Page 7 of The Devil's Detail
My mind wanders off to Jackson in leathers. I’ve always fantasised about him and his brother, Jonno. Although I must say, over the past few months, with Jackson being in LA more, our paths have crossed a few times, and it’s left me wanting more of him. His mellow energy compared to Jonno’s frenetic one soothes my nerves.
But I have to behave myself. If I over-flirt, or go over the top in general, he’ll shut me down. Tell me to fuck off. This is about security first and foremost, and to be honest, it’s a huge worry for me. My security bills could eclipse the national debt of a small country. And the kicker is, I don’t feel any safer for it. In fact, recently, I feel worse. I don’t know who to trust, and my paranoia—which is at def con three on a good day—is firmly in charge.
I stroll into the cute little cafe to see Jackson at the back. He looks out of place. Larger than life. And that’s saying something this close to the worldwide phenomenon of California celebrity culture. His being shouldn’t be contained in such close confines. He needs to be outside, free, unencumbered by the trappings of chic society.
Shit, I need to stop. My paranoia is bringing out the crazy side of my personality. And that will not help me today with Jackson.
I focus on the Daisy Cafe. It’s one of the cutest cafes in Malibu, but also one of the kitschiest. Gawdy colours and mismatched chairs and tables give it an eclectic charm. None of the teacups or glasses match either. The cup I had last weekhad a Hawaiian dancer on it. My plate was decorated with aeroplanes. Everyday it’s a surprise. And I love it.
The man who owns the cafe ran one of the best food trucks on a film lot I worked on. So when he decided to give that up and open up near the beach, I helped him out. Invested a not-insignificant sum in the place. In exchange, I have free food and drinks for life. But more importantly, he looks out for me. Gives me a little safe haven near my beach home.
“Hey, Jackson, how are you honey?” I stride up and go straight to shake his hand. I’d air kiss him, but I’m not sure I could keep my lips from his skin, so I opt for restraint. Not normally my first choice.
He grins at me as he stands to greet me, his large hand swamping mine, and I’m not a small guy. His dark brown hair has light caramel natural colours at the ends. My mouth waters at the thought of him, how he would taste—rich, sweet, decadent. But I keep my voice light and natural. I don’t want him to know how quickly I’d dump all the security stuff in favour of an afternoon with him. How I’d trade all my close protection for him to keep me really, really close. I try to hide the smirk that’s in my mind.
“You alright? You look a bit—” He pauses and then states, “Off.”
Christ. I’m going to have to keep it together. He is more astute than the average bear. Security has to be the order of the day.
“Shall we get a coffee? I’ve ordered an iced latte, what will you have, Carter?” His voice is like perfectly chilled lemonade on a hot veranda. Roses, lavender, sunny skies, and cool shade. Aaand he’s watching my face again. Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought.
“I’ll get my usual. I come here a lot. Dave, the guy who owns the place, I helped him start it up. This is on the house, sugar.”I waft my hand around as if I’ve delivered some sort of exquisite banquet for him. Checking around the cafe, I wave at Dave, and bring my eyes back to Jackson. Not a hardship at all.
But I can’t sit still. Instead I’m twitching, and constantly turning my head to check out the other diners.
Jackson settles his large frame back in the booth, surveying the two other diners, the outside parking area, the restroom doors, the counter. He studies everything intently, and then turns back to me.
“Where are your security staff?” The conversational tone doesn’t take the edge off his intense stare. “Why are you here alone?”
He’s tapping the table with his long fingers, and my eyes are drawn to them. To the veins popping up on the backs of his hands. I have to stop myself from reaching out and stroking the length of his fingers. He’ll leave, and sue me for harassment. And if I was in any doubt that this is not a cosy chat amongst friends, he just blew that illusion to smithereens.
“In the parking lot,” I lie smoothly. I’m not an A-list actor for nothing.
He nods as if that’s satisfied him. Well, they probably will be here by now. I shot out of the house, telling them it was a personal visit I was on. But I could see them a few cars behind me. At least they haven’t barged in here yet.
“Okay, so why am I here? You’ve got security. A lot of it.” He raises a perfectly formed eyebrow at me. And I’m going to expire if he keeps doing that. “Why do you need more close protection?” He studies my face as I try to explain my predicament.
“I do have a lot of security, honey, but I don’t feel safe. And that’s a problem. Someone is selling my stories, my whereabouts, and therefore god knows what else.” My southern drawl gets more pronounced the more agitated I get. And there’sno way he misses the distress in my voice, but his face doesn’t change, his calm demeanor firmly in place.
“You got proof?” His calculated tone hits me hard.
I shake my head. “I can’t say it’s this person or that, it’s just… stuff.”
I feel like a complete idiot, and a total novice. Of course I should have collected evidence. I can’t go around with accusations with no back up. But I know itishappening. I’ve been around long enough to know when something isn’t right.
“I need you to help me out. I need you to be my close protection. I need—” Desperation seeps into my voice, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t do close protection for anyone. I have staff for that. I coordinate, I oversee, but I don’t get involved hands-on anymore.”
My face drops, and he sees it. I’m surprised when he gentles the very firm tone he just hit me with.
“Carter, look, I run the company, but all my staff I would trust with my life. Some I have done.” He pauses and looks out the big front windows. “But I don’t think your existing security team is going to be happy with my outfit turning up.”
He sits back and relaxes, his brush-off delivered with calm confidence. He’s a man in control of his world and surroundings. God that confidence is a turn on. I can feel myself getting flushed. Get a grip, Maywood.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. The white T-shirt he has on pulls taught over his chest muscles as he lays his arms across the back of the booth. My mouth is dry. What I wouldn’t give to see that divine scrap of fabric off his virile frame and on the floor. A sliver of skin appears near the waistband of his jeans, and I have to stop myself from leaping over the table and licking it.
I look over my shoulder instead, giving myself some thinking time by perusing the little cafe again.
