by Lori Foster
In the restaurant’s requisite white blouse and trim black slacks, she would have felt blah. But she’d countered the no-hue outfit with a sparkly lipstick and dangling beaded earrings. Soon as her shift ended, she’d exchange the white blouse for her beaded tank top in an animal print embellished with gold flecks. A little fancy—but she loved it.
To her mind, clothes that made her feel good didn’t need a special occasion. Besides, making money was the best occasion of all, worthy of a good shirt. And she liked the flash of the top under the florescent lights at the office building where she worked.
It had nothing to do with Quinton.
As she came up behind the table, she heard one man mutter, “I can’t wait to see the cocky son of a bitch finished. He’ll never know what hit him. It’s perfect.”
The man across the table spotted her and nodded to alert the others to her presence. Not that Ashley paid them much mind. Most of the executives who came to eat spent their time complaining about one thing or another, usually a colleague. These men didn’t look much like execs, but who knew?
“Good evening, gentlemen.” The hostess had already given them drinks and menus. “I’m Ashley, and I’ll be your waitress tonight.”
The loud, insulting one sized her up. Built like a squat refrigerator, his blond hair a bit too long and styled, his smile too lingering, he stood out from the others as the obvious leader of the pack. “Well, hello, Ashley.”
She pretended not to hear the smarmy way he said that. “Our soup tonight is baked French onion. A light beef broth with caramelized onions and—”
“We don’t want soup.”
“Ooookay.” She raised her brows in polite inquiry. “Would you like to order now, or do you need a little more time?”
Displaying a distinct lack of manners, he continued to slide his gaze all over her. He sucked at one tooth, then brought his attention to her face. “The steaks any good here?”
Ash plastered on her most brilliant smile and launched into the rehearsed description of the steaks. “The absolute best. We serve only Kobe beef, which is extraordinarily tender, finely marbled, and full flavored. We have a New York strip, a rib eye, and if you’re really hungry, I’d recommend the T-bone.”
“I’m hungry all right.” His gaze wandered to her nonexistent boobs and back to her face again. “I’ll take the T-bone.”
“How would you like it prepared?”
“I want it still kicking.”
“Rare it is. And to go with it?”
“A good-lookin’ woman would do.”
What an ass. “Sorry. That’s only on the breakfast menu.”
He glanced around the posh interior of the restaurant with confusion. “This place serves breakfast?”
“No.” They opened for lunch, but not before then.
Unamused, he bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “How about you? When does your shift end?”
“Any minute now. So I better get these orders turned in.”
The men all guffawed, and finally, Blondie chimed in. But he didn’t fool Ashley. Her lack of response pissed him off.
Making it a point to move around the table—away from Blondie—she finished taking orders. With the promise of prompt service, she started to make her escape.
She’d gone only a few feet when she heard one of the men change the subject. “Did you call him again?”
“Not yet. I’m letting the aches and pains sink in first. A little form of incentive to make sure he gets the job done right.”
Aches and pains? The job? Struck with a terrible foreboding, Ashley stopped dead in her tracks. But she had no reason to linger, and doing so might make her look suspicious. When the men said nothing more, she checked on a diner, smiled at another, and moved away as casually as she could manage.
Apprehensive, she darted around the tables to the kitchen and turned in her order. She didn’t want to raise any doubts by delivering the meal late.
Praying no one would notice, she trotted to the break room. She didn’t carry her phone while working—management forbade private calls on the floors, and you never knew when it might ring. But she opened her locker in a flash, yanked the phone from her purse, and smiling at Denny’s cunning, pushed the number two button.
Denny answered on the first ring. “Problem?”
Obviously, for Denny to know who was calling, her name had popped up with her number. “Maybe.”
Brisk and businesslike, he demanded, “Where are you?”
“It’s okay, I’m fine.”
“Where?”
He needed to work on that surly temper. “I’m at the restaurant where I work.” She didn’t know how to pose the question without just asking it. “Can you describe that Elton Pascal dude that Jude doesn’t like?”
“Why?”
“I overheard a conversation from some men that’s got me curious.”
Denny asked no more questions. “He’s in his early forties. Stocky. Blonde. Slick. A real asshole.”
“Huh.”
“What the hell does that mean, girl?”
“It means…” Ashley drew in a breath, praying she wasn’t wrong. “Well, he might be here. In town. In the restaurant. With some other bulky guys, all ordering steak.”
“Shit.” She could practically hear Denny thinking. “When did he get there?”
“A few minutes ago. I just turned in his order. What should I do?”
“Stay the hell away from him.”
“I’m his waitress.”
“Fine. Serve him food. But don’t flirt, don’t argue, and definitely don’t be alone with him.”
Insulted, she said, “Did I strike you as the type to go off alone with jerks?”
“I mean it, child.”
“I’m not a child,” she pointed out.
“Do not get stubborn with me now.”
“All right, all right.” Amazing how he could bring her to near laughter no matter what. “Keep your shorts on.”
“Does May know where you work? Can she give me directions there?”
“Sure, but you don’t need to—”
“Be careful. And call if he starts to leave. I’ll go tell Jude right now.”
“Wait. I don’t want to alarm anyone—” The line went dead. Ashley glared at the hapless phone, then clicked it shut and stowed it away. “Stupid men,” she grumbled to herself.
Wouldn’t it be just like Jude or Denny to come charging to the restaurant, fists in the air, tempers crackling, when it probably wasn’t even the right guy?
But that menacing voice, and the implied threat… she shivered.
Striding back to the kitchen, she peeked out at the dining room floor. The men had just finished off their drinks, so she had to go check on them.
It couldn’t be this easy. She couldn’t have the source of all the trouble lounging at one of her tables. If he did turn out to be the same creep, she’d feel like a hero. Jude would be able to get rid of him and the threat. And then he could toss Tim out of his house, and with any luck at all, Jude and May would be able to form a lasting relationship.
May deserved that—and more.
Calculating her next move, Ash glanced at her watch. In another half hour, she’d have to clock out. It took her about twenty minutes to get to the office complex, and she had almost an hour between the end of one job and the start of the other. Surely she could figure out his identity by then.
If nothing else, he’d probably pay with a credit card. As long as she didn’t have to leave before he finished his meal… She prodded the chef. “Can you hurry it along a little?”
Temperamental in the extreme, but also a major flirt, he grinned shamelessly and said, “For you, Ashley-my-love, anything.” He added the caramelized shallot port wine butter to the last T-bone, arranged a stuffed tomato “just so” beside it, and put the last plate on the tray. “Here you go.”
The hefty tray weighed a ton, but practice had taught her to balance it with ease. The folding stand h
ooked over her arm, the tray in the air, Ashley made her way back to the table. She couldn’t deny her nervousness, or her anticipation. She just hoped she hadn’t stirred Denny up over nothing.
Chapter 13
As Jude laughed into the phone, saying, “Now, Uma, you know I’m not like that,” he clicked on yet another outfit, adding it to his online order of clothes for May. She might not admit it right off, but she’d love his choices.
Everything from comfortable jeans and colorful tees to flirty sundresses and career clothes that would better suit her lush figure would all arrive tomorrow, thanks to special overnight shipping.
To go with the clothes, he’d order strappy sandals, cute flip-flops, and a pair of sneakers. Purses, belts, and a lightweight jacket rounded out the selections. His favorite outfit, a tiered pink cami and cropped jeans, would make her look luscious. Once he got her in the clothes, he’d take her out to dinner and show her off.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said to Uma. “I’m hanging on your every word.” He laughed with her, and at that moment, a shadow moved past the open doorway—a shadow that somehow resembled May’s shorter, rounder figure.
Deciding to investigate, Jude left his chair to stride across the carpeted library. He reached the hall just in time to see May tiptoeing toward the bedroom across from his.
Over an hour ago, he’d left her with Denny and Tim, watching old SBC tapes and DVDs. For a while, he’d lingered with them, impressed with her knowledge of grappling and ground skills. Almost as soon as the announcer noticed a fighter’s intent, May saw it. She recognized the setup for an arm bar or an ankle pick, a reversal or a rear naked choke. She called the takedowns before they happened and celebrated a win seconds before it could be announced. She knew the difference between Aikido martial arts and Capoeira martial arts, between Freestyle and Greco-Roman wrestling. She favored Muay Thai boxing and scoffed at Karate.
She was, in so many ways, an amazing woman. Rather than watch the fights, Jude watched her watching the fights.
Covering the phone so he wouldn’t interrupt Uma’s story, he said, “May.”
She stiffened, then turned to face him with a frown. “What?” she whispered.
“Come here.” Uma finished her dialogue, and Jude replied to her while holding his hand out to May.
Reluctantly, May came to him, and he put his arm around her, drawing her into his side and into his library.
To Uma, he said, “I’ll have to let you know about the party.” He returned to his chair, tugged May into his lap, and added, “I’ve got my hands full here right now.” To prove his point, he filled his hand with her rump.
May punched him in the shoulder, almost making him laugh. The way she perched on his thigh, all prim and proper, had very improper ideas going through his head. In one more minute, he’d be hard, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
“No, Uma, I swear. I haven’t accepted the role. I’m not sure I will. I’m in no hurry to get back into acting.” He grinned. “Of course I’d tell you. Yeah, you, too, hon. Bye.” He laid the phone on the desk.
Arms crossed, back straight, May stared away from him.
He caught her chin on the edge of his fist and drew her face toward his. “Why were you sneaking around my hallway?”
With the stoniest glare he’d ever gotten from her, May said, “I wasn’t sneaking.”
“You were on your tiptoes,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t want to disturb your conversation with Uma.”
Jealousy dripped from her tone. He smiled at how she said Uma’s name, with such a sneer. “She’s a friend, May. When others in Hollywood relished my trial, she stood behind me.”
“She did?”
“She’s a really terrific lady.”
Her mouth flattened, and she said nothing.
“Did you see her in Kill Bill?”
Again, she looked away. “Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
She checked out a fingernail. “Yes.”
“Much?”
“A lot, okay? I saw it twice.”
Laughing, Jude hugged her until she squealed, and then he kissed her—and didn’t want to stop kissing her.
She went soft and warm on him, relaxing back in his arms when he trailed kisses from her mouth to her jaw and her ear. “I’ve finished my phone calls,” he said against her throat, loving the scent of her, how she felt on his lap. “Want to go play around?”
“I don’t know—” Her breath hitched as he cupped her breast. “Okay, maybe.”
He resented the barrier of her bra, but he still found her nipple with his thumb, and she still trembled from the touch. “Do you know what I want to do to you, May?”
Full of heightened anticipation, she shook her head. “What?”
“You like when I suck on you here?” He tugged at her nipple and she moaned. Moving his hand down her waist, and then between her thighs, he cupped her mound. She made a small sound of excitement and opened her knees. Searching with his fingertips, he stroked over her, following the seam of the soft shorts, and then—”Ah. Right here.”
“Jude.” She breathed his name.
“You’ll like when I have my mouth on you here,” he promised her. “Sucking on you. Licking you.”
“Oh God.”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Jude!”
“Jesus.” Jude pulled May upright. He barely had time to slide the chair under his desk to hide his boner before Denny appeared in the doorway.
He took one look at the two of them and said, “Shit, I’m sorry. But Ashley called.”
“Oh no.” May tried to scramble off his lap.
Jude held onto her; he needed her for cover. “What is it?”
Looking from one to the other, Denny pulled at his ear, looked behind himself to make sure Tim hadn’t followed, and finally, cleared his throat. “She’s working at some fancy restaurant—the child works too much and that’s all there is to it—and she overheard a conversation that she thinks… Well, she thinks she might be serving none other than Elton Pascal.”
Jude’s brain couldn’t assimilate such a thing. “Here? In Ohio?”
“She described the guy and yeah, it sounds like him.”
“What did she hear?”
Denny put his hands on his hips. “Hell, I don’t know. Does it matter? She said it sounded fishy, so I believed her. He’d already ordered his dinner, so I figured we didn’t have much time to waste on questions.” He glanced at May again, at her position on Jude’s lap, and the way his arms were around her. He cleared his throat. “I think maybe I’ll just run down there and check it out—”
“The hell you will.” Elton Pascal. In Ohio. Jude shook his head. If it proved to be true, it could only mean one thing.
Already in battle mode, primed, hard, more than ready, he lifted May to her feet. “I’m going.”
May clutched at him. “Are you both nuts?”
He paid her no mind. “Where’s the restaurant?”
Denny shrugged. “She said May knew, that she could give us directions there.”
They both looked to May.
She puckered up in indignation. “Oh no, I’m not telling you a thing.” She crossed her arms tight around herself. “Forget it.”
Not in the mood for games, Jude towered over her. “Give me the name of the restaurant, May.”
“No. This is insane. You can’t just go charging down there—”
She yelped in surprise when he caught her upper arm and started out the door with her, hustling her along to his room. They had a few things to clear up, and it’d be better done in private.
“Unhand me right now!”
His jaw locked. “Patience, honey.”
Calling after him, Denny said, “I’ll pull the Porsche around to the front.”
“Thanks.”
May said, “You have a Porsche? I thought you drove a Mercedes Benz.”
“I have both. Six cars, actually. The Porsche is black, so bett
er for tonight.”
“Six?”
Unwilling to be sidetracked, especially by a discussion on his indulgence with cars, Jude hauled May into his room. He turned and pinned her against the closed door. Her eyes were wide, her glasses a little crooked, her lips trembling. A few days ago, he’d have taken that look for fright, but not anymore. He had the awful feeling that nothing much scared May, most definitely not him.
“No time for games, May.”
In a mere whisper, she said, “This isn’t a game.”
“No time for your mothering or your lack of trust, either.”
“It is not about trust.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
Looking very put out, she muttered, “Your reputation for a cool head is grossly exaggerated.”
Of all the—
His nose almost touched hers, making her eyes go impossibly wide. “If Elton is here, then it’s to cause me grief. You told me you wanted me to have a chance to deal with it. Well, now’s my chance.”
“Not like this.”
“Exactly like this.” He cupped her face. “Hell, he’s probably hoping I’ll call out the cops and make a big scene. Then he can trot out his alibis and whatever trumped-up excuse he has for being here, and he’ll make me look like a fool. It’s what he does.”
He had to kiss her, but he kept it quick and shallow, letting the surge of emotion strengthen his hostility toward Pascal. He’d see the bastard face to face. And he’d make himself very clear.
“Then he’s probably hoping you’ll show up.”
“Possibly. But he won’t expect me to confront him alone. So far, I’ve ignored him, and that makes him nuts. He wants me to react. He’s continually prodded and insulted me, trying to make it happen. By involving you, he’s gone too far. He’ll finally get what he wants, but on my terms, not his.”
“Your terms?”
“I’ll see him mano a mano. The chickenshit bastard won’t expect that. He’s not big on confrontations, not when he can usually skulk around, ordering the dirty work for someone else to do. But when I push him into a corner, he’ll be too proud to turn me down. He won’t want his hirelings to see him as a coward. The conversation will be ours alone—and it’ll be a conversation he won’t forget.” Tunneling his fingers in close to her skull, he added, “That is, if you’ll give me the fucking directions.”
