L.A. Fire (6 page)

  “Sarah,” he said, turning his
attention to me. “Come,” he added, gesturing toward the elevators.

  When the doors finally opened at
our floor, there was no one in the elevator, which was surprising considering
it was lunch. Julian put his hand in the small of my back, and ushered me in.
Even after he removed his hand, I could still feel my skin tingling where he’d
touched me.

  For the whole ride to the lobby,
I couldn’t look at him. But I could feel his eyes running hungrily along my
profile, then the curve of my neck, making me feel vulnerable, aroused and
exposed. By the time we hit the main floor, I was a wreck. My insides were
coiled so tight with tension, and my breathing was uneven. The worst part is it
was so silent, I knew he could hear the change in my breathing, and probably
even sense the quickening of my pulse. He exuded such overwhelming sexual magnetism,
that if he had made one move toward me, I would have been gasping and moaning
and so eager to surrender to him right then and there. When the doors opened,
he once again placed that strong, self-assured hand in the small of my back,
and guided me toward the revolving doors leading to the street. He didn’t
remove it until we were standing out on the sidewalk, in front of a sleek,
black Porsche.  

  “Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor,”
said a man in a blue uniform, coming around the car and placing a set of keys
in Julian’s hand.

  “Thank you, Steve,” he said,
giving him a quick nod, then reaching for the passenger door and opening it.

  “Please get in, Sarah” he said, a
subtle demand in the slight gruffness of his otherwise smooth and polite tone.
I settled into the car, and was overwhelmed by the fresh leather smell of the
interior. I sunk into the plush, soft seat, and stretched out my legs. A moment
later, Julian slid into the driver’s seat beside me.

  “Quite the set of wheels,” I
said, teasingly. “Sleek and high tech. And according to the speedometer, you
can go 180 miles per hour. Are you sure you’re not some kind of superhero? I’m
mean, who else would need all that speed?”

  Julian chuckled softly, and
turned the ignition. “Not a superhero, but I do love going to the race track.
This is my second favorite car in my collection.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re collection? You mean you have a whole fleet of these things?” I asked,
disbelief in my voice.

  His eyes began to twinkle, and he
gave me a sly little smile. “There are fifteen sports cars in my collection. I
have a great appreciation for quality design and speed.”

  I gave him a teasing look. “No
kidding. Which car is your favorite?”

  “My Lamborghini Aventador. On the
race track, I can take it to 217 miles per hour.”

   “Wow, you must love to live
dangerously.”

  When he met my gaze, his eyes
were scorching hot, like two flickering blue flames. His eyes burned right
through me, and I felt my sex tighten with a pleasurable ache. Whenever he
pinned me with that gaze, I was lost, helpless, a quivering mess. “You don’t
know the half of it, Ms. Stevens.”

  I cleared my throat, and shifted
in my seat, desperate to regain some composure. “When did you learn how to
race?”

  “My father started taking me to
the track when I was sixteen,” he said, pulling into traffic. We glided
smoothly past palm trees, flaming orange blossoms hanging from iron-scrolled
black lampposts, and all the hustle and bustle of Westside Los Angeles in
noontime traffic. The sun was glaring down at us through the windshield, but
the air conditioning saved us from feeling the oppressive heat. “He loved cars.
Still does, but he’s a little too old now to race. I inherited five cars from
his original collection, and have been building my collection ever since.”

  “What does your dad do?”

  “You mean,
did
do. He’s
retired now. He was a famous movie producer.”

  Recognition dawned on me. “You’re
Sam McGregor’s son.”

  Julian looked impressed. “Quite
right. It seems you know your movie history.”

  “So you grew up in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, born and raised. You’re
from Manhattan. What made you want to live in L.A?”

  “I came here to be a famous movie
star,” I deadpanned. “It didn’t work out. Instead I spent the last five years
stripping on the Sunset Strip. It’s good money, you know? Pays the bills and
all that.”

  Julian laughed hard, and gave me
a wicked look. “With your breathtaking beauty, you’ll be spotted sometime soon,
no doubt. But if not, I’ll set up a stripper pole in my beach house, and you
can dance for me and only me, whenever I please.” His expression became very
serious. “You see, I don’t like to share, Sarah. I like to know what’s mine is
only mine.”

  Holy crap. My stomach started
fluttering like crazy, and I let out a long ragged breath. I started restlessly
squirming in my seat, trying to break through the almost unbearable sexual
tension. “I was joking,” I said in a small voice, shifting my attention to the
view from my window.

  “Well I wasn’t,” he said, his
voice deep, dark, and hungry. I glanced at him quickly, and could tell by the
searing look he gave me that he was in fact deadly serious. He broke my gaze
once it was clear he’d made his point, and pulled over to the curb, right
beside a restaurant called
Melinda’s
. The name was scrawled in an
elegant cursive on a black awning overhanging a chic looking patio.

  Julian swiftly jumped out of the
car, and came over to the passenger side to open the door for me. As soon as he
was out on the street, I noticed that all eyes on the bustling patio shifted to
him. One girl in burgundy skinny pants, a transparent nylon top with swirled
velvet appliqué, and three inch strappy stilettos stared at Julian with her
mouth hanging open, practically panting. When I got to my feet, he held out his
arm as a link for mine and guided me toward the restaurant entrance. Skinny
pants girl flicked back her thick mane of blonde hair and gave me the death
stare. Other people were eyeing me with extreme curiosity. I suddenly felt
self-conscious under all that scrutiny, and pulled my arm out of Julian’s. I
didn’t want everyone to get the wrong idea.

  A tall, blond, lanky hostess
greeted us with a big smile. She had on an eye catching orange Mulberry dress
with a fitted top, tiny silver buckle belt, and flaring skirt. She looked chic,
but not outrageous. She quickly glanced at my silk slouchy trousers, matching
tank top, and Jimmy Choo suede navy heels, and gave me a wider smile and subtle
nod of approval.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor,”
she said, in an exuberant, but professional tone. “We have your usual table reserved
for you. Please follow me.”

  The décor in
Melinda’s
was
sleek and sophisticated. The seats were imitation Regency, with purple velvet
upholstery. A large Venetian-style chandelier hung from the ceiling, adding
sparkle to the otherwise dark décor, and reflecting pearls of light on the
Moroccan carpeting.

  The hostess glided ahead of us,
walking with easy elegance in a pair of very high Malono Blanik heels.

  “Here we are,” she said,
gesturing to a mahogany table by a large window. Without missing a beat, Julian
swept over to my chair and pulled it out for me. “Ladies first,” he said,
caressing my face with his eyes. I think I visibly shivered, and my pulse
definitely leaped. I had to hand it to him. The man was suave. And totally
unnerving.

  He quickly settled into his seat,
and then leaned toward me across the table, his breathtaking eyes taking in
every inch of me, caressing my lips, my hair, and briefly, my breasts. I could
feel my nipples hardening under my silk tank top, and heat rush to my cheeks. I
needed to do something, before I turned into a sexually charged, quivering
mess. I quickly poured myself a glass of water from the rustic mason jar, took
a large gulp, and then grabbed the menu. “We should order,” I said.

  “What’s the hurry, Sarah? I was
luxuriating in the spectacular view.”

  I put on the sternest face I
could muster, then cleared my throat, hoping that by doing so I would keep my
voice from catching when I spoke. “I only have an hour for lunch. Paul will
have a fit if I’m late.”

  Julian chuckled, poured himself a
glass of water as well, and took a sip, while eyeing me carefully over the rim
of his glass. Finally he removed the glass from his sensuous lips, and gave me
a half-smile. “Paul won’t care what time you come back. I’m willing to bet the
client we had in today is as good as ours. And all thanks to you. And don’t
think Paul doesn’t know it as well. So sit back and relax. You deserve at least
a small celebration.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him,
leaned forward, and cupped my hands around my glass. “Is that what this is? A
victory lunch?”

  “Victory? No. I’m not quite that
cocky. But I’m cautiously optimistic that this one is in the sac.”

  I tensed up slightly, and
narrowed my eyes at him. “
This
one? In the sac? We are still talking
about the client, right?”

  Julian’s expression became
teasing, then he gave me a little shrug. “What else could I be referring to,
Sarah?” I felt my cheeks flush again. I shifted slightly in my seat, and
grabbed the menu. I held it up, once again putting a pathetic shield between me
and Julian, and used the breathing space to regroup and figure out what I was
going to eat. When I looked up again, he was still staring me, his keenly
intelligent eyes both caressing me and assessing me. Just at that moment the
sun flared brightly through the window, lighting up the natural honey
highlights in his wavy dark hair, and making his eyes look a vivid, crystal
clear blue. With the sun lighting him up like that, he looked so striking it was
almost shocking.

  Just then the waiter came by to
take our order. “Do you prefer red or white, Sarah?” Julian asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t drink.
I have a whole afternoon of work ahead of me.”

  Julian asked the waiter to give
us another minute. The waiter nodded, and discreetly slipped away.

  Julian shot me a no-nonsense
look. “Red or white, Sarah? Those are the options.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “I
can’t decide for myself if I want to drink or not?”

  He started rubbing his finger
along the rim of his water glass, then let out a long sigh. “I’ve been watching
you carefully since we left the office. You’re a nervous wreck. And judging by
how hazy your eyes looked this morning when you first came into the boardroom,
I’m willing to bet you had a bit too much to drink last night. So I know you’re
not averse to alcohol. Now which will it be, Sarah? Red or white? I don’t yet
know enough about you to not have to ask.”

  I think my mouth dropped open in
shock. Julian didn’t miss a thing. What I said, what I did, the way I looked:
he seemed to be so carefully attentive to all of it. I sighed deeply. “The
hangover was that obvious? And here I thought I had such a good poker face.”

  Julian’s expression darkened, and
his eyes became intent. “I’ve never lost a game of poker in my life, Sarah. So
don’t even try to bluff me. I already know all of your tells.”

  I leaned back in my chair,
crossed my arms, and gave him a skeptical look. “Now, really. You know
all
of my tells.”

  The corner of his lip quirked up,
and his eyes became speculative. “Well, not all of them. But I will, soon
enough. Nothing gets past me, Sarah.”

  I cocked my head to the side, and
smirked at him. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me one.”

  His eyes began to twinkle, and he
leaned forward. “Whenever you’re overcome by strong emotion, your lip starts to
quiver. It happens almost every time I look at you. Now that either means
you’re drawn to me or you’re repulsed by me. Whatever it is, I have a strong
visceral influence on you.”

  I breathed in sharply, and felt
my lower lip start to quiver. I quickly took a sip of water to try to hide it,
but even my hand was trembling slightly as I brought the glass to my lips. I
could feel a rash of heat rising from my chest up to my neck. I looked at
Julian sheepishly, and he seemed to take soft delight in my embarrassment. But
not at my expense. It was more like he was happy that he could read me so well,
and that I seemed to trust him enough to not try to hide my vulnerability.