Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  From the restaurant, the Manhattan skyline was visible as far as you could see and as he knew from the view from his own home, it was magical at night. He still worried, however, that the location and the chance to work on a really exciting project just wasn't enough to make up for having to deal with Bianca.

  She was just too damn distracting and annoying.

  Not that he hadn't worked for an attractive woman before. He had on dozens of occasions. He could even deal with the fact that she found him attractive. That flare of interest on her end had been impossible to ignore. He had learned to deal with that kind of reaction from women since he had looked in a mirror lately. Not that he usually gave much thought to his physical attributes. He'd done nothing to earn those. They were just a case of genetics.

  He'd rather that people judged him by what he had accomplished on his own, like building a successful contracting business.

  Plus, he prided himself on being interested in a woman based on more than just her looks. When he got involved with a woman, he wanted someone who appealed to him on a number of levels. Things like a reasonable amount of intelligence, a sense of humor, and a whole bunch of other things he couldn't name at the moment.

  Which was why he needed to stay far far away from Bianca.

  To say she was attractive was an understatement. She was of average height, but that was where the use of the word average stopped. Her face was stunning, an exotic blend of seduction and innocence. Today she had been the seductress with her red lipstick and smoky eye makeup. Her rich caramel brown hair had been loose and tousled, almost begging for a man's hands to tunnel through it and smooth it out. But he could picture Bianca looking all innocent, her face free of makeup with that irresistible girl next door thing going on. Her dark mane of hair up in a ponytail, swinging against the elegant length of her neck. Her green eyes wide and inviting.

  Her looks weren’t the only enigma she presented. He had called her "princess" for a number of reasons that morning. With her regal bearing, jewelry, and the expensive clothes, she wore her class as well as any royal. But he couldn't imagine that most princesses liked to get their hands dirty. Still, he knew she used those hands every day as a chef. The one time he had touched her today to shake her hand, the slight roughness of her palm had proven to him she wasn't above manual labor.

  Since it was too easy to imagine that hand touching him again, running all along his body, making him crazy hard and needy, he drove that idea out of his head by blasting on the cold water until he was shivering and all thoughts of Bianca had been cleansed from his mind and body.

  Then and only then did he exit the shower and dress, hoping to make it an early night.

  But as he walked past his drafting desk, the blueprints screamed for attention and he recognized he wouldn't be able to truly exorcise Bianca from his system until he gave her his bid.

  Hopefully she'd turn it down and save them both a load of grief.

  * * *

  Bianca and Eduardo were in the kitchen two days later, talking to someone in the kitchen when Rey arrived to drop off his bid and his suggested changes for their plans. As he walked in, Bianca noticed his entry and swung open the door to the kitchen.

  “We’ll only be a little bit longer. Would you mind waiting?” she asked.

  “Anything for you, Princess,” he said and winked, intentionally pushing her buttons to hopefully piss her off enough that she’d decide she’d never ever want to work with him.

  “Thanks, Rey,” she replied tightly and he knew that if she could have, she would have slammed the door in his face. Instead, it just whooshed back and forth loudly from the force of her shove.

  Smiling, Rey made himself comfortable on one of the stools at the bar. As he sat there, he glanced around the interior of the restaurant and pictured how it might look when it was done. Once again excitement rose up in him at the chance to work on the project, but he fought it back with one thought.

  Bianca.

  A few minutes later, Eduardo and Bianca walked out with their visitor, amicably chatting as they escorted him to the front door.

  Now that he had more time to really study her, he decided that she was looking innocent today. Innocent mode being way more dangerous than the seductress he had seen a couple of days earlier. Faded jeans hugged her shapely legs and an incredible ass. Because of the late summer heat, she wore a skimpy tank top that exposed the toned muscles of her arms and the fine lines of her collarbone and shoulders. He wouldn't even think about the fact she had to be braless beneath the shirt.

  Her hair was tucked up in a ponytail as he had imagined, but with tendrils of loose hair around her face, and long wispy bangs. He hadn't noticed the bangs the other day or the trio of earrings adorning one ear, making her look way too young.

  He slipped off the stool and handed her the blueprints and a slim, dark blue folder with the name of his construction company embossed on it. "I just wanted to drop these by," he said and hated that his voice sounded husky.

  "Thanks, we weren't really expecting your bid so soon," Bianca replied with forced civility as she accepted the papers from him.

  "I know you want to get going. I tried to do what I could to save you money. I also made some alterations in the original design. I hope you like the changes."

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, feeling like a bug under a microscope as she unrolled the copies of the blueprints he had marked up, and she and Eduardo perused them.

  Their confusion was obvious as they looked at the plans.

  He leaned over, close to her, and pointed out the changes, what they meant structurally and how they affected the costs for the job.

  "But how will that change the whole look of the place?" she asked and peered around the interior of the restaurant, as if visualizing it, before looking up to meet his gaze.

  It was then he realized how near they were to one another. Her lips were barely inches from his, and up this close, it was impossible to miss that her eyes were an amazing shade of green, with intriguing flecks of yellow, blue and grey mixed in. Eyes he could lose himself in, if he wasn't careful.

  "Rey?" she prompted again when he failed to answer.

  He coughed, drew away from her, and reached for the portfolio he had given her earlier. He pulled out the sketches he had done of the interiors with the proposed alterations, laid them next to the blueprints, and explained.

  Bianca heard what he was saying, but was afraid she wasn't listening very well to his technical explanations. She was too interested in the warmth that seemed to pour off his body as he unintentionally leaned against her and the way his large hands swept over the blueprints and the sketches. He moved his hands with confidence, but also with passion and animation as he detailed the changes. His voice, slightly husky and low, created a response in her she would rather not have.

  As he paused to allow Eduardo to comment, she pulled away from him slightly, and tried to really focus on the plans. When she did so, she realized not only how much care he had put into them, but how much of himself. He had given it that something extra the architect had failed to find with his designs.

  Rey had brought the place to life with changes that were filled with passion and an artist’s eye for color and space.

  She picked up one of Rey's sketches of the interior and ran her hand over it, imagining how the restaurant would look. Recognizing that what he had done was more innovative and more thoughtful than what the architect had delivered to them. Clipped to the back of the sketch was a photo copied from a book on Cuba with notes in strong masculine handwriting. She noted how he had taken the architectural design from the building and updated it.

  "I borrowed the book from Maya's dad. He has a whole bunch of books on Cuba. I thought that since you wanted to call the restaurant Havana Nueva and the architect had tried to recreate that feel. . ."

  He trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable with his rambling, but Bianca reassured him by laying a hand on his forea
rm and urging him to go on.

  "What you did looks great."

  "It's very very nice, Rey," Eduardo chimed in, and Rey continued with his explanation, finishing with the plans for the bar.

  "This area looks a lot like the one in the old Floridita bar in Cuba," he said and Eduardo immediately jumped in.

  "My uncle had someone try to replicate the bar when he first opened here. That's why they're so similar," he said.

  Rey smiled and that boyish dimple transformed his very masculine features and made him look much younger and not as intense as he had been during his explanations.

  "I knew it looked familiar yesterday when I first saw it, but it wasn't until I was going through the books a few nights ago that I ran across a photo of the bar," Rey said.

  He yanked out the sketch and photo from his portfolio which showed the bar in Old Havana and the minor changes which would be necessary to complete the transformation of this bar area to an updated version in keeping with the rest of the theme of the restaurant.

  "That is if you're interested in going ahead with me as the contractor for the project," he said almost uncertainly, his gaze locking with hers.

  Bianca would be hard pressed to deny her interest and not just in the plans. She had found him physically attractive the other day and in her lusty dreams. The hidden facets he was showing her with his plans made him even more dangerous. Her mother's voice warned her to run again, but she was just too damned intrigued to listen.

  "I'm. . .we're interested. Right, Eduardo?"

  She looked over at her partner, who had a broad excited smile on his face. She sensed that he knew just how much Rey affected her and was obviously pleased by it as well as the plans.

  "I think all of us are going to have a really great time getting this place open," Eduardo said.

  Bianca turned her attention back toward Rey and smiled. "Yes, I think we will. When can you start?"

  Chapter Four

  "The contractor changed the architect's plans? Are you sure that's wise?" David asked as he sat across the table from her in the intimate French bistro, another restaurant run by one of her cooking school friends.

  "I'm not an expert, but what he's proposing seems reasonable and the sketches look great," Bianca replied.

  The waiter brought over their appetizers at that moment. David had ordered the escargot, as he always did. She had never been a fan of the slimy-looking snails, convinced they had little taste besides that of the sauce they were prepared in. She had chosen a pate de champagne for her appetizer.

  She took a bite, enjoying the blended flavors of the liver, chicken, pork, and onions. To make it his own, her friend Robert had folded roughly chopped pistachio nuts into the meat mixture and then layered everything in Canadian bacon. All along the exterior of the pate there was a thin glistening layer of aspic flavored with some kind of liquor. Cognac, she suspected.

  "This is heavenly. How are your snails?"

  David shrugged, popped another slimy sucker into his mouth with the tiny fork the waiter had brought. "Tender and garlicky. Just how I like them," he said and grinned.

  "I'm glad you like Robert's cooking."

  "Well, it's what I prefer. That nuevo whatever stuff leaves me cold."

  "Nuevo Latino. You know what it is, David. We're both Latinos after all," she reminded.

  He grimaced and put down his fork. “I know, Bianca. But I feel as if it’s a far riskier thing than going with something more traditional, like a French restaurant."

  It was his argumentative tone and Bianca was in no mood for a disagreement with him. Again. But somehow she couldn't let his comment pass either. "That’s true which is maybe why there are so many of them which would make it tough to stand out. Plus, I’d like to incorporate something of what I am in my food. I’m a cook -- "

  "A chef," he corrected, as if that one word made a vast difference in what she did.

  "Whatever. I may know all about how to do French and other cuisines, but there's no reason I can't apply my skills to our own food traditions," she said. She knew that he thought her choice for the restaurant was an iffy one, but she was determined to do something different.

  He met her gaze and finally seemed to recognize just how set she was with her decision. "I'm just worried that it'll be harder for you, Bianca. That's all. I know how much it means to you."

  He held his hand out for her to take, which she did, giving him a smile and a quick squeeze before returning to her plate of pate.

  When the waiter returned a few minutes later, they had both cleared off their dishes and were busy sampling a fine Sauvignon blanc that David had chosen for the meal. She had been a little concerned at first that the milder wine would not be hearty enough for their meal, but the wine was actually quite well-balanced and full-bodied. In retrospect, it would go well with the cassoulet she had ordered for her main course, although she might have preferred a merlot.

  "This was a good choice, David," she said, held up her glass of wine and swirled the wine around in the glass, watching as fingers formed along the walls of the glass as she stopped. "Did someone recommend it to you?"

  David nodded and took a sip. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Anthony did during lunch the other day. Speaking of Anthony, you really should think about having him take a look at what the contractor is proposing."

  Anthony the architect, she thought and smiled at the alliteration. Anthony was one of David's nicer friends and clients. He had been very helpful in drawing up the plans for her. It seemed to make sense. "I can give him a call."

  "Actually," David began and put down his glass of wine. "I was thinking of having a little get together on Friday night. Just a little dinner for Anthony and his wife. A few others."

  Bianca remembered the last little "intimate dinner" in David's apartment. They'd had more than twenty for supper. It had been quite a lot of hard work to shop, cook, prep, serve, and clean up afterward with only David's housekeeper for assistance. She knew how important dinners like this were to David for his business, and if their relationship was going to progress, she had to be supportive. She ignored the little voice in her head shouting that he was taking advantage.

  "How many this time?"

  "Just ten," he quickly replied. "Maybe you and Anthony can find the time to go over the plans that night."

  "That sounds good," she answered and smiled at the waiter as he brought over the terra cotta casserole with her cassoulet. It was one of her favorite French bistro style meals, with its robust combination of pork, duck confit, and white beans. Her friend Robert made an exceptionally good cassoulet and she asked the waiter to let him know.

  The waiter nodded and placed David's plate before him. Veal medallions were seared to perfection and resting on a bed of Madeira sauce with morels. Lightly buttered haricot vert complimented the main course, along with some steamed, new red potatoes.

  David thanked the young man and immediately dug into his meal as did Bianca. She savored the blend of meats and beans, the kind of comfort food that invariably made her feel better. She and her partners had chosen their menu based on similar considerations. They had selected meals that would trigger some kind of emotional response from their patrons. Foods reminiscent of the holidays, like roast pork. Or a steaming caldo Gallego, like her grandmother used to make on cold winter days.

  Bianca couldn't wait to try out those recipes on their patrons and see if they brought out the same kind of emotional responses. Like the one she was having to the rich cassoulet that stirred memories of a cold December night in Paris and sitting in a small bistro with some friends from cooking school. They had been enjoying the food, warm crusty bread, and a robust house wine.

  She wondered if David ever felt the same or if the food before him was just a meal and nothing more. Nothing to be experienced and savored, stored away like a treasured memory. Bianca was convinced good food was like that, which was why people liked to eat. Favorite foods, in her mind, were invariably linked to special times in
people's lives. And a bad dish could totally wreck a special moment.

  That was why she took her craft so seriously, as did her partners. As did Robert, the chef who was approaching, a broad smile on his face as he realized who was at the table.

  "Cheri, it is zo good to zee you again," he teased in a fake French accent and winked.

  Bianca stood and hugged him, introduced David, and Robert pulled up a chair from an adjacent table and joined them as they continued eating.

  Her friend and she entered into a spirited discussion about her new restaurant for a few minutes until she realized they were excluding David with their shop talk. Bianca turned to David and explained how Robert and she knew one another, and got him talking about his job. In no time at all, David was regaling Robert with tales of his latest stock market conquests.

  Robert listened intently, but when a waiter motioned to him that he was needed in the kitchen, he appeared only too eager to excuse himself and head to the back.

  "He seems like a nice fellow," David said and finished his plate of veal.

  Bianca smiled and nodded. "Robert's one of the best. I was hoping he might want to join us, but -- "

  "He's not willing to take the risk?" David butted in.

  Shrugging, Bianca took a last bite of the duck in her cassoulet before answering. "Any new venture is a risk. You know that from the stock market, David. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy."

  He grunted and laid down his fork. "I'm not much of a risk taker with anything, Bianca."

  Something she knew only too well. David took no risks. Not in business and not with his personal life, except of course for his request of the other night. It had been a risk for him to ask her to become intimate with him, unless of course. . .

  She considered everything that had happened that night. The nice dinner, the whole anniversary thing. In the scheme of things, she realized that in most people's lives, a night like that would have probably led to making love.