Just the Sexiest Man Alive(71)

Well, at least lately he wasn’t that kind of guy. Truth be told, until about a month ago, he didn’t have much of what some people liked to call “scruples.” And the sans-scruples Jason would’ve known exactly what to do in this situation.

As he continued to pace in front of his bed, Jason ran through several points of fact he believed to be highly relevant.

Fact one: Taylor Donovan was hardly any sort of “helpless” woman. In fact, she’d probably consider it an affront to her feminist sensibilities just to be thought of that way.

Fact two: Was it really seducing, per se, if the woman initiated things?

Fact three . . .

Jason drew a blank. Wait—there had to be a three. There was always a three.

But indeed, there was no three.

Because deep down, in his heart of hearts, Jason knew that letting anything happen with Taylor that night would be the wrong thing to do. He’d wanted her to stay with him because he’d felt things earlier that day that he’d never felt before about any woman—first when he heard she’d been in a car accident, and then the enormous relief he felt when he rushed into the emergency room and saw she was okay.

He had not invited Taylor over so that he could take advantage of fortuitous circumstances. Even if they were turning out to be some really fortuitous circumstances.

Jason sat down on his bed with a resigned sigh.

Fucking scruples.

A PHONE RANG somewhere in the distance.

Taylor came to on the chaise lounge. She realized the ringing was coming from inside her room. Her damn cell phone. She really needed to turn that thing off once in a while.

Taylor dragged herself over to her suitcase, where she’d packed the cell phone inside. She fell back on the bed and answered. It was Derek.

Yes, yes, she assured him, she was fine. Yes, she would be back in court on Monday. No, she was not playing hooky, smoking pot, and banging bongos naked with Matthew Mc-Conaughey. That was next weekend’s plan.

After hanging up the phone, Taylor yawned and stretched out on the bed, trying to shake the sleep from her head. Funny—she didn’t even remember lying down. The last thing she recalled was climbing that Mt. Everest of a staircase as she followed Jason to her room. And then . . . nothing. Although for some strange reason, she had a craving for chocolate chip cookies.

Even though she’d only been awake for a few minutes, Taylor felt as though she could lay on that bed forever. Maybe they had room service at Casa Andrews. She imagined herself picking up the phone on the end table to order. “Um . . . yes, hello. I’d like one Sexiest Man Alive, please. How would I like that prepared? Hmm . . . naked, if you have it.”

Taylor covered her mouth and giggled sneakily. Now there was an idea . . .

Right then, there was a knock at her door.

Jason! He’d somehow read her mind! He knew the things she’d been thinking, the naughty things she’d been thinking! About the bed and the chaise and then the sunken tub in the bathroom and then that thing she’d briefly considered about the top of the dresser and—

Jason knocked again. More insistently this time.

“Taylor? Can I come in?”

Taylor ran over to the chaise lounge to make it look as though she’d just woken up. She quickly mussed her hair. Then smoothed it. Then straightened her clothes and casually positioned herself just so.

“Sure, come in,” she called out calmly.

Jason poked his head inside the door. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Yes, just.”

Jason cocked his head questioningly. “I thought maybe I should order us dinner.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

He gave her a strange look. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

“It’s the fire.” Taylor pointed.

Jason nodded. He paused awkwardly.

“Pasta, then?”

“Yes, delicious.”

“Good. I’ll see right to it.”

“Lovely. Excellent.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Jason left, shutting the door behind him. Taylor fell back on the chaise, exhausted.

Sometimes this witty repartee of theirs was so damn draining.

AS PROMISED, THEY had pasta for dinner. Wolfgang told Jason that he normally didn’t make personal deliveries, but for him, he’d make an exception. As long as Jason would in turn be willing to drop by Spago sometime that week with a few dozen of his paparazzi friends.

Unfortunately, Jason wasn’t sure Taylor even tasted the dinner he’d so lovingly and thoughtfully commanded be brought to them. About three forkfuls in, she’d abruptly stood up from the dining-room table and, tottering about like a drunk person, carried her plate into the living room while declaring couches to be far more comfortable places to eat. By the time Jason had followed her there, she had already abandoned her plate on the floor in front of his couch and appeared to be settling in for a long winter’s nap.

Thinking he might as well get comfortable, too, Jason took a seat next to her. With the push of one remote control button, the 110-inch screen of his projector television smoothly dropped down from the ceiling. He quickly found the Lakers game and dug into his lobster diavolo, thinking Taylor hadn’t exactly been wrong about the whole eating on the couch thing.

Somewhere during the second half of the game, Taylor shifted in her sleep and rested her head on Jason’s thigh. He looked down at her, curled up next to him on the couch, and realized there was no other way he would’ve rather spent his Friday night. Despite the fact that she was essentially comatose, she somehow made his whole house feel different just by being there. Before it had been just a house—a very impressive house no doubt, but a house nonetheless. But for some reason, with Taylor there it felt more like a home.