What a Girl Wants (7 page)

She hummed in agreement. Her rooftop garden was her pride and joy. She’d started it as a meditation, before she realized she wanted to make skincare products for a living. Her landlord had given her exclusive use of the entire roof once he saw what she’d done. She paid extra rent, but it was worth it. This was her favorite spot, and she didn’t like having just anyone there. It was like inviting a stranger into her heart.

“You know the cactus thing you gave me?” Belle asked.

Ariana grinned as she cut some verbena off. “It was an aloe plant.”

“Whatever.” Her sister waved her hand. “It’s all shriveled now.”

“Aloe doesn’t die easily.” Hands on her thighs, she sat back and checked her phone again.

“Well, this plant preferred to commit suicide over living with me.” She leaned her head back. “It must have been male.”

“Hmm.” No word from Sebastian yet. He was supposed to pick up his shaving cream today; it was packaged and ready to go. On the bottle, she’d drawn a little devil, pitchfork and all. She grinned, thinking about the name she’d given his batch.

Where was he? She checked the volume on her phone, to make sure she’d hear if he called from downstairs to be let in.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

She glanced at her sister. “What makes you say that?”

“The way you’re preoccupied with your phone.” Belle’s brows raised from behind her sunglasses. “That’s not like you, especially when you’re in your garden.”

“I just have a lot to do today.” She set her phone next to her and tried to recall what else she needed today.

“And I’m in your way,” Belle summed up, sounding like she didn’t care.

“You’ve been in my way all your life.” She grinned at her sister.

“I love you, too.” Belle rested her head so her face lifted to the rare late morning sun. “So, what’s his name?”

Ariana stilled, staring at her sister. “Excuse me?”

Belle’s lips curved in her sly way. “You always get weird when you’re preoccupied with a guy.”

“I’m not weird,” she protested.

“He must have a dreamy voice, because I haven’t seen you in such a tizzy since that scrawny dude who sounded like God.”

“Joel wasn’t that scrawny,” she lied.

“A-ha!” Belle pointed at her. “You didn’t deny it. This new guy
does
have a dreamy voice. I knew it. He doesn’t have a hoofed foot or a third nipple, does he?”

“Of course not.”

Her sister gave her a sidelong glance. “So you’re saying you’ve seen him without his clothes on.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Was it her, or did it suddenly become really warm?

Fortunately, her phone rang and saved her from replying. Jumping to answer it, she felt a rush when she saw it was the front door. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she buzzed whoever it was in.

“Uh-huh, you aren’t acting weird at all,” Belle said, standing up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, picking up her basket of herbs.

“Going to check him out.”

“No.” Ariana shook her head, barring the door to the stairs. “No way. You stay here.”

“Like hell I am.” Belle poked her in her ribs.

She squealed, squirming to escape being tickled. “That’s not fair, Annabelle,” she yelled after her sister, who shot down the stairs, laughing. She ran after her, trying not to sprinkle herbs in the stairwell.

“Oh,” she heard Belle exclaim.

Ariana rounded a corner and ran into her sister’s back. “What—”

“Am I interrupting?” Sebastian said in his dark chocolate voice.

She shut her mouth abruptly, her mouth dry.

Belle gave her a knowing look over her shoulder before she held her hand out to him. “I’m Annabelle Warren. Who are you?”

“Sebastian Tate.” He flashed a smile at her sister.

His smile was too charming. Ariana frowned. What was he trying to do, seduce Belle? She pushed her sister aside. “Annabelle was just leaving.”

“I was?” her sister said, staring at Sebastian with way too much interest.

“Yes.” She pushed Belle toward the stairs. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Yes, you will.” She shot Ariana a look that meant she was going to get answers and then winked at Sebastian before leaving.

“Cute kid,” was all Sebastian said as she let him into her apartment.

As she closed them inside, she noticed the portfolio tucked under his arm. “You seem like you’re ready for work.”

“I’ve got ideas, and I know I’m only going to have one chance to make you see how good they are.” He gave her a bright smile that radiated excitement for life. It overwhelmed her studio, filling it with testosterone and hope.

“Ready to get down to business?” he asked, slipping off his coat.

Probably not the sort of business he had in mind.

Crossing her arms, she told her libido to shut up.

He seemed oblivious. He went to the dining room table and set his portfolio down on the only bit of surface that was free. He took out a packet and handed it to her. “I put this together yesterday. Take a look. I did some brand and market share analysis. I made some social media goals as well as some magazines and TV shows I’d like to target.”

For a second, she got caught up in his voice, its timber striking a chord deep inside her.

But then the thick sheath of papers he arranged on the table distracted her. She sat down at the table, staring. “What is all this?”

“A breakdown of your demographic”—he pulled out a chair and joined her—“and a comprehensive list of your competitors and what their strengths are, as far as I can tell. But I’m not in your demographic, so you’d be a better judge. I also printed out some examples of successful brands that have interesting correlations to yours. I thought we’d see what we could borrow and adapt.”

“You did all of this?” she asked, staring at the thick sheath of papers. She flipped through it, gaping when she saw how thorough it all was.

“It’s just a quick snapshot. I need to do more in-depth research once we determine what the long-term picture is.” He stretched his arms overhead, his biceps straining his shirt. “But since our goal is to get distributed at Whole Foods—”

“That’s not my goal.” All thoughts of his yummy arms fled as she gripped the piece of paper, her muscles clenching at the thought of something so big. Something so big had the potential to collapse unless it was fed right; she’d listened to her dad and Belle enough to know that much.

“True,” he conceded. “It’s Edward’s goal.”

“And my dad is delusional.” She stared at him. “Say it with me. Edward Warren is delusional.”

“Edward Warren is delusional,” Sebastian repeated dutifully. He shrugged. “Except he’s not, because getting into Whole Foods is a worthy goal.”

“But it’s not what I want.”

“Then tell me what you want,” he said with patience.

She waved her hand to encompass her studio. “I have what I want.”

He looked around her place. “This is it? You wouldn’t rather have a real storefront to work out of instead of your living room? You wouldn’t want a bigger place, or a real bedroom?”

A separate bedroom. . . . She sighed at the thought of such a luxury. She wouldn’t have to make her bed every day like she had to with the futon. “I still don’t want the sort of world domination Edward envisions.”

“Why not?” He held his hand up to forestall any argument. “I just want to understand.”

“What world leader is ever happy?” she murmured, overwhelmed.

“I can’t argue with that.” His chair creaked as he teetered on the back two legs. “That doesn’t change Edward’s point of view.”

“Dad’s point of view is skewed since he’s retired.” She folded her arms. “Don’t tell me you do everything your dad tells you to do.”

“My dad doesn’t try to run my life, because he’s gone,” Sebastian said, setting his chair flat on the floor. “I think I’d happily endure his meddling if he were alive again, but maybe I’m wrong.”

She blinked. Open mouth, insert foot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “It was a long time ago. They were all I had though, and sometimes that hits me hard.”

Her parents were all she had, too. She tried to picture them not being around but it was impossible. “You have your cousins in London now.”

“I do,” he said, lighting up. “I’ve been staying with them to get to know them the past few months.”

“Are they very posh?” she joked, angling away from the business on the table and toward him.

“Actually, they are.” He mirrored her pose. “They grew up nobility. Impoverished, because their father was an ass, but nobility nonetheless.”

“I wonder what that’s like.”

He shrugged. “It’s not really anything.”

“You say that like you know.”

“Well, I
am
the tenth Earl of Amberlin.” He brushed invisible lint from his shirt.

“There is that.” She grinned at his self-deprecation. “It’s got to have perks.”

“Yeah. I get to act pompous whenever the mood strikes me.” Then his expression softened, deepening. “And I suddenly have a large family I care very much about.”

She wondered what she’d feel like if she had no one. A world without her mom and Belle was hard to imagine. Her dad, though . . .

Who was she kidding? She’d hate it if anything happened to him. He may drive her crazy, but she loved him.

Shaking her head, she said, “Is your family twisted like mine?”

“Isn’t that redundant? The word family is a synonym for twisted.” He leaned back, stretched his arms overhead. “Whenever I start to get worked up, I think about how boring life would be without them.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, because his voice couple with the sight of his taut biceps was too much for her starved senses. “I’ll have to try that,” she said faintly.

“What are you doing?”

Like a plant to the sun, she caught herself leaning toward his voice. “I’m picturing a boring life, because I’m worked up.”

He chuckled. “By your family?”

The “Or me” hung in the air. She shivered, feeling the vibration of his amusement dance on her skin. She opened her eyes and found him close.

Tantalizingly close.

He looked into her eyes and said, “We should discuss changing the branding of your products.”

She jerked back like he’d physically poured ice water over her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“You’d sell more product if the packaging were sleek and sexy.”

Sleek and sexy were so not in her mission statement. “You know who wants to make more money? My friend George. Maybe you guys could talk.”

Sebastian frowned. “You’ve mentioned George before. You appear to be good friends.”

“We are.” She frowned, too. “Why are you acting so strange?”

“I’m not,” he said tightly.

“But you are.” She stepped away, wondering if his gravitational pull was affecting her. “Look, if you don’t want to help George, just say so.”

“If I talk to George, will you at least look at the thoughts I had?” he asked.

She didn’t want to, but she nodded. “I don’t promise anything.”

“Fair enough.” He smiled. “Do I still get the shaving cream?”

She walked over to the table and picked up what she’d formulated for him, with coconut oil specifically to moisturize his skin. She may have poured a little extra care and attention into it. She liked his face.

Before she could analyze that more, she handed it over. “On the house.”

He held it up and studied the label. His grin was slow and lit his entire face. He pointed to the devil. “Is this supposed to be me?”

“If the horns fit.”

“Did you draw this?”

She crossed her arms to keep from doing something stupid, like touching his smile. “I used to draw.”

“You’re good,” he said, studying the caricature.

“At doodles.” She shook her head. “I’m not good enough to make a living at it. My mom didn’t pass that on to me.”

“Your mom’s an artist?”

“A successful one, but it’s a recent career. She only started painting ten years ago, I think.”

“You named my shaving cream Tempt Me.”

She shrugged.

“Is that a wish or a command?”

“Neither.”

“Are you sure?”

She really wasn’t. She pushed back and stood. “Aren’t you leaving?”

He followed suit, tossing the bottle in the air and catching it. “I can’t wait for this.”

“The shaving cream?” she asked, walking him to the door.

“That, too.” With a wicked grin, he left her apartment.

“So that just happened,” she muttered, staring after him. If only she knew what
that
was exactly. She put a hand on her wildly beating heart, wondering when she’d find out.

‡

S
ebastian was crossing Fillmore Street when suddenly Esme appeared in front of him. “Did you meet Ariana?” she asked.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that she was there accosting him. “Yes.”

Her gray gaze became oddly intent, her body leaning toward him. “And?”

And he liked Ariana—the kind of like that led to being chased by an angry father and his shotgun.

Esme smiled knowingly. “Oh good. Keep it up.”

He frowned. How could she tell? “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, trying to deny it.