“You seem to forget that I raised three children of my own.”
“I know you’re more than capable of taking care of Ava, Max and Sam, but—”
“But you’re looking for an excuse to weasel out of this da—dinner,” Bev quickly amended.
The upstairs doorbell rang, and Macy sighed.
“And now it’s too late,” her mother pointed out unnecessarily.
Macy didn’t stall any longer, because she knew that if she did, her father would answer the door, and she didn’t want him to give Liam the same third-degree interrogation he’d given her boyfriends in high school.
But she was too late.
She reached the top of the stairs leading to the main foyer just as her father’s fingers closed around the handle of the door.
“It’s okay, Dad, I’ll get...”
She was too late again. Her words trailed off as Norm opened the door—and were completely forgotten when she caught a glimpse of her boss. He was wearing his usual jeans and cowboy boots, but with a dress shirt, tie and jacket. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and she itched to reach up and stroke the stubble that darkened his jaw. Looking at him, she knew why sexy cowboys remained a popular fantasy for many of her friends, and when his eyes locked on hers and his lips curved, her blood heated in her veins and pooled low in her belly.
Obviously this was a bad idea.
A very bad idea. Because her hormones were clamoring for her to forget about dinner and feast on him.
And the blatant appreciation in his gaze as it boldly skimmed over her made her suspect that he wouldn’t object if she proposed such a change of plans. Or maybe that was just her own hormonally charged imagination running away with her.
“Good evening, Mr. Clayton.” Liam offered his hand.
Norm shook it firmly. “You take care of my girl tonight,” he instructed the younger man.
“I will, sir.”
Macy could tell that the “sir” scored points with both of her parents, compelling her to interject.
“Your girl is thirty-three years old,” she reminded her father. “And this dinner is for business, not pleasure.”
“Why can’t it be both?” Liam wondered aloud.
“Now that’s a good question,” Bev said, her remark earning a conspiratorial grin from her daughter’s boss.
“Because it’s not,” Macy said firmly, before she brushed her lips against her mother’s cheek. “Good night, Mom.” Then she stopped by the playpen and bent down to drop kisses on top of each of the babies’ heads and instruct them to be good for Gramma and Grampa.
“They’re in good hands,” Norm promised.
“I know they are,” she said, and bussed his cheek, too.
Liam turned his head, a silent invitation for her to touch her lips to his cheek.
Macy rolled her eyes and shook her head.
He shrugged and helped her on with her coat. “I figured it was worth a try.”
“I won’t be late,” she told her parents, as she knotted the belt at her waist.
“It doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t,” Bev said. “We’re not waiting up.” Then, in case her point wasn’t clear enough, she winked at Liam.
“Good night,” Macy said firmly.
“Have a good time,” her mother said.
She shoved Liam ahead of her out the door and closed it firmly at her back.
* * *
“Can I say now what I didn’t dare say when your father was staring me down?” Liam asked, after Macy was buckled into the passenger seat of his truck and he’d taken his place behind the wheel.
“What’s that?”
He looked at her and, even in the dim light of his truck cab, she could see the heat in his gaze. “Wow. Just...wow.”
She felt her cheeks flush. She didn’t know how to respond. She’d told her parents—and herself—that this wasn’t a date, but the way Liam was looking at her, the way the butterflies were winging around in her stomach, she kind of wished that it was.
Or maybe she was just hungry.
“So what’s on the menu tonight?” she asked when he’d backed out of the driveway and turned toward the inn.
“I have no idea. I told Kyle to put together the menu...and I didn’t even think to ask if you had any food allergies.”
“No allergies,” she assured him.
“That’s a relief,” he said. “And while the chef didn’t tell me what he was cooking, he did suggest that I could feature Circle G beef on the menu and highlight the connection between the ranch and the inn.”
“What a great idea,” Macy said.
“I thought so,” he agreed. “Of course, I might need my manager to negotiate the terms of any supply agreement with the ranch’s owner.”
“Your father’s still not happy about your career change?”
He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different. After all, Gilmores are ranchers.”
Macy had heard the same refrain spoken by various people countless times, and she could only imagine how difficult it had been for Liam to buck that trend—and how much more difficult his father continued to make it by refusing to respect his son’s choices.
The subject was abandoned when they arrived at the inn.
“Do you have a timeline for opening the restaurant?” Macy asked.
“If I open the restaurant,” he clarified. “And no.”
“I don’t think you would have let Kyle prepare this tasting menu tonight if you weren’t leaning in that direction.”
“Leaning isn’t the same as committed. And it usually takes more than a single meal to get me to make a commitment.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “But right now, I’m hungry, so lead the way to dinner, cowboy.”
* * *
Kyle had enlisted help with the setting up and serving. He introduced Erin as a friend of his sister’s—and also a part-time waitress at Jo’s. The chef then proceeded to give them a preview of the menu.
White wines would be sampled with the starters—sweet potato soup garnished with Greek yogurt and toasted pumpkin seeds, arugula and pear salad with Gorgonzola dressing, goat cheese crostini with fig and olive tapenade, bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with blue cheese, and caramelized onion tart with a balsamic reduction; and red wines would be served with the mains—prime rib au jus accompanied by roasted fingerling potatoes and glazed baby carrots, chicken breast stuffed with spinach and mushrooms served on a bed of creamy risotto, and grilled salmon with couscous and a steamed vegetable medley.
Every detail of the meal was perfect. The presentation of each plate was as exquisite as its flavor. And sitting at a candlelit table across from a man whose smile was enough to make her blood hum in her veins was dangerously intoxicating.
“I’m trying to pace myself,” Macy said, as she nibbled on a bite of salmon. “But it’s not easy. Everything tastes so good.”
“And nothing like what you’d find on the menu at Diggers’,” Liam remarked.
“I didn’t realize your reluctance to venture into the restaurant business was based, at least in part, on an unwillingness to step on the toes of the other dining establishments in town.”
“Haven’s a small town, and it’s important that we support local businesses if we want them to stay here.”
“And that’s exactly why you need to offer fine dining,” she told him. “To give people a reason to stay in Haven rather than trekking to Elko or Battle Mountain.”
“With every bite, I’m growing more convinced,” he admitted, reaching across the table to scoop up a forkful of the risotto on the plate in front of her.
“And when word gets out that there’s a fancy new restaurant in Haven, you’ll start to get people from Elko and Battle Mountain coming here for a meal.”
“You think so?”
he asked, still sounding dubious.
She tapped her fork on the edge of the plate with the prime rib. “I’d travel more than fifty miles for a bite of that flavorful, melt-in-your-mouth beef. Pair it with a glass—or a bottle—of that California cabernet sauvignon, and suddenly your diners are not only happy they made the trip but realizing that they can linger over dessert and another glass of wine and then check into one of the luxurious suites upstairs.
“And, of course, you could put together special dinner and room packages as part of your usual offerings or a special-occasion thing.”
“Or you could,” he suggested.
She smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
“Did you have any questions, comments or concerns about anything on the menu?” Kyle asked, coming out of the kitchen after they’d had a chance to sample each of his offerings.
“I have one,” Macy said, glancing at Liam across the table. “Who gets the doggy bag?”
The young chef smiled. “I’ll let the two of you figure that out.”
“Arm wrestle for it?” Liam suggested.
“Yeah, that would be fair,” Macy noted dryly.
Liam grinned. “Why don’t we put the leftovers in the fridge here? Then we can both enjoy them again for lunch tomorrow.”
“I guess that would work,” she agreed. And then, to Kyle, she said, “You must have been cooking all day.”
“It’s what I love to do,” he told her.
“And your passion for food is evident in every bite,” she assured him.
“It’s only long-ingrained table manners that held me back from licking my plate,” Liam said.
Kyle’s smile grew. “Should I send out dessert now, then?”
“I don’t know that I could eat another bite, but if your desserts are even half as good as everything else, I have to try,” Macy said.
“Desserts aren’t my specialty,” the chef confessed. “But I have mango sorbet with fresh raspberries, a pecan tart with caramel sauce, and white chocolate mousse dusted with cocoa powder and garnished with sprigs of mint.”
As he spoke, Erin set each of the referenced desserts on the table.
“If you wanted fancier options on the menu, you could consider partnering with Sweet Caroline’s Sweets,” he suggested.
“Another great idea,” Macy agreed. “It would expand the options for your diners and support another local business.”
“Did anyone want coffee? Tea?” Erin asked.
“Not for me, thanks,” Liam said.
Macy shook her head. “I’m going to finish my wine,” she decided.
“Then we’ll leave you to enjoy your dessert while we clean up the kitchen,” Kyle said.
Macy lifted a spoon and waved it over the three dishes, as if she didn’t know where to begin. She decided on the tart, breaking off a piece with the side of her spoon, then sliding it between her lips.
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes closed in blissful pleasure. “Oh, yes.”
The unintentionally provocative words combined with the expression of pure bliss on her face made Liam wonder if Macy would respond with the same passionate enthusiasm to the experience of other pleasures. No, not just wonder. Made him want to know.
Made him want.
He shifted in his chair as his body immediately began to respond to the contemplation of that possibility. He shoved a spoonful of sorbet into his mouth, as if the flavored ice might cool the heat rushing through his veins.
He cleared his throat. “It’s good?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Good doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s—” she took another bite of the tart, sighed “—better than sex.”
“Now I have to try it,” Liam said, reaching across the table with his spoon.
She curled her hand protectively around the plate. “I don’t want to share.”
He chuckled. “Well, if you won’t let me try the tart, then I’m not going to share the mango sorbet with fresh raspberries.”
“Fresh raspberries in March?” Her tone was dubious, but her expression was interested.
“They might not be local produce, but they’re delicious,” he said, and nudged the glass dish toward the center of the table.
She spooned up another bite of the tart before reluctantly sliding the plate closer to his.
“Mmm...that’s good, too,” she said, after she’d sampled the frozen treat. “Really good.”
“But is it better than sex?” he wanted to know.
“It might be,” she decided. “The truth is, my memories of the event are a little foggy while this sweet taste of heaven is right here, right now.”
“Dessert definitely satisfies a sweet tooth, but sex—” Now he sighed. “Sex done right satisfies the body and the soul.”
She snorted at that.
His brows lifted. “You don’t agree?”
“I probably shouldn’t even express an opinion,” she admitted. “Because I haven’t had sex in...well, let’s just say it’s been a long time.”
“How long?” he wondered.
She waved her spoon at him. “That’s an inappropriate question to ask an employee.”
“You’re the one who brought up the subject of sex,” he pointed out.
“You’re right.” She nodded. “But it’s your fault.”
“How is it my fault?”
“Because before you kissed me, I never thought about how much I missed sex.”
“You kissed me,” he reminded her.
“The first time,” she acknowledged.
“You kissed me back the second time.”
“Has any woman ever not kissed you back?” she wondered.
“I’m not interested in any other woman right now,” he said. “I’m only interested in you.”
The intensity of his gaze made her belly flutter. “I’ve got three kids,” she reminded him.
“That’s not what’s been holding me back.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“I’m trying to respect our working relationship.”
“Yeah, that complicates things,” she agreed. Then she finished the wine in her glass and pushed away from the table. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I want to give my mom a call to check on Ava, Max and Sam.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “But I can’t promise the rest of that tart will be there when you get back.”
She gave one last, lingering glance at the pastry before she said, “You can finish the tart.”
He was tempted by the dessert, but he managed to resist. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out against his attraction to Macy—or if she wanted him to.
Had he crossed a line by flirting with her? She hadn’t reacted in a way that suggested she was upset or offended, but she hadn’t exactly flirted back, either.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, when she returned to the table several minutes later.
She nodded. “I got caught in the middle of an argument.”
“With your mom?”
“With myself.”
His brows lifted. “Did you win?”
“I hope so,” she said.
Then she set an antique key on the table and slid it toward him.
Chapter Eleven
Liam immediately recognized it as the key to the luxury suite on the top floor.
“You do know that I have an apartment upstairs?” he asked.
“Yeah, but it seemed presumptuous to invite you up to your own place,” she said. “Plus, I’ve been dreaming about sleeping in that bed since the day you gave me the tour.” Then she smiled and shrugged. “Or maybe not sleeping in it.”
He wrapped his fingers around the key, gripping it so tightly that the cold metal bit into his palm.
“Are you sure, Macy?” Then, without p
ausing long enough to give her a chance to respond, he said, “Please say you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
He exhaled a grateful sigh of relief.
But still, he had to ask one more question. “Should I worry that your decision is being influenced by the wine?”
“I’ve only drunk enough to lessen my inhibitions about letting you see me naked,” she told him.
He abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up. “Then let’s go upstairs so I can see you naked,” he suggested.
“Are you sure?” she asked him. “On my way back from the desk, I started to wonder if maybe I was jumping the gun.”
He drew her into his arms, felt her tremble a little as he pulled her close. Nerves? Anticipation? He was admittedly experiencing some of each.
He’d wanted her for so long but had managed to convince himself it couldn’t happen and that, eventually, his feelings for her would go away. He’d been wrong. And now that he knew Macy wanted him, too, he wasn’t going to deny those feelings any longer.
Instead, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d tasted the flavor of her lips. They were as sweet as he remembered, her response as passionate as he recalled.
He slid his hands up her back, tracing the line of her spine. Then down again, cupping the curve of her bottom. She arched into him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her hips aligned with his so there was no way she could be unaware of his arousal.
“Does that answer your question?”
Macy blinked. “What was the question?”
He chuckled softly and lifted her into his arms.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“What I’ve wanted to do for months—I’m taking you to bed.”
“Do you know how many stairs you have to climb to the top floor from here?”
“I’ve never actually counted them, so no,” he told her. “But I’m pretty sure it’s the same number to get to my apartment.”
“And too many for you to carry me the whole way,” she protested.
Claiming the Cowboy's Heart Page 13
