Turner ripped off the plastic. Then he flattened the dress below Val's chin, softly brushing her hair behind her neck. His lips. They looked impossibly soft up close. So close she wanted to devour them.
Seeing his affect on her, he lowered the dress slowly. "I guess you're right. A girl like you probably couldn't pull off a dress like this."
"What!" Her ire raised, she saw him wink and then smile. It was a killer smile and her frown turned upside down. Somehow, the words did not feel like an insult. He was simply playing with her.
" I like the way your eyes light up. They match the dress you know. Of course, who can be sure without trying it on, eh?"
"It's pretty," Val muttered. "But I have no use for a dress like that." Even if Turner bough this one for her as a gift, how would she rationalize the money spent? The tally in her head already reached eight hundred dollars and she had no idea where she was going to get that money.
Turner tipped his head as if looking at the dress from another angle. He pursed up that gorgeous mouth of his, considering. "I want you to let me buy this one for you."
She looked at him skeptically. "Why?"
"Relax, Val. I told you before, no strings attached. I just want to see you in it and …" He glanced at the untouched breakfast on the table. "And I think we should feed you before you're scooped up by the authorities."
That remark made her stomach churn.
"I would like to take you to dinner…wearing that." He pointed to the dress.
"Take me to dinner? Huh. Didn't you hear those men? I'm a wanted woman and I'm probably going to be deported soon as they catch up with me. Besides, how the hell am I going to leave this room? They can't set off the fire alarm every time."
Turner turned to pick up a large hatbox below the dress rack.
"What's that?" Val asked.
"Your disguise. Now go try on the dress. Please." He took the blonde wig out of the box. This was getting exciting. She’d always wanted to be a blonde.
***
Val checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, amazed by the blazing number they called a dress and how it hugged her soft curves. It was form-fitting but not too tight with horizontal cutouts of red tulle just above the chest, waist, and thighs giving the illusion of bare skin. Turner was right. She looked like a knockout in the thing. She didn't look bad as a blonde either although no one would believe she had blue eyes. Who knew contacts could do such wonderful things? The blonde wig itched though.
After applying matching red lipstick, she looked in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant and puckered up, distributing the color evenly. She smoothed her hands along her body turning this way and that. The dress fell halfway up her thigh, showing plenty of long lean leg. She never felt sexier. "Oh!" she said, startled out of her stupor to see Turner waiting outside the door when she opened the it. She felt a crawling warmth go up her neck when he dazzled her with a gorgeous smile. He cleaned up rather well too. Wearing a smooth wool blend, the flat-front slacks slung snugly at his hips, the white shirt and red tie flashing below his dark stubbled chin. He looked cool and suave like James Bond in a bowtie. Val felt breathless every time she looked at him.
"Just want to make sure you're safe.”
"Why?" she asked, slightly alarmed. "What's going on?" A quick sweep over the restaurant showed nothing out of the ordinary. At least not at first glance. A young man bussing tables. People eating. Soft piano playing in the distance. Was there something she was missing? Her heart thudded in her chest.
Turner slid a hand along her cheek. "No, no. Everything is fine." He snuggled her into his side and splayed a big hand across the small of her back. "Just don't want to take any chances." The heat of his touch soaked through her dress and spread; it pooled between her legs. She swung around when Turner gave her bottom a fond pat. Val's body went rigid.
"Excuse me. I am not some little tart." As the words spilled from her mouth, she realized she was loving it. The attention. The fine clothes. The fancy restaurant. However, it all hit too close to home when he patted her on the rump. "Do that one more time and I won't be responsible for what comes next," she hissed.
"Just want this to look real."
"Real?"
"Yeah." He leaned into her ear. "We don't want to tip anyone off about you being an escaped fugitive."
She giggled. "I'm not…all right, whatever." She maneuvered herself around a large potted plant.
To accentuate his point, Turner pinched her making her jump in her six-inch heels. Heels that made her tower over him like an Amazonian. Not tower exactly but close.
"Try that again and you'll be sorry," Val warned stepping to the side. I may just pinch you back.
"Yeah?" He lifted an eyebrow, appearing more intrigued than wary. He placed Val’s hand on the crook of his arm. They strode across the plush carpeted floor toward the table.
"I have five brothers and they've shown me a thing or two about defending myself so watch it.
“Right. You know karate.”
“I do? Oh…yeah.” She tried to sound fierce, neglecting to look him in the eye. The thought of throwing Turner to the ground and pouncing on him made her core tingle, her mouth go bone dry, and all she could think about was the heat of his body beneath her. Now, what was that she’d been saying again? Oh yes. She needed to establish some ground rules.
"Oh. What sort of things?" Turner asked. Damn! Her attempt at intimidation wasn’t working. “Sort of things?”
“You said your brothers taught you a few things about defending yourself.”
“Oh.”
"Let's just say you wouldn't be the first guy I laid out in public?"
As Val stared into those dark dreamy eyes of his, the look on his face heated, she realized her threats were simply foreplay.
"You'd do that?" Turner asked.
"Damned straight."
A firey humor tweaked his lips. "I bet you would too." He laughed but he didn’t seem frightened in the least.
Turner pulled out Val’s chair—he pushed it in as she sat down. It was so…nice. He had done the same at breakfast.
"Know what I think?" Turner asked, taking off the bow tie and placing it on the table. "Fabulous dress by the way. I think those gals in the boutique are brilliant. Just brilliant! All I told them was you had very dark hair and fabulous legs." He lifted the tablecloth and snuck a peak below it.
"And I can see the dress shows them off perfectly."
“Did you just look up my dress?”
“Of course not. You're nervous. Don’t be. I had this place checked out. No way will your Ex find us here."
"You don't know Diego."
"Well I know the people who run this restaurant. It’s very exclusive. He'd have to be from a specific political party or some sort of celebrity. Private party, tonight. We're the only ones not on the guest list."
" It's just you and me tonight. Well…and that couple over there although they're so old they'll be lucky if they live to have dessert."
Val laughed. She looked over her shoulder. He was right. The old man looked about eighty, the woman about fifteen years younger. Behind them, a private room housed the party in the opposite end of the restaurant. Brightly colored balloons floated around the entrance.
"I think we should get to know each other a little better but first let’s eat." He picked up the menu. "Now…what …looks…good?"
Chapter 6
Turner almost fainted when Val licked those drop-dead, lip-smacking, flaming red lips of hers. He'd noticed her lips right off but now that he was seated across from her, he realized they were erotic as well. Lips like that were just begging to be kissed. Wasn't it a sin to tempt a man with such blazing hotness in a public place? So brilliant was the color, it animated her mouth with little specs of glitter, the skin osculating each word as she flexed and stretched each syllable off her tongue He took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds. If he didn't calm his rambling libido, he was going to reach across the table
and… And what?
The air in the room felt hot, charged with electricity—Turner could not catch his breath every time he looked at her in that dress. With hooked fingers, he pulled at his collar but it wasn't his shirt trapped inside his trousers squirming to get out. It was his dick.
Head-down, Turner tried to read the menu but he couldn't keep his thoughts on anything but the woman across the table. Those killer dimples and tight dress were wreaking havoc with his groin. And her smell. Oh her smell. Lilacs, spices, and something lemony in her hair. He'd always been easily distracted by women. Especially pretty women and especially by this woman that he obviously couldn’t have. Too gun-shy. Too disgusted by scum bags like her Ex to give another man the benefit of the doubt. Still, what he wouldn't give to wipe that nasty frown off her lips. With his tongue!
He felt the heat of Val's intense stare. When he glanced up, she flashed a flirty smile. Oh I get it, sweetheart but you've met your match with me. Two can play this game. You don't bother me one bit. Subconsciously, he adjusted his length inside his trousers. A fine sculpted brow raised in his direction. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Oh yeah.
They gave their orders to the waiter and then slipped into easy conversation. “So both Sam and I joined the army. After that, we lived in Texas. That’s where we first began Land Lover Brothers but when our uncle died we moved to New York.”
“To take over Howe Caverns?”
“Sort of. It really doesn’t make any money. Not real money but our parents were wed there and Sam just didn’t want to sell it. Like I said he’s a bit of a romantic.”
“Unlike you?”
“I’m more…” He took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “Business oriented I guess you could say. I take care of all the finances. Sam’s brilliant though. Don’t get me wrong. Some of our houses have been featured in Better Homes and Gardens. That’s all Sam.”
“But you’re the brains behind the business?”
“I’m the…one who says no sometimes.”
“No to what?”
“When a venture doesn’t make us any money. Enough about me though. I want to know what it was like living in Mexico.”
Val's eyes glistened and she leaned forward with her drink. A frosty something or other with a straw. She licked the sugar off the glass. Or was that salt. At any rate, it was driving him crazy and she knew it. “Not much to tell. My father drank. We were poor. End of story.” She changed the subject. “So what kind of publicity are you here for?" she asked sweet as you please. Her tongue did laps around her glass.
"Publicity?"
"You said you were in Vegas to do publicity."
"Oh right." He stifled the urge to wriggle in his seat. "Not just publicity. Somehow, it’s turned into more. We built a Habitat for Humanity house. You know, the charity gig?”
“I do.”
“ Well, that took a month and a half and then there was this cooking show. That was the publicity part. At the moment we’re renovating some big wig’s house as well."
"Cooking show?”
"Actually, it was a competition. Not a cooking show. I was one of the judges."
"Wow. That’s amazing."
"You like to cook?"
"I was a master chef back in Mexico. I worked at some very upscale places."
"Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you for a gourmet chef."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, don't look at me like that. You were wearing a maid's uniform."
"Yeah, well…." She leaned back in her chair, arms folded. It made her breasts bulge beautifully. They both glanced toward the kitchen. "Why is it these fancy pants restaurants always take so long with your order?" Val wanted to know.
"The best takes time, sweetheart. You of all people should realize that."
"Hmm. The jury's out on that one," she said with a flippant tone.
"Don't you like the atmosphere?"
"What? The red velvet upholstery or the white lace tablecloths? That's just Christmas wrapping. It kinda feels like a strip club to be honest.”
Stripper. Turner peered around the room, trying to hide the arousal he was certain showed on his stupid face. "Anyway what would you…?” Val glared back. He chuckled. “Never mind. I’ll have you know, Michael's Gourmet Room was voted one of the top five places to eat around here. It has a four diamond award."
"Doesn't impress me,” Val said. “What does impress me is good food."
"Fair enough," Turner agreed. "Ah, and here it is now."
A tall waiter wearing a white coat and gloves carried a huge silver tray. As he set the tray on a nearby holder, Turner glanced at his watch. He smiled at the waiter. "Only fifteen minutes," he said as the dishes were set on the table. "Not bad service so far." Val placed her napkin on her lap. The waiter lifted two silver domes off, letting the steam escape. Next, a girl with a white cap offered fresh hot popovers from the basket on her arm. "One each," Turner said when she asked how many. After delivering the popovers she set a tray of five kinds of butter in the center of the table.
Turner buttered one and took a bite. "Awe, this is good," he said. He offered a popover to Val who waved it away.
“You sure? They’re really good,” he said. “All right. Suit yourself.” He took another bite, swooning from the moist hot flakiness against his teeth. Next, he bit into the filet mignon smothered in a cognac cream sauce. He closed his eyes and for several seconds everyone around him disappeared. There was nothing in the world could compare with good food and expensive wine. Turner was a connoisseur of both . He wished Val would enjoy herself as much as he was. She must be nervous, he decided. If only she’d drink the wine…He closed his eyes. “Mmmm.” The spicy hot flavors rolled along his tongue as he tried to get a sense of the ingredients in the sauce. “Rosemary,” he said, holding up a fork. “Garlic too.” He nodded while he kept on chewing. “Olive oil. Shallots. And cayenne pepper gives it just the right zing.” Swallowing, he opened his eyes to find Val staring at him, her food untouched. “You haven’t touched your food. Something wrong?” Obviously she wasn’t the kind of woman who was used to such fine dining, he thought. She probably didn’t know which fork to use. Then again, it wasn’t confusion that registered on those deep dreamy features. More like disgust while she batted her food around the plate.
Turner leaned across the table. "It's called Marseille shrimp," he said in a low voice. "In case you were wondering."
"I know what it is," Val snapped. She looked angry and very stiff.
Was it his presence she objected to or simply the food? He took a large sip of wine, settling his brain around the later. "Not your thing huh? I’m…I’m sorry, Val. I shouldn’t have ordered for you but I thought…"
She didn’t make eye contact, her gaze glued to her plate. "Marseille," she muttered as if it pained her to say so. "Like no one would know the difference if they called it that."
"You've had it before, then." Phew! Then it wasn’t my company that filled her mouth with distaste.
She didn't meet his gaze—but attempted to swallow another mouthful—her face twisted in contempt.
"You don’t like shrimp?"
“Oh, it’s not that. I adore shrimp if its cooked properly.” Huh. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was being snooty.
"Here… Let me try a b…" He reached toward her plate with his fork but then paused mid air when she glared at him, horrified. He chuckled and drew back his utensil. “Okay, maybe not.”
Gingerly, Val placed her fork on the side of her plate. "I just don’t understand how they can pass this off as Marseille shrimp,” she complained. “And at these prices!" Her impossibly long lashes fluttered along her cheeks, glittery and shining against the scarlet of her dress. "This is not Marseille shrimp," she said, nostrils flaring.
“It’s not?” asked Turner, confused.
“It’s really an injustice to pass it off as such.”
She really is angry, he thought, amused. By shrimp! H
e couldn't help grinning at how worked up she appeared to be. If she got this excited over fish, he wondered what else could light a fire under that pretty little pout. “How do you know about French food anyway?”
Val shrugged, her blonde wig shimmering by candlelight.
“Forget I asked. Let’s order you something else.” He raised an arm and snapped his fingers, hoping to catch the attention of one of the waiters.
“I don’t want anything else,” Val said.
“No? So then you do want it?”
“Um..”
“Val, you don’t have to eat it but you have to eat something. And there’s no reason why you should accept food you’re not happy with.” He frowned. “What are you looking for? I told you. No one can get in here without an invitation.”
“I know that. I’m trying to get a glimpse of the chef in the kitchen.”
“Look, sweetheart, let’s just order something different. Really. They won’t mind changing your order.”
“It’s not the food I object to. It’s the principal.”
“The principle. It’s shrimp!” He snapped his fingers once more, this time, catching a waiter’s attention. A dark-headed man with a gold earring in his left ear was at his side in record time but. Before he could even open his mouth though, Val was grilling him about spices, cooking times, and didn’t he want to check with his conscience before serving food that masqueraded as some other dish?
“I am so sorry, Madame. Perhaps I can interest you in…?”
“You must whisk in the mayonnaise,” Val was saying. “Not a blender. Never a blender and the oil must be extra-virgin. Nothing else will do.”
“I…” stammered the waiter.
“I assume they used saffron?”
The man shifted foot to foot. “I wouldn’t…”
“I knew it! Now I know what’s missing. Why, saffron is the most important ingredient.” She patted he palms in the air. “Now I know what you’re going to say and I know saffron is not easy to come by. Damned expensive too but come on…we’re…” She swiveled her finger between herself and Turner. “He’s… paying premium prices for this dish, is he not?”
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