as open as a book of the Kama Sutra.

“I don’t get to actually see him in operation because he’s discreet, but the way I hear it, he’s so smooth, most girls slide into bed without a struggle. Then they slide right out just as fast.”

“He doesn’t ever get serious?”

“Not as far as I know.” Nikki shrugged. “He never brings them home to meet family. I’m not sure why, except that he’s a stickler for doing things the right way, especially since he got put in charge of the family business. Maybe none of the women are good enough to make the cut?”

Mia was intrigued. And somewhat intimidated. She wanted to know more, but the butler returned, carrying a tray with tall glasses of Perrier on the rocks.

Nikki met him halfway into the room. “A tall cool one,” she said, sassily eyeing the reserved butler.

He nodded. “As requested, miss.”

The young woman picked up the glass, tilted her head back and drank down the entire contents, her long, elegant neck showing each big swallow. She plunked the glass back on the tray with a click of ice cubes.

“See ya, Mia.” Nikki let out a girlish giggle, snatched the lime slice off the edge of the glass and sashayed out the door with her lips puckered into a moue around it.

For a moment, Mia sympathized with Julian for being stuck trying to control such a handful. Even the stony butler looked dazed by the spectacle that was Nikki Silk.

4

JULIAN HAD THOUGHT that getting into Mia’s apartment building would be difficult—if she was serious about rejecting him and not just playing coy. As with many of the challenges in his life, the task turned out to be easy.

He simply followed the argyle sock.

The argyle sock was standing on the stoop smoking a cigarette. Certain that a bald man painted plaid from neck to toe had to be one of Mia’s models, Julian approached. The guy tossed the butt, making a motion to stub it out before realizing he was wearing only paper booties.

Julian ground the butt under the leather sole of his wingtips. “Going in?”

“I am,” Argyle said, shuddering inside a flimsy un-belted kimono. “I’m catching a chill, and so is my snookums.” He chirped and patted his thigh. For a moment Julian was worried that he was about to be introduced to a body part he didn’t care to meet, but then an ugly pinkish cat peeped out from a pot of shrubbery in the corner.

“Come along, Mrs. Snookums.” The cat crawled across the stoop, her belly low to the ground. It was hairless and shivering, and looked remarkably like Argyle except that it wasn’t plaid.

The weather was cool for early September—sixty degrees. The cement steps of the row house were not particularly hospitable, even to one wearing real woolens instead of a faux-painted version. Either way, Julian thought Argyle and his cat were taking a chance lounging out here in almost no clothes. Mia’s neighborhood in the West Thirties wasn’t the safest.

Argyle pressed the buzzer. The intercom crackled, breaking up as a male voice answered. “Let me in, honey,” Argyle said.

Julian caught the door at the answering buzz. “After you.”

“Going up to Mia’s?”

He nodded.

“You’re not a model.” Argyle tucked Mrs. Snookums under his arm and gave Julian’s suit a look. His eyes were a watery blue rimmed in pink. “You must be from the ad agency. She said someone might drop by for a look-see.” Argyle started up the steps, entirely too trusting. “Well, come on, then.”