Southern Romantic-Suspense Boxed Set (Southern Romantic-Suspense Novel Book 0)

by Carmen DeSousa

  She stopped by the table with a pitcher of tea. He looked up at her and couldn’t have prevented the smile on his face, even if he’d tried. “What does C.J. stand for?”

  She refilled his glass, then leaned toward him. “I never tell anyone. It’s a secret.” She smiled, then turned and strolled off again, as if she had no clue what her whispered words had done to his insides.

  Secret? What did that mean? She’d smiled sweetly, but she’d also dismissed his query.

  His eyes followed her as she approached an older couple. She sat down beside the man as if she knew him. A protective instinct crept up out of nowhere.

  Seriously, man, get a grip. He’s like seventy something.

  Jordan wasn’t jealous of the man, he realized. He was envious she wasn’t sitting, talking, and laughing with him. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than just that.

  C.J. disappeared into the kitchen again, returning a few minutes later with drinks for the couple and a salad, which must be his. He was proficient at reading people. What she did next would determine if he would act on his feelings.

  If she delivered the drinks before his salad, she might be interested. But if she dropped off his salad first so she could go back and talk to the couple instead of him, then he’d know just to forget about trying to approach her and always wonder ... what if?

  Passing right by him, she walked to the couple’s table and dropped off their drinks. He smiled, pleased with this simple outcome.

  Watching the effortless sway of her walk as she returned to him, he almost let out a whoo-hoo. But then, she set down his salad and bread and turned to walk off again.

  “Excuse me, C.J.?” he spoke in a rushed panic, a pathetic endeavor to keep her near him.

  “Yes?” She turned back, her dazzling eyes bright and beautiful. “Did you need something?”

  He stifled a chuckle. How juvenile. He was acting as if he were seventeen not twenty-seven.

  “Why is it a secret?” he blurted out the first question that popped into his head.

  She shook her head and chuckled out a breath. “My name?”

  “Yes, why won’t you tell me your real name?”

  “Well,” she said, taking a seat across from him, “I just don’t like it. Besides, no one forgets C.J. It’s easy to remember, which brings my customers back to me.”

  Her eyes narrowed, showing a little crinkle between them. She looked up and flicked her gaze around the room as if expecting someone to charge through the door. He’d seen this look before — in victims.

  “I can’t imagine anyone forgetting your name, even if it was eight syllables,” he offered. What kind of corny line was that? He wanted to slap himself.

  But instead of rushing off again, she smiled. “Where are you from?” she asked. “You’re not from Florida, are you?”

  “Now why would you think that?” he teased, smiling. Maybe he could get her to let down her guard.

  “Well, your accent obviously. Plenty of Floridians have southern accents, just not in Pinellas County. Even so, there’s something else I can’t quite place, but I know it’s not a Floridian trait.” She relaxed deeper in the booth, crossing her arms, awaiting his response.

  Wondering what she was getting at but deciding to engage her until he got what he wanted, he offered a compromise. “I’ll make you a deal,” he hedged, staring into her eyes a fraction longer than necessary, watching as her eyes grew wide. “You tell me your real name and I’ll tell you mine ... and where I’m from.”

  She sprang from the table.

  Oops, guess I lost that standoff, he thought wryly.

  “I have to get their salads,” she stammered, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge something. “I’ll be right back.”

  Relief washed over him. For a second he thought he’d been too assertive, which he tended to be sometimes.

  Even though she knew she had plenty of time, C.J. rushed to the kitchen. The Smiths enjoyed sipping their cocktails before they ate. But she had to escape.

  Could he really be interested, or was he just having fun? Thinking about his piercing blue eyes that seemed to read her, she tightened her hand around the envelope concealed in her apron. She couldn’t trust herself. She made disastrous decisions when it came to men. She couldn’t continue flirting with disaster, even if he looked like fun.

  She stood in the kitchen, pulling on her bottom lip, and took deep breaths. Slowly, her pulse returned to normal.

  After calming herself down again, she ordered the Smiths’ dinner and waited for their salads. She ambled her way to her regulars’ table, brandishing a fresh iced tea for the man who was upsetting her world just by asking what her initials stood for. And what was with his ridiculous comment about never forgetting her name?

  Quickly trading out his drink, not giving him a chance to speak, she retreated to the Smiths, deciding to chat with them before she’d have to pick up his dinner. She could allow someone else to deliver his meal. But she wanted to see him again, even for a few seconds. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Would she always be so dense? If she were being honest with herself, she’d initiated the flirting. People asked what C.J. stood for all the time. For some dim-witted reason, though, she’d decided to taunt him by withholding the answer. He’d turned her teasing around on her, however, and now she felt nauseated.

  C.J. managed to ignore him, yet continued to perform her job flawlessly. She permitted him only the time needed to replace his beverage, then headed to her other table.

  Did it mean she wasn’t interested? Did he care?

  He watched her laugh with the couple. They looked happy, as if they’d been married for fifty years, as his grandparents had been. He was seven years older than his grandparents had been when they married. He hadn’t been thinking about marriage these last few years; it hadn’t even been a thought. It was this girl, and this blasted thunderbolt his grandmother had cursed him with that had him thinking crazy thoughts about a woman who wouldn’t even tell him her name.

  His grandmother had explained how she and his grandfather had met in an apple orchard when she was nineteen and he was twenty, and how she’d known he was the one. His grandfather must have known too because he’d asked her to marry him within weeks of their initial meeting. Nanna assured Jordan it would happen to him also, just as it had with his father and his father before him. Jordan had listened to her anecdotes but had all but given up on something spectacular happening to him — until now.

  Jordan’s gaze followed C.J. as she left the table and disappeared into the kitchen. He was probably creeping her out, but he couldn’t stop watching her. He saw her glance his way a couple of times. Of course, she was his waitress; she could have just been checking his drink levels.

  C.J. walked out of the kitchen with his dinner in one hand, a new sweet tea in the other, and a bottle of something tucked in her apron. She set down his dinner and a fresh glass of sweet tea but didn’t leave right away.

  “Do you use steak sauce?” she asked in a cool professional manner.

  “Yes, please,” he replied as smoothly as possible. She was going to play hard-to-get, something he wasn’t accustomed to. Not that he had a lot of experience dating. He didn’t. But he’d never had to try hard. Women seemed more than willing to approach him, or his sisters were always ready to set him up.

  “That’s what I thought.” A warm smile flashed across her face as she set down a bottle of A.1. and settled into the booth again, sighing. “My name is Caycee Jaynee Evans, both spelled with ay and both ending in ee. Caycee is a boy’s name, and Jaynee should have been Jayne. It would flow better. Try explaining how to spell Caycee Jaynee long enough, and you end up with C.J.,” she babbled.

  Maybe a date wouldn’t be so difficult after all. “I understand. I like them both, especially Jaynee. Can I call you Jaynee?”

  A small huff escaped as she shook her head in confusion. “Why would you want to do that? You’ll probably never even see me again. And by the way, it’s your turn
. What’s your name, and where exactly are you from?”

  Her eyes were impatient, and Jordan knew as before, he had only mere seconds to talk before she darted off.

  “My name is Jordan Monroe, and I’m from a little town in North Carolina called Stanfield. It’s about forty-five minutes southeast of Charlotte.”

  “Figures,” she huffed again, sounding displeased with this revelation, “a real southern gentleman. And I was right. You’ll never see me again. So why does it matter what my name is?” She jumped up, scurrying away before he could respond.

  Okay, so it was going to be difficult to ask her out.

  C.J. stopped by a few minutes later to check on his steak but left swiftly so as not to allow any time for additional questions or conversation.

  The dinner was delicious, but the overwhelming desire to break through her shield was frustrating. What had compelled him to ask a complete stranger if he could call her by her middle name? It was personal. He wanted it to be personal. He’d seen the disappointment when she sighed at his response. She’d called him a southern gentleman. Not a redneck, a country boy, or a hick. References he’d become familiar with over the years, particularly in the Army. He’d even referred to himself by those disparaging names on occasion.

  C.J. had two more groups of customers sit down in her section, and he knew he couldn’t keep bugging her.

  She walked back to his table, a cool look in her eyes. “Have a nice evening,” she said, then laid the check on the table.

  He had a couple bills ready. He stuffed the two twenties inside the folder and jumped up beside her. “Thank you, C.J. You can keep the change. I hope it makes up for me irritating you.”

  Staring at his hands, she accepted the folder without a word and then looked up at him.

  “Would you meet me for coffee after you finish work?” The words left his mouth before he even considered why he was asking her. They lived six hundred miles apart. What was he thinking?

  Surprising him, her eyes filled with so much passion that he was positive she was going to say yes. But with a sudden look of resolve, she shoved her hands in her pockets. He could hear her wrinkling up a piece of paper. She was just nervous.

  After a couple seconds, though, she stared up at him, those gorgeous eyes growing a shade deeper. “I don’t date,” she said in a soft but determined voice. Her brows narrowed as though she had something else to say, but she turned to greet her next table.

  Her words hit him like a steel bat, but something about her eyes told him he shouldn’t give up. There had been something about the way she’d dismissed him that said she’d regretted telling him no.

  He walked toward the exit, but at the last second altered his course and headed to the bar and ordered a beer he wouldn’t drink.

  Chapter Two

  C.J. watched as Jordan walked out of her life. She was angry with herself for saying, ‘no’ but angrier that she’d wanted to say yes. Her stomach was in knots, and she didn’t even know him. She’d been smart to say no.

  He’d return to Charlotte, or wherever he was from in North Carolina, and never consider her again. She couldn’t withdraw her eyes from him as he walked toward the door. She wanted to dart after him, tell him she’d changed her mind and decided she would meet him. Then, to her amazement, he turned and headed for the bar. She averted her eyes when he turned his head and looked back at her. She didn’t want him to catch her gawking.

  She turned away and let out a breath. He was offering her another chance she didn’t want. At least that’s what she kept telling herself, even if she knew she was lying.

  C.J. approached her next table, two young couples in their early thirties. She knew how to up the check, and at the same time, give herself a reason to visit the bar.

  “Ladies,” she said, speaking only to the women. “We have a special creation tonight, a raspberry margarita. We take our famous frozen lime margaritas and add a swirl of Chambord liquor. If you like margaritas, you must try this one.” The women giggled and looked at their partners who encouraged them to go ahead. “And may I recommend a couple of our signature draft beers for you, gentlemen?”

  Order in hand, she was off to the service bar, which was at the far end of the customers’ area. Across from the service station sat Jordan.

  He smiled as she approached, a brilliant smile exposing a perfect set of white teeth. He was an ideal specimen of a man, and obviously he didn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer. Of course, he could have just decided to have a beer, but she doubted that. Most guys would have scampered off with their tail between their legs, but here Jordan sat, smiling at her.

  He lifted his glass as if offering her a salute, then took a sip and set his mug back on the bar.

  Unable to control herself, she smiled and then scooped up her drink order, returning to her customers. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as if she’d just run a marathon. The cocktails she carried nearly toppled over as her hands quivered beneath the tray. How could a man she didn’t even know affect her in such a way?

  As the night progressed, she made excuses to walk by the bar. Every time she saw a food order for the bar, she’d snatch it up and personally deliver it to the bartender. All her tables were against the window, so her back was always to the bar, but she could swear she felt Jordan’s eyes following her.

  She wondered if she should be worried, but somehow, ‘worried’ wasn’t the word coming to mind, flattered was more like it.

  As soon as she saw the bartender in the kitchen, she darted over to him. “Billy, hey, gotta sec?”

  The bartender was grabbing a dinner plate, but he stopped to listen. Some bartenders could be cocky, but Billy had always been nice. Of course, the extra tip she threw him at the end of her shift probably helped.

  “Sure, but I’m in the weeds. Whacha need, C.J.?”

  “I was just wondering about the guy at the far end of the bar? The —”

  Billy cut her off by rolling his eyes. “You’re the tenth server who’s asked me about him. The military-looking guy, right?” C.J. nodded sheepishly. “Name’s Jordan. Seems like an interesting guy ... great tipper by the way. I think he said he’s a contractor. Makes sense, he looks like a construction worker. It’s weird, though. He’s ordered several beers, but he only takes a sip or two, then pushes them away.”

  “So ... has he asked about me —”

  “Gotta go, C.J. We’ll talk later.” Billy turned and darted off.

  Was Jordan waiting for her, she wondered.

  Business was slow, and Tim informed C.J. he’d closed her section. Under normal circumstances, this news would disappoint her. Typically, she’d offer to close for another server, but tonight she felt otherwise inclined.

  She walked up behind the gentleman playing havoc with her perfect strategy of not dating while finishing college. What could it hurt? He didn’t even live here.

  “Jordan,” she said in the boldest tone she could muster, leaning up against the counter alongside his barstool. “Are you stalking me? I already told you I don’t date.”

  Jordan felt a buzz rush through him when she said his name.

  He lifted his eyes to meet hers, inclining his head slightly. “I didn’t ask you on a date. I asked you to coffee.” He concentrated on keeping his voice confident. It wasn’t easy. She made him feel a little shaky inside. Something he wasn’t accustomed to ... with women or anyone else for that matter. He was used to being in control, taking command of every situation.

  “Even if I did date, I can’t go out like this. I smell like a restaurant,” she protested.

  It sounded like a pout from a child. But if she weren’t interested, she wouldn’t have come over to remind him she didn’t date. He almost laughed, but restrained himself, realizing he was going to get his wish. He wanted this more than anything he’d ever wanted. Something about this woman had his insides bubbling.

  He moved his head closer, keeping his eyes indifferent. “You smell fine to me. Besides, I’ve
been sitting here for hours, so I don’t think I’d notice anyway.”

  “I look terrible. My hair’s a mess. I don’t have on any makeup, and ...” she glanced down at her uniform “Look at the way I’m dressed.”

  Following her gaze to her restaurant-issued shirt and khaki shorts, Jordan grinned. She was surrendering, and he was reveling in his victory, now to seize control. “It’s just coffee, Jaynee. If you want to get gussied-up when I invite you on a real date, that’d be awesome. But right now, I just want to talk to you for a while. I saw a Starbucks a couple of blocks up the street; I’ll see you when you finish work.”

  Smiling, he turned away, focusing his attention elsewhere. He’d paid as he ordered so he wouldn’t have to wait to pay his tab. He gave the bartender a friendly nod. “Nice meetin’ you, Billy. See ya ’round.”

  He hoped it would work. He hoped she wouldn’t leave him sitting there like a dope. Perhaps he’d offended her by calling her Jaynee. How presumptuous he was behaving. He’d never pressed a girl to go out with him. But he needed at least one chance to survey these unbridled emotions running rampant through his mind.

  He left the restaurant with one fleeting glance in her direction. Her mouth was all but hanging open as she watched him walk away. Yes, it would work; she’d be there. He ambled off, grinning ear to ear.

  C.J. stood there speechless, her jaw open in a catatonic stupor, baffled by her reaction.

  She thought she’d been in control. She’d just wanted to tease him, never considering for a second that he’d be able to turn the tables on her. But he had, and now she felt all warm and fuzzy inside. He’d called her Jaynee again. She liked the way he said her middle name with that drawl. Would she go to meet him? Did she have a choice?

  No man had ever affected her in this manner. Not even the one whose letter she’d repeatedly crumbled in her pocket, and she’d spent years with him. Wasted was a more accurate depiction. Would Jordan be the same? He didn’t even live in Florida. Where could this possibly lead? That was the thought confirming her resolution. It was just coffee, nothing more as he’d suggested. If she didn’t go, she’d always wonder.