For a moment, she felt self-conscious; remembering that she hadn’t been borne to wealth and privilege and the expensive clothes on her back had only had the price tags removed an hour before. She looked around, noticing that all eyes in the room had been drawn to their little show, and blushed.
“Hello, beautiful.” His voice brought a deeper blush to her skin.
“Hello, Trey.”
Moment’s later they settled across from each other over a balcony table that looked out over main dining area. “What can I get you to drink?” the waiter asked after silently materializing beside their table.
“I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay,” Sasha said. Trey ordered bourbon for himself.
“Any recommendations?” she asked.
“Anything chicken, beef or pork. You won’t find better beef unless you take a ride down to South Georgia and hit a juke joint on a Sunday after church.”
Sasha pulled her eyes from the man across the table and focused on the menu. She’d dined in some of the best and worst places in the world. Yet the extensive variation on steak, pork and chicken could have rivaled even the most exclusive New York restaurants. Needless to say, when the waiter arrived to deliver their drinks, she ordered the steak and wasn’t surprised when Trey did the same.
“I’d like to propose a toast. To healthy pets and happy owners.” Trey lifted his glass.
“I’ll toast to that,” she replied. Sasha squashed a hysterical giggle, feeling like a high school girl sitting next to her crush on the school bus. She clicked her glass against his, then took a sip. The velvety, almost sweet fruity flavor sent a wave of pleased relaxation through her body.
“Did you find the restaurant okay?”
“Yes. You gave excellent directions. The car has one of those navigation systems, but it gives me a headache when I try to follow the directions on the screen and keep from hitting someone at the same time.”
Trey’s laugh was lethal. It filled her skin and made things warm and fuzzy. Sasha relaxed into her seat. “I wouldn’t have believed that there could be so many ways to name a street Peachtree.”
“There are actually over fifty streets, roads, boulevards, highways and avenues with ‘Peachtree’ in the name in Atlanta.”
Her smile matched his. “That would be a fact only a native would know.”
He shook his head. “If you stay in the city more than a few days, you’ll find out the hard way that there’s more than one Peachtree. Stay longer and you’ll know the exact number.”
“So which are you? A native or a newcomer?”
“A little bit of both. I’m from Rome, Georgia.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just northwest of the city, right next to the North Georgia Mountains.”
“So you’re not a city boy?” she surmised.
“Not by a long shot,” he grinned. “I grew up in the country until it became the suburbs. I spent half my childhood shoveling horse manure, hauling oats, picking hooves, weaning kittens, deworming dogs and helping anything wounded that happened to come my way. I imagine you had the same experience.” His eyes held hers, displaying a warmth that challenged her to respond in kind.
That dimple of his was back in full effect. Without a doubt, the slight hollow would appear in her fantasies for a few nights. What was it about Trey that made her want to throw caution to the winds and revert to the basic animal instincts she’d witnessed in her research? How could someone she hadn’t known manage to hold such a physical and mental attraction?
“Close. But unlike you, I spent most of my time just watching. There were a few opportunities to take in wounded birds or other small animals. My parents believe in the separation of humans and animals. My father in particular believes the two should only meet on rare occasions.”
Trey sat back and snapped his fingers. “Now that explains it.”
“Excuse me?” she asked as she sat forward.
“You’ve just clued me in as to why a woman with an international reputation as an animal researcher, a master’s in biology and zoology can’t handle a depressed canine.”
“How did you know about my degrees?”
“I make it a point to know as much as I can about someone I’m interested in.”
No doubt about it. He was interested. Sasha nervously reached out, picked up her wineglass and took a gulp. The slight sting of the crisp white wine knocked the stars out of her eyes and calmed her stomach. She took her time picking up the napkin and wiping her mouth, so she was able to formulate an adequate reply. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or annoyed. That was a good line, though.”
“It’s not a line, Sasha.” He looked up at her, his warm puppy eyes very brown, very open. “I might not be Prince Charming, but I’m far from being a player. You can call any of my exes and they’ll tell you that I am honest.”
“So Ms. Ski Bunny and Ms. New York know about each other?”
“They’re sorority sisters.”
Sasha sat back in her chair and raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”
“You’ve got a suspicious mind, Sasha Clayton. Ms. New York happens to be my little cousin who just started as a lead dancer position with Alvin Ailey Dance Company. Ms. Ski Bunny is—”
He stopped, and she said, “Another cousin?”
“No, nothing that innocent. Kayla and I met six months ago at a conference in Aspen. Mix cold snow with Jamaican rum and you get two consenting adults seeking companionship for a few days.”
“Is that what you’re looking for here?”
Trey sat forward, and placed his hands on the table. “Maybe. I won’t deny that I’ve been physically and mentally attracted to you since the first day we met.”
Just then, the meal arrived and Sasha was spared having to respond to his provocative declaration.
The filet mignon, baked potato and steamed asparagus could have come fresh from a magazine ad. Needing time to get her brain back into gear, she took refuge in a bite of the baked potato. The butter, sour cream and chives hit her tongue and made a nice smooth descent to her stomach. Deciding to move on to something more substantial, she picked up her steak knife. She could have almost cut the butter-soft grilled meat with her fork. She took a bite, closed her eyes and began to chew. When she’d swallowed, she looked at Trey. “Heaven,” Sasha said.
“That good?” Trey asked.
She met his eyes and her heart flipped. “Delicious.”
He smiled and then cut into his steak. “Wait until you get a bite of my grilled pork chops.”
“You cook?”
“I marinate, sauté, bake and grill,” he corrected. “I don’t know a Southern boy yet that didn’t spend half his summer outside in the backyard with their dad standing at the barbeque pit. Caleb could have been a gourmet chef if he hadn’t gone into medicine.”
“Caleb?”
“My older brother.”
“Right, I remember that you mentioned that you had a brother.”
“Yep, two brothers and a younger sister. What about you?”
“I’m an only child.”
“So you were the center of attention and the apple of your father’s eye?”
“More like coconut,” Sasha smiled. “I was my parents’ helper from an early age.”
“At least you got your own room.”
“Sometimes.” She smiled. “Other times, I shared it with a hodgepodge of animals I decided to rescue,” Sasha said.
“You, too? My mother grounded me for a month for bringing in a stray raccoon. He got loose in the house. What about you?”
If anyone else had asked Sasha about her childhood, she would have glossed over the comical incidents, travel misadventures, exotic trips and cultural faux pas. The idea didn’t occur to her with Trey. Over the course of dinner, he regaled her with stories of his family and drew her out with open-ended questions.
“So it’s safe to say that you won’t be adopting any chinchillas in the near future?” Sasha asked minutes
after putting her fork down next to the remaining crumbs of a decadent slice of triple chocolate cake.
“No more pets for me. I’m a pet-free man and I plan to stay that way for a while.”
After the waitstaff cleared the table and discreetly left the check, Trey placed some bills in the letter wallet, then came to his feet and helped Sasha out of her chair. As he held up her coat, Trey allowed himself a glimpse at her exposed skin. He gulped as he looked at the lovely swells of her breasts. He stood back and helped her with her coat. Her best assets were always hidden by clothing, he thought. But that didn’t bother him at all—in fact, he got more of a rush imagining what was underneath.
“Thank you for dinner.” Sasha’s softly spoken words sounded musical to his ears.
“It doesn’t have to end, you know.”
“We have to go home eventually.”
“Yes, and we can go to my place first. I’ve got the cappuccino maker set to brew—” he glanced down at his watch “—in ten minutes. So how about you follow me back to my place?” He phrased it casually, but it was still an open invitation to a midnight seduction.
Sasha slowly shook her head from side to side. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Remember we’re going to keep our relationship strictly professional.”
“Nope, I don’t remember that one.” Trey grinned and handed the valet both of their parking receipts. “Besides, I think that we’ve already crossed that line.”
“When?”
“When you went from my daytime fantasies to my midnight dreams and started keeping me up all night and taking cold showers in the morning.”
“That would be another great reason for why you should go to your place and me to mine.”
“Come on, aren’t you the slightest bit curious about where I live? Don’t you want a peek into the vet’s natural habitat?”
Sasha narrowed her eyes on his grinning face. Darn. She did. Just like the wildlife she researched, she wanted to know if he had a house acres from the nearest neighbor, if he had furniture leftover from his college days, if his refrigerator held groceries or take-out boxes. She wondered if his sock drawer was organized by color or if his dirty clothes covered the floor. Not to mention, she wondered if the bathtub would gleam and sparkle or be covered with layers of soap scum. Before she could answer, a man in a suit and tie came to a halt in front of them.
“Excuse me, Mr. Blackfox?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Thomas Rayners and I’m the restaurant manager. Could I speak with you for a moment?”
Puzzled, Trey allowed the man to usher them to a more private section of the lobby.
The manager cleared his throat before speaking, “I’m sorry to tell you that we’ve had a little incident with your vehicle.”
Trey felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t tell me you put a dent in the car. It’s my sister’s car and she’ll kill me if it’s not back in the garage by next weekend. Mr. Rayners, the Corvette is worth more than you, me and Bill Gates.”
“It’s not that simple and if there had been such an issue, we would have gladly taken care of getting the car repaired. In this case, I’m afraid your car is missing.”
Stunned, Trey looked around at the empty circular drive, then back at the manager. “I’m sorry. I thought you just said my car is missing.”
“Yes. That’s what I said. One of our valets is missing, as well.”
For the third time in his life, Trey Blackfox was dumbstruck. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a car stolen. He braced for the panic that came from locating the space where he’d parked his car only to find nothing but a patch of broken glass or some tire marks. But he didn’t get that sinking feeling. No, his gut was doing a 360-degree turn, and then a nose dive. The Corvette was his baby sister’s pride and joy. He’d borrowed it on the promise that he’d not only bring it back with a full tank of gas, but also a fresh coat of wax and interior detailing.
Sasha stepped in. “Have you called the police?”
“We were hoping to not have that happen. Our restaurant has a reputation to uphold. If it gets out that we’ve got car thieves, I don’t know how we’ll recover.”
“I don’t care about your reputation. I need that car and I need it now.”
“I’ll have a driver take you anywhere you need to go. I’ll write you a check for five thousand dollars that you can keep. All I need is for you to give me forty-eight hours to locate the car before you can go to the police.”
“Keep the money.” Trey pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “I’m calling the police now.”
“Look, Mr. Blackfox, if you call the police I can’t help you. I have a private detective on retainer who can go places that the police won’t and he can go to the boy’s friends and family. At Fulton County police department your information will go on to the bottom of a long list. I, on the other hand, won’t rest until your car is returned to you.”
“That’s as close to blackmail as I’ve ever heard,” Sasha interjected.
“Take it or leave it. The chance to get your car back, five thousand dollars and complimentary meals—or spend the next three hours filling out paperwork at the Fulton county police department?”
Trey gave the man a hard stare and returned his cell phone to his pocket. Just because he didn’t have much of a choice didn’t mean he had to like it. “What do I have to do?”
“Just take a seat in the restaurant. Frank is on his way here and he should arrive in less than ten minutes. Please order a bottle of wine for yourself and your lovely companion. The wine cellar is open to both of you. Name a vintage and it’s yours.”
The manager’s private detective, Frank Turner, didn’t live up to his name, Trey thought a half hour later. And for once he was glad of it. Frank had a bald head, scarred knuckles and a broken nose. He was over six feet and built like a tank. Trey wouldn’t hesitate to put his money on the P.I. in a fight. Frank skipped all the formalities and started asking questions the second he sat down at their table. “Can you give me the year, make, model and color of the vehicle?”
“It’s a 2001 pewter Chevy Corvette.”
“Anything distinguishing?
“It’s barely street legal, has alloy wheels and it’s been modified for racing.”
Frank’s pen paused for a second, then he looked up. “When was the last time you saw the car?”
“Couple of hours ago when I gave the keys to the valet.”
“Did he park it out front?”
“No, I saw him drive it around the back.”
Frank removed his sunglasses. “You didn’t suspect anything? Did the boy seem nervous?”
“No. He took the keys, gave me the check, and got into the car. The kid didn’t gun the engine or anything.”
“Do you have a tracking device installed on the vehicle?”
“It’s not my car—it’s my sister’s.”
“Did your sister install a tracking device on the car?”
Trey shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Can you contact your sister?”
“Can I sign my own death warrant?” he parried. “What are my chances of getting that car back before, let’s say, two o’clock next Sunday?”
“An associate will get the VIN number from the registration and check for a tracking ID number. In the meantime, I’ll run down anyone who’s been in contact with the boy. If I can get him in less than twenty-four hours, then you’ve got a good chance that you’ll get it back intact with a few extra miles on the odometer.”
“And if not?”
“Then the car is probably either out of state or in pieces.”
Speechless, Trey could barely nod his head. It took him a moment, but he managed to hoarsely respond, “Save a life, man. Find that car.”
“I’ll do my best,” Frank said, giving Trey a confident look. After he took down Trey’s phone numbers and address, the detective flipped open his cell phone and beg
an speaking in rapid Spanish. Less than a minute later, he hung up and turned back to Trey. “Your lady friend’s car’s outside waiting. I can have a courtesy car dropped off in less than ten minutes for you, Mr. Blackfox.”
Trey gave a brief shake of this head. “No need, I’ve got another car at home.” He turned toward Sasha. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”
“Not at all.”
As they exited the restaurant, Sasha asked, “So where exactly do you live?”
“South on Peachtree and west on Seventeenth, in midtown.”
Sasha watched Trey from out of the corner of her eye as she pulled away from the restaurant. He gazed forlornly out the window. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Ask me that this time tomorrow.”
“If you were having car problems I would have gladly picked you up.”
Trey’s pride, which had already taken a beating, let go of the ropes, and went down for the count. “The Range Rover’s fine. The plan was for me to pick you up in Regan’s Corvette, take you out to dinner and afterward a little tour of the city. I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist my charms if I was driving a one-of-a-kind sports car.”
She chuckled and his heart sped up. “I guess it’s a good thing that I drove myself. I’ve always had a weakness for fast cars and handsome men.”
“So you wait until I’m distracted to start flirting. That’s pretty cruel when I’m contemplating being murdered by my little sister.”
“You’re telling me that your little sister drives a car that’s barely street legal?”
“Our whole family has always been crazy about cars. Regan saved enough money to buy a used Corvette and then spent months refitting everything from the struts to the fuel intake. Not satisfied with just having the car, she started racing on weekends.”
A Love to Remember Page 10
