Kitabı oku: «Her Valentine Fantasy»

CHAPTER ONE

Sam Benedict was a professional voyeur. All good waiters were, he thought, as he watched the mini-drama at table 12. A waiter had to gauge the mood of a table, to be unobtrusive and efficient, so he didn’t get somebody pissing all over him for interrupting a conversation or pissing all over him for not showing up in time to take orders. Most customers expected waiters to read minds. Most good waiters did.

At least, that was Sam’s opinion. And probably the reason he never minded grabbing a shift if a waiter flaked. As the owner of Benedict, the hottest restaurant in Seattle, getting out front gave him a chance to interact with the foodies and have-to-be-trendies who kept him in business in the notoriously tough restaurant trade.

But the woman at table 12 would have caught his attention anywhere. She was gorgeous, in a blue slip of a dress that showed off her curves, but not in a hey, I’m hot, do me sort of way. More like a hint of sexiness that kept men wondering. Her hair was neither blond nor brown. It was an intriguing mix of the two. Her eyes were a clear gray with hints of blue and green that reminded him of the Pacific Northwest skies.

What was she doing with that dick? That girl and her date went together like ice cream and cod liver oil.

He figured these two for a first date. Probably met online. Ever since Benedict got voted Best Place for a Romantic Date in Seattle Magazine there had been more of them than ever. He’d seen plenty of dot-com first dates be wildly successful. He’d seen plenty more die on the vine. This one was dead before it started. Every time he approached their table the conversation was more stilted than the last time. The dude was completely self-involved and about as interesting as belly-button lint.

While the woman— Normally, he barely noticed the actual guests. They were numbers: seat one, table 14. If he thought of them individually it was in relation to their food order. Seat one was the halibut, two was the garlic allergy, that kind of thing. But this woman had caught his attention from the second she’d walked in, all long legs and big eyes that glanced around her with keen interest. He’d felt a buzz of energy coming from her. He’d never believed in sexual magnetism—thought it was a stupid term for horniness—but this woman truly drew him to her and he couldn’t resist any more than an iron filing could resist a super-magnet.

She’d started out lively and fun but had slowly given up as the bore kept talking over her.

He’d caught her eye a time or two and he’d resisted the urge to boot the loser out of there, sit down across from her and show her how a real date acted.

Except he wasn’t her date. He was her waiter for the evening and apart from singeing his eyeballs every time he looked at her, which he couldn’t help, he was the perfect waiter. Although he had to wonder.

Really? What were they thinking? Valentine’s Day was a week away. If he were ever asked his advice, based on his years as a professional voyeur, he’d say never try to start a relationship in early February. Too much pressure with the fourteenth looming like the Day of Doom.

The two seemed to be done with dinner, so he waited for the bore to finish another anecdote where he was the hero of his office, but before he could offer dessert the guy was pushing back his chair.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked Sam, who pointed the way. Guy already had his cell phone out before he’d gone three steps.

Which left Beauty alone with no bore. He stepped up to the table. How can you stand that douche? is what he wanted to say. What actually came out of his mouth was, “How are you enjoying your evening?” As he spoke, he picked up the bottle of wine and topped off her glass.

“The food is excellent,” she said leaving out any mention of her date. And who wouldn’t? “What did the chef put in the sauce over those scallops?”

He shook his head. “If he told me, he’d have to kill me.”

When she laughed he felt that energy again, drawing him in. “Well, please tell him how much I enjoyed them.” She glanced around, “The decor is amazing, too. Contemporary, but not cold and hard like some restaurants are. You know, all concrete and steel and glass?”

He nodded. Recalling how he’d said practically that very same thing to his designer.

“This place feels warm and relaxed while still modern.” She looked around again with an almost professional eye. “And it’s a good size for functions.”

He wondered if she was a restaurant critic, but he knew all the local ones. She could be from out of town, but nah, critics ordered a bunch of stuff and always tasted everything their companion ordered. No way she was a critic.

He should move on but no one in his section seemed to need him. He said, “First time here?”

“Yes.”

If he caught one of his staff getting too personal with a customer, he’d have some choice words to deliver. He couldn’t stop himself asking, “First date?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know?”

Everything from body language to her guy running off to the men’s room with his cell phone in hand were pretty big clues. But he only said, “You get a feel for these things.”

She surveyed the room. “You mean you can tell what’s between people you’ve never even seen before from the way they behave in a restaurant?”

“Not always, but yeah, sometimes.” He glanced around himself. “Those two? At the table by the window, on your left.” He indicated his head so he wasn’t pointing. Waited until she had them in her sights and nodded. “They just got engaged. Watch her. See how she keeps lifting her left hand? Looks like Tourette’s but really she’s watching the ring on her finger. See how shiny it is? Barely worn.”

“Wow.” She watched for a moment and grinned. “Not Tourette’s exactly, although she’s doing a lot with her left hand. And I don’t think she’s left-handed.”

“You’re catching on.”

And while she was busy watching other customers, he had a chance to watch her. Her pretty face, those big eyes that were studying the other diners. She turned back.

“Okay, what’s the story on the older couple beside the wall of water?”

He followed her gaze. Saw a miserable-looking pair who were barely speaking to each other. Their clothes were inexpensive and it seemed as though they’d be much happier dining at home or at a family restaurant. He watched the body language for a moment.

“Wedding anniversary. Probably twenty-fifth or thirtieth. My guess is that somebody gave them a gift certificate here as an anniversary present when they’d have preferred a new set of towels. They don’t like fancy food, think fine dining is a waste of hard-earned money and, after all these years being married, don’t have much left to say to each other.”

“Depressing. But believable.”

“I’m only telling you what I guess. I could be wrong. Maybe normally they’re the happiest couple in town, but they just buried Grandma.”

“Your first story seems more real.” She looked around some more. “Okay, what about the foursome in the middle of the room. Older couple and a younger couple?”

He barely glanced at the table in question. “Easy. He’s a rich business guy, very successful. He and the wife spend six weeks a year golfing in Palm Springs. That’s their only daughter. The young guy is the boyfriend the parents don’t think is good enough.”

“Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”

He grinned at her. “Nope. They’re regulars.”

She laughed, enjoying his teasing.

He said, “You’re not the only one not having the greatest evening.”

She ran a finger around the stem of her wineglass, which he found ridiculously sexy. “I should have made it a coffee. Dinner’s too much of a commitment for a first date.”

“I agree. I always go with the coffee.”

She looked up. “Oh, are you—” Then she stopped herself.

“Single?” He finished her question for her in the direction he hoped it had been headed. “Yeah. I am.”

He wanted to say something more. Ask her out?

And then the douche returned. Since Sam was hanging around the table, he said, “Allow me to tempt you with Chef’s special dessert tonight. He’s calling it Valentine Fantasy. It’s made with Valrhona chocolate and fresh cream and a hint of raspberry. He says it tastes like sex.” Because he couldn’t help himself—it was that iron filing thing again—he caught her eye when he said that and experienced a sudden, hot surge of lust.

She held his gaze and he instinctively knew she was feeling the sizzle, too. Her voice was low and sexy. “I’ve always thought that if sex had a flavor it would be chocolate.”

And in that second a vision of her, naked and wet while he teased her with chocolate, took him so strongly he stopped breathing.

He wasn’t supposed to crush on the customers, he reminded himself as he took their orders, the Fantasy for her, and an overpriced crème brûlée that they kept on the menu for dickheads like her date.

* * *

Oh, no, Sam thought when he next swung out of the kitchen, the guy at table 12 was pulling out his smartphone again. Seriously?

Dude, no.

Not the fake text thing, he begged silently. Don’t do this to that sweet, sexy woman. But sure enough, bad first-date guy made a pantomime of shock, then distress. Sam could see his lips moving, saying something like, “Emergency, gotta go.” He practically leaped from his seat, putting his hand up to his ear, thumb and baby finger extended in an I’ll call you gesture. And then he charged out of the restaurant like his ass was on fire.

Sam would have bet his life savings that bad first date had set up the fake emergency when he was in the john. Classy.

As much he was glad to see the back of the guy, Sam saw two problems with his fast exit. First, he’d left a gorgeous, hot chick sitting by herself in a busy restaurant on a Friday night before she’d got to dessert. Second, he’d ditched her with the bill.

Sam hoped he was as nice as the next guy, but he was running a business. He turned tail and grabbed a server’s assistant. “Get the bill prepared for table 12 right away. But don’t put the desserts on it.” He finished delivering meals to table 3 and then grabbed the bill, already slipped into one of the black folders with the stylized B logo on the front and immediately walked to table 12.

“Will he be back?” he asked the lone woman at the table.

“God, I hope not.” She acted as if her date running out on her hadn’t bothered her at all, but he swore he could detect a hint of hurt in the depths of her clear gray eyes.

“Still want your dessert?”

She shook her head. Then she glanced at where her date had been sitting and Sam saw the moment she registered that he’d stiffed her for dinner. With a small sigh, she said, “I’ll just take the bill.”

He dropped the folder on the table, then, because it was his restaurant and what the hell, said, “We keep a car and driver. Some of our regulars like the service. He’d be happy to drive you home.”

She smiled her gratitude and again he had that odd feeling, as though there was more between them than a few hot glances and a little chitchat while he’d waited her table. “Thanks. But I’m staying locally.”

“No problem. Take your time.” He wanted to touch her, maybe brush his fingers over her shoulder to let her know she was awesome and amazing and deserved better. In fact, he wanted a lot more. Toyed with the idea of asking if he could see her, then figured he’d come across as a bigger knob than the one who’d left five minutes ago.

He did the smart thing. He went back to the kitchen where the usual organized chaos prevailed.

When he returned, the woman at table 12 was gone. He picked up the folder and flipped it open, assuming there’d be cash inside.

There wasn’t.

Nor was there a credit card.

In the space where a credit card should have been was a hotel room keycard.

She didn’t seem like the dine-and-dash type. And, while she wouldn’t be the first female customer who ever propositioned him, he doubted the room card was anything but the slipup of a distressed woman who got dumped on her first date. More likely, she’d meant to put a credit card down and, well, who knew what she’d been thinking?

All he knew was, he needed to get paid, and she needed to get into her hotel room.

He gazed toward the front door but she’d already left. He stood for a moment, thinking, then ran into the back and told Barney, the most efficient waiter he had, to take over his few remaining tables.

Eloise, one of the sous chefs, was adding the spun-sugar flourish onto the forgotten Valentine Fantasy. She drizzled the heart-shaped chocolate with raspberry reduction. On impulse, Sam said, “Box that up, will you? She’s taking dessert to go.”

Seconds later, he headed for the door out onto the street.

“Hey, Sam, you coming back?” Chef yelled.

He turned. Thought of that sweet sexy woman currently heading back to her hotel without a keycard or a date. He had no idea what was going to happen. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing.

But he recalled the instant connection they’d felt. Said, “If I’m not back, close up, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

And he jogged out onto the street.

He knew from the keycard that table 12 was staying at a trendy boutique hotel in the next block and he headed in that direction. The evening was cold and he hadn’t bothered to grab a coat, so he walked swiftly, the wet streets and dripping trees telling him that it had only recently stopped raining.

He saw a woman he thought was table 12, seat two head into the hotel and took off running. He pushed through the glass doors, jogged through the lobby and caught up with her as she pushed the elevator button.

“Hi,” he said.

She glanced around. Took a second to place him and then said with surprise, “Hi.”

He produced the folder and opened it to show her the keycard. “You gave me your keycard instead of your credit card.”

A quick blush suffused her cheeks and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I just—I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry. Oh, I already said that.” She opened her small clutch as the elevator doors opened. Then she looked at him, embarrassment still warming her cheeks. “I’ve got cash upstairs. I hate to take you more out of your way, but I don’t want to make the walk of shame back to the restaurant with my credit card. I was— No man’s ever dumped me in the middle of a date before.”

He liked her. There was honesty and humor in her gaze. “Sure,” he said. “No problem.” They stepped inside the elevator and the doors closed. They were the only two riding up. He could smell her light fragrance, feel the energy between them. He said, “Not that it’s any of my business, but that guy was a total dick.”

She snorted with sudden laughter. “I know! I had no idea he’d be so full of himself. But it’s February and—”

“Valentine’s Day is coming,” he finished for her. “I know.”

They rode up fourteen floors. She said, “I hope this hasn’t inconvenienced you too much.”

“Not really.” He could see she felt bad enough. “I got somebody else to cover my tables.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. She preceded him into the hall. He followed her to her room and then handed her the keycard.

“Thanks.”

Then he produced the small, square bakery box.

“What’s in there? Handcuffs so you can take me in?”

She gazed at him over the box and he felt again that strong, sizzling sense of connection. He wished she hadn’t put the idea of handcuffs into his head. Now he pictured her cuffed to the bed while he pleasured her to the edge of madness.

Her lips tilted in a smile so sensual it melted him. He was almost overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her.

He stepped closer. “I’ve brought you your Valentine Fantasy.”