Too Much Temptation

by Lori Foster

  “You know Noah better than that.”

  “I know he was madder than hell last night. What I didn’t know,” Ben teased, “was that you stuck around to…soothe his savage temper.”

  Grace refused to blush again. “I hope you didn’t cut your visit short on my account.”

  “Nope. I’ve been running an ad for a new waitress in the bar. I have to be at the hotel in an hour to do two interviews. Wish me luck that one of them will suit, because I’m getting desperate.”

  “You’re hiring someone?” Grace liked Ben’s small hotel at the opposite end of town. It was plain but clean, with around twenty units situated in a U around a built-in rectangular pool. There was a game room with two pool tables and a small bar that served drinks and soup and sandwiches.

  “Yeah, one of my employees quit without notice, leaving me in the lurch. I’ve gone through three women since, but none of them are working out.”

  “How come?”

  “Let’s see—the first one kept coming on to me.”

  Grace laughed. “Oh, and I can see what a terrible problem that’d be!”

  “Actually, it was,” Ben said, summoning up a look of mock insult. Then, more seriously, “I make a point of not dating employees at all. It can lead to legal complications. Only this one lady wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Fascinated, Grace twisted in her seat to face him. “What did she do?”

  Ben rolled one shoulder and gave her a quick look. “You really want to hear this?”

  “Yes.” Grace had always considered Ben a real ladies’ man. The idea of him turning women down intrigued her.

  “Well, somehow she got it into her head that I had money, like she thought I owned the hotel free and clear or something. She thought I’d make good husband material and showed up in my room one night. I found out later from some of the other employees that she intended to screw my brains out, figuring after getting a taste of what I’d been missing, I’d fall madly in love.”

  Grace bit her lip. Ben made it sound like the most ridiculous idea in the world—and he was right. Sex and love often had nothing in common. But she wouldn’t feel guilty about having sex with Noah. He was her dream come to life, and she intended to enjoy every moment.

  Grace cleared her throat. “I guess since you live at the hotel, it’d be easy for a woman to sneak in on you?”

  “Easy enough,” Ben agreed. “Everyone who works for me knows where my suite of rooms are, especially since they’re off limits.”

  “What did you do when you found her there?”

  He flicked a glance at Grace. “I hadn’t turned on the lights before falling into bed. It had been a very long day and I was already half asleep.”

  “Ben?”

  “I didn’t know who it was,” he said in his defense. “I reacted on instinct.”

  “You threw her out of the bed?”

  “Yep, tossed her right out onto the floor. She didn’t like that much.” He grinned, as if it were a favorite memory. “She protested, causing a real racket. But I protested more, and before we were done half the hotel knew what was going on. Being the lady was naked, she was doubly pissed by my lack of interest, and she finally left.”

  “Naked?”

  He laughed again. “No. She pulled on her dress first. But she had to face a crowd in the hall. Thankfully, that was that.”

  Grace shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve led such a sheltered life.”

  “Yeah, I imagine you have.”

  His quick agreement bothered her. She hadn’t been that sheltered. She understood about the world. “What about the other two?”

  “One stole from me. I caught her red-handed, trying to stick a bottle of whiskey in her purse. The other was continually late.”

  Grace wasn’t really a brazen person, but she did need a job, and this seemed like too good a situation to pass up. “Can I ask what you pay?”

  “Base pay isn’t that high, but the average tips are great.” When he quoted a figure for Grace, she was stunned.

  “No kidding? Just for serving drinks?”

  “It’s not as easy as you probably think, Grace. Weekends and evenings can get really busy. Some of the customers can be a real pain. The trays get heavy, the crowd gets impatient…”

  “What are the hours?”

  As if just catching on to her line of questioning, Ben said, “Oh, no, Grace. Really. You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not, why not?” he muttered. “Well, the hours are late on the weekend, for one thing.”

  “I can adjust to that.”

  He groaned under his breath, “Oh, God.” Then louder, “Grace, really, men come on to the women all the time, and…”

  She laughed. “I hardly think I’d need to worry about that, Ben. Men don’t come on to me.” Then a thought occurred to her, and she wanted to shrink into the car seat. “Um, that is, unless you only want someone sexy and skinny for the job.”

  “No!” He looked away from the road to glare at her. “Damn it, I didn’t mean that at all.” He pulled up to a red light and stopped. Twisting in his seat to face her, he said, “Besides, you are sexy.”

  Grace ignored the outrageous compliment since he’d been more or less coerced into it. “I wouldn’t expect any favoritism, Ben, but I’d love to apply for the job.”

  “Grace…” Ben sounded almost desperate, then he rushed to say, “How can you date Noah if you’re working every night?”

  “We’re not dating.”

  He looked at her again, this time incredulous. “That’s not the impression I got.” The light turned green and he eased forward.

  Grace wondered how to explain. Surely assignations with a sex slave—she really did like that term—weren’t considered dates. She wasn’t positive about it, because really, she’d never had sex before, much less been a slave about it. She hadn’t even had all that many dates. But she felt certain there was a difference.

  Of course, there was no way to explain all that to Ben. “We’re not dating,” she insisted.

  And Ben said, “Noah isn’t going to like this.”

  “Noah isn’t my boss.” Except in the bedroom. “So if that’s your only objection, then I take it I can fill out an application?”

  Ben ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He locked his jaw and groused, “Yeah, sure. Why not? Come in tomorrow afternoon for a trial run, say around noon?”

  “I’ll be there! And Ben?”

  Sounding sickly, he said, “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  Agatha paced, uncertain what to do. She detested her current loss of control over this insane situation. It seemed the older she got, the less impact she had on others. Intolerable. Since reaching adulthood, she’d always been able to keep her small world in tact, in her own manner of orderliness.

  Except for her son. Pierce had rebelled at every turn. She’d loved him, yet he’d often been a disappointment. At times, he’d even been an embarrassment.

  Agatha sighed and took another turn around her desk—a slow turn, because her arthritis had been acting up lately and all this ridiculous excitement was wearing on her. Getting old was hell.

  A large oil painting of Pierce, done a year before he’d died, hung on the far wall. Agatha braced herself against the pain of failure and looked at it. Her son and her older grandson had the same magnificent coloring. Handsome devils, both of them. Equally bullheaded. Each determined to do things his own way.

  There was a huge difference between the two, though.

  While Noah often insisted on doing things his own way, he was prompted by an inborn pride and strength of character that left Agatha awed.

  Pierce had been self-destructive and self-centered to the point that he didn’t care who he hurt in his campaign to live free and unencumbered by social restrictions. While Noah also disdained the watchful eye of society, he sought out responsibilities, for himself and for others.

 
Many of her friends were wary of Noah because of his background, because he was edged in a darkness they couldn’t comprehend. A barely leashed power emanated from Noah, gained from a life of poverty and abuse. No, her friends didn’t understand Noah, but they all respected him.

  Agatha turned away from the painting. She’d given Pierce everything, probably too much. He’d been spoiled and contemptuous of his duties.

  Thanks to her son and his lack of conscience, Noah had grown up with nothing. Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose and fought off stupid tears of pity. Noah neither wanted nor needed them. He was strong in a way his father had never been.

  He was stronger than she could ever hope to be.

  What Noah needed was the guidance she’d given him: a head start into financial success, and a sound foundation for the rest of his life, so that even after she was gone he’d be accepted. She wanted his future secured. Matching him with Kara would have accomplished so much, but Noah seemed determined to ruin that.

  Maybe he was a little like Pierce after all.

  Agatha straightened and marched to her desk. No, Noah was his own man. She’d find a way to get things back on track—for his sake. She’d lost Pierce, but she wouldn’t lose Noah. She’d do what she had to do, and he’d understand that it was all for his own good. Eventually.

  Chapter Eight

  Noah entered Harper’s Bistro, pausing just inside the ornate double doors with the intricately etched glass panels. He peered around at the familiar faces, cursing himself for being foolish enough to be there. He could think of a dozen things he’d rather be doing at the moment, and they all had to do with Grace being naked.

  Damn, she had a great body. Her breasts were beautiful, not to mention her nipples. They were velvety pink and ultrasensitive, and it didn’t take much more than a soft suck to get her going.

  “Shit,” Noah muttered under his breath, aware of a tightening in his groin. He had to get his mind on safer ground, and fast.

  Safer ground happened moments later when Andrew rushed up to him. He was in his mid-thirties, and based on how the women flirted with him, Noah assumed he was handsome, too. He had an easy way about him that drew in most people.

  “Damn, I’m glad to see you, Noah.” Andrew’s impeccably trimmed brown hair was mussed and his normally calm manner was harried. “It was bad enough a few hours ago, when everything started, but now it’s gotten impossible. I have customers getting upset because they haven’t gotten their food yet, but no one is cooking. Every so often you can hear them arguing in the kitchen. At first the assistant chefs kept it going, but I gather things have gotten ugly in there. Some people have given up and gone home.”

  “Damn.”

  Andrew nodded. “I, uh, I lied and said there was a problem with the ovens. The customers didn’t look like they believed that, but I took their names and told them they could have a meal on the house when they returned. That helped.”

  “Good thinking.” Noah clapped him on the shoulder and started through the restaurant toward the kitchens. He should have entered that way, but since he was already there, he’d wanted to see if everything was going as it should. Grace had evidently gotten to him, made him feel responsible for things that were no longer his to deal with.

  He saw Kara seated discreetly at a corner table, neatly tucked away from prying eyes. She’d changed clothes and now wore a simple black dress and heels.

  Around her throat was the pearl choker Noah had bought her on her last birthday. He still couldn’t get over what a fool he’d been.

  She must have felt his gaze because she looked up, locked eyes with him, and straightened expectantly. Noah merely nodded to her and kept going.

  He hoped like hell Kara knew what she was doing, but at the moment she was the least of his concerns. He passed Greg, Dean, and Michael all huddled together, looking like a group of fretful old ladies rather than healthy, athletic college men. When they saw him, their expressions brightened.

  Dean, the oldest at twenty-two, stepped forward. “What the hell are we going to do, Mr. Harper?”

  The waiters Noah had hired were young men with big dreams, working their way through college. He’d offered them higher wages than they could earn in almost any other part-time job, but he demanded a lot in return. So far, he hadn’t been disappointed.

  Now he scowled at Dean, and included the other two in his look. “Standing here looking guilty isn’t going to help. Go out there and offer everyone a free drink as an apology for the delay. Tell Deltorro to start his performance early, to distract them from the time. And regardless of how irate anyone is, be polite.”

  They all bobbed their heads.

  Get it over with, Noah thought. “While you’re all three here together, I want to give you some news.”

  “Another raise?” Michael asked, half joking, half hopeful.

  Noah was grim. With him out of the picture, no one would be getting another raise for a while. Agatha was tight with the purse strings, and she’d always bitched at the salaries Noah paid. There was even a chance she’d hire in cheaper help now that Noah had forced the responsibility onto her.

  “Whether or not you get any more raises won’t be up to me,” Noah explained. “I got canned yesterday, so now you’ll be dealing directly with Agatha Harper, the owner, or whoever she hires in my place.”

  Dean sputtered in shock. “Fired! But…I thought your grandmother owned the joint.”

  “And it was my grandmother who fired me.”

  “Why?” Greg demanded.

  They were a loyal lot—and Noah admitted to himself that he’d miss them. “Personal reasons. Nothing you need to be concerned with. But,” he said, cutting off more questions and protests, “you do need to be concerned with the customers. So get out there and start offering some drinks.”

  They grumbled, casting looks at each other, but finally started off. Noah was proud of each of them.

  Dean started to hurry away, too, but Noah detained him with a hand on his arm. When Dean looked up, Noah said, “Lose the swear words.”

  Dean flushed. “No one heard me.”

  “I heard you.”

  Dean hunched his shoulders. “Sorry.”

  “Just watch it from now on. Always remember that there are ladies in the room.” With that, Noah strode away. He could hardly believe Grace had talked him into this. Agatha was well seasoned enough to deal with her own messes.

  But the second Noah pushed through the metal doors into the kitchen, a fat, raw carrot came zinging past his head. It hit the wall next to his right ear with a soft, slightly wet thud, then dropped to the floor and rolled up against Noah’s shoe. He stared at that carrot in stark amazement and fast-churning fury.

  He was not in the mood for such foolishness.

  His stride purposeful, his look mean, Noah stalked forward while the two chefs—one he’d hired, the other brand new—backed up in horror. They each bumped into the metal work center, rattling dishes and toppling spices.

  A morbid hush fell in the normally bustling room.

  The assistant chefs, who had retreated out of the line of fire, stared wide-eyed with anticipation.

  Noah stopped directly in front of both chefs. His jaw was locked so hard it took him a moment to get the words out. And then he said, “You’re fired. Get out now.”

  Benton, the chef Noah had hired, sputtered indignantly. “You can’t fire me! We have a full house.”

  Noah pierced him with a glare. “You’re not cooking anyway, Benton, so you’re useless to me and to the restaurant.” He turned to the new chef. “You’ll be paid for your time and trouble.”

  “You,” the man intoned, pulling his arrogance around him like a shield, “did not hire me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve been put in charge of dealing with you tonight. If you want to take it up with someone else later, fine. But not now.” Noah turned to the assistant chefs. “Get to work. Have the orders prepared and on the tables in fifteen minutes flat or you’re al
l fired, too.”

  In a flash, men and women began scurrying here and there. Pots and pans rattled, knife blades connected with cutting blocks, dishes clanked.

  Satisfied, Noah turned to leave. Benton kept pace beside him until Noah halted at the doors.

  “This is not my fault, Noah.” He gestured to the other chef with stark accusation. “This, this…”

  “Chef?” Noah supplied with a sharp dose of sarcasm.

  Benton’s round face turned red. “He barged in here and tried to take over.”

  “I was hired as the head chef,” the man declared.

  Noah shook his head. “You both remind me of kindergartners on the playground, fighting over a ball. Grow up already.”

  Benton again stopped him from leaving. “I’m really fired?”

  Carefully masking his triumph, Noah eyed him. “Unless you want to get cooking, right now, without another single conflict. I won’t have the reputation of the restaurant damaged over a temper tantrum.”

  Benton sent a smug look at the new chef and turned back to the countertop. He nudged an assistant aside, saying, “I’ll do this. Get to work on the vegetables.”

  The new chef stepped forward. “I’m Jean Crispin. A young lady, Grace Jenkins, hired me. I intend to call her about this outrage immediately.”

  “Tough for you,” Noah told him. “Grace is no longer in a position to hire anyone. If you have a gripe, take it straight to Agatha Harper. She’s Grace’s former employer and owner of Harper’s Bistro.”

  A fresh hush fell over the kitchen while everyone absorbed the impact of Noah’s statement with shocked disbelief. Since he had their attention, Noah decided to get his own announcement out of the way.

  “You all might as well know, this is my last night.” Actually, this trip was on borrowed time, thanks to Grace’s interference and do-gooder tendencies, but he saw no reason to explain that to anyone.

  “Here on out,” he added, “you have a problem, you call Agatha Harper directly. If you need her number, get it from Andrew.”