by Cat Johnson
Trey stepped forward.
“Bruschetta,” the chef barked with another shove.
“Bru-whatta?” Trey frowned down at the little red triangles laid out in an artful display in front of him.
The look the chef shot him could have wilted the green leafy things garnishing Trey’s tray.
Trey’s tray. That was funny. Jimmy laughed to himself at his own little joke. He’d have to find a way to use that later.
“It’s chopped tomatoes with basil on garlic toast points,” the chef explained none too patiently.
“Oh.” Trey grabbed his tray with one hand, raised a brow and then left the kitchen.
“Don’t piss off the chef, whatever you do. I had one throw a butcher knife at me once.” Matt issued that warning to them all, unbeknownst to the chef in question.
Great. Now Jimmy had to worry about the chef throwing things at him on top of terrorists blowing up the rich guys who were going to be asses to them for not knowing what bruschetta was.
Bull stepped up as the chef shoved another tray forward.
“Wild mushrooms and brie on sourdough toast.”
Hmm. Who knew toast was so high falutin’? It was in a bunch of these things already. Jimmy had been eating toast all his life. He hadn’t known he was so classy.
Bull took the mushroom toast things and looked like a storybook giant carrying a doll-sized tray out of the kitchen.
Uh, oh. Jimmy was next. He stepped up to the stainless steel table.
“Hot parsnip soup.” The tray slid toward him as the chef announced its contents.
Uh, oh, again. His silver and very slippery tray contained about twenty tall shot glasses filled with a whitish liquid that he thought looked too much like semen for him to even contemplate drinking, or eating or whatever.
But that wasn’t the least of it. How the hell was he supposed to carry it without the shot glasses sliding all over the place?
The commander was behind him, so he stepped aside to magnanimously allow him to go first. “Sir?”
“Oh no, Gordon. That one’s all yours. And don’t call me sir.”
Under the impatient scrutiny of the chef, Jimmy cringed a bit and picked up the tray with shaking hands.
He could shoot the bull’s-eye out of a target with a hand so steady he could perform brain surgery with it, but carry a tray full of semen soup filled shot glasses and he was . . . well . . . shot.
Jimmy somehow got himself out the door without spilling, although the whole lot of glasses shifted slightly to the left, along with the white lace doily that might look nice, but did dick to help him keep from spilling.
He paused to scope out the situation in the rapidly filling room and nearly got knocked into by a guest as he did.
That was it. He couldn’t keep his eye peeled for the bad guys if he was staring at this gross soup in a vain effort to not accidentally dump any.
Jimmy walked over to his brother at the bar. “I’m leaving this tray here with you before I spill it.”
“What the hell is it?” Jack glanced at the contents of the glasses.
“Parsnip soup.”
Jack winced. “Well, it looks like—”
Jimmy held up his hand to stop Jack before he went any further with his most likely X-rated description. “I know what it looks like. Just tell the guests what it is if they ask. I’m going to do a walk-through and see what’s up.”
“A’ight, but nobody’s going to drink that shit—I mean stuff.” Jack censored himself just as a couple walked up to the bar and into earshot.
Jimmy smiled. This gig might not be too bad. It would definitely be something to talk about over drinks later. Until then, he’d just keep dumping his trays with Jack so he wouldn’t have to deal with them.
Proud of his stroke of genius, Jimmy was still congratulating himself when he saw one hot number walk into the room on the arm of one of the VIPs they were there to protect, an old dude he sincerely hoped was not her date.
That would be a shame, since she was hotter than that soup he’d ditched and a hell of a lot more attractive.
Her red hair was pulled up to reveal the sexiest porcelain neck and shoulders he’d ever seen.
Her legs seemed to stretch nearly up to her armpits. Her black, strapless dress slit up the side nearly hip-high was pretty nice to look at too.
Her eyes, as big and blue as the cool pond on his mama’s farm, completed this vision of walking, talking sex that would fulfill any man’s fantasy.
Wow. Good thing he’d ditched that tray. Otherwise, he definitely would have dropped it when he saw her.
She was gorgeous and she knew it. Head held high, she waved off BB and his tray with a flick of her wrist without even glancing at him.
Jimmy watched the commander sidle up to her. It looked as if he had teeny tiny lamb chops on his tray.
That figured. The commander not only got food easy to carry, but it was something the hot chick actually wanted. She grabbed a chop and a little white napkin and turned back to listen to something her companion was saying to another old guy in a tux.
Jimmy swallowed. His mouth started to water, and not only because the lamb looked really good and he hadn’t eaten since lunch. It was because he was picturing her doing something else with that luscious mouth as he watched her suck on the delicate lamb bone.
Mmm, mmm.
“Gordon.” Jimmy jumped at the unexpected and harsh sound of the commander’s voice through his earpiece.
“What?” Jack’s surprised response came through Jimmy’s comm unit.
“Not you, Jack. The other Gordon.” The commander sounded annoyed.
Jimmy turned toward the wall so no one would wonder why he was talking to himself and whispered, “Sir?”
“Stop drooling over the redhead and do a sweep of the area, dammit. And don’t think I didn’t notice you forget your tray at the bar. Good job on that one, by the way.”
Jimmy turned and saw the commander shaking his head but grinning across the room. He’d gotten caught ogling Red, but at least he wasn’t in trouble over the cum-soup. He nodded once then headed off to do a lap around the public and staff areas.
CHAPTER 2
Amelia Monroe-Carrington pasted on a sweet smile and feigned interest in what the senator and her father, the governor, were discussing.
They were deep into campaign season and if she had to attend one more party and pretend she was having a good time, Lia feared she’d lose her mind. Unfortunately, there were many more such parties on their schedule.
“Amelia. How is your mother feeling?”
Lia wrestled her wandering attention back and focused on the senator’s question. “Better, though she wasn’t quite up for tonight. Thank you for asking.”
The explanation tasted bitter on her tongue. Her mother had been deemed fit by the doctors months ago, and yet here Lia was, still playing lady of the family.
Lia had been more than happy to fill in as her father’s date when it was necessary during her mother’s recovery from a bout with a bleeding ulcer, but now she was clearly being taken advantage of.
“Glad to hear she’s on the mend. Please give her my regards.” The senator’s eyes dropped to take in the exposed cleavage of a passing woman and Lia smothered a scowl.
Instead, she pasted on her campaign-picture smile. “I will be sure to do that, Senator.”
She supposed she shouldn’t blame her mother for seeing a way to escape the political society’s merry-go-round and taking it. It had most likely been both her father and his career that had given her mother the ulcer in the first place.
Lia only wished her father hadn’t dumped the full responsibility of publicly supporting him on her shoulders so happily.
She knew exactly why her father had readily jumped on the opportunity to have her be his new social partner and the reason was standing before her now, holding his martini and looking down women’s dresses.
Lia’s father made no secret of his desire to see
her married off to the senator’s self-absorbed son. An alliance of two of the greatest southern political families, he’d called it.
The entire concept made her ill.
At least the senator’s son, John Dickson III, wasn’t here with his father tonight. He was as pompous as his name made him sound and she had no interest whatsoever in the man.
Lia wanted to be swept off her feet, fall head over heels in love and marry someone who would give her the happily ever after she’d always dreamed of.
That, however, didn’t seem to matter to her father. He wanted her married not for love, not for compatibility, not because of overwhelming sexual chemistry, but for politics.
She’d seen what her father and mother’s alliance was like. They’d had separate bedrooms for as long as she could remember. She was pretty sure they’d only had sex once and that was the night she was conceived.
However, the all-powerful families of the Monroes and the Carringtons had been united with their marriage, so everyone pretended they were happy. Even Lia.
She stifled the urge to sigh and glanced around the room, actually seeing it for the first time since her arrival.
All these parties were alike. She’d long ago stopped observing them, except maybe to see what horrendous fashions reared their ugly heads on some of the women who dared stray from the campaign semi-formal party circuit uniform of the basic black dress. Lia had an entire closet of black dresses, because heaven forbid you wore the same one twice.
Her gaze swept the room and landed on not one, not two, but half a dozen really buff male members of the wait staff.
Where in the world did the caterer find these guys? Had an all-male strip club gone out of business and all the dancers needed to start waiting tables?
Watching a huge guy trying to balance a tray in one hand while handing the mayor and his wife a cocktail napkin, Lia had to bite the inside of her lip to stop from laughing.
The server was concentrating so hard, the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips as he frowned.
Lia glanced around some more and saw a cutie behind the bar smiling at the wife of one of the most powerful businessmen in town.
The object of his flirtation was absolutely eating up all the attention. She leaned over the bar, giving the bartender a clear view of her exposed cleavage, which he was shamelessly taking advantage of.
She took closer inventory of the staff. They all displayed varying levels of gorgeousness, incompetence and hilarity.
Her gaze landed on one guy across the room and she realized she was not the only one doing some observing. Bold as anything he was staring right at her, watching her as she watched all of them.
She raised a brow and met his stare head-on. Mirroring her, he lifted a brow back and treated her to a crooked smile.
Then his expression changed. He seemed to stand a little straighter. He broke his gaze from hers and was gone from the room before she could fully appreciate the rear view of his tight black pants pulling across tight butt cheeks.
That was a shame. He’d been a welcome distraction.
Lia snagged another lamb chop from a passing waiter. This one was a bit older than the rest, with silver streaks of grey in his hair, though he was just as built as the others. His arm muscles strained the seams of his jacket.
As she bit into the rosemary encrusted flesh and chewed, she considered how she’d like to nibble on the tall, dark and handsome waiter who’d disappeared. Hopefully he’d return soon.
CHAPTER 3
Jimmy had been making some good progress in his visual flirting with the hot redhead when Matt’s voice came across the comm unit. “Code Orange.”
The commander’s gaze immediately landed on Jimmy. He was the only man there not burdened by a serving tray, except for Jack, who couldn’t leave the bar.
Jimmy nodded to the commander. The hot chick would have to wait. He had a job to do and he couldn’t do it in the middle of a cocktail party where he was supposed to be nothing more than a waiter.
He slipped into the hallway where he could respond to Matt unobserved. “What’s the Code Orange, Matt?”
“I ran the guest list through the computer again and got a hit. One of the last minute additions matches an alias used by a terrorist on our watch list.”
It looked like the shit might be about to hit the fan. Jimmy felt his adrenaline begin to pump at the thought of some action. “Give me the name. I’ll find him.”
Matt did as requested and Jimmy headed to the entrance where the guests were being cleared through security.
The guard there pointed Jimmy in the direction of the guy who’d checked into the party under that name.
Jimmy nearly laughed when he saw him. He ducked outside and around a corner to talk to Matt. “Uh, Matt. Unless your terrorist is a little old gray-haired man of about eighty who uses a walker, the name is just a coincidence.”
Matt’s laugh came through the earpiece. “Roger that.”
“Anyone else?”
“Negative. The rest of the list looks good.”
After reporting his findings, Jimmy went back inside the building to resume his post, but he knew the magical moment with Red had been broken.
That thought had him scowling as he made his way down the hallway toward the ballroom . . . until he smacked right into the redhead of his dreams coming out of the ladies’ room.
Reflex had him reaching out with both hands to steady the incredibly sexy woman as she teetered on her high heels. “Sorry, darlin’.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline and an amused smirk appeared. He realized he probably shouldn’t be calling the guests darlin’, but what could he do? He’d been calling females not related to him that since puberty. It just slipped out.
Red didn’t seem too upset about it though. As Jimmy reluctantly released his hold on her, she raised her hands and ran them up and down his lapels. “You’re forgiven. What’s your name?”
He breathed in the rich scent of her. Expensive-smelling perfume with an undertone of lamb.
“James.” Entranced by her clear blue gaze, he somehow managed to supply his given name for her. Though even his mother didn’t call him James unless she was mad, it seemed to fit better in this situation than Jimmy so he went with it.
The vision of sex on heels before him reached into her envelope-sized purse. Was everything rich people owned and ate tiny? She took out a pen and a scrap of paper. On it she scribbled something and then handed it to him.
“Nice to meet you, James.”
The pleasure was all his, especially when she winked and sashayed away and he got to drool over the rear view.
When she’d turned the corner—without looking back, he noted—Jimmy finally had the presence of mind to look down at what she’d written on the paper she’d given him.
Seven digits and a name—Lia.
She’d given him her phone number and he hadn’t even asked. That was one hell of a woman. One he definitely would be happy to get to know better.
Jimmy suppressed the whoop of excitement threatening to bubble out of him, but since he was alone in the hall he figured he could ask the question uppermost in his mind out loud. “Hey, Matt. When is this gig scheduled to be over?”
Whenever it was, it wouldn’t be soon enough for him.
A few hours later, Jimmy walked out of the back door alongside Jack and Trey.
In what would have looked like a coordinated effort to an outside observer, all three tugged at their collars simultaneously as they struggled to rip off their bow ties. Jimmy, for one, couldn’t get his off fast enough.
“That was a waste of time,” Trey grumbled.
Jimmy wouldn’t exactly say that the fact no terrorists had blown up the place made it a waste of time, but it was frustrating to go to all the effort for a false alarm.
Nothing more exciting than Matt’s early scare about the old dude with the suspicious name had happened all night, unless he counted the phone number he’d gotten.
>
Now that was something to get excited about.
He patted his breast pocket and assured himself the number was still safely tucked away. His fingers itched to grab for his phone and dial it right then and there. Instead, he controlled the impulse until he could get somewhere private.
“At least you didn’t drop your tray, Trey.” Jack grinned, obviously proud of his cleverness. “See what I did there?”
Jimmy frowned. “That was going to be my joke.”
“Late again, big brother.” Jack slapped him on the back. “So, what do y’all say we hit the bar after checking in on base? We can get a cold one and I can see how my hot bartender is doing.”
Free from the tie now, Trey undid the top two buttons of his shirt. “Sure. As long as we can change out of these monkey suits first.”
Jimmy thought again of the precious piece of paper tucked away in his pocket. It was already getting late. He had to either call now or not at all if he had any hope of meeting up with her tonight.
“You two go ahead. I’m, uh, a little tired.”
Jack shot him a look. “Tired? From walking around a party picking up dirty napkins all night? Come on. We’ll just go for one beer.”
“It wasn’t just playing waiter. We had to keep on alert in case anything did go down.” That much was true, even though Jack was correct—Jimmy wasn’t tired from the party. He was tired of being celibate and had every hope Lia would help him out in that area.
“But nothing went down,” Jack reminded him.
Jimmy struggled to come up with an excuse not to go to the bar so he could see Lia, if she wanted to see him. “Yeah, but I’d have to stop by the bank and get some cash first.”
“Yeah, and? So what? That’ll take like a minute.” Jack stared at him, waiting for a response.
“But then I’d need to get gas too.” Jack was still frowning at him doubtfully, so Jimmy added, “Maybe I’ll meet y’all there later.”
Jack shook his head. “Whatever.”
Trey stopped next to his truck. “See you guys back at the base.”
They had each taken their own vehicles, thinking it would appear less suspicious arriving individually as waiters would, instead of piling out of one of the team vehicles as a group the way they usually traveled.
