How to Knit a Wild Bikini (11 page)

The blue and white matched the purse and also went well with Nikki’s white, calf-length linen skirt. A pair of flat, white leather sandals would make walking easy on her knee.

It was getting better, thank God. Without the constant rush of a restaurant kitchen and within the smaller confines of Jay’s, the swelling had subsided and the pain had lessened. She still sensed its inherent weakness, and wasn’t anywhere close to signing up for those martial arts classes she’d bragged to Jay about, but it gave her confidence that she could go on with her life without the operation the orthopedic surgeon insisted was necessary. She couldn’t do the surgery.

First, because of that little hospital phobia she’d developed following her mother’s sudden death. And second—

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Blinking, Nikki’s focus shifted back to Cassandra. “My thoughts? Oh. I was thinking about my mom.”

Cassandra’s hand smoothed her shoulder again. “She died about ten years ago, is that right?”

“Thirteen.” Nikki shifted away from the touch and concentrated on her knitting. “But that’s way in the past.”

“If you’d ever like to talk…”

Embarrassed, Nikki shook her head. “No, no. You’ve been so nice to me already. I don’t understand why”—not any more than she understood why she’d come here for wardrobe help again—“but I do appreciate it.”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I, um, felt a kind of connection when we met. Maybe because we…we grew up in similar circumstances.”

Puzzled, Nikki glanced up. “Really?”

The other woman flushed. “Well, not exactly.” Her fingers twined in her lap and then she straightened them out to press at imaginary wrinkles in her khaki trousers. “Um, Nikki—”

The loud rattle of the bells attached to Malibu & Ewe’s front door interrupted. Three women burst inside.

With a slight grimace, the shop owner checked her watch. “Tuesday Night Knitters’ Club.”

“That reminds me,” Nikki remarked, “I’ve been meaning to tell you I received some advertising from your shop before I started with Jay. I don’t know how your marketer targeted me—I’ve never been into crafts. But it’s a weird coincidence, huh?”

“Um. Yeah. Weird coincidence.” Glancing down, Cassandra ironed her pants once more with the flat of her hand. “Nikki…”

The bells rattled again, causing Cassandra to jump. She looked over as more women entered the shop, then back at Nikki. “Maybe…maybe we can talk about this later?”

“Sure.” Though Nikki didn’t quite get what else there was to say. Maybe her obtuseness was due to her dad’s detachment gene showing up again. It had rendered her unnaturally ungood at girl chat. So instead of attempting to join in, she listened to it as others arrived and situated themselves on the couches.

A new mother, baby nestled next to her, was having trouble with lining the diaper tote she’d knitted.

A gray-haired lady complained about her latest haircut and seemed to take it out on the cat bed she was creating for her mother-in-law’s favorite feline.

A younger woman was surprised by the group’s communal reaction of horror when she said she wanted to knit her new guy a sweater. “It’s a curse,” one expert proclaimed. And a well-known fact that the relationship would surely be finished before the boyfriend sweater.

The legion of true-life examples trotted out by the knitters only ended when a beautiful celebrity entered the shop and plopped her skinny body on an ottoman then set to work on a baby bootie. Nikki might have thought herself delusional except her sofa neighbor introduced Nikki to the striking beauty as Oomfaa—short for One of the Most Famous Actresses in America. The nickname was conferred upon her by the rest of the group, the woman explained, after a
Malibu
magazine piece on the store used that vague reference to preserve the A-lister’s anonymity.

Oomfaa flashed Nikki her trademark blinding smile and continued plying her needles. As a rat-a-tat clackety-click filled the room, it struck her that twenty industrious knitters made a noise not unlike a stage full of tiny Irish step dancers.

A noise that abruptly cut off when the door’s bells rang again and Jay stepped into the room.

All heads lifted and turned his way. Twenty pairs of eyes took him in.

Only Jay Buchanan could handle the all-female regard with such aplomb. There was the merest hesitation and then he strode forward, wearing a grin as blinding as Oomfaa’s had been earlier.

Nikki found herself on her feet and in full retreat as he continued his confident advance. As she backed out of the knitters’ circle, her shoulder bumped into Cassandra’s, stalling her sudden need to escape.

Clutching her knitting to her middle, she spoke out of the side of her mouth as Jay paused to greet the first of the women. “Tell me you have a back exit.”

“You’re really changing your mind about to night? What’s the big deal? You said you two were an item.”

Nikki kept her eye on Jay and went for the shortest explanation. “We don’t suit.”

“He didn’t appear convinced of that last week on the restaurant dance floor.”

It wasn’t the time to talk about lesbian charades and Nikki in bed with twins. “Think about it. Me and Hef Junior together? That sunstruck example of male sexuality and
me
? He belongs with someone as…as shiny as he is. He belongs with someone like Oomfaa.”

And he was currently kissing Oomfaa, smug, charming bastard. On the cheek, but still.

“‘Belongs’? You’re looking for long-term, then.”

“No!” It wasn’t about that. She knew she wasn’t any good at keeping anyone around. Not family, not friends, certainly not lovers. But everything had come so easy for Jay and she still had her noble purpose to consider. Someone had to say no to him. “He’s only pursuing me because I’m the one who resists.”

And he was coming toward her now with a conquering light in his eyes. She shuffled back another step.

Cassandra touched her shoulder. “You’re afraid of him.”

“No.” Nikki whipped her head around. “Heck no! I’m not afraid of any man.”

And then
the
man in the room was there, standing beside her. He wore a pair of soft, bleached jeans sans the usual holes and frays that would normally go hand-in-hand with denim that buttery. His mint green shirt was oxford cloth, the usual style, but it didn’t look usual on him, unbuttoned to show the strong column of his tanned throat and rolled to reveal his powerful forearms.

It reminded her of his annoying, early-morning habit of near-naked kayaking. Of his bare, rippled torso and his inguinal ligaments she ogled every morning.

“Cookie,” he murmured. His hand slid up her back, bumping over the strings of her “corset” T-shirt to reach the smooth skin between her shoulder blades.

To prevent a shiver of reaction, she clenched her stomach muscles hard, then narrowed her eyes at him as she iced her words. “Good God, could you get more obvious? I know you’re copping a feel to see if I’m wearing a bra.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the side of her mouth. His wandering hand slid to her butt. “And checking for pan ties, too.” He cupped a cheek.

She swatted his hand away, but heat still sprinted down the backs of her legs as wetness rushed between her thighs.
This
was what she would be afraid of, if she was afraid of anything.

For the last twelve years, she’d had to nurture her sexual responses, babying the tiny, smoldering blazes that so rarely ignited inside of her. She’d close her eyes and conjure visions in her head, picturing an anonymous man pleasing some woman—always some
other
woman. Maybe it was strange, but like blowing on embers to start a real fire, it had worked well enough to attempt intimacy a time or two.

With Jay, though—with Jay it was different. Jay
was
the fire, and his touch, his smile, the press of his mouth against her cheek could start the burn.

It was unfamiliar, okay? And it was natural to be uneasy with the unfamiliar.

Or afraid of it.

No. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

As if he sensed her uneasiness, Jay frowned, and tucked his hand under her chin to tilt her face to his. He looked into her eyes. His fingers were warm, and his thumb absently stroked the soft underside of her chin.

“Sink or fly,” he murmured, shaking his head. Then his voice strengthened. “Are you okay?”

No. Because as she dropped her lashes to get away from his piercing gaze, one of her visions popped into her head. But it wasn’t an anonymous couple in some anonymous, private peep show. She saw herself on the stairs at Jay’s house.

I look into your eyes and don’t know whether I’m going to sink or fly.

Then, in her mind, it was Jay. Jay gathering her—Nikki, with her wavy hair and her sprinkle of freckles—close. In an instant, she was melting against him, candle wax to his flame, her face flushed, her mouth already opening for his kiss.

More heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs and the flesh there throbbed. Her eyes flying open, she tried scurrying back, but he tightened his hold on her chin and bent to press his lips to hers.

“Cookie,” he whispered against her mouth. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

What would happen then? Her stomach jolted at the thought, at what it would be like to have free access to that golden chest that had been fascinating her from the very first day. How would the hard parts of his body feel rubbing against the wet heat of hers?

She shivered and his head lifted as he took her hand. “I thought we could have a private picnic at my house…I ordered a basket for us and it’s already in my car.” Like a starstruck zombie, she let him lead her five feet toward the front door.

Then her errant self-preservation stepped in. Yes, he could melt her into a puddle of want. And yes, she’d stripped down in his kitchen the day before in a reckless, sexual version of “bring it on.”

Still, any woman with sense, even one like her who wasn’t worried about the state of her heart, would remember she was working for the man. If to night ended in his disappointment, would it affect him recommending her for future jobs?

She could refuse him, citing her career.

That was the ticket.

Nikki dug her feet into the floor of Malibu & Ewe. “Jay—”

The front bells sang out again. Fern and her sullen boyfriend, Jenner, ambled into the shop. He had the girl caught tightly against him as they moved. Nikki wondered if she could breathe.

“There you are,” the girl called out to Jay. “Your cell’s not working.”

He grimaced. “Our famous Malibu reception.”

Nikki already knew about this. The proximity of the Santa Monica Mountains on one side and the Pacific on the other made coverage spotty, at best.

“Well, I’m checking in like I said I would.” She fiddled with the hair hanging over her shoulder. It fell in a pin-straight, gleaming mass that all but covered her neck and half of her double-layered tanks. A tiny skirt, the size of Nikki’s palm, hung from her prominent hipbones to the top of her thighs.

This was the
responsible
cousin?

The cousin the family thought could take care of herself?

Maybe Nikki was projecting. And to be honest, the outfit wasn’t any more outrageous than what other girls around town wore. But the boy’s possessive hold on the teenager had Nikki’s stomach hopping again.

Jay glanced from Jenner to his cousin. “I thought you were spending the night with Marie.”

“I am. But first I’m going to a…uh, get-together at Zuma.” She glanced at her boyfriend, then back at Jay’s face. “Jenner will drive me over to Marie’s house after the beach closes at ten.”

The lanky boy tossed his head to move his long hair out of his eyes. “Sure I will. After the par—I mean, get-together. Just a few friends, a bonfire, you know. We’re going to roast marshmallows.”

Riiiight
, Nikki thought. Surely Jay wouldn’t fall for that one?

But he nodded instead of protesting. “Okay then. Have fun.”

Jenner spun as if he might be attacked by yarn cooties at any moment. The quick movement caught Fern by surprise, and she slid out of the boy’s grip, her hair flying back as she turned to catch up with him.

They were out the door in the space of a breath.

Jay’s hand tightened on Nikki’s. “Shit. Was that what I thought it was?”

It wasn’t her place. None of this was her business. That girl wasn’t Nikki twelve years ago, caught in the clutches of a controlling, older boy and her own emotional turmoil. “What did you think it was?”

“A hickey, damn it. A hickey on the side of her neck.”

Nikki’s eyes had caught the bruises on the girl’s wrist.

“Is it too late to play the grown-up card?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Not if you are a grown-up.”

“Shit,” Jay said again. He tugged her in the direction of the door once more. “Change of plans. We’re taking our little picnic to Zuma.”

Nikki found herself going along without a protest, her plan to avoid to night’s date taking off on the ocean breeze. With a sigh, she realized she was now more concerned for Fern than she was for herself.

Zuma was a mega-beach, two miles long and 500 feet of sand between the road and the water. Dozens and dozens of volleyball courts were strung near the parking area that was itself bigger than most California beaches Nikki had ever visited. As it neared sunset, Jay pulled in, passing carloads of sunburned Angelenos heading out. They found an empty space and he reached into the back of his Porsche to pull out a large picnic basket.

“I hope you have something tasty packed in there,” she said as they hurried across the blacktop toward the wide expanse of sand. “Kiwis and Evian won’t satisfy me, unlike those breasts-on-a-stick that you usually date.”

He ignored the dig, which wrote volumes about his preoccupied state as he scanned the vicinity. “All I know is I better find a girl, a party, and something grilling pretty damn quick.”

The grim note in his voice had Nikki’s insides twitching again. If Jay was worried, then she…

Then she didn’t have to worry at all. Fern’s situation wasn’t her business. Fern’s life wasn’t a replay of hers.

He glanced over at Nikki. “You think I’m overreacting?”

She thought she wanted to keep her opinions to herself. Given what happened yesterday, when her conversation with Michelle had revealed more than she’d intended, zipped lips seemed a safer way to go. If she spoke up, she might speak of too much, and she liked her secrets safely buried.

“I—”

His hand on her arm halted her words. “Thank God. There she is.”

There was all of it—gathered around a concrete fire ring just down the beach. The girl, the looks of a party, and grilling, though Nikki couldn’t tell from here if it was weenies or even those marshmallows Jenner had promised.

Jay grinned, looking as relieved as she felt. He blew out a long breath. “Good. Now we can take ourselves to a more private place.”

“No,” she said quickly. Public places would keep clothes and secrets safely in place. “We should keep an eye on them a while longer.” Her gaze cut to the scene down the beach.

He looked back toward the twenty or so teenagers, his eyes narrowing as another five or six joined the group. A girl in a shoestring bikini shrieked in mock fear as a boy chased her across the sand. A pallet was thrown onto the fire, sending up sparks. Someone turned up a boom box so that rap music pounded the air like fists.

“I don’t know.” Jay shook his head. “Fern’ll kill me if she spots us.”

“We can plant ourselves on the other side of the lifeguard tower.”

Jay gave her a sharp look. “Spy much?” But he headed off in the direction she’d indicated.

She moved slower. The sand was soft and deep, and churning through it wasn’t easy on her knee. With Fern secure, Nikki’s reluctance about the whole evening and all the danger attached to this “date” was returning.

He had selected a patch of sand and was already opening the basket when she reached him. “What’s with the snail’s pace?” he asked.

Letting her gaze wander to a wet surfer emerging from the water, she shrugged. “Now that I’m out of the hetero closet, I’m taking my time checking over all the hot guys.”

A long arm slung around her shoulders and he gave her a brief, companionable hug. “Damn. I’m going to miss the old days when we could troll for girls together. How much fun was that?”

She didn’t dignify the remark with a response, just watched him proceed to shake out a checked tablecloth and spread it on the sand. Once she chose her spot on it, he sat close, and poured something from a flask into a blue plastic cup that he handed over.

He poured another for himself, then set down a platter of cut vegetables and another of fruit. Next he dug out a fat votive candle, lit the wick, and anchored it into the sand nearby. “Aren’t you going to taste your drink?”

Nikki brought the cup under her nose and sniffed. A very dry Pouilly-fumé. “Isn’t alcohol banned on the beach?”

He leaned back on his elbows and crossed his legs at the ankle, the picture of a man at home with seduction. The smile he sent her way made her clothes start to smolder at the edges. “Let’s break some rules, baby.”

Like the one that said no smart cookie of a chef would get involved with the guy she was cooking for? She frowned, suddenly irritated. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that in the real world you wouldn’t give me a second glance?”

“What world is that, again?”

“The one where you spend your days in a downtown office peopled by adolescents who look like grown men and tits and asses that somehow manage to walk and talk…though certainly not both at the same time.”

His eyebrows rose. “You have a real thing against women who take off their clothes for a living, don’t you?”

She refused to let the comment sidetrack her. “But instead you’re stuck all day in your Malibu house where I’m in your kitchen and you’re confused—”

“Like you were about your sexual identity?” He sipped from his wine.

“You enjoy the food I cook, so—”

“I want to eat you. I’ll go with that.”

She threw a strawberry at him, though her aim wasn’t any better than it had been at high school softball. “Jay, don’t—”

“Make you think about it?”

His voice lowered but she could still hear every word over the shush-shush of the incoming waves and the pulse of the rap beat down the beach. “C’mon, cookie. Imagine how it will be. For an appetizer, I’ll start with that soft spot behind your left ear. You know about my sweet tooth and I have a feeling your skin is going to be extra sugary there. I’ll lap at it with my tongue, then give it the slightest suck until I feel you shiver. Next on the menu is that sleek curve on the underside of your breast. I wonder what will happen to your nipples when I take the tiniest of bites—”

“Stop.”

“And wait until I tell you what I’m planning for that curvy little backside of yours.”

This time her aim improved and the baby carrot bounced off the end of his nose.

He rubbed at it with the back of his hand. “Hey!”

“That kind of talk might work with…with…” She had trouble articulating when her mind was spinning with images and her body was prickling in the places he’d mentioned as well as some he hadn’t. “With…with…”

“Those breasts on sticks,” he interjected helpfully.

“Aarh!” She threw up a hand in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“Not for you. For you, I’m available.” He sat up and took a sip of his wine, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. “Unless, well…You’re not holding out for true love, are you, cookie?”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at him. Cassandra had asked a similar question earlier and it rankled even more now.

“Just answer the question. It’s not like I think it’s a bad thing.”

“Then why aren’t you? Why aren’t you holding out for true love?”

“I’m thirty-two years old and my mom, sisters, aunt, and cousins have at least that number of theories. Go ahead and pick one.”

“What do your father and uncle think?”

“That I need another beer and we should turn up the volume on ESPN.”

She had to laugh. “All right. So expound on these theories your female family members hold.”

“Hmm.” He topped off her wine and then his own. “Current thought is that I’m like a certain kind of rodent. A weasely kind of thing if I remember right, but not a weasel.”

Nikki laughed again. “I think I’d like the women in your family.”

He snorted. “Remind me never to introduce you. But the fact is, I really can’t blame them for the idea, because it comes from an article published in
NYFM
last year.”

“I must have missed that issue.”

The air was cooling as the sun slipped lower. She pulled the sweater she’d brought with her around her shoulders and didn’t edge away when Jay shifted closer to block the breeze.

“It goes like this,” he said. “There are two kinds of these rodents. One quickly finds their mate and bedded bliss, so to speak, and from then on identifies sexual plea sure with that particular individual. The other variety likes to do the wild thing, too, but unlike their cousins, the way their brain processes the intimacy and orgasm hormones is different. They apparently don’t have the same receptors, which means their enjoyment isn’t heightened or even affected by their partner in the deed.”

“Any weasel will do?”

“So the research says.”

“That explains a lot of men I know.”

“In this case, Wanda and Wally Weasel Type 2 operate exactly the same way. Both genders cheerfully pursue their one-night stands.”

“Huh.” While she didn’t bond with anyone—man or woman—easily, she wasn’t an indiscriminate sex-seeker, either. But the reasons for that were something less to do with brain receptors and more with memories she’d buried very deep. “So, Wally, what else do you have in that basket?”

He drew it close to rummage around inside. “I’m not exactly Wally, at least that’s what my family’s females hope. When it comes to humans, the idea is that it’s not so black-and-white as bonders and nonbonders. Some persons, though, may be born with fewer receptors than others.”

“Say, like you.”

“According to my mom and Aunt Annie.” He handed her a sandwich that looked like smoked turkey and cheese on a crisp baguette.

“The man of few receptors,” he went on, “likely considers all this love business the stuff of Ephron screenplays. Then comes a day when our unattached bachelor discovers the one with whom the hormone release of intimacy and sex finally reaches those diminished receptors of his. For the first time, our man fully experiences the effect of a serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin cocktail. He’ll never want to let go of the sole female who provides that euphoric high.”

Nikki took a bite and chewed, wondering what it would be like to introduce such a man to those feelings. Every time they had sex, the bond would only grow and his attachment would only strengthen…A hot shiver wiggled under her skin.

Jay looked at her over his own sandwich. His smile was sly. “So when you think about it, I’m actually disabled. As a matter of fact, you should take pity on me because the receptor-impaired need their comforts. You’d be doing a poor guy like me a favor by taking me to bed.”

Her focus snapped back to him, golden and gorgeous. Or, as he put it, pitiable, disabled, and receptor-impaired. His seductive smile widened.

“You are so full of it.” Irritated, she tossed her plate to the tablecloth and shoved him over. But he made a last-minute grab and brought her down with him.

She stared into his laughing eyes. “Did you make that whole thing up?” she demanded.

“No, no, it’s all true, or at least as far as my foggy recollection goes. And you should have seen your face. For a minute there you looked ready to do it with the next confirmed bachelor who walked by. You were feeling so warm and fuzzy I could have fixed you up with the biggest horndog in Hollywood.”

Not that she’d tell him, but the only man she’d been thinking about getting warm and fuzzy for was Jay.

The jerk.

Hef Junior.

Her boss.

And all those thoughts flew out of her head as he speared his hand in her hair and drew her lips to his. She was going to protest, any moment, but his tongue was cool and tart in her hot mouth and his hand had snaked under her sweater and then under the corset lacings of her T-shirt. He palmed that hot shiver once again racing up her spine. The kiss went deeper.

He shifted, and then his knee split her legs. Her skirt was loose enough that she could part them for the hard muscle of his thigh. His other hand left her hair and smoothed down to find the curve of her butt. He caressed her there, pressing down as his knee rubbed in suggestive counterpart.

The move wasn’t subtle, but neither was her immediate response.

Her body flamed. The throbbing place between her legs turned wet again, as if that would put out the fire. Everything spun away but Jay’s kiss, Jay’s hands, Jay’s long, hard body against hers.

A raucous cry from down the beach pierced her haze of smoky lust. Reality descended like an upturned pail of water.

Nikki scrambled back, breaking Jay’s hold on her. She found her feet, felt the brisk slap of the ocean breeze, took a deep breath of cool common sense.

Then glared at him. “We’re on a public beach!” That was supposed to keep clothes and secrets safely in place. And lust under control.

He took his time sitting up, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his mouth. His lower lip gleamed wet in the flickering candlelight. “Not my smoothest move,” he admitted.

“We should go,” Nikki said. Another scream from down the beach drew her eyes that way. The flames in the teenagers’ fire ring were leaping higher, and even from here she could tell the party was rowdier than before. A third feminine shriek had her insides twitching.

Jay glanced in the same direction and grimaced. “She won’t be happy if she catches me, but I better check on Fern again.”

“I’ll do it.” The walk would clear her head and lower her body temperature. Though she was trembling, her skin felt hot to the touch. “You pick up the food and I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t want to think about what would happen after that. So she focused on the group down the beach, realizing even before she’d reached it that the number of partygoers had tripled in size. The music was as loud as before, and some of the kids were dancing. Girls gyrated, facing each other in little knots. Despite the fast tempo, couples swayed in slow motion, plastered together like they were having sex on their feet.

She smelled beer and the sticky sweetness of wine coolers. Skirting a sleeping bag, she noticed an entwined couple was snuggled inside. As she passed, the boy reached for a tall can of malt liquor half-planted in the sand.

A cold slick of sweat burst over Nikki’s skin as a few feet away she saw another boy, backlit by the fire, pour a stream of liquid from a Boda bag into a girl’s mouth.

She rewarded him with a voluptuous kiss.

He palmed her breast and she laughed, pushing him away. He pushed her in return and she ran, him taking chase.

Nikki wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and squinted through the smoke. Where was Fern?

A trek through the center of the party zone didn’t bring her any answers. She wound her way through more dancers, and then around a circle of young men playing drunken catch with a football. It was an older crowd mixed in with the younger, she noticed, but there was still no sign of Jay’s cousin.