The Lost Recipe for Happiness - By Barbara O'Neal Page 0,52
himself be adored, blinking happily, licking his chops every so often. “Can I take him down to my room until we eat?”
“Of course.”
“My dad has been making a CD for the restaurant. He’s in his office. I’ll take you there.”
Elena held up the bag of supplies. “I need to drop this off in the kitchen.”
“It’s on the way.” She rubbed Alvin’s head. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? I have a special bag of toys for you, and you can even get on my bed if you wipe your feet first.”
Elena grinned. “Alvin, don’t you start thinking you’re the king or anything.”
Portia’s eyes flew to Elena’s face. “Oh, am I spoiling him too much?”
Instinctively, Elena reached for the girl, touched her shoulder. “No, no. I’m terrible, Portia, seriously. He sleeps with me.”
“Oh, good.”
On the way through the kitchen, Elena dropped the bags of food, then followed Portia through the vast great room and up a set of stairs and over a walkway suspended over the hallway and great room. “Dad?” she called. “Elena’s here.”
At the end of the walkway was an open door where Julian appeared. His thick black curls were in disarray, as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them, and he wore a pair of wire-frame glasses that made her think of John Lennon. At the sudden, weirdly endearing sight of him, her heart gave a little jump. That nose—her weakness. Those curls.
He smiled, gestured her into his office. “Hi, Elena.”
She found herself smiling. “Hi, Julian. What have you been up to?”
“I’ll be in my room,” Portia said, and trotted back the way they came. Alvin pranced happily along beside her, his red and gold tail high and swishing.
Elena grinned. “She really loves dogs!”
“Yeah.” He seemed distracted, checking a piece of paper against another. “Have a seat. I’ll be done in two seconds.”
Elena looked around instead. The room was large, with cedar paneling on two sides, to give it that mountain feeling. A bank of dormers looked toward low black forest and mountains rising up blue behind on one side. French doors opened onto a balcony that presumably looked down on the courtyard. His desk was simple, heavy wood, his computer a sleek little laptop.
He typed some instructions into the computer and straightened. “You ready? I’ve been working on this all afternoon.”
“Absolutely. Go.” She sat in a chair by the desk and folded her hands.
“Oh, no,” he said, holding out a hand as the music started. “Don’t just sit there.”
“Do what, then?” The music poured into the room, Spanish guitar with a lilting and cheerful sound. She swayed happily. “This is great.”
“We can go downstairs. It’ll play through the house.” He came from behind the desk. “How are you feeling after the massage?”
“Much better.”
He took off his glasses as if to see her more clearly, and touched her shoulder. Elena noticed that he had not shaved today. Prickles of beard covered his chin, black and silver. Why was that endearing? She looked away.
“And you didn’t have any trouble over the tabloid crap?”
“Um, well, actually, yes.” She took a breath, letting him direct her toward the door. “Ivan saw it and he whipped up the kitchen pretty good.”
“Ah.” He paused on the walkway. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve got it covered.” She moved suddenly and the height made her feel a little vertigo. “Wow,” she said, grabbing the railing. “This is cool, but it’s also pretty high, isn’t it?”
“You okay?” He took her arm.
He was so close and she felt the dizziness of being so high, and for one hot long second, what she really wanted was to press her hand to his chest. Touch his tumbling black curls, the fan of lines at the corners of his eyes. The sultry tone of the music didn’t help. He bent close, his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said, breathlessly.
He kept looking at her face, and lightly pushed a lock of her hair over her shoulder. Elena clung to the railing, feeling a sense of being suspended in the air, as Julian’s eyes touched her mouth, her throat. She greedily devoured details of his face, the way hair sprang away from his temple, the skin so delicate that she could see veins carrying blood to his brain and imagination. She admired the arch of his dark brow, and the moment was so strange and high and out of time and space that she didn’t even think to move away when he took a step closer, and then bent down, and—