by Jan Moran
“Full service, I’m impressed.”
She looked even more appealing in the soft glow of light overhead. Niall dragged his gaze away, uncorked the wine, and poured a glass. “It needs to breathe, but here’s to surviving.”
“To life,” she said, raising her glass to his.
His eyes lingered on her lips, and he recalled the kiss they’d shared in the stormy sea when he’d thought his time had come. In that instant, he would have given his life to save Fianna. And afterward, when he’d held her in his arms on the beach. It had been a perfect moment.
“I said, to life.” Fianna was watching him, a question in her sparkling mismatched eyes that were as unique as she was.
“Oh yes, to life,” he said. And for the first time in years, he meant it. He sipped the wine, never taking his eyes off her. What would Laila think of this? Suddenly he felt as if Laila were looking over his shoulder watching them.
Fianna turned on the water in the tub. It gurgled from lack of use, but soon turned to a steady stream.
“If you have everything you need, I’ll be off. Take your time and relax.” Niall closed the door behind him.
An hour later, when Fianna entered the kitchen in a white robe, Niall stumbled from his stool in the kitchen. She looked ethereal with her glossy red hair curling around her shoulders and pink-as-a-peach skin glowing with health. Her freckled nose was adorable, but the supple curves beneath her robe were even more inviting. But there was something more about her. He knew she was highly creative, but he also sensed her strength and substance. “Have a good bath?”
She stretched. “The best. I thought I’d never wash the sand from my hair. How was yours?”
“Best ever,” he said, slowly smiling. “Hungry?”
“Famished. I smell something wonderful.”
“I hope you like waffles. Seems it’s all I had in the house, and fortunately, I found a waffle iron to go with the mix. And maple syrup, too, though that might be too sweet with the wine.” He made a face, and he liked the way her eyes lit up in response. “With or without syrup, we can eat outside. The moon is full, and the view from the deck is not to be missed.”
“Wine and waffles.” She laughed. “Sounds perfect.” They wandered outside and sank onto a cushioned outdoor sofa.
The moon hovered above, casting a luminous glow across the ocean that stretched out before them. From their vantage point high on a Malibu cliff, they watched as perpetual waves rolled to the shoreline, where multimillion dollar homes lined the beach. “The sea sure looks harmless from a distance,” Fianna said.
Her wide eyes took in the view, the house, and the property, and Niall could tell a thousand questions burned on her tongue. Or had she been jaded by Malibu, Beverly Hills, and other swank parts of Los Angeles? He knew plenty of women who sized up a man’s wallet first. At heart he was a simple man, though he enjoyed the fine quality of things. Including the genuine heart of a fine woman. Like Laila.
Fianna could hardly believe the turn of events this evening. Here she was, having waffles and wine on the balcony of a handsome man’s Malibu mansion after nearly drowning.
“I forgot the napkins,” Niall said. “Be right back.”
Watching Niall pad barefoot through the open door, Fianna thanked her lucky stars. He was a fine sight to behold. After his shower, he’d changed into a worn pair of jeans and another flowing white cotton shirt.
She speared a bite of waffles. They tasted so good after what she’d been through. The evening certainly hadn’t turned out the way she’d imagined. Except for the nearly drowning part, it had been a night to remember. Her designs had been well received by everyone at the important event, including the media. With any luck, she’d have coverage in Fashion News Daily.
She lifted her glass to her lips and felt the tension of the past few weeks easing from her shoulders. Between hurrying to complete new pieces, organizing the outfits, coordinating models, and a hundred other details, she’d hardly had time to sleep.
Let alone date.
Lyrical music floated through the air, and Fianna closed her eyes, appreciating it. It was the same music he’d given her for the show.
Niall. Who is this man? He was such an enigma, appearing out of nowhere, and yet he was instinctively knowledgeable about her style and what her show needed. They’d nearly perished tonight, but in that moment of vulnerability, they had connected at such a pure, honest level.
“I’m glad you like my music.” He eased beside her, a clean lavender scent wafting from his damp hair.
“You wrote this?” When he nodded, she added, “And I thought you were a struggling, wanna-be musician. You sure had me fooled.”
“I don’t like to advertise. Music has been good to me. It’s just what I do.” He took her hand in his, and his magnetism drew her in.
They sat listening to the music and watching the endless tides, breathing in the night scents of jasmine and honeysuckle that tumbled in vines along the cliff top.
Fianna slid a glance toward him. Niall was different. There was a reticence about him that she hadn’t seen in a man before. Most of the men she met wasted no time in making their desire for her known.
For all her independence, creativity, and free-spirited thinking, Fianna was a little shy around men she found attractive. The more she felt attracted to them, the worse it was. Besides, her creativity held her heart, and her business demanded her time. There was little time left for dating.
She asked Niall about his music. He told her he was a songwriter and played both the piano and the guitar. He wanted to know more about her business and what she planned to do, and before long they were resting comfortably against each other on a double chaise lounge, mesmerized by the rhythm of the ocean, the canopy of stars overhead, and the sound of each other’s soft laughter. To Fianna, it was the perfect end to a day fraught with challenges.
When Niall drained the bottle into her glass, she clinked his glass and sipped, never taking her gaze from his soulful green eyes. Sad eyes. What was disturbing him?
As if reading her mind, he bent his head toward hers and said, “Tonight, despite anything else going on in our lives, we celebrate being alive. We were a breath away from death, but we were spared. For what reason, I wonder?” He brushed her forehead with his lips, and Fianna raised her face to his.
She didn’t know how long she’d been lost in the warmth of his lips when he pulled away, nestling his body next to hers. He began to hum, and then sang softly to her in a rich, rugged baritone that was achingly heartfelt. Somewhere deep within she recognized the pain of loss in his voice. She’d heard this loss in the voice of her friend Verena, when her parents had been killed in an automobile accident.
That incident was what had brought Fianna to Beverly Hills when she was just eighteen years old. Her aunt Davina knew Mia Valent, Verena’s grandmother, who had founded a now legendary skincare salon. When Davina had flown to Los Angeles for the funeral of Mia’s son and his wife, she’d seen that Verena needed help with her younger twin sisters, Anika and Bella. And Fianna, who was soon on her way to study fashion design at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles, needed a place to stay and a part-time job.
It had been good for all of them. Mia had been battling cancer, and though Verena was just Fianna’s age, she had stepped in to run the family business that supported all of them. Essentially, Fianna was the nanny, living in and picking up the twins from school, taking them to doctor’s appointments and ballet lessons, and shopping for groceries. The Valent family became her surrogate family, and Fianna and Verena were as close as sisters.
Watching Verena learn how to run and expand the business had inspired Fianna to start her own line and rent space for a boutique when she was barely out of school. And every month, Fianna wrote a check to Davina, repaying her faith and investment in her abilities. Davina had given Fianna money to open her boutique on Robertson Boulevard, but she was retired now, and Fianna knew she was living on a
fixed income.
Niall began to hum another song, and again she wondered what sadness filled his soul.
The cool ocean breeze brought a chill to the night air and Fianna curved into the warmth of Niall’s body. Their brush with death tonight seemed to have pierced the veil of reserve she usually had. He continued singing, his chest rumbling. She recognized a Celtic lullaby and it filled her with nostalgia. His voice grew steadily softer.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and the events of the day caught up with her. As she drifted to sleep, the last thought on her mind was again, who is this strange, beautiful man?
4
FIANNA WOKE TO the sound of birdsong the next morning. Niall was curled protectively around her on the chaise, his breath warming her neck. They were high above a marine layer of fog that blanketed the coastline below.
The events of the night before rushed to her mind. The success of the runway show, the fierce tide that had nearly cost them their lives. Niall’s deft handling of the evening, the waffles and wine they’d enjoyed under the stars, the sound of his voice, and the taste of his lips on hers.
Except for the raging tide, it was all she’d imagined in the recesses of her mind, where hope and wishes and dreams resided. Niall had been completely unexpected, but not unwelcome.
She shifted in his arms, and he tightened his grip on her, as he murmured in his sleep. “Mmm, Laila… missed you so much.”
Fianna froze. Laila must have been the source of his sadness. A girlfriend? “Niall, wake up, you’re dreaming. It’s morning.”
“Hmm?” His eyes fluttered open, and Fianna saw disappointment flood his face. He sucked in his breath. “It’s you.”
She managed a wan smile. “That’s right. Not Laila. Sorry.”
He frowned in confusion and rubbed his eyes. “I must have been dreaming.”
“I’d say so.” She sat up and swung her legs over the wide chaise lounge, hiding her despair. She was still wearing her robe from last night. She tugged it around her as if for protection against the torrent of feelings that rushed within her. How could she have such strong feelings for someone she’d known a few hours? “I need to change. If Kaitlin’s home, I’ll borrow some clothes.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll check for you.” Yawning, he got up and made his way through the door.
He returned in a few minutes with a blush pink cotton sundress and thong slides for her feet. “Kaitlin is still asleep, but she won’t mind.” He paused. “I’m in desperate need of coffee. How about you?”
“I really have to go. My car is still parked at the event site. Will you give me a lift?”
“Of course.”
Niall ran a hand through his hair and stepped toward her, clearly uncomfortable with her presence. She could hardly blame him. He’d been expecting Laila, whoever that was, and he woke with her instead.
“Fianna, last night was incredible. One of the most magical nights I’ve had in a long, long time.” He drew his hands along her shoulders.
For a moment, she was tangled in his gaze, but she averted her eyes. As she did, her attention was drawn to a large painting of Niall and a fair-haired woman mounted over the fireplace in the living room beyond them. They were on the beach, their arms entwined, their expression one of pure love. She hadn’t noticed it last night because it was dark, and they’d gone through the kitchen door.
At once she knew. Laila wasn’t a girlfriend. Niall was a married man. She pressed a finger against his full lips. “You don’t have to say anything else. I understand. And nothing happened here. Nothing at all.” Though that wasn’t quite right, she stepped away and hurried inside with the clothes, angling her face from him so he wouldn’t see her grief.
What a romantic fool she was. This is why I don’t date much, she told herself firmly. She’d rushed after him like a silly schoolgirl, eager to thank him for his music, and look what happened. She’d nearly drowned and become involved with a married man. I can sure pick them.
She dressed as quickly as she could. When she left the bedroom suite, Niall was already standing by the door waiting for her, keys in his hand, sunglasses obscuring his eyes.
He tried to make conversation on the way, but Fianna had her guard up. Her answers were brief and left no openings. When they pulled alongside her car, Niall got out to open her door, but she beat him to it.
He stood with a hand on the door, sizing her up.
“Tell Kaitlin thank you for the clothes, and I’ll get them back to her in a couple of days.”
Niall removed his sunglasses and stared at her. “Fianna, what’s wrong? You seemed so… different last night. I know we’ve just met, but was it something I said or did?”
She glared at him. “I saw the painting in the living room. Your wife, I suppose?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Laila?”
He swallowed and nodded, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Well, then, there’s nothing more to say.” She opened her car door and slid inside.”
“Wait, let me explain something.”
Fianna started her car. “Do us both a favor. Don’t.” She put the car in reverse, backed out, and then headed toward the 101 highway that hugged the Malibu coastline. When she glanced in her review mirror, she saw Niall staring after her, his arms held wide, his palms still upturned as if in question.
She blinked the blur from her eyes and drove on. No doubt about it, that man would break her heart.
“Congratulations, Fianna! Did you see the Los Angeles Times this morning?” Verena spun a newspaper around on the table at Bow-Tie, her sapphire eyes shimmering with happiness.
Fianna gasped and sat down. She’d stopped at her apartment to bathe and change, but she hadn’t had time to see a newspaper. As she read, she raked her teeth across her lower lip. Photos from the show were printed on the society page. Three in all, and of her best designs. She blew out a breath. “I’m so relieved.”
Verena grinned and sipped her grapefruit juice—fresh squeezed, Fianna knew, from the grapefruit tree that still stood on the restaurant’s property. Verena was dressed in black yoga wear, her pale blond hair in a messy bun, and her flawless complexion a testament to the skincare line she’d just launched. Her family’s legacy skincare salon and business had been taken over by a devious investor, and Fianna was glad to see that she was making a comeback.
Verena’s boyfriend, Lance, and his partner, Johnny, often opened their Beverly Hills restaurant to friends and family on Sunday afternoons. As a chef, Lance liked to try out new dishes he’d been working on, and everyone enjoyed catching up in a welcome break between their busy schedules. Johnny was in charge of guests and ambiance, though the vintage cottage that still graced a street in the commercial shopping district hadn’t needed much help when they’d opened earlier in the year.
“Listen to this,” Fianna said, running her finger along the newsprint, which still smelled of printing ink. “It says, ‘Fianna Fitzgerald, an up-and-coming young designer, took on the monumental task of organizing a show just two weeks before The Pink Ball. But there were no frayed edges in Fitzgerald’s show.’” She squealed with joy.
This made up for the disappointment Fianna felt about Niall. And wasn’t that always the way her love life seemed to work out anyway? Married. She should have known. No wonder he’d gone backstage with his sister. Wearing dark sunglasses, he could ogle the models all he wanted.
A chair scraped beside her, and a petite dark-haired woman dressed in a sage green shift dress and strappy sandals slid in beside her. “I wanted to see you so much I practically ran from church,” Dahlia said, hugging Fianna. “What a smashing debut for you.” She grasped Fianna’s hand, and her vivid green eyes clouded with concern. “And what a dreadful way to end the evening. Are you okay now?”
Fianna nodded. “A little bruised, but I’m fine. And I’ll never forget to check for high tide again.” She inhaled deeply, and the scent of gardenias filled the air. “New perfume you’re wearing?”
/> “It’s a new formula I’ve been working on.” Dahlia shrugged with modesty. “What do you think?”
“Hmm, lovely,” Fianna said, her eyes half-lidded in contemplation. At heart, they were all creators. Verena with her skincare line, and Dahlia with her perfume. “It reminds me of gardenia blossoms after a rain shower, at that moment when the sun’s first rays fall on the wet leaves and blossoms.”
Dahlia looked impressed. “You have a good nose.”
“I still wish I had a signature perfume for my brand.” She’d asked Dahlia if her family company could create a line for her, but Dahlia’s grandmother Camille, who’d run the company for decades, had politely declined. “Your brand is not large enough yet, dear,” Camille had told her. But Fianna wasn’t giving up. She had an idea. “Dahlia, I thought Camille might like to see this review of the runway show.”
Dahlia quickly read it, and then lifted her gaze to Fianna. A smile played on her lips. “Of course. I’ll give it to her.”
It was a long shot, Fianna knew. Just because she was friends with Dahlia, didn’t mean Camille would commit funds to a new, unproven brand. She hadn’t built a global portfolio of perfumes by taking unnecessary risks.
“Fianna, don’t you have something else to share with us?” Verena pressed her lips together with barely concealed glee. Fianna knew what was coming next. “So tell us about last night. You stayed at Niall’s house?”
“We fell asleep on a chaise lounge on the balcony. But nothing happened.” Fianna realized that wasn’t quite accurate. She thought of the way he’d curved his body around hers and the way he’d sang her to sleep. How quickly she’d lost a piece of her heart to a man she hardly knew.
Her heart was too easily lured, too often broken. On the other hand, her art nourished her soul, and if she allowed it to, it could consume her, day and night. Most of the time, she let it do just that.
“For a woman,” her mother had told her, “you have an unnatural ambition, an unhealthy obsession with work. You’ve become such an American,” she added with disdain. Her mother had meant it as an insult, but Fianna was proud of her accomplishments. She was keenly aware of the dedication and persistence required to be successful in her field.