About That Night...
He sat in the very front row of the balcony to the left of the stage with a dark-haired gentleman and several people she recognized from the newspapers as board members of the city arts council that currently operated the theater.
Julienne had seen pictures of Nicholas Fairfax before, but no picture came close to the man himself, even at this distance. Though she really only had a view of him from the shoulders up, his blond hair, tanned skin and chiseled features spanned the distance with an intensity that kicked up her body temperature another few degrees.
As gorgeous as his work was brilliant, the man’s inky black brows contrasted sharply with his blond hair, a look that she’d forever associate with California in her mind. With features chiseled and masculine in a polished, beachy sort of way, he wore an intent expression, which made her wonder what he thought about the actors milling through the orchestra pit, naked for all intents and purposes in their flesh-toned liquid latex. Was he as turned on as she by the thrusting hips, gyrating bodies and jiggling parts?
She was definitely turned on. The now-moist thong had wedged itself between her legs, making her squirm to relieve the pressure, or maybe to create more friction. Julienne wasn’t sure which. She only knew she was more aware of her body than ever before, a combination of her new clothes, the erotic performances and the fantasy man sitting out of reach above her.
Scanning the program for some clue to when the performance would end, she found her answer in a jolting rock beat from the seventies. The “Living Theater” performance, which meant she only had to survive the eighties and nineties before heading to the bar for a cooling sip of champagne to relieve her overheated body.
Naughty girls feel naughty.
She’d have to say one thing for The Naughty Handbook and self-hypnosis—they were a powerful combination. Thinking about sex left her hovering on the edge of a sexual excitement that had skyrocketed through the performance. She couldn’t ever remember being so affected by any show she’d ever seen at the Risqué. Was this what Ramón had meant by a “hair-curling” performance?
If anything would curl her hair, the actors beckoning their audience onstage to join them in a liberating striptease might just do it. Even under the influence of self-hypnosis, she couldn’t even consider accepting such a provocative invitation.
Then again, Julienne didn’t have to, because a pair of strong hands physically ejected her from her seat. She was on her feet and heading down the aisle before realizing what was happening.
“Ramón? Katriona.” Digging in her heels, she made a stand. “What are you doing here? What are you doing?” She tried to shrug off the hand Ramón had fastened around her arm.
He wouldn’t let go. “Half these actors are my clients, sweetheart, and you’re my latest creation. I want to show you off.” He tried to tug her toward the stage as they were blocking the aisle, causing a traffic jam of spectators who were intent upon getting on that stage to liberate or be liberated.
She resisted. “I can’t, Ramón. Let me go.”
Katriona may have dressed in an exquisite white chiffon that accentuated both her height and regal bustline, but that didn’t negate the fact that she’d entered this world as the opposite sex, growing to be somewhere around six foot two with shoulders as wide as a linebacker’s. Her hands on Julienne’s back propelled her into motion again, no questions asked.
All the sexual heat that had just been rushing through Julienne dissolved into a mingled mess of adrenaline and embarrassment as she was herded onto the stage.
Naughty girls go for it.
And Julienne planned to, all right. She was going right for her seat before this crowd of stripping, bare-assed maniacs started liberating her. She spun around…she may have been going for her seat, but she accidentally got a handful of some actor’s crotch, a tidy handful if she were to judge.
The actor gave her a grateful kiss on the cheek before leaving Julienne standing stock-still, blushing so furiously she must be as red as her dress.
Time to add a new key phrase to her self-hypnosis sessions—naughty girls don’t lose their cool.
Deep breath. Don’t look out at the audience. Another deep breath. Move. Then she started gyrating to the music, blending in with the crazed crowd, all the while making her way back to the stairs that circled the orchestra pit and led off the stage. And thanking all the angels in heaven that even if anyone she knew sat in the audience, they’d never recognize the new her.
How Julienne survived the eighties and the nineties was a mystery, because she couldn’t remember a thing about the final acts or the finale. In fact, her cheeks still burned when she left her seat for the lobby. And of course, she was trying so hard to avoid Ramón and Katriona, before they dragged her backstage to meet the man whose parts she’d grabbed, that she barreled right into someone.
Whipcord lean arms reached out to steady her, anchored her against a very tall, very physically fit man. One quick intake of breath later, a breath tinged with a deliciously spicy male scent, and Julienne lifted her gaze to the blackest, most potent eyes she’d ever seen.
It took only a moment, a fluttering heartbeat, for her to realize those black-velvet eyes were framed by very tanned skin, blond hair and a chiseled jaw she’d have known anywhere, even if she hadn’t spent the past two hours covertly staring at him.
Nicholas Fairfax.
She must have looked shell-shocked because those potent eyes crinkled with amusement and he grinned, a charming grin that lit up his face and cast the lobby and the crowd around them into obscurity.
“I should apologize,” he said in a rich, cultured voice that sent a shiver right to her toes. “But as I’m holding you in my arms, I can’t say I’m sorry I ran into you.”
Unless he’d intentionally stepped in front of her, she’d technically run into him, but he was very gallant to accept responsibility for their collision.
Naughty girls don’t lose their cool.
The key phrase echoed in her memory when she needed it most, and Julienne laughed, she actually laughed, a throaty, sexy sound she didn’t even recognize as coming from her mouth.
“I’m not sorry, either. Actually, I was aiming for you, just to see if you’d catch me.”
You go, girl.
His black eyes flashed. She might be breaking new ground by flirting, but clearly Nicholas Fairfax was in his element. His grip tightened, just enough to put her off-balance so she relied on him to hold her upright, just enough to feel the impressive reaction of his groin against her stomach.
More parts. Only these parts sent a blush into her cheeks, made her gaze up to the grinning cupids overhead in a vain attempt to hide her reaction.
He apparently noticed, because he asked, “Are you interested in architecture?”
She nodded.
“This place is about to undergo a major restoration.”
She met that potent black gaze again, couldn’t quite believe how his glance, a glance for heaven’s sake, sizzled through her like a power surge. “That’s why I’m here tonight. I wanted to see it one last time.”
“Afraid you won’t recognize the place?” Then he smiled, a blinding sort of smile that radiated so much testosterone she could barely catch her breath.
Stepping back, he broke the connection between them, allowed her to regain her balance. But he didn’t let go of her hand. He brought it to his lips instead, a gentlemanly gesture that drew all her attention to the place where his warm skin touched hers. “I promise that won’t be the case, beautiful, because I’m heading the design team. Nick Fairfax.”
Julienne blinked as he brushed his mouth across her skin. Had Nicholas Fairfax—Nick—brilliant restoration architect and naughty boy extraordinaire, just called her beautiful?
The glint in his sultry eyes answered that question positively but before she could absorb such an amazing thought or push an introduction past her lips, she heard a familiar, and very unwelcome, voice yell, “Jules.”
Turning toward the sound, she found Ramón and Katriona weaving through the crowd toward them. In barely the time it took her to inhale a steadying breath, Julienne saw Ramón’s gaze pivot to the hand Nick Fairfax still held against his lips. Katriona didn’t appear to notice; in fact, she eyed the man himself with such a hungry expression Julienne guessed she’d like nothing better than to gobble Nick up in one bite.
“Jules.” He brushed his lips across her skin again, before releasing her. “My pleasure.”
“Nick,” she managed to reply, before Ramón and Katriona were upon them and she made polite introductions.
“I’ve read all about you,” Ramón told Nick, but not before casting her a surreptitious wink that reminded her of their earlier conversation about finding a new guy. Apparently Ramón thought Nick Fairfax could be an acceptable contender. “Take my card. You’ll need a stylist while you’re in town. Send your employees in, too. My staff will take good care of everyone.”
Julienne rolled her eyes, still feeling a bit dazed by the chemistry between her and this utterly exquisite architect who towered above her, though she wasn’t exactly short in her heels.
But Nick took Ramón’s solicitations in stride. “If you’ve played a part in this beautiful lady’s appearance, I’ll book an appointment and recommend you to my team, no problem.” His gaze trailed from her hair to her toes, and she couldn’t miss the approval flashing in his dark eyes.
“I can’t take all the credit,” Ramón said magnanimously. “Jules is a joy to work on.”
Katriona inclined her regal head, clearly about to add her two cents, but Ramón clamped a hand on her arm and stopped her before she opened her mouth.
“Would you look at the time? Come on, Kat.” With a vice grip on her chiffon-clad arm, he launched Katriona into the crowd, no mean feat given her size. Then he glanced back and said, “Jules, don’t forget your appointment tomorrow.”
Julienne stared. Appointment? Since when was Casa de Ramón open on Sundays? When Ramón glared at her over his eyeglass rims, she realized he wanted her to call.
“I won’t forget,” she shot back, earning Ramón’s smile before he and Katriona disappeared into the crowd.
After tucking the business card into his pocket, Nick fixed her an examining look. “Did you come with them?”
“No.”
“I don’t see a date. I’ve been watching you since I arrived.”
“You have?” Okay, not the most confident of replies, but it seemed to amuse Nick, judging by the grin suddenly playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I have. And I particularly enjoyed your performance during the living theater. You made a very graceful exit.”
That earlier blush returned to haunt her and she hoped he didn’t notice in the dim lobby lighting. But the heat in her cheeks also served to knock some sense into her.
Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.
“No date. I’m all by myself tonight.”
“Not anymore.” Nick extended his hand in a very gentlemanly gesture of invitation. “If you’ll allow me, there’s a party downstairs and I’d like you to be my guest.”
3
NICK WAITED for Jules’s reaction. Then there it was, a slight melting of those clear gray eyes, a sudden softening of her mouth. When she slipped cool fingers into his, he breathed again.
“I’d be delighted,” she said in a sultry voice that made his nerve endings rise to attention, along with other parts of his anatomy that had no business behaving as though they’d been ignored of late.
Tucking her hand securely in the crook of his arm, Nick led her through the lobby down to the basement and dressing rooms where the Arts Council currently hosted a closing night party for the actors, musicians, theater patrons and other attendees from the arts, cultural and historical societies.
What was it about this woman that made him feel as if every nerve in his body was live with max voltage? Was he simply reacting to a very beautiful woman?
From her shimmery hair, the color of claret from the vineyards around his home in Northern California, to her intriguing combination of bold words and shy blushes, he noticed everything about her, wanted to know even more. He planned to spend his night discovering exactly who this beauty was.
He couldn’t believe his good fortune earlier when he’d recognized her heading onto the stage. His good fortune hadn’t been hers, though, because from his seat he could see her face and recognized that she hadn’t been thrilled to be onstage.
But she’d handled her exit very well, gifting him with an incredible show of swaying curves and wild hair as she danced her way off the stage again, inspiring all sorts of fantasies about her dancing across that stage just for him.
Nick hadn’t been the only one affected. Dale had hung out of their box, vowing to give up beer and joyrides for good. Nick had told him not to bother. He’d had his chance for a shot at this red devil. He wouldn’t get another.
The closing night party hosted an eclectic mix of actors in outrageous costumes—or barely any costumes at all—and the more conservative members of the city’s various boards. He and Dale were the only ADF staff currently in Savannah as his design team wrapped up various tasks from their last project and would arrive throughout the next week.
Seizing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, he cornered Jules across the room from Dale, who schmoozed with several matrons from the Arts Council near the buffet, earning his high-figure salary by representing ADF when its principal was otherwise engaged.
“So tell me, beautiful.” He let his fingers linger on hers when he handed her the glass. “What brings such a lovely lady to an erotic theater alone?”
She shrugged, just a slight lifting of her shoulders that seemed at once both feminine and noncommittal. “There aren’t too many men who appreciate the historic significance of this theater and I wanted to see it one last time so I can marvel at your skill when the renovation’s done.”
Nick couldn’t decide what turned him on more, her interest in his architectural abilities or her confidence in them. “So the history of the place appeals to you. What about the architecture and the performance?”
“If I were to put them in order of importance, I’d actually have to say the renovation would be first on my list, then the history and finally the theater. What’s onstage doesn’t seem to matter much. The real magic is being here.”
Nick eyed her over the rim of his glass, could detect nothing but genuine interest in her rapt expression. Was she just flirting with him? He’d known more than his share of women who’d professed an interest in architecture, only to be bored stupid whenever he’d mixed business with pleasure and combined a weekend away with a site analysis.
He was a man of limited interests and architecture topped his list and encompassed his life, which probably explained why dating best suited his life in the field.
“So the architecture brought you here tonight. That’s my good fortune.” Clinking the rim of his glass to hers, he ignored the imploring look Dale shot him from across the room. “But the performance didn’t excite you at all?”
“Excite.” The word formed on her lips in a breathy whisper. “What an interesting choice of words, Nick. Yes, the architecture brought me here, but I’d have to be dead not to have been…excited by that performance. I’m alive.”
“I noticed.”
“And what about you? Did the performance excite you?”
There it was again, that breathy puff of sound that glided over those champagne-moistened lips and turned his thoughts to kissing. Stolen teasing kisses. Deep-throated hungry kisses. Wet demanding kisses.
“No reflection on the actors or the play, but the show didn’t do half of what you’re doing for me right now.”
He expected some reaction to his admission, surprise or pleasure, but quickly realized Jules intended to play this game her way. Arching an auburn brow, she touched the rim of her glass to her mouth, sipped, then darted her pink tongue out to wipe away the remnants from her lower lip.
He followed the movement with his gaze, imagining how that sweet liquid would taste warmed by those luscious lips. This woman was playing with fire and she knew it. Nick knew it, too. He enjoyed the chase as much as the next man…okay, probably more than most. But he prided himself on his control. So why was Jules having this damned intense effect on him? He’d blown off his schmoozing duties, which constituted work in his mind, to keep her all to himself.
Unfortunately, remaining isolated wasn’t possible and before long the Arts Council president corralled them.
“There you are, Dr. Fairfax. I’m interested in hearing what you think of the Risqué Theatre now that you’ve seen it firsthand. I can’t tell you how thrilled the board members are that you’re supervising the project personally.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner, I’d supervise all my senior teams if I could, but unfortunately I can only be in one place at a time. Your theater presented a challenge I couldn’t resist.”
He glanced down at the beautiful woman by his side, surprised at the frisson of excitement that coursed through his blood when she lifted her smoky gaze to his. “Mrs. Turner, this is my friend Jules,” he said, never turning back to the matron as he completed the introduction, because Jules’s beautiful face transformed into a polite social mask before his very eyes.
She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I greatly admire the work the council does. Your grant program has an impressive track record of benefiting artists and cultural renovation sites in the area.”
“How delightful of you to notice.” The president positively beamed and Nick drank his champagne, content to listen for whatever clues Jules’s conversation might reveal.
She hadn’t offered her full name or mentioned why the cultural affairs of Savannah interested her. Nick found himself strangely disappointed. And challenged to find out all he could about her.
“Tonight’s performance was actually part of the grant program,” Mrs. Turner said. “Local writers submitted proposals for closing night scripts. The variety show tribute to the theater’s long and illustrious history overwhelmingly won the council’s approval and the grant.”
Jules looked thoughtful. “I thought the format was particularly appropriate, given that the sets for each vignette mirrored a historical transition in the theater’s architectural evolution. Didn’t you think so, Nick?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, but the truth was he’d been so busy admiring Jules from the balcony that he hadn’t noticed that the vignettes had reflected anything about the theater’s architecture, except as a tribute to the different eras.
This was his first clue that Jules’s interest in architecture was an honest one and since he wanted to know just how honest, he steered the conversation around to the detailed work needed to replace broken nosing and the crumbling cusps around the room.
Sure enough, Jules’s gaze traveled straight to the molding on the stairs, then up to the nearby doorway, with a certainty only a familiarity with architecture would bring. Nick decided right then to get her away from this party to find out more about this exotically beautiful woman who shared a common interest.
But he’d no sooner shaken off the Arts Council president when Dale arrived. He planted himself squarely between them for an introduction, and Nick knew at once Dale intended to bust his chops by making a play for Jules.
This wouldn’t be the first time Dale had challenged him. What Nick couldn’t figure out is why he even bothered, since he usually came off worse for the effort.
“Jules, this is my senior project manager Dale Emerson.”
“Well, hello, gorgeous.” Dale sandwiched her hand between his big paws and held on for dear life.
“Nice to meet you,” Jules replied and something about the surprise in her eyes made Nick suspect she wasn’t as used to flirting as she pretended to be. A niggling suspicion, but one he made a mental note to look at more closely. His gut feelings usually served him well with the opposite sex, because he made a point of paying attention.
Retrieving more champagne from a passing waiter, he offered the flute to Dale, forcing him to relinquish his death grip on Jules’s hand. Dale shot him a grimace that revealed he knew exactly what Nick was doing. But he forged ahead anyway.
“What did you think of the performance tonight, gorgeous?”
“I was just telling Nick I found it rather exciting.”
Ah, that breathy little sound again. It set his blood on fire, and when she cast her sparkling gaze his way, reserving the sound just for him, he experienced a surge of pure male satisfaction.
“Jules was also telling me how clever she thought the different sets were tonight, because each mirrored the architectural evolution of the theater’s renovations.”
If Nick hadn’t noticed the sets’ unique designs, he knew Dale hadn’t. Not that he’d have admitted the oversight. Dale didn’t, either. Instead, he segued neatly right back to the only topic that seemed to interest him at the moment—the beautiful woman standing between them.
“Really? You’re stunningly gorgeous and interested in architecture. What a perfect combination.”
Jules only shrugged, another slight lifting of her shoulders that did amazing things to those creamy breasts swelling above red leather. “I’ve got an uncle in the business. He has shared his work with me most of my life.”
Well, that explained her interest. An honest interest. An intelligent one, too.
“What’s your uncle’s specialty?” Nick asked.
“Materials conservation. He retired last year.”
Dale shook his head. “Whew, wish we’d have known him before he retired. Right about the time we were doing the flood restoration on the Mark Twain Museum.”
“What happened at the museum?” Jules asked.
“The project was such a beast that our material conservationist had a heart attack.” Dale shook his head at the memory. “We had to finish up with a staff member we stole from a junior team.”
“Fortunately he’s okay and back to work now,” Nick said.
“Only after we talked him out of retiring early and relocating to a beach in Florida.”
Nick set his empty glass down on a nearby table. “Our good luck. Finding someone who knows his, or her, way around the chemical and physical complexities of building materials is always a challenge.”
“Finding anyone to hire onto Nick’s team is a challenge.” Dale gave a low whistle. “This man’s such a tyrant in the field no one wants to work for him.”
Amusement sparkled in Jules’s eyes. Though Nick knew Dale only ribbed him, he wasn’t above defending himself in front of this lovely lady. “I’m not a tyrant, evidenced by the fact Frank came back to work.”
“Trust me, I’ll keep your uncle in mind,” Dale said. “We stand a better chance of luring him out of retirement than of keeping Frank from the beach for long.”
Jules laughed brightly. “Does Dale have hiring privileges? Shall I give my uncle a call? I’m not sure how he’d feel about working for a tyrant.”
Nick scowled, a scowl that faded quickly beneath her high-beam smile. He liked the way she reserved her smiles for him, dodging Dale’s flirting without being cold, yet expressing she’d already decided who had her attention tonight.
Jules was a class act and he’d just hit his limit of listening to his integrity impugned while his friend tried to steal his girl. Plucking the flute from Jules’s hand, he passed it to Dale.
“We’re touring the theater. Jules would like to see the place before we work our magic. You schmooze.”
“Tyrant.” Dale spun on his heel and plunged back into the crowd leaving Nick staring after him and Jules giggling.
“I take it Dale’s more than your employee,” she said.
“A friend. A good one most of the time.”