Chapter Five
Abigale looked up as a rather domineering and arrogant chef appeared in her line of vision. His name was Raul. At least that was the name he’d given her when she’d told him that she was going to help cover for her friend Grace. Grace was supposed to make the desserts at a bat mitzvah and she’d gotten sick—a bad stomach flu was going around and she’d asked Abigale to cover for her. They were friendly and when she could, she liked to help her friends.
Raul was not her friend.
And she’d bet her eyeteeth that Raul’s Italian accent wasn’t authentic. Especially since he kept dropping it when he was pissed off.
Glancing over at the prep for the canapés, she paused long enough to study them, then study the mini-tarts she’d been working on. “Am I being paid to help with the canapés?” she asked mildly.
He gave her a sharp-edged smile. “We believe in helping each other in this business, bellezza.”
“Really?” She smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind when I ask for help opening a door later. You slammed it in my face when I was juggling six bags earlier.” Then she shot a look at what he was working on. If he didn’t get some help, he was going to ruin the food. She didn’t like the a*shole, but that wasn’t the fault of the client.
It wasn’t precisely their fault that the guy had an ego the size of California and that he was too stingy to hire out for extra help when he clearly needed it. Wiping her hands on a towel, she headed to the stove and judging by the look of things, she’d made it just in time.
What was he going to do, let it burn? she wondered.
Possibly. Some people would do that just to prove a point. Throw a tantrum.
“How are you doing these?” she called over her shoulder.
“My sous-chef can advise you,” he said, his voice all but reeking with imperiousness.
Abigale decided then, in that very moment, that she wanted to smack him. Hard.
Instead, she gripped the skillet’s long metal handle and rotated her wrist, smiling a little as the smell of onion, bacon, and spice filled the air. He might be an ass, but he knew his way around the kitchen.
“He likes to . . . ah . . .”
She glanced over at the boy next to her. Well, young adult male, she supposed, but he was so nervous, so jumpy, it was hard to call him an adult. When she looked at him, he couldn’t meet her eyes, and when she smiled at him, he tucked his chin low and seemed to wilt while a blush stained his cheeks red.
“Just tell me how we’re doing this,” she said, smiling at him. “I can handle it. You just keep doing what needs to be done. Otherwise we get to listen to him bark for the rest of the day.”
Abigale tried to elicit a smile from him.
But all he did was shoot a nervous look over his shoulder at his boss and then back at her, like he just might be sick.
Damn it.
She really wanted this day over with.
Sighing, she focused on the stove. This was why she liked running her own business. If she was putting up with the a*sholes, at least they were paying her. She was getting paid here, but not by the prick with the pots and pans over there.
Abigale smirked a little as she settled down to work.
* * *
“I just wanted to thank—”
The woman stopped in the doorway, staring at Abigale. Her daughter was the young lady of the night and having a very grand time, from the way it sounded, and the look of pleasure on the woman’s face was almost worth the headache of working with Raul.
Almost.
“I . . .”
Abigale mentally sighed and reached for a rag to wipe her damp hands off.
“Madam, is everything . . .” Raul paused, pursing his lips as though he was searching for the words.
Abigale was pretty certain the woman’s name was Anna Wendell. They hadn’t had the chance to meet but she remembered that Grace had kept referring to an Anna. And Anna was staring at her with a look that Abigale was pretty familiar with.
“Is it . . .” Anna licked her lips and laughed, the sound more than a little nervous. “Ah, this is going to sound terrible, but . . .”
Raul shot Abigale a dirty look and then stepped forward. “Madam, if she’s caused a problem with the party, I’m terribly sorry. As you know, Grace was ill and we had . . . we had to settle.”
Settle? Oh, she’d show him settling. After she punched him. The pompous windbag.
Anna gave him a horrified look and then shot a look at Abigale again. “Raul, don’t be silly. Everything was wonderful. That’s why I came back here—I was worried there would be problems with Grace getting sick. But . . .” She edged around him, coming closer to Abigale, but her steps were slow, almost hesitant, like she was still trying to decide if she wanted to say anything.
Abigale decided she wanted to get out of there. She couldn’t leave yet but since the party was going well and her part was done, she would take a few minutes outside. Setting her shoulders, she put a smile on her face and stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Hello, Mrs. Wendell. Abigale Applegate.”
Anna’s jaw dropped. “Oh . . . oh, my goodness.” Instead of reaching out to shake her hand, she covered her mouth. “It is you!”
“Madam . . .”
Anna started to laugh, waving her hands a little as a smile stretched across her face. “Ms. Applegate . . . wow. Oh, my goodness. Wow. You won’t believe this, I know and I bet you hear it all the time, but I’m one of your biggest fans. Kate + Nate was one of my most favorite shows ever . . . and when it went off the air, I thought I was just going to die.”
The lady rushed over and as her arms came around her, Abigale hugged her back.
“It’s such an honor to meet you!”
“The pleasure is mine,” Abigale said softly and she meant it. One thing she had enjoyed about that life was meeting the people who’d enjoyed the show. That had been fun, something that made it worth it. Even now.
“Uh . . . who in the hell is Kate?”
Looking up, Abigale smiled and she couldn’t help it as she met Raul’s gaze. “I was . . . once. Raul, what happened to your accent?”
* * *
Ten minutes later, she’d signed autographs and then managed to sneak her way outside. The warm evening air wrapped around her and she sighed as she made her way over to one of the benches that lined the outdoor gardens of the pavilion the Wendell family had rented.
Stretching out her legs, she flexed her calves and wished she could take off her shoes, but then she’d have to put them back on . . . not going to happen. Once those puppies came off, they were staying off.
“You’re really a famous actress?”
At the sound of that young voice, she bit back a sigh and then sat up, smiling as she saw Kenzie Wendell standing over at the edge of the garden. “Well, hello.” Peering past her, she glanced toward the corner where she could just barely see the faintest edge of the bright lights that spilled out from the event area in the back. “Shouldn’t you be at the party?”
Kenzie shrugged. “I can always be at parties.” She rolled her eyes a little and with the temerity of the young, she headed over to the bench where Abigale sat and plopped down beside her. “I’m having fun and stuff, and I love the presents, but I’ve been to like eight of these parties this year. I’ve never talked to anybody famous before.”
Abigale laughed quietly. “I’m not famous anymore, really.”
“Sure you are.” Kenzie cocked her head and the dim lights glinted off the pretty little jeweled band in her hair. “You were on a TV show for like forever. My mom has them all on DVD. I even watched a few.” She paused and then grinned, her nose wrinkling up as she added, “Nate was kind of cute. Were you two really . . . um . . .”
Abigale grinned over at her. “It was a TV show. Nothing you saw on it was real.” Then she frowned. “Well, the guy who played Nate was cute.”
“But you two weren’t like boyfriend and girlfriend or anything?”
“We’re friends.” She smiled a little and glanced back at the teenager. “You want to hear the truth? We still are friends . . . we’ve been friends since the show was on. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Wow. You’ve been friends for like . . . forever.”
Abigale winced. “Well, really, it’s like twentysomething years, but to a thirteen-year-old girl, I guess that seems like forever.”
“Yeah.” Kenzie was quiet for a minute and then she asked, “Is he still cute?”
Abigale’s mouth went dry. Cute. Cute might have touched on what Zach had been all those years ago, but now? She thought of the dark, heady blue of his eyes. Thought of the way his hands had felt on her, and all he’d been doing was giving her a damned tattoo. And it had hurt, but she’d still loved the way his hands had felt. She was sick. So damned sick.
She thought about the way those tattoos twining around his arms had always gotten to her, and the way she could lean against him and just know things were going to be okay if he was there.
Something odd shifted in her heart as she realized that last thing wasn’t anything new. Yeah, her serious interest in his tattoos wasn’t a new thing, either, but Zach was a physical work of art. All long, lean muscles and those colorful tattoos that curved and colored and lined his skin only accentuated the utter perfection of his body.
It went deeper than that, though. So much deeper.
Zach . . . he’d always been there.
“Yeah,” she whispered softly. “He’s still cute.”
“Kenzie!”
Kenzie groaned and shoved upright off the bench. “That’s my aunt. She’s going to insist on more pictures, I know.” Then she grinned back at Abigale. “It was nice meeting you.”
Abigale smiled back, but her mind was still on Zach.
* * *
A good four hours passed before she was done. Nearly one o’clock in the morning and the city was quiet, the night sky spread out around her like a blanket. The brilliance of the stars was so much more vivid than it’d ever been back in LA.
If she wasn’t so damned tired, she wouldn’t have minded going for a drive through the desert, just her and the night sky. But there was no way. She was tired, her body was sore, and her clothes smelled like she’d been cooking all day.
Which was true.
So instead, she drove home and brooded over the tasks on the list that she hadn’t done.
Call Roger.
That was the most pressing thing, although she couldn’t exactly explain why.
Unless it had something to do with the way his words kept haunting her. You’re not being true to yourself.
Not being true to herself.
She didn’t want Hollywood back.
Yeah, there were odd, random thoughts that would drift through her mind every now and then. But it was more like a pang of nostalgia for the few good times she remembered about that life. Not anything that she wanted to have again. Sort of like high school. Plenty of people thought fondly of those days, she knew, but most of them wouldn’t go back if you paid them.
But something about what he’d said was really just getting to her and she couldn’t figure out what it was. You’re not being true to yourself . . .
Not being true to herself. Was she hiding from something she really wanted? It sure as hell wasn’t that life. But if it wasn’t the life, then what was it?
Yet again, Zach’s face flashed through her mind and she found herself thinking back to her conversation with Kenzie Wendell. And the way her thoughts had shifted and taken their own path.
Zach had always been there.
She hadn’t ever been one of the girls who’d had a mad crush on him.
He was just Zach to her, and always had been. Why was that suddenly changing?
And just what in hell was she going to do about it?
* * *
The last thing she should have been doing before she drifted to sleep was thinking about Zach.
Because the first thing she did once she slid into the dark, warm embrace of dreams was think about him . . . and there he was.
Steel Ink wasn’t precisely the place she would have expected to find herself, but as she lay back in the chair, she decided she wouldn’t complain. And she already knew she was dreaming. It was the only way to explain why she was in the chair wearing nothing but panties and a tank top, and why he was bent over her, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. He wasn’t doing anything sexual. At least it shouldn’t feel that way, but as he transferred a design onto her skin, Abigale had to bite back the urge to moan.
Long, agile fingers stroked down her hip and although she didn’t know why, when he peeled the paper away, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her hip bone. Her breath caught in her chest as she felt the glide of his hair across her skin. “Is . . . ah . . . is that part of the service?”
“No.” He kissed a little higher, nudged her shirt out of the way. “This is a special service. Just for you.”
Her laugh sounded breathless, even to her own ears. Then he caught the hem of her shirt and dragged it higher, exposing her breasts, and she didn’t have the breath to laugh, to think . . . “And just what does this service entail?” she asked.
“Whatever you want.” He curved a hand over her knee. At the same time he caught one nipple in his mouth, tugging it gently with his teeth as she arched up against him, her back leaving the cushioned softness of the bench behind her. “What do you want, Abs?”
The low, husky sound of his voice hit her square in the heart. And lower. Heat spread through her and because it was a dream, because it was safe, she caught his hand and guided it between her thighs. “I want you.”
His mouth closed over hers. Shocking and hot, the kind of kiss she hadn’t had in far too long . . . and neither of the two men she’d been with had been able to make her feel like this. Like she was the very center of everything. Zach’s hand cupped her core, but he did nothing else as he kissed her and the kiss was even more intimate, more erotic than the feel of his hand between her thighs. His tongue stroked along the curve of her lower lip, teasing her until she opened for him and then teasing a little more until she was about ready to scream. When she might have pulled away, he shifted, pulled her off the chair and onto his lap.
“No pulling back now,” he muttered. “You wanted a torrid affair, I’ll f*cking give you one.”
She tensed, caught off guard. Just a dream . . . only a dream, so yeah, he knew. But could she really?
“It’s a dream,” he whispered against her lips. “You do what you want.”
“I want you.”
Lifting her head, she stared into those familiar blue eyes, eyes she’d known for more than half of her life. So dark and hypnotic. So amazing. Lifting her hands, she cupped his face, her fingers pushing into the gold-streaked brown hair that fell to his shoulders. Holding him steady, she lowered her head to his, pressed her mouth to his. Against his lips, she murmured quietly, “I want you.”
Between her thighs, through his jeans, her panties, she could feel him throbbing against her and it was enough to make her moan. “Then have me,” he whispered. “Have—”
“Abs!”
* * *
Abigale jerked upright, her breath coming in harsh, ragged pants as she stared around. Confusion, heat, and hunger burned inside her. What in the world? The dream burned inside her brain like an afterimage, searing along the pathways of her mind and she groaned, flopping back on the bed and closing her eyes.
“Abby?”
Her eyes flew open and she shot back up, staring toward the door.
Two seconds later, Zach appeared in the door.
Then have me.
Those words, whispered against her mouth only seconds ago, echoed in her mind, and the dream, so vivid and bright, flashed through her memory as she stared at him.
He leaned against the doorway, arching a brow. “You’re still in bed.”
“Ah . . .” Glancing down, she stared at her rumpled sheets and blankets and then back up at him. “Ah, yes. Um. Late . . . late night.”
She swallowed again and then looked back up at him.
“I can see.” A faint grin curved his lips and he asked, “Were you up late formulating your response to Roger? Or carrying out some other nefarious step on your new life plan?”
She made a face at him even as blood crept up her neck to stain her cheeks red. Dreams didn’t count as carrying out nefarious steps. “Neither, you jackass. I was covering a job for a friend who ended up with the stomach bug that’s been going around.”
“Grace?”
She arched a brow. “How did you know that?”
“She’s about the only one you like well enough to take on a big job for at the last minute. Anyone else, you refer out to Midnight Delite.”
Sighing, she shoved her tangled hair back from her face. “You know me too well.”
“Hey, isn’t that what friends are for?” He shoved off the wall and swung the bag he had in his hand. “I was going to make you breakfast, if you were interested.”
“Breakfast, huh?” Eyeing the bag, she asked, “And just what are you making?”
“The only thing I can do that passes muster for the professional caterer.” He winked. “Bacon and an omelet.”
“Hmmm.” Her belly rumbled. “Well, I guess that decides that.” She went to climb out of the bed and that was when she remembered she’d been too damned tired to dig for clean pajamas last night. Wearing just a camisole and panties, she stood by the bed. Blood crawled up her neck, but she casually grabbed the robe from the foot of her bed and put it on. Hell, it wasn’t like Zach hadn’t seen her in less. Toward the end of their show, they’d had a few . . . mini-make-out sessions, including one where she’d been wearing just jeans and a bra. And hell, they went swimming together all the time in the summer.
Still . . .
Hell, he isn’t going to notice, she told herself as she tied the robe around her waist. Keeping that in mind, she made herself smile as she shifted her attention back to him.
And the look on his face stole the air right out of her.
His face could have been carved from stone and his eyes burned. They burned so hot, it was a miracle the air around them didn’t explode.
Shaken, caught off guard, she licked her lips as his gaze slowly moved up along her body, but before he met her eyes, he closed his eyes and in that moment, the strange tension in the air shattered. It fell apart and dissolved, like spun sugar in the rain. When he opened his eyes to look at her, it was as though it had never happened.
“So . . .” With his easy, cocky smile on his face, he met her gaze. “You want breakfast or should I just head home and eat it all myself?”