First Kiss by Kylie Adams Page A

K. Parikh of the Tribeca Skin Center. And second, there was nothing wrong with her outfit. A little saucy, yes, but she had the body to pull it off. So there. "This will probably come as a shock, since you live your life in the tabloids, but not everything they print is necessarily true."
    "I guess that means you know who I am."
    Kiki grinned. Such an easy setup. "I have to admit that it did take me a minute. You're hard to recognize without a bimbo by your side."
    He raked her up and down with an appreciative glance. "You're definitely the same girl from this morning's paper. Do you have any real clothes, or do you always dress in fabric swatches?"
    Kiki had to give him credit. A come-on disguised as a soft-landing insult. Only the truly advanced pickup artist could pull off that move. But she had a better one. "Funny. If the hotel thing doesn't work out, you should consider joining the cast of Queer Eye . I hear they're real big on bitchy fashion humor."
    Fabrizio's face registered the hit. For a microsecond, twin splotches of red stained his cheeks.
    Kiki moistened her lips. Questioning a playboy stud's manhood was the ultimate abuse. And she loved dishing it out. Did that make her a dominatrix?
    "So enlighten me. What part of today's news is fact, and what part is fiction?"
    "If you must know, I met Tom Brock for the first time yesterday. In fact, I never even shook his hand."
    "Not much for small talk, huh? You just like to get right to it?"
    Kiki glowered at him. "No, not at all. The simple truth is that a charm fell off my bracelet." A thought struck her. "Wait a minute. I'll prove it." She began digging through her handbag. "It's a Juicy Couture bracelet, and the little heart charm came loose and landed under Tom Brock's feet." Where the hell was it? Suddenly, an image came to mindthe bracelet on her bathroom counter. Damn. "Okay, I don't have it with me, so you're just going to have to take my word that it exists. Anyway, just as I bent down to pick it up, this horrible photographer comes out of nowhere and starts snapping our picture. That's all that happened!"
    Kiki hesitated. She wanted to go on, but a wave of emotion rolled over her. All at once, everything seemed to tumble down. Waking up to the shock of being cheap headline news. Enduring Sarah Ann's caustic scolding. Adjusting to her new status as paparazzi prey. Getting kicked out of Stella McCartney. Stressing out over the inevitable public scorn. The sum of it all was just too much.
    At first, Kiki tried to stop the tears, but once they started, she just gave in to her inner drama queen. It would've been futile to do anything else. "None of that I never even I love their baby She probably hates me I just wanted an omelet They chased me My brother's getting married Now I have to cancel my birthday party" In between the convulsive sobs, snatches of her stream of consciousness ramblings were intelligible.
    Fabrizio didn't like to see a woman cry. The cloud scudding across his handsome face told her so. He swooped down to offer comfort, putting his arm around her, murmuring quiet assurances that everything would be okay.
    Kiki felt herself react to the closeness. Fabrizio's touch was infinitely calming. And, oh, God, did he ever smell good. His cologne was strong in her nostrils. Spicy hints of cinnamon with an exotic blend of wild grass and sandalwood. She knew the scent. H.O.T. Always by Bond No. 9. With tax, the sticker shock came to two hundred dollars a bottle. But talk about truth in advertising. Her crying jag subsided. Only for a moment, though. Then it cranked back up again.
    Slowly, Fabrizio moved to stand, gently guiding her with him. "Come on. Let's go to my office. We can talk there. Would you like some tea?"
    Kiki managed a nod worthy of a sniffling toddler.
    He squeezed her shoulder and gestured to a lingering bellboy. "Tate, call the kitchen and have tea service sent to my office."
    The young man responded with a rapid, "Right away, sir," as if