Over Exposed (2 page)

She was here to work. Not ogle the guests. Or guest, as the case may be.

She stood silently while he laughed, trying not to notice how hot he was. Or how drunk.

It took him at least a minute to calm down, and when his laughter finally died, he still wore that smile that made her want to beg him to kiss her.

She bet he was one hell of a good kisser.

And that's probably not all he's good at
.

Too bad she'd never find out. Although she could probably read about it in
In Touch
or
In Vogue
or whatever the hell those magazines were that her mother devoured when she put her feet up at night after working eight-hour days cleaning hotel rooms.

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Hicks. I didn't mean to offend you. I shouldn't have—”

“Sabrina. Stop.”

She snapped her mouth closed, though she couldn't shut off her brain. She wondered if he was about to send her home, ending her four-month career with the Golden brothers and their boutique Haven Hotel and new Haven Retreat.

It was a dream job, especially for a girl with an associate's degree in hotel-restaurant management from a community college and a dream of putting that career to use somewhere other than a Motel 6.

He kept staring at her with those hazel eyes and her heart began to pound so loudly she heard it in her ears.

“You didn't offend me,” he said. “I've got a pretty thick skin. And you're not wrong. So yeah, I could use some food. If you don't mind.”

No, she didn't mind. Hell, she
wanted
to cook for him. Which was stupid and foolish and, if he knew what she was thinking, he'd pat her on the head and give her a pitying little smirk.

“Sure.” She gave him what she hoped was a pleasant smile. Not an
OMG, you're so fucking hot, I want to climb you
smile. “I'll just see what they have in the kitchen. Anything you don't like?”

He snorted, not loud but audible, then shook his head. “Not really.”

She kept her smile plastered on, even as her heart continued to pick up speed. Why was he looking at her like he couldn't decide whether to send her packing or . . .

Or what?

He's definitely
not
looking at you like he wants to take you to bed
.

Obviously, she was reading way too much into the man's expression. Considering the fact that he was mostly drunk, it'd probably be a good idea for her to leave. Now.

“Okay.” She perked up her smile a little as she started to retreat from the room. “I'll see if there's any steak.”

There's a nice slab of beefcake right in front of you
.

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks again and desperately tried to control it. It was a damn good thing he couldn't read her mind.

“Why don't you take a shower? By the time you're done, I'll have something for you to eat.”

He never took his eyes off her, and she had to control her impulse not to run all the way to the kitchen. Away from him.

Because if she stayed . . .

“Sabrina.”

His voice stopped her in her tracks just as she was about to make her getaway through the door and into the hall.

“Yes?”

“Will you eat with me?”

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart flipped into double time.

Whoa. Slow your roll. He's bored
and you probably look ready to agree to anything
.

“Uh, sure. If you want the company.”

“I do.”

Ooh-kay then.

She smiled. She couldn't help it. He looked at her with those eyes and that mouth twisted in a little smile and her thighs clenched.

Oh, this was
so
not good.

“Great.” She took another step backward, hoping she didn't make a complete fool out of herself by slamming into the wall or doing something equally embarrassing. “I'll see you downstairs then.”

She turned, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw she was right at the door. And it was open.

She took that as a good sign and made her escape downstairs to the kitchen, where she took a moment for a deep breath before opening the freezer. She considered sticking her head in there for a minute but realized she needed to cool down more than her head, and she didn't think her entire body would fit.

When Tyler had called her an hour ago and asked her to do him a favor, she'd never considered refusing. Until she'd heard what he wanted. Then she'd actually thought about saying no, thinking up some excuse as to why she couldn't come up here to take care of world-famous producer Greg Hicks.

Her youngest brother had the flu. Her middle sister needed a ride to her SAT test tomorrow. Her younger sister had wanted her to go shopping for a dress for the school winter dance.

All true and all of which her mama said she could handle. And Sherrilyn Michaels Rodriquez could handle pretty much anything, including two deadbeat ex-husbands and eight children.

So Sabrina could handle one cranky, hunky, way-out-of-her-league, world-famous Hollywood player.

First . . . food.

She was a decent cook. She'd been cooking for her brothers and sisters since she'd been old enough to figure out how to work the stove. Okay, she was more than a decent cook. She was pretty damn good.

But Greg was probably used to eating in four-star restaurants with gourmet chefs.

“Well, that's too freaking bad,” she said out loud. “He's stuck with me.”

And, oh sweet Jesus, she was stuck with him. For the night, at least.

Twenty minutes later, she had steaks on the indoor wood grill, thick-cut, rosemary-spiced fries in the oven, and a green salad in progress when he walked into the kitchen.

“Smells great.”

She'd heard him coming down the stairs so she wasn't surprised. But she shouldn't have turned around to look at him because, holy crap, the guy made all her girly parts riot.

He hadn't shaved completely but he'd trimmed his stubble down to a shadow. A very sexy shadow. His hair was wet but now it curled even more. And his eyes seemed brighter, clearer.

He still wore a tight black T-shirt, but this one said Bad Religion across the front. She assumed it was a band, but not one she'd ever heard of. Her musical tastes tended to be more girly. Adele. Pink. Old Christina.

“Steaks and fries. Protein and carbs. Hope you're hungry.”

“Starving, as a matter of fact. Thanks.”

God, that voice. It made her—

Okay, time to pull yourself together. You can't melt into a pile of goo every time the guy speaks
.

Pasting on “the smile” again, she flashed it at him over her shoulder. “No problem. That's what I'm here for. Why don't you go into the dining ro—”

“How about we eat in that lounge with the fireplace? Okay with you?”

And there went all those girly parts rioting again. “Sure. No problem.”

She turned back to the steaks, expecting him to leave. Instead, she heard him lean against the worktable behind her.

“So how long have you been working for Tyler?”

Keeping her back to him, she put the steaks on a plate. She'd made two for him and one for her but she wasn't sure she could eat it sitting across from him.

Every time he looked at her, her stomach flipped. Sweet Jesus, she was acting worse than a kid.

Which was so freaking ridiculous. He was just a guy.

Enough is enough, Sabrina Jeannine. The guy's almost old enough to be your father
.

The voice in her head was her mama's, and she totally agreed. She needed to snap out of this and do her job. Treat him like she would any other guest.

But he wasn't
that
old.

“I finished my degree in May and started with Haven in June. I couldn't start full time until mid-September because I'd already committed to the catering company for the summer. Tyler has been really wonderful about my schedule.”

Retrieving the fries from the oven, she tipped them into a bowl before putting everything they'd need on a serving tray.

“Yeah, Tyler's a great guy.”

She heard something in his tone that sounded like wry amusement. Frowning up at him, she opened her mouth to ask another question but he shook his head and took the tray out of her hands.

“Come on, kid. Let's eat. The food smells great and now I'm starving.”

So she was back to “kid” again. Alright, maybe that would help.

She followed after him before she realized they didn't have drinks.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Just bring whatever you're having.”

Well, she was having a glass of milk. And it wouldn't hurt him to have one, too. But she'd also bring a couple of water bottles. Greg didn't need any more alcohol, that was for sure.

So now you're his mother?

No, damn it. She wasn't. Her last boyfriend had accused her of trying to mother him. Then he'd accused her of trying to smother him. Which she probably had. It was a habit she couldn't quit. As the oldest of eight with a mother who worked long hours just to keep them fed and clothed, she'd either had to step up or . . . well, there really hadn't been a second option. Not for her.

With a sigh, she put the water and the glasses of milk on another tray and made her way to the lounge off the larger common area. The common area was built to function like a gathering place and held an array of gorgeous furniture, much of it antique. Annabelle Elder, the local antiques dealer, had exquisite taste when it came to choosing diverse pieces that worked together, and she'd outdone herself with this room.

Sabrina preferred the lounge, though. It was meant to be used by only a few people at a time and had a large flat-screen TV, the only common room that did. Not even the intimate bar off the dining room had one.

Greg hadn't turned on the TV. Instead, big band music flowed from hidden speakers connected to satellite radio.

She noticed he'd put the food tray on the small table against the opposite wall from the door but she didn't see him right away.

It took her a few seconds to realize he sat sprawled out in one of the leather club chairs in front of the large picture window that looked out over a small courtyard. Right now, there was a cobblestone patio surrounded by a boxwood hedge and beyond that, a wall of trees. The property was almost completely enclosed by a small forest of pines and oak.

And they were all covered with an increasingly heavy blanket of snow.

He looked deep in thought so she didn't say anything, just took her tray to the table and began to set out the plates and glasses.

A minute later, she continued to fuss with the silverware, which was infinitely safer than taking the seat opposite Greg and asking him what he was thinking about.

Whatever it was, it was deep. Or maybe he really was just that drunk.

She sighed, the sound louder than she'd intended, and turned to tell him dinner was ready.

Only to gasp when she realized he stood only inches behind her.

“Holy crap!” She took a step back and bumped into the table, then reached for the chair to steady herself. He reached for her at the same time, grabbing her shoulders. “Jeez, Greg. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry, hon. You okay?”

Was she okay? Oh, hell no. Not when he still had his hands on her shoulders. Oh, my God, the guy had big hands. And he towered over her by at least a foot, which meant she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

He ticked off every box on her perfect-man checklist.

And he was totally off limits.

Blinking, she looked away then sidestepped him, having to control a grimace when he released her. Then she gave him another totally plastic smile, which was beginning to make her face hurt. “I'm fine. Thanks. Why don't you sit down?”

He pulled out a chair and she paused a beat before taking it. “Thank you.”

“I
was
raised with a few manners.”

She couldn't help herself. She gave him a look he correctly interpreted as “Oh, really?” as he began to laugh.

“You have a whole flock of little brothers and sisters, don't you? I bet you've perfected that look over the years.”

Had he actually asked Tyler or Kate about her? Or had he just taken a wild guess? She made sure to swallow the bite of steak she'd taken before answering. “I'm the oldest of eight. Had to develop skills to keep the minions in line.”

His smile made her blood fizz and pop.

“Minions, huh? How old?”

“Seventeen, fifteen, two thirteens, ten, nine, and five. And yes, my mama did have me very young. She was sixteen. My sperm donor didn't stick around long and she basically raised me herself. My grandparents are great but my mom . . . she's something special.”

He nodded, that smile still curving his lips. “Sounds like it. Did she teach you how to cook? The steaks are great, by the way.”

That really shouldn't make her so damn proud. “Thanks but no, not my mom. My nana is a great cook and, since my mom worked a lot, I picked up a lot of tips.”

“You took care of the younger ones. Must have been tough being a teenager with all those kids around.”

Since he looked genuinely interested, she considered as she chewed. “Not really. I mean, I had friends and boyfriends.”

Well, she'd had a huge group of friends, including guy friends she'd sometimes dated. She hadn't really had a steady boyfriend until college. And even then, none of them had made her feel a tenth as hot as this man did.

“What are you thinking?”

Her cheeks flushed as she considered telling him exactly what was going through her head. A year ago, she might have. Today, she had a job she loved that she wanted to keep.

And he was a guest of the boss. And his best friend.

Greg sighed and her head popped up in time to see him shake his head, his eyes steady on hers.