Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) (6 page)

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess you have to act like you don’t hate me.”

She tilted her head. “You think I hate you?”

His eyes widened. “Seriously? You make it pretty obvious. So I’m just saying—you know—pretend when she’s around, if you can.”

If you can?

Behind her, she heard a shuffling and a distant but unmistakable voice whisper, “Just do it. Just ask him.”

She didn’t turn to look who had said it, and she didn’t let it distract her. Instead, she reached over and laid her palm on the soft bed of sandy curls on his forearm. When his muscles tensed, her lips stretched into a slow, seductive smile. She made a sad Snoopy face. “You don’t really think I hate you, do you?”

His glance flashed to something behind her, but only for a moment, and then his attention was again riveted on her. Beneath her hand, his muscles eased. Not just where she touched him, but the shifting in his seat told her the effect was moving south, too.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She made a soft
tsk-tsk-tsk
sound. “Now what if I told you that I do like you, Taz Roman. I like you very much.”

He pulled back and threw his other arm over the chair’s back, angling his body to give her a better view of his partially exposed chest. “When you put it like that, I guess I was wrong. You just always seem annoyed by me, I guess. Irritated.”

Was that a tinge of pink around his neck? It was almost endearing. But she wasn’t ready to let up. Not yet.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “A girl has to keep a guy guessing, doesn’t she? She has to have some mystery to keep his interest.”

His chest was rising and falling with quickening breaths. “Yeah, I get that,” he said.

She stretched back slowly against her chair with that sexy, seductive smile and then dropped it like a hot coal. “Good. Because if you believe it, I’m sure your sister will, too.”

His smile vanished. “Wait, that was fake? You were faking all that?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m good, huh? You aren’t the only one who can lie.”

He frowned and rose from his seat. “Okay, you proved your point. I think I need another drink. Can I get you something?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

As he walked toward the bar, she heard him mutter, “Maybe too good.”

When he was gone, she exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She watched him saunter back to the bar, and looked around. Who had been trying to get their attention? Then she saw the shroud of blond hair marching out the dining room door, followed closely by a short, brunette bob, and she knew. The bloggers from the ladies’ room. Apparently she’d gotten in the middle of their exclusive interview.

Should she feel bad? Probably. But the last thing he needed was more adoring fans, and she needed to prove her point.

She had, but she’d gotten something else, too. She stared at her fingers. It was back. The hot tingle that had pulsed through her like a licking flame when she touched him. She curled her hands into fists, trying to force the feeling back, and trying to get herself back under control.

A few minutes later, he slid with effortless grace back into his chair.

“I guess there’s just one more thing to discuss,” he said and took a slow sip of what looked like a shot of whiskey.

She clamped her hands together and held them in her lap, far from him, and far from danger. “What now?” she asked, laying on the snark. “Personal references? Work history?”

“Nope.” He smirked. “Just a question. How soon can you move in?”

|
10

Four days later, Melanie stood in front of a ten-foot-tall river rock wall with a suitcase on wheels beside her. She punched the buzzer on the security system and saw her own black-and-white image flicker to life on the closed-circuit television screen perched above her. Damn, this place was a fortress. When Taz had given her his address, she had expected the Huntington Beach neighborhood to be nice and probably near the water. She didn’t expect it to be one of the waterfront mansions in the priciest part of the harbor. These secluded homes were the kinds of places where you expected to find movie stars or sports heroes, not
doumbek
drummers.

“You’re late,” a familiar voice growled through the speaker.

“I hit traffic. I’m surprised I got here at all.”

“You should have taken side streets.”

“I’ll make a note,” she snapped back. She wasn’t going to mention that traffic wasn’t the only cause of her delay. When she’d planned how long it would take to pack, she hadn’t factored in the extra hour to argue with her mother, who had apparently decided to take Melanie’s departure as yet another personal affront.

A buzz signaled her to open the gate. She pushed the door and nearly choked at the sight of the house on the other side.

Taz stood in an arched doorway, wiping his hands with a dish towel.

“Welcome home,” he said with a wry grin.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her eyes still roaming over the courtyard that hugged the building’s wave-like contours. Every gently curved wall was open glass, displaying an immaculately white interior and making it seem more like an aquarium than a home. In the distance, she could hear the ocean crashing against the shore and seagulls squawking at the setting sun. “You live here?”

“It’s a little much, isn’t it?” he said with a chuckle. “Blame my dad. He loved architecture, especially mid-century modern design. Of course, when he bought the land and commissioned the house in the ’60s, people weren’t calling it that. Back then, it was just modern. Now? Well, you get used to it. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

He threw the towel over his shoulder, and without a word, grabbed her suitcase and wheeled it inside.

Ordinarily, she would have protested. She didn’t go for that macho sense of chivalry, but she was too busy gawking at the house. It really was amazing. Like a giant, white palace. Not just the walls, but everything was white: the tiled floors, the carpets, the furniture. Only a few massive oil paintings hanging in strategic places throughout the home splashed various shades of blue. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the colors of the ocean and the sky.

The house really was remarkable, like something a Kardashian or a Clooney might live in up in the Hollywood Hills or tucked away in Malibu. She’d always heard the Romans were considered royalty in Middle Eastern music circles. Maybe that was a lot more lucrative than she’d thought.

“This is quite a place,” she said, following him deeper inside.

He glanced around at the curved staircase, recessed alcoves, and the wide open gulf designed down the middle of the house, which rose three stories to a giant skylight above. “Yeah, it’s nice. My parents had a blast working with the architect. My dad especially, because he was such an architecture enthusiast. He used to take us to places like the Ennis House and Wayfarers Chapel the way other parents took their kids to Knott’s Berry Farm and Disneyland. You know, before the accident.”

The drop in his tone made it clear that wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. She went a different direction. “So you’ve lived here since you were a kid?”

It didn’t seem possible. Everything looked so clean, so frigging brand new.

“Only part time until a few years ago. When my parents died, my sister and I moved to Brooklyn to live with an aunt. She brought us here a couple weeks in the summer, but most of the time the place was empty. It was kept in a trust until I was eighteen and Gina was twenty.”

“So you both own it, but only you live in it?”

“Yeah, for now. The will prevents us from selling until I’m thirty. That’s probably another reason she wants to come back and check on me. Make sure I haven’t damaged her investment.”

“I can’t believe you live here all alone.” She wasn’t going to say it, but she’d never had more than a bedroom to call her own. Lately, she didn’t even have that.

“I don’t live alone anymore. Now you’re here.” He didn’t exactly sound pleased.

“Right,” she said. “That’s going to take some getting used to. Sorry if this is too blunt, but how in the world do you keep this place so clean? I’ve never met a guy who could keep a room clean, let alone a whole house, especially a house like this.”

“Anna,” he said.

“Huh?”

“My housekeeper. She’s here Tuesdays and Fridays, unless I need her more often.”

“I should have known,” Melanie said. “Of course you’d have a housekeeper. That’s what rich people do, right?” Inside she winced. She hadn’t meant to sound snide.

If he’d been offended, he didn’t show it as he parked her suitcase at the base of the stairs. He turned back with his usual cavalier smile. “I guess it’s a good idea we’re getting started a few days before Gina gets here. It’ll give you a chance to get all your clever put-downs out of the way.”

His smile never faltered, but hers vanished.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this.”

He held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know this is a weird situation. Honestly, I’m just glad you’re willing to do it. Do you want to see the upstairs?”

“Do I? Absolutely.” She had to admit, she was more than a little curious what her room looked like.

He lowered the telescoping handle on the suitcase and hoisted it up. “Damn,” he said. “Did you pack bricks?”

She tilted her head. “Hey, you don’t get to complain about my stuff. Got it?”

“Fine,” he said. “But holy mackerel.”

She followed him until he stopped at a bright and beautifully appointed bedroom with a view of the harbor.

“You can use this room, if you want,” he said. It seemed like he had something else to say, but he gnawed his lip instead, and his fingers were tapping a nervous rhythm on her suitcase handle.

“What is it?” she asked. “Already freaked out at the thought of cohabitation?”

He shook off his awkward distraction and grinned. “Yeah, I guess. Something like that. Hey, why don’t you settle in and then meet me down in the kitchen. I was just about to have dinner. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Really?” She couldn’t remember the last time a guy offered to cook for her, but what happened to the upstairs tour? How much more incredible was this house of his? She wanted to see what was behind all these closed doors, but she couldn’t muster the courage to ask. Besides, there’d be plenty of time to be nosy. “Sure, I’m starving,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. “What’s on the menu?”

“Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

She chuckled. “You really are a true-blue bachelor, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make fun of you,” she said quickly. “Cooking isn’t exactly my strong suit, either. I live on microwave meals.”

“Really?”

She couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with her or mocking her, so she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed her suitcase handle and wheeled it to the bed. “I can put this stuff away later. Now where’s that dinner you mentioned?”

She followed him to the kitchen, where she propped herself up on his stainless-steel kitchen counter. She slid back to the floor when he gave her an odd look, like maybe she was raised in a barn. Geez, he was fussy. Was this how it was going to be?

She focused on the kitchen. The place was spotless, just like the rest of the house. All stark white and metal. It looked more like a hospital than any kitchen she’d ever been in. Who would’ve guessed Taz Roman was a neat freak?

She felt stiff and out of place, but he, on the other hand, couldn’t have looked more comfortable. He went to work pulling packages from a refrigerator that was big enough to house a small family. From a hidden compartment atop the counter, he pulled a thick and crusty loaf of bread and cut four thick slices. From the packages, he pulled at least three different cheeses—two white and one cheddar—and cut slices from them as well. He poured a container of a reddish-orange puree soup into a pot and turned up one of the industrial-sized burners.

She watched, fascinated. When he was watching the sandwiches on the griddle, she asked something she’d wanted to ask the moment she arrived. “So, uh, how long is your sister going to be here?”
And more importantly, how long do I have to be here?

“She didn’t say exactly,” he said, shaking the grill pan slightly.

Her attention was drawn to a stack of Pandemonium Ball fliers on the counter, just like the ones he’d left with Abby. She took one. The fantasy illustration looked like something right out of Middle Earth.

“Do you want to go to that?”

She looked up to find him watching her.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it,” she said. She wasn’t going to admit that the price was way out of her league.

“Since I’m performing, I get an extra ticket. You can have it if you want.”

“Really?” She knew she was gushing, but who could be cool when someone was offering a
free
Pandemonium ticket? “You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all.”