by LuAnn McLane
“I’m confused.”
“I would eat pizza just about every night of the week, but Arabella, Grady’s wife, sends over leftovers from the amazing dinners she prepares so that I get what she calls ‘proper nutrition.’ ” He did air quotes.
“Smart girl.”
“Hey, pizza covers all the food groups. But anyway, I have a pan of her kick-ass lasagna, rolls, and a tossed salad. Interested?”
Ava’s brain said no but her stomach cried, Yes, please, yes!
“Not enticing enough?” Jesse tilted his head to the side.
Too enticing, she thought, but remained silent.
“I also have a nice selection of wines and craft beers, and can make you just about any cocktail you might want.” He pointed to a cute tiki bar to the left of a glistening beach-entry pool. “It’s fully stocked and I know how to mix some mean vintage cocktails. Sidecar? Gin rickey? Manhattan? Or the simple yet sophisticated martini? I gotcha covered,” he said with a slight bow.
Ava licked her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she murmured, but a dirty martini was calling—no, make that shouting—her name.
Jesse jammed his thumb over his shoulder. “My house is full of cool stuff. Most people get a kick out of it. I’ll give you a tour later.”
“Um . . .”
“Come on, Ava. Why the hell not?”
Because Jesse Heart looked damned sexy and she adored dirty martinis, a combination that could lead to . . . just about anything.
“You deserve a night of relaxation after dealing with me all week,” he added with a crooked grin.
“You’ve got a point, there.” Ava couldn’t help but smile.
“We can swim later . . .”
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit to the photo shoot.” When he opened his mouth, Ava planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Don’t you dare say that swimsuits are optional.”
Jesse’s grin remained intact. “Well, they are, but I was simply going to say that the tiki hut has a closet filled with swimsuits, men’s and women’s, and of all shapes and sizes. I’ve got an extensive lost-and-found collection from over the years. It’s all clean, though, don’t worry.”
Ava looked over at the pool and nearly groaned. The one downside of her loft apartment was its lack of amenities. She could almost feel the cool water sliding against her skin.
As if sensing her wavering, Jesse started walking over to the tiki bar. “Come on, Ava, at least stay for a drink. You deserve that much.”
Ava stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds, but then told herself that Jesse was right. After all, what harm could one little ol’ drink do? With that thought in mind, she followed Jesse past the pool to the cute thatched hut. She sat down on a tiki-head barstool in front of a curved bar constructed of polished bamboo. On the back wall was a neon sign: a parrot and palm trees flanked script that read TIKI BAR OPEN.
Ava pointed to the sign. “So, open for business? When do you close?”
Jesse nodded. “No last call.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Tell me about it. What can I get for you?”
“A dirty martini.”
Jesse’s eyebrows curved upward. “Atta girl.”
“What, did you think I’d ask for something sweet and girly?”
“Yes, I did.” Jesse grabbed a shaker from beneath the bar. “But then again, I suspect you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You’ll never know,” she answered primly.
Jesse held up a bottle of chilled Grey Goose vodka. “Truth serum,” he said while measuring ingredients into the shaker.
“Not if I only have one,” Ava said, sternly telling herself to stick to a single martini. Otherwise, she’d be asking for trouble.
“As I said, no last call.” Jesse turned to what appeared to be a vintage teal fridge and returned with a jar of large olives.
“Is the refrigerator vintage too?” Ava accepted an olive he’d jabbed with a plastic sword toothpick and held out to her.
“No, just looks that way. Vintage ones use too much electricity and fail to have the all-important ice maker.” Jesse popped an olive in his mouth. He deftly assembled the martini and then strained the shaker’s contents into a large, chilled glass. He added two olives on a pink plastic sword and placed the drink in front of her with a little flourish. “Enjoy!”
Ava widened her eyes but then shrugged, thinking she’d have to walk home once she’d finished this, but she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip of the cold, crisp martini laced with the tang of olive juice just the same.
“How is it?” Jesse asked. She smiled in spite of herself. It was cute that he seemed to want her approval.
“I have to say, perfect.” Ava raised her glass in appreciation, knowing that a giant dirty martini on an empty stomach wasn’t her smartest move but that after a few more sips, she really wouldn’t care. “What are you having?”
“I dunno.” Jesse shrugged. “I usually just go for a beer, but you’ve inspired me to indulge in a cocktail. I think I’ll opt for an old-fashioned. I’m fond of good bourbon.”
“Me too.”
Jesse raised his eyebrows again. “Well, now . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replied, but Ava knew what he was getting at.
“You seemed surprised that I enjoy a good bourbon now and then. Like I should drink something . . . prissy.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ah, but you think I’m a stick-in-the-mud, don’t you?”
“Not until you used the phrase stick-in-the-mud, ” Jesse said, while adding bitters to his old-fashioned.
Ava laughed. “I guess maybe I am.”
“Still yet to be determined.” Jesse added a cherry and a slice of orange to his drink.
“Mmmm, twelve-year-old Weller,” said Ava, eying the bottle he’d used. “Excellent choice. A wheat bourbon instead of rye, softer, smoother, for sipping and for cocktails. Note the unusual burnt-orange color.”
Jesse glanced at the bottle. “I’m impressed,” he said with a slight grin. “Now just how did you become so conversant about America’s official drink?”
Ava arched an eyebrow. “Not many people know that fun little fact.”
“Hey, I only know a thing or two—and that’s all: a thing or two. I just make the drinks. Come on, fill me in.”
“My mother’s family owned a popular Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Chicago. Papa Gigi was known for his legendary cocktails at the bar in the restaurant. I was the hostess on weekends while I was in high school. I listened and learned.” Ava tapped her temple. “I used to enjoy watching Papa Gigi make his cocktails. He only used top-shelf liquor.” Ava closed her eyes and she could almost smell the tang of marinara sauce and garlic.
“Ah, a smile,” Jesse said, and then took a sip of his drink. “Tell me more.”
Ava opened her eyes and then lifted one shoulder. “Many of the regulars were older. I would hang on every word of the tales they’d tell. There was a dance floor, and this amazing quartet sang on Saturday nights. By ten o’clock, nearly all the couples would have gotten up and be dancing the jitterbug, the twist, the hand jive, or the stroll.”
“That’s really cool.”
“My nonna taught me to dance with them and . . . well . . .”
“The rest is history?”
Ava nodded. “You got it.” She took another sip of her martini, and for the first time in a long while, she started to really, truly relax.
“It sounds like you were surrounded by dance the way I was surrounded by music,” Jesse said while pouring some Spanish peanuts into a small bowl.
Ava nodded. “And food.”
“I’m guessing you must really know your way around the kitchen.” He popped a few peanuts into his mouth.
“Mmmm, I used to,” Ava said, and felt a pang of sadness in the pit of her stomach. “I enjoy cooking for someone other than just myself,” she added, and then hid her
expression behind the rim of her glass.
Jesse held up one hand. “I’m game.”
Ava didn’t know how to respond, so she just gave him a look.
“Just sayin’. And my kitchen is sweet. Looks vintage but it’s state-of-the-art. Maybe you could give me some lessons?”
“I’m already giving you dance lessons.”
Jesse took a sip of his drink. “Aha, so I need to put some lessons on the table in trade. Singing?”
“I have a horrible voice.”
“Hence the lessons.”
Ava shook her head in horror. “Nope. I’m afraid I’m hopeless.”
“Sing something.”
“No way!”
Jesse laughed. “Come on. You’re too gorgeous to have a horrible voice.”
Ava shook her head vehemently. “Take my word for it.”
“I’ll drop it until you finish the drink.”
“There’s not enough liquor on the planet,” she said firmly, because in truth, her conservative nature flew out the window when she’d had too much to drink—not that he was ever going to find out that little detail about her. “I think we should head into the house and have you show me your reheating skills.”
“Okay,” Jesse agreed, but then he reached for her glass and poured the rest of the contents of the shaker into her drink.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Yeah.”
“Ulterior motive?”
“I really want to hear you sing.”
“Not gonna happen.” Ava slid from the tiki-head stool.
“Which one?”
“Neither the getting drunk nor the singing,” she said, but she could already feel a warm buzz between her eyes.
Jesse laughed, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to reach for her hand. The idea appealed to her, and so she walked faster, needing to put some distance between them. She was still determined to keep their relationship strictly professional. Still, he managed to beat her to the door and held it open for her. Ava brushed by him, catching a whiff of his sexy cologne, thinking whatever it was he was wearing should be outlawed.
As soon as Ava stepped inside the back door, she stopped in her tracks. Her purse slid from her fingers and hit the knotty pine floor with a soft thud, but she didn’t even notice.
“Ava? Are you okay?”
Ava dimly heard Jesse’s question, but she put a hand to her chest and gasped. “Ohmigod.”
CHAPTER FIVE
GOOD VIBRATIONS
“Ava?” Jesse asked hesitantly, not knowing if her exclamation meant something positive or not. In his experience, an ohmigod could go either way. He watched her gaze dart around the room with one hand still at her chest. Jesse knew his surf-shack décor and extensive accumulation of 1960s memorabilia was a little over the top, but he simply couldn’t stop adding to his collection. “Ava?” he asked again, but she put her hand up to silence him and started walking around the living room, pausing, angling her head, studying, as if she were in a museum.
Jesse smiled. Ah . . . so it was a good ohmigod. Nice.
While Ava remained preoccupied, he took the opportunity to admire how stunning she looked in the sexy lace dress and strappy, barely there sandals she wore. Her toes were painted crimson, and God, those legs that seemingly went on forever made Jesse swallow hard. Instead of her usual tight ponytail or bun, her hair was in a loose knot at the delicate slope of her neck, demure and yet so sensual that his breath felt trapped in his chest.
Ava took a small sip of her drink and then stopped in her tracks when she spotted the jukebox in the far corner of the room. With a little gasp she hurried over and looked at the song selections, smiling as she read through the choices.
“Would you like to hear a song?”
“Yes, please!”
“Preference?”
“Oh, um . . .” She tapped the side of her cheek as if contemplating several selections. “The Beach Boys?”
“A particular song?”
“Anything. Surprise me.”
Jesse grinned. “You got it.”
While Ava moved on to his collection of beach-party movie posters lining the back wall, Jesse walked over to the jukebox and played the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations,” one of his all-time favorites. He glanced over to see Ava bobbing her head to the music. With the martini glass in her hand and her delicate necklace and slim build, Jesse thought she looked reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips while she ran a fingertip over a three-foot-tall statue of Elvis. Lucky devil.
Jesse took a swallow of his bourbon, enjoying how the cold liquid turned to heat in his throat. Ava seemed to be fascinated by everything she looked at, and although her reaction wasn’t all that unusual for many who entered his home, the fact that she seemed to be delighted by his place gave him immense satisfaction.
Jesse followed Ava into the kitchen and his smile widened when she gave a little cry of delight. “A surfboard for the kitchen island!” She turned and finally gave Jesse what he wanted. A smile . . . at him.
“Why not?”
She sucked in her upper lip for a couple seconds. “Okay, I have to ask.”
Jesse leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Ask away.”
Ava pointed to the surfboard. “Your idea?”
“Everything in here was my idea, including the house itself.”
“How did you decide to choose it?”
Jesse blew out a sigh. “It was pretty much in disrepair. I was told my best option was to tear it down and start from scratch, but I just couldn’t do it. It had too much potential, and there’s nothing I love more than a project.”
“Good for you.”
“It’s been a money pit, but also a labor of love.” Jesse waved his hand in an arc. “As you can see, I’m obsessed with the late fifties and sixties. Something tells me you are too.”
“Your something is right.” Ava nodded slowly. “It goes back to Papa Gigi’s restaurant. The music, the décor . . . and the people. It’s always like walking into the past, and for some reason, I feel a certain, I don’t know, comfort whenever I’m there. It’s still the same as it was the day it was built, and I hope they never change a thing.” She shrugged. “And my nonna and mama also introduced me to beach-party movies and to Elvis! Oh, how they both adore the King!”
“I’m a huge fan of Elvis too. And of course Frank Sinatra. Sometimes, I think that instead of being in a boy band, I should have been part of the Rat Pack.” Jesse grinned at her obvious delight in her surroundings. “So, you’re an old soul like me, then.”
“So I’ve been told.” She gave him a slight lift of one bare shoulder and smiled back at him. “I adore the music, the vibe, the fashion of that era. So much more romantic than it is now,” she said, but then blushed a sweet pink.
Jesse wanted to tell her how amazing she looked, but the air between them seemed to have cleared, so he refrained, reminding himself to keep things casual, friendly. But the off-the-shoulder dress was driving him crazy. He longed to start a trail of kisses over her collarbone and make his way up to her mouth. Adding to his torture, she licked her bottom lip and then plucked one of the olives off her little sword and popped it into her mouth.
Chewing, Ava pointed the little red sword at him. “You make a mean dirty martini.”
“Thanks. I’m a better bartender than cook. Okay, I’m a better anything than cook. But I will heat up the oven with impressive precision.” He looked down at his empty glass and frowned. “I need a refill. How about another martini while I open a bottle of wine to breathe?”
“I’m still nursing this one.” She held up her glass. “Plus, at this rate, I’ll have to walk home.”
Jesse walked over and turned the oven on to preheat. “I have a fun solution that I’ll show you later.” Staying over was his first solution, one that he would keep to himself. But he had another fun plan in mind too.
“Please don’t
say I should Rollerblade home.”
Jesse laughed. “Wow. That would be very retro of you, but nope.” He crooked his finger at her. “Follow me.” He wanted to hold out his hand for her to take so much that he had to shove it into his pocket to refrain.
“Wait.” Ava put her glass onto the surfboard island and then slipped her shoes off. She dangled the sandals from her fingers. “There’s not much to these, but they manage to hurt.”
Dear God, she looked so enticing holding the sexy shoes. He’d gladly give her a foot massage. Living in Florida, he’d seen countless bare feet, but hers were hands-down the sexiest feet he’d ever seen.
“Should I not have taken my shoes off?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You’re frowning at my feet.”
“I was just thinking that you have really pretty feet.”
Ava laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Almost never, but I am this time. You do! I’ve never seen such perfection. No wonder you dance so well.”
Ava lifted one foot a few inches off the floor and wiggled her toes. “Well, these dogs are usually barking by the end of the day.”
Jesse shook his head. “And yet you were willing to add a couple of hours to your routine for me. All I do is head to the music store to give lessons or to assist Grady at the foundation while you have to remain on your feet the rest of the day.”
“I’ve been used to long hours on my feet for years, especially back when I was competing,” she said, but when a shadow passed over her face, Jesse wished he hadn’t brought it up. He couldn’t imagine someone cheating when they had . . . well, her. “But I’m sure you know all about rehearsing.” She gave him a small smile, but some of the light had still gone out of her eyes. Jesse wasn’t a violent guy, but he’d dearly love to punch the jackass who’d hurt her right in the face. “Don’t you?”
“Oh yeah, we’re used to long hours of rehearsal,” Jesse answered, returning his attention to the present. “Especially when we did the Heartbeat reunion. I was always whining for a break, driving my perfectionist brother Oliver and slave-driver Arabella nuts.” Jesse’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl of his stomach. Oh right, dinner. He went over to the fridge to grab the lasagna.