Taste Me

Nikki was twenty-three, a recent college graduate, just returned from a grand tour of Europe—two months sunning in Ibiza, partying in London and wining and dining in Venice. When he’d asked about museums and landmarks, Nikki talked about power-boating with Guiseppe and lashing Simon at the Dungeon. Julian shuddered to think.

“Jules, luv, you’ve got to give me a job!” In full drama princess mode, Nikki threw herself horizontally onto the new leather sofa that had replaced his dad’s old leather one. She swung her feet onto the armrest, kicking away a pillow needlepointed by their mother, beloved by their father and sneered at by the designer who’d “done” the office when Julian moved in.

“Why?” he said, even though he already had an idea of how to combine their objectives. But Nikki had to think she’d persuaded him into giving her a real and valuable position in the company. She would treat a make-work job like the rest of her gifts—from the first edition Little Women left out in the rain to the Aston Martin she’d crumpled on the gatepost of their country house when she was applying lipstick in the rearview mirror while practicing her British accent.

“I can’t be a decorative but useless heiress forever. Maybe for another few years, but what happens then?” Nikki waved her arms, happily chattering away while Julian listened with one ear while paging through his stack of messages. “Nobody cared about Stella McCartney until she started designing for Chloé. Gloria Vanderbilt had her jeans, Paloma Picasso did perfume….” She paused, reflecting on her ancient predecessors. And he’d thought she knew nothing about history.

“Look at Sofia Coppola.” Nikki sighed. “I want to be my own person. I want respect. I mean, I didn’t go to all the trouble of hiring a look-alike ringer to take my college finals only to hang the degree on a wall and never use it. But does anyone—”

Julian interrupted more forcefully. “Nikki, tell me you didn’t.”

She grinned at him from her supine position, her long dark hair spread across the cushions. “You’re so easy to tease.”

He rolled his eyes upward to ask his dad for forbearance, much as he had when Nikki had first informed him that she was getting a journalism degree so they could work side by side. If Jim Silk was watching, he was getting one helluva kick out of Nikki’s latest idea. Nothing would have made him happier than to see his girls kept safe and close under Julian’s protection. He’d said so, in fact, over the beep of heart monitors and the sobs of his wife. How could Julian decline the chore?

But there were limits. “Nik, do you really think you can just march in here and be handed a plum job?”

“Why not?” Nikki wrinkled her nose. “That’s the point of being the boss’s sister. And a shareholder. Anyway, who died and made you king?” She giggled at her wit. “Besides Dad.”

“I worked my way up.” At his sister’s age, Julian had also hoped to choose his own career. Race-car driving, he remembered with some embarrassment. But he’d been the good son and had done as his father wished, starting as an intern at one of the Silk publications and moving from position to position until he knew all aspects of the business. When his father had died unexpectedly with the company in disarray, Julian had been well prepared to take over the reins.

Nikki sat up and flung back her hair. Uh-oh. She must be serious.

“I’m willing to do that,” she said. Quite earnestly. “I’m not asking to be the next Anna Wintour by tomorrow. I can start as a columnist.”

Julian humored her. “What kind of columnist?”

His sister scowled, distorting her pretty face. “I don’t want to tell you because I know you’ll say no.”

“Oh god. Not Leather & Chrome,” he said, citing the motorcycle magazine that was one of their smaller, more obscure publications. Nikki had gone through a rebellious biker-chick phase when she was seventeen. Their father’s death had curtailed it before she could crack her head open or fall in with a truly dangerous crowd.

“Julian! You know I’m a vegan now. Leather is cruel. Plus, it really stinks and it made me sweat like a pig.”

“Of course. I forgot.” If something was a trend, Nikki would follow something.

Aha. Trendy. Which of their magazines was hottest right now? That was where his sister would want to go.

The answer came instantly: Hard Candy. Home of bikini-clad bimbos and tips on oral sex.

Nikki would be employed there over his dead body.

“How about a fashion magazine?” he suggested. That way, she’d only do damage to her credit cards.

She shook her head. “High fashion is for rich old white women.”

He wanted to ask her how much she’d paid for her spike-heeled boots, distressed jeans and the skimpy snipped-silk top that showed off her navel ring, but he resisted. The last time he’d questioned Nikki’s look, she’d come home with a tattoo that had sent their mother into a week-long dither. If he let her loose at Hard Candy, she’d be researching sex toys in a week. Or worse—posing for a spread wearing edible undergarments.

“Watch out. I may start you at Puppy Monthly.” Julian turned over a page in the ad sales projections for next spring. “What ever happened to Frodo, anyway?” Frodo was the teacup Chihuahua Nikki had carried in a designer bag everywhere she went…for about a month.

“He’s Mom’s now. She took him with her to the Vineyard while I was vacationing and got attached.”

“So that’s who was yipping in the kitchen last time I visited. I thought the cook had gone off her Zoloft again.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Usually that’s easy to do.”

“I know.” Nikki sighed. “But I’m serious this time. I want to do something with my life.”

“You could get married, like Lis.” At twenty-nine, Elisabeth Silk Reingold was the oldest sister. She and her husband, Sam, lived in the Nashua countryside and had two little kids who called him Uncle Julie and gave him kisses that smelled like peanut butter.

“I’m way too young to get married,” Nikki said, appalled at the thought. She studied her brother for a moment and apparently decided that he couldn’t be serious. Her lips twitched. “I’d rather be like Very. She knows how to have fun.”

Julian groaned. Very, short for Veronica, was the middle sister and his worst nightmare. She’d been in college and on track for a responsible life when their father’s passing had hit her like a locomotive. Soon after, Very had dropped out with a vow to live every moment to the fullest. Ever since, she’d been racing with a jet-set crowd of club kids. When in residence, she stayed out till dawn, partied like a maniac and slept till noon, only getting clean and sober to pay sporadic visits to their mother. Next to Very, Nikki was almost responsible.

Maybe giving her a job wasn’t a bad idea. She probably wouldn’t stick it out, but at least for the short term it’d be easier for him to keep an eye on her.

Nikki’s lashes flickered. “I was thinking I could write for…”

Not Hard Candy. Anything but. Julian seized on the idea he’d been toying with at the back of his mind ever since she’d barged into the office.

He held up a hand. “Wait. I have an assignment for you.”

“An assignment? One measly assignment?”

“You don’t start off as a columnist, Nik. That’s a prestigious position you have to work up to. Most of our writers broke into the field doing freelance assignments.”

“Oh.” Nikki brightened. She got up and approached his desk, exuding genuine interest. “What’s the assignment?”

Julian wondered if he was being smart. It could be disaster, bringing Nikki and Mia together. But setting his sister free to find her own story could lead to worse.

Plus, this way he’d have reason to see Mia again.

Not that his throbbing dick needed an excuse.

He shifted at the thought. “It’s a simple project, to start you off. If you do well, I’ll think about giving you a permanent position.” At the magazine of his choice. “I want you to do background research on an artist. We’re thinking of featuring her in a, uh, fashion layout, so I need you to—”

Nikki clapped her hands. “A feature article! Yippee!”

“Hold on. I didn’t say you’d be writing the article. The first step is gathering background information.”

“But why can’t I write the article?” Nikki climbed onto a desk chair on her knees. “No way am I doing the drudge work so some other writer can sashay in and slap their name on my story.”

“That’s how it’s done.” Sometimes, but not for a relatively minor piece like this one. Mia Kerrigan might get a three-paragraph blurb. The focus of the layout would be on her luscious works of art.

Nikki leaned forward and put her elbows on his desk. Her boots stuck up in the air behind her. “Please let me write the article.” She reached a hand across his desk. Batted her lashes. “Pretty please.”

He gave her hand a pat, feeling very fatherly except for his motivations. Those were, well, sort of sleazy. But Nikki was an easygoing kid. She’d laugh if she found out his motive was dating and mating Mia. So…why not get two birds with one stone?

“We’ll see,” he said, “if you’re responsible and thorough about gathering the preliminary research.”

Nikki popped up. “Fab!” She went and grabbed her bag—a slim leather clutch now that Frodo was ensconced at the beach house with their mom—and pulled out a wafer-thin PDA. She stood with poised stylus. “What’s the deal? Got a name and number?”

Julian turned on the phone and buzzed his executive assistant, Dustin Sheppard. “Shep, will you call Petra Lombardi over at…her office and get Mia Kerrigan’s number for Nikki?”

“For Nikki?” came the disembodied voice.

She made a face at the intercom, temporarily holstering the stylus.

“I’m sending her on assignment. She’ll be out in a minute.” Julian checked his schedule. “Send my next appointment in as soon as she leaves.”

“Yessir. Whatevah you say, sir.”

Julian disconnected. “Wiseass.”

“Who, me?” Nikki laughed. “Is there anything you can tell me about this artist? Like, what does she do, since it’s a fashion layout—paint fabric? What’s her name again?”

“Mia Kerrigan.” Instantly, Mia’s baby-doll face and full lips sprang to mind. They’d shared sweet candy kisses, but Julian figured Mia for being a tigress in bed. She had spark, verve, an electric energy. She had bite.

Nikki watched him through slitted eyes. “She must be a dog.”

“Not at all. What makes you say that?”

“Because you’d already have her number if she wasn’t.”

“You make me sound very superficial.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot. Females of any shape, form or species are fair game to the man who would be the World’s Greatest Lover. Is she married?”

“Not as far as I know.” Julian frowned. “And watch your mouth.”

Nikki strutted to the door. “Julian, luv, regardless of deathbed promises, you’re not my father.”

“But I am your older brother and I do hold the purse strings.” Their father had put Julian in control of the estate, though he had no authority over the trust funds that were released as each sibling reached age twenty-five. Very was going through hers like water.

“Give me some credit,” Nikki said. “For once, I’m trying to earn money instead of spend it.”

“And I’m proud of you.” Julian joined her at the door. He kissed her cheek, relieved that she hadn’t noticed how he’d avoided the question about Mia’s career. Nikki would find out about the body painting soon enough, but he wanted her to think the potential layout and article were for a fashion magazine, not Hard Candy. “I expect you’ll do a fine job.”

“Thanks.” Nikki hugged him. She’d always been an affectionate girl. Even when she’d sent a strippergram to a board meeting on his birthday, Julian couldn’t help forgiving her. He felt the same way about the rest of the aggravating Silk women. If he hadn’t cared so much for them, the burden of his father’s expectations might be too heavy to contemplate. As it was, Julian managed by telling himself that at least he never doubted that they loved him back, even if they were doing their best to turn him gray before his time.

THE NEXT DAY, Mia was sitting on the top rung of scaffolding in a Riverside Drive ballroom when Nikki Silk arrived. The Gormans’ butler—an honest-to-goodness butler even though he was dressed casually since the owners weren’t in residence—announced the visitor with a twinge of annoyance before bowing out, firmly shutting the double doors behind him. Mia made a mental note to thank the old guy for looking after her on his downtime, even if he was only guarding her from stealing the silver.

“Hello?” the visitor called.

Mia switched off the hip-hop music blasting from her portable disk player. “Give me a sec,” she bellowed, misjudging her volume. She nudged away the earphones. “I have to finish the gold-leafing while the sizing is tacky.”

“That’s all right. I can watch.”

Mia glanced down at the rookie journalist whose face was turned up toward the ceiling arches. Nikki Silk was young, pretty and dressed like a crackpot Daisy Mae in a flared denim miniskirt, short white leather jacket and ankle boots with teeter-totter heels.

“I guess you’re related to Julian?” Mia pounced her horsehair brush on the gold leaf she’d just applied. Small flakes drifted down onto Nikki’s hair and face.

“Cool,” she said, puffing at one of the snippets of gold. “I’m his sister.”

Aha. Interesting. “He sent you here?”

“Well, he gave me the assignment.”

“Is he serious?” When Nikki had called yesterday, Mia had felt suspicious enough of Julian’s motives to consider denying the interview request. But if the proposed article was legit, the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Nikki put her hands on narrow hips. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Not you. I meant the article. Is he serious about the article?”

“He’d better be.” Nikki cocked a leg and crossed her arms. Her boot tapped the marble floor. “I’ll shave his eyebrows while he’s sleeping if he’s setting me up.”

Mia wasn’t reassured. “Setting you up? Is that something he does frequently?”

“Not really, but he doesn’t take me very seriously.”

Mia thought of the women who reportedly dropped in and out of his love life like ducks at a shooting gallery. “What does he take seriously?”

Nikki picked a shred of gold leaf off her lip. “Lots of stuff,” she admitted. “If you want to know the truth, he’s kind of a bore, working all the time and giving orders. He thinks he’s the boss of me, but he’s not.” She reconsidered. “Except I guess he would be if I get on to the Hard Candy staff.”

“Then you’re not already?” Definitely a setup, Mia decided as she peeled off another sheet of leafing, carefully laid it on the last bit of ungilded arch and pounced the brush to fill the crevices of the carving. She just couldn’t figure out what game Julian was up to.

Nikki’s voice rose to the twenty-four-foot domed ceiling. “I might as well confess. This is my first story.”

Mia peered through the scaffolding. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“Yes, but now that I’ve met you…” Nikki grew silent as she looked around the ballroom. Even littered with painting tarps, ladders and assorted supplies, it was an amazing room. Tall dove-gray walls were adorned with gilded French-style molding. The stone floor was flecked in gray, black and pink. Sconces and elaborate wall candelabra dripped crystals that matched the immense chandelier, presently shrouded in a protective linen covering.

“What’s the problem?” Mia prodded.

“I’m confused. I thought you were involved in fashion, somehow. Julian tried to steer me toward working for a Silk fashion mag…” Nikki shook her head, gesturing at the room. “But you’re a—a—”

“Decorative painter. I do a little of everything—trompe l’oeil, gilding, faux effects, murals.”

“That’s great, but I can’t imagine what kind of a fashion layout he’s thinking of.” Nikki looked up at Mia, her eyes growing wide. One side of her mouth lifted. “Or maybe I can imagine. That dog.”

“Really.” Mia set aside her brush and the packet of leafing and started to climb down. “You mentioned Hard Candy, so I thought you knew about me.”

Nikki stepped away from the rattling scaffolding. “Julian didn’t say much at all. He might even have been secretive, now that I think about it.”

Mia swung her body down the last few rungs and dropped to the floor. “Why is that?” she asked.

At the same moment Nikki said, “What does Hard Candy have to do with decorative painting?” She frowned. “Or fashion.”

Mia studied Julian’s sister, who was six or seven inches taller and at least fifteen pounds lighter than herself, reed thin in the way of young girls and anorexic ballerinas. She liked Nikki anyway. The girl had marched in here for an interview despite her lack of experience. There was moxie in those willowy genes. Maybe resilience.

“There’s been a mix-up of some sort,” Mia said, taking a flier that she could trust Nikki not to run back to her brother and tell all. “We need to share our information.”

Nikki nodded. “And get the better of Julian.”

“Is he putting one over on me?”

“One of us. Maybe.”

“Then let’s put our minds together. You start.”

“I think…” Nikki looked Mia up and down, taking in the corkscrew curls and splattered canvas apron. “Even though you’re not his usual, and he was playing it ultracool with me, he fancies you.”

The odd stirring in the pit of her stomach disturbed Mia. Arousal she could identify and take care of. This was more than arousal. “Oh,” she said, scoffing at her own reaction, “fancy is way too polite a word for what he feels for me.”

“Yes.” Nikki laughed. “He wants to frank you.”

“Frank me?”

“That’s what my girlfriends call it when we’re being silly. You know, serve you the foot-long, the pork sausage, the—”

“I get it.” Foot-long? If the rumors about Julian Silk’s equipment and prowess were true…

Mia corralled her thoughts before they made her dizzy. As attractive and exciting as Julian was, she didn’t need the distraction right now. And she really didn’t need to be another of his throwaway “dates.”

But he could be hers. Fun all the way around.

Mia blinked. Forget about playtime. Consider your career. “So you think he sent you here to gather information on me for his own use, not an article?”

“That’s possible,” Nikki said. “And it wouldn’t be the first do-nothing task he’s set for me—all with good intentions, according to him. When I interned at the family company one summer, Julian actually assigned another intern to shadow me and keep me out of trouble.” The girl smirked. “Didn’t work, of course.”

“I’ll bet.” Mia almost pitied Julian the responsibility of looking after Nikki. Not that he deserved any lenience, since it appeared he gave as good as he got.

“I suppose you’re right—he’s playing us both.” She flapped gold flecks off her apron. “Damn. My career could have used the boost of publicity.”

Nikki swung from side to side as she gestured at the glorious ballroom. To have such a space in Manhattan was the epitome of luxury. “You seem to be doing fine without the publicity.”

“Ah, but that’s where my explanation comes in.” Mia lifted the apron off and laid it over a rung of the scaffolding. “I’m not only a decorative painter, though that’s been my bread and butter. My true calling is body painting.”

“Body painting?” Nikki’s penciled brows made twin Arcs de Triomphe. “Is that a career?”

“Not for many. But I’m getting there. I’ve painted for parties, for galleries, and the past year I’ve gotten several advertising jobs that have drawn attention in the media and in the trade.”

“Like what? Oh, wait a mo.” Nikki dug through a denim shoulder pack until she withdrew a micro-recorder. She fiddled around, rewinding the tape and testing one-two-three before she was satisfied. She held it out and clicked a button. “What advertising work have you done?”

Mia opened her mouth, but Nikki made a quick dive at the recorder. “I’m talking to Mia Kerrigan, body painter.” She held it out again. “Go.”

“There were a few small print ads, but my most well-known work so far was for the Living Color cosmetics campaign.”

“I know that one!” Nikki squealed. “Finally my clandestine subscription to Elle pays off. You’re talking about the ads where the models were painted in makeup colors…?”

“Yes, to reflect the product names. For the River of Color line, I painted several models like a rushing river and we photographed them lying head to toe among rocks and rushes.”

“The peach!” Nikki spoke into the recorder. “Tell about the peach.”

Mia grinned. “The peach caused a minor sensation. That was for their Peachy Keen blush and lipstick. A few magazines banned the ads and the company was delighted. The brouhaha over censorship gained them tons of free publicity.”

“All because the peach was really an ass, right?”

“Well, yes.” She’d painted Angelika’s derriere so skillfully it had looked absolutely authentic when photographed close up with extraneous body parts cropped out. The resulting ad had been beautiful and luscious, but fairly unremarkable. The kicker had been when the reader turned the page to a similar photo of Angelika’s outthrust bottom with a male model poised to take a bite, one hand squeezing the sensuous curves of the “peach.”

Mia brought Nikki over to one of the window seats that overlooked the street and told her about doing the Living Color ads and how that had led to a certain notoriety. She spoke about the art pieces she painted and photographed on her own time, for her own pleasure, but also how she was building a body-painting portfolio. Her ultimate goal was to win the gold medal at the upcoming International Expo and have a gallery show.

Nikki proved to be less scatterbrained than she first appeared. She paid attention to the details and asked smart questions. The only area that Mia glossed over was her family background. Her parents had requested anonymity long ago, but it still hurt a bit to be reminded that they were ashamed of her ventures.

After a while, the butler came back and looked inside. “Still here? I suppose you’ll be wanting refreshments.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, thanks.” The butler flustered Mia. He was too posh for her blood, even when he was practically off duty. While her parents’ wealth was fairly impressive, it was never ostentatious. She came from good Puritan stock, where parsimony and modesty had ruled for generations.

Nikki, however, had no problem giving the butler orders. “Actually, I’m parched. Fetch me a Perrier and lime, will you, luv?”

“I should be getting back to work,” Mia said.

Nikki checked the recorder. “You haven’t explained about the Hard Candy connection yet.”

“I recently completed a body-painting assignment for the magazine’s cover.” She described the edible woman theme and how she’d achieved the look. “Julian was there, and that’s when he mentioned a ‘fashion’ layout, with the models wearing only my paint. It’s odd that he didn’t tell you.”

“Not that odd. He didn’t come right out and say so, but I know my brother. He doesn’t want me to work at Hard Candy.”

“Why not? Is he like W.C. Fields?”

“Huh?”

“Thinking you’re too good to work for your own—Oh, never mind.”

“It’s simple, really, but devious of him. He said you’d be featured in a fashion layout, but not what kind. Obviously because he didn’t want me getting in at Hard Candy. The magazine is pure sex. Even the offices are pretty well testosterone saturated, and my brother is so overprotective,” explained Nikki. “Or he tries to be. I usually don’t let him, except when he gets this weary expression and I start to feel sorry for him, because he does have to deal with the three of us and even I can imagine what a headache that is.”

“Three sisters,” Mia said, remembering the bachelor bio.

“There’s me, Very and Lis. Since our dad died, Julian feels responsible for us. He’s really very patient and loving. We all know we can count on him, no matter what kind of trouble we’re in.”