A Fortune in Waiting

by Michelle Major

  But it all felt new with Francesca. Thanks to the partner at his firm, he’d been able to book Il Fontaine’s private dining room on the third floor of the building. They sat at a table for two, the space lit by dozens of candles. The room boasted an impressive view of downtown Austin, and it felt like they were a world away from everyday life. It was a feeling Keaton wanted to capture and hold.

  He’d arranged for an eight-course tasting menu selected by the chef because he wanted to concentrate on Francesca. She’d been delighted by every new plate brought to their table, from the butternut squash soup they’d started with to the brie in crispy phyllo dough with candied pecans to the pan-seared scallops that had been served as the main course.

  He watched her sip her third glass of wine as the waiter set the dessert course on the table. It was a dark-chocolate flourless cake with an espresso mousse, fresh berries and whipped cream topping it.

  “It’s almost too beautiful to eat,” Francesca murmured.

  Not nearly as beautiful as you, Keaton wanted to tell her. He had no skill with flowery compliments or poetry but looking at Francesca made him understand how generations of love-struck poets had been inspired to place pen to paper. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight and her wild mane of hair cascaded over her shoulders in a way that made him wonder what it would look like spread across his pillow. Heat pooled low in his belly at the mental image of this woman curled around him in bed.

  “I’ve got to snap a picture to show Ciara,” she said when they were alone again. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of her dessert. “Does this make me seem like a total bumpkin? I bet you’re used to being served food that looks like art.” She made a face. “You must think the homestyle cooking at Lola May’s is so ordinary in comparison.”

  “I choose to eat at Lola May’s almost every day,” he said with a chuckle. “Clearly it appeals to me.” He waited until she met his gaze then added, “But it isn’t only the food that keeps me coming back.”

  “I noticed you the first time you walked into the restaurant,” she said quietly. She ducked her head and color rushed to her cheeks, making him understand she hadn’t meant to admit as much. A surprising zing of happiness shot through him in response.

  “That’s not true,” he protested. “You wouldn’t even make eye contact for the first week I came in.”

  She arched a brow. “You were wearing charcoal-gray trousers, a dark blue shirt and a striped tie. You sat at the counter and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. Lola May waited on you and, within minutes, she was giggling like a schoolgirl at whatever you were saying.”

  “She’d told me the ages of her kids and I commented that she must have had them when she was just a toddler because she looks so young.”

  Francesca snorted then raised her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers. “But that’s laying it on a little thick, wouldn’t you say?”

  “All I know is she cut me the first slice of the apple pie she’d baked that morning.”

  “You’re too charming for your own good,” she answered, pointing a finger at him. “Do you always get what you want?”

  He leaned across the table toward her. “Always.”

  She reached for her wineglass, but knocked it with her fingers instead. Before either of them could react, the delicate piece of stemware tipped onto its side, golden liquid spilling across the table.

  Keaton jumped up from his seat in time to miss the wine dripping into his lap. Grabbing the glass, Francesca let out a little yelp of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she said, using her napkin to blot at the white table cloth. “Why am I so klutzy around you?”

  “If I didn’t know better, Ms. Harriman,” he said with a wink, “I’d think you wanted me to take off my pants.”

  He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Instead of a delicate blush, her cheeks flamed bright pink and her mouth dropped open as if he’d just accused her of running naked through the center of town.

  “I—I don’t...” she stammered.

  “It was a joke, Francesca.” He came around the table and reached for her hand. “A bad one, and I’m sorry for it.”

  Her gaze fell to the floor. “I know I’m nothing like the women you’re used to taking out for a dinner date.”

  “And I couldn’t be more grateful,” he said.

  “You know I have a reputation for never dropping anything at the restaurant?” She moved to sit back down. He let her but kept hold of her hand. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even so innocently. “Since I moved back to Austin, I haven’t broken a single plate or glass. It’s been almost two years.”

  “Your record stands,” he told her. “The wineglass is still intact, and the plate of pot pie had a soft landing in my lap.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You need to stop making me nervous.”

  He laughed at the annoyance in her command. “I like that I have an effect on you.” With his free hand, he scooped up a spoonful of dessert and held it out to her. She bit down on her lower lip then opened her mouth for the bite. It was pure pleasure to watch her eyes drift close as a soft moan escaped her mouth.

  “That is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t agree more, but this time he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  * * *

  An hour later the limo pulled to a stop in front of Lola May’s.

  The restaurant was dark, as were the windows in her apartment above the diner. Francesca climbed out when the driver opened the door, her entire body humming with need. Keaton had tucked her into his side on the ride home, his fingers tracing light patterns over the bare skin of her leg just under the hem of her dress.

  She’d asked him to tell her about growing up in London, and he’d obliged with funny stories about the mischief he’d made at school and playing in his neighborhood soccer club. But between the slight buzz she felt from the wine and her awareness of him, she could barely remember a thing he said.

  “I’ll walk you to your door,” he murmured into her ear, his hand coming to rest low on her back.

  “Thanks,” she answered because she didn’t trust herself to say more. All of the other thoughts running through her head sounded like “stay the night” and she’d already embarrassed herself enough for one evening.

  She tripped a little bit at the top of the stairs and blamed the stupid heels she wasn’t used to wearing. She hadn’t had that much to drink, had she?

  Keaton caught her and pulled her close. Her back pressed to his chest, she was once again enveloped in his warmth and the spicy scent of him. The combination did crazy things to her senses. She’d never had this reaction to any man, not Lou even in the early days of their relationship and not with any of the customers who’d flirted with her over the years at Lola May’s. Her body had a mind of its own when it came to Keaton, and she was having a difficult time remembering why she’d ever had doubts about this handsome, sexy Brit.

  “Are you okay now, luv?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble that she was coming to crave as much as chocolate.

  She let out a little sigh, tempted to snuggle closer to him. She wanted to turn into him and press her nose to the base of his throat. Her whole body ached to have his hands on her, to tip up her chin and kiss him. Instead, she jerked away, propelling herself the two steps forward to her door. There was no way she was going to maul Keaton in the hallway outside her tiny apartment. She placed her palms on the smooth wood to ground herself then reached into her purse for her key.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, jabbing the key into the lock. Once it clicked open, she turned to face Keaton.

  He’d stepped toward her and reached out a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. “I had a great time tonight.” He lifted his arms to hold on to the top of the
doorframe and her mouth went dry at the way his muscles tightened under the crisp fabric of his shirt.

  “Me, too,” she whispered, swaying closer to him. “Thank you for dinner. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I can now check off a limo ride from my bucket list.”

  One side of his mouth pulled up into an irresistible smile. “What else is on your bucket list?”

  You.

  She swallowed back the word. How many women had thrown themselves at Keaton? She refused to add her name to what she imagined was a long list.

  “Rock climbing,” she answered. “Scuba diving. Paris.”

  “Good to know,” he said and bent until their lips almost touched. “If I had my way, Francesca, I’d make all your wishes come true.”

  I wish you would kiss me, she thought, and like magic, his mouth brushed over hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet, an exploration with a hint of something more.

  She wanted the something more.

  She wound her arms around his neck and went up on tiptoe, pressing her body against his. He released the doorframe and lowered his hands to her waist, spanning her curves with his fingers. He was hard in the places she was soft, and she reveled in the feel of him. Their contrasting backgrounds might make her nervous most of the time, but in this case their differences blended to make them a perfect fit.

  Perfect.

  There was no other way to describe how she felt in his arms. Her lips parted, a silent invitation. When he took it, sliding his tongue into her mouth, she wasn’t sure if the groan of pleasure she heard came from him or her. Either way, it ignited a fire inside her and suddenly she couldn’t get enough of him. The kiss deepened, all of her senses going crazy as his hands slid down her back and over her hips to pull her even closer.

  She sucked in a breath as her belly pressed against the evidence of his arousal. It gave her a strange and gratifying sense of power to know that this man wanted her.

  Almost immediately he pushed away and took a step back into the hallway. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath and her fingers went to her lips. She could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers, and her whole body protested the distance between them.

  When he met her gaze, he flashed an apologetic smile. “Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “That was unexpected.”

  Unexpected. Francesca’s heart sank. There were other words she was thinking of—amazing, mind-blowing, awesome. Unexpected was a bit of a letdown, to say the least.

  “A lovely surprise,” Keaton whispered and she wondered what he was reading in her eyes. He reached for her hand. “A perfect beginning and a perfect end. Talk about sweet dreams.”

  Lovely and perfect were an improvement. Francesca studied him, hoping he wasn’t merely trying to soothe her bruised pride.

  His gaze was gentle. “I should go now,” he told her, placing a tender kiss on each of her knuckles. “Before I find it impossible to leave.”

  She wanted to believe he meant that, almost as much as she wanted to ask him to stay. “Thank you again,” she said instead. “It really was a perfect evening.”

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intense it felt as if he was searching for an answer to a question he wasn’t even sure how to ask.

  Then he smiled, the look he gave her turning playfully charming, and just like that, the moment was over.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” he said and disappeared down the stairs.

  Francesca walked into her apartment and kicked off the shoes she knew would leave a blister on her feet. She inched to the window and peeked out from behind the curtains. Just before he got back into the limo, Keaton glanced up at her apartment. There was no way he could see her, but it felt like he was looking directly at her.

  That man could make her melt with once glance.

  She was in big trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  “A man like that is trouble for a girl like you.”

  Francesca tried to shrug off the words her mother spoke the next morning. She wasn’t having any more luck ignoring the verbal jab than she was in getting rid of her massive headache.

  Three glasses of wine with dinner and now she had a hangover the size of Houston. When had she become such a lightweight?

  She sighed and took another drink of the soda she’d ordered at her favorite drive-thru restaurant on the way to her mom’s small condo. The hamburger and fries sat untouched on the kitchen table, but she’d get to those as soon as her stomach settled. The truth was she’d never been a drinker. Her role had always been designated driver or caregiver to Lou and his bandmates when they overindulged. Now she was the one who was paying the price for a night of overdoing it.

  “He’s a nice guy,” she said to her mom, who was wiping down the counters as they spoke. “We have fun together.”

  “What could you possibly have in common with a Fortune?” Paige Harriman turned and rested one hand on her hip. “You come from two different worlds.”

  “Not that different,” Francesca argued, wishing she hadn’t even mentioned her date with Keaton. “He only found out last year that Gerald Robinson was his father. Even Gerald’s other kids didn’t know their dad was really Jerome Fortune.”

  Her mother’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Rich people issues,” she said dismissively. “Or what is it they call those now? First-world problems.”

  Francesca unwrapped the hamburger and nibbled the edge of the bun. “Keaton was raised by a single mom, too. He didn’t have a relationship with his dad, and his mom worked hard to take care of him.” She raised her gaze to her mother’s. “Just like you.”

  “Sometimes I think we raised each other, Frannie.” Her mom dropped the sponge into the sink and came to sit across from her at the table. “You were more mature than me even when you were a girl.”

  “That’s not true,” Francesca answered, although in many ways it had been her reality. Her mother had good intentions, but she’d let emotions rule most of the decisions she made and not always with the best outcome.

  “Trust me on this, sweetie.” Paige snagged one of the fries. “We’re not the same as people like the Fortunes. We’re simple, you know? Working class. I thought I could make myself into someone different. I believed loving a man was enough to change my life. Look at where that got me.”

  Francesca had just taken another bite of hamburger, and it seemed to turn to sawdust in her mouth. She didn’t want to hear how dating Keaton was going to set her up for the same type of heartache her mom had endured.

  “Don’t get upset,” her mother told her. “I don’t mean you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. But our lives could have been different if I’d made better choices. I wasn’t good enough for a man like your father.”

  “He was married,” Francesca said. “You had an affair with a married man, who already had a wife and kids. It’s different, Mom.”

  Paige shrugged. “He said he loved me. He let me believe we would be together.”

  “I’ve been on two dates with Keaton. He hasn’t made any promises, and I don’t expect him to. It’s just fun.” She wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.

  Her mother wagged a finger in the air. “I recognize that look in your eyes. You’re falling for him, and we both know you give your heart too easily.”

  Francesca opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut again. She was falling for Keaton, even after knowing him for such a short time. It was part of the reason she’d kept her distance when he’d first come into Lola May’s. She’d felt a connection to him even before they’d officially met. Now that she knew he was sweet and funny in addition to being hot as the Texas plains in August, she was pretty much a goner.

  Maybe that’s why she’d tried to have her wicked way with him last night.

 
Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought of the way she’d deepened the kiss then practically mounted him when he’d obviously been trying to keep things casual. He was a gentleman, and she’d been a sloppy, drunken floozy.

  “I’m not going to fall for him,” she told her mother, wanting to believe she had the willpower to keep her heart out of the equation.

  “You need to stick to someone who’s more like you.” Paige took another fry then added, “I saw Cowbell on one of the late night shows last night. They were the musical guest, and Lou sounded great.”

  “It’s still the worst band name in the history of band names,” Francesca muttered. “And if you remember, Lou cheated on me. Repeatedly. If you’re insinuating that he was the one that got away, you’re wrong. I should have kicked him to the curb long before I did.”

  “I’m saying you two come from the same place. You had a lot in common.”

  A bitter laugh bubbled up in Francesca’s throat. “Mom, the only thing Lou and I had in common is that we both loved him.”

  “He made a mistake,” her mother argued.

  “More than one.”

  “He texted me last week.”

  Francesca choked on the sip of soda she’d just taken. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Paige shrugged. “I knew you’d be upset. He asked about you.”

  “Mom, don’t text him. Don’t talk to him. Lou and I broke up. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “He still cares about you.”

  “Probably because he can’t find anyone to do his laundry while he’s on tour.”

  “You meant more to him than that.”

  “Right,” Francesca agreed. “I made coffee every morning, too.”

  “You and Lou have a history together. You come from similar backgrounds. His band is breaking out, Frannie. If you’re looking for a man to take care of you financially, he’s just as good of a bet as your Fortune.”