by Nicola Marsh
“Thanks for the drink.” She downed the rest of her mojito and placed the glass back on its coaster, annoyed by a momentary flicker of regret. She had a job to do, but for the last twenty minutes, having a drink with Manny, enjoying their sparring, she wondered what it would be like to date a guy like him for real. “But I really do need to prep for tomorrow. Meet you in the function room at ten?”
“I’ll be there,” he said, a hint of regret in his tone. “Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“There’ll be plenty of time for you to take advantage of me tomorrow night when the job’s a wrap.”
The thought sent excitement skittering through her, and before she could react, he placed a far too chaste kiss on her cheek. “Sleep well.”
Her cheek tingled where his lips had touched her skin, and she managed to say, “I will,” before she bolted for the sanctity of her room, where she knew thoughts of Manny would ensure sleep would elude her.
16
“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Harper said, collapsing into the nearest chair and blowing out a breath. “I really do owe you.”
“I fully intend on calling in that favor sometime soon.” Manny poured a glass of water and held it out to her. “But for now, I’m dehydrated, exhausted, and I’m sure being on my feet all day has given me cankles.”
He rotated an ankle for emphasis, and she laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with your ankles. Stop being a sook.”
He pouted in mock hurt. “I’m sure they’re swollen.”
She rolled her eyes, their sparkle telling him she’d moved from tolerating his antics to enjoying their sparring.
It had been one hell of a day, with Harper snapping orders at him like she had yesterday but at a rapid rate considering they’d only had six hours to style three fancy dishes and the photographer had another job to go to. While he’d joked about his ankles, his feet did hurt, something that hadn’t happened since his early stint as an intern, when he’d had to get used to being on his feet and rushing between wards for eight hours, sometimes longer.
His back ached too as he settled into a chair beside her, feeling every one of his forty years. He worked out when he could squeeze a visit to the gym between his hospital shifts and maintained his fitness, so feeling this blah surprised him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, but what gave away my agony?”
She smiled and pulled a face. “The exaggerated wince as you sat down.”
“I’m old. Don’t mock me.”
She snorted. “What are you, thirty-three?”
“It’s rude to ask a gentleman’s age.” He waggled a finger at her, the simple gesture making his shoulder twinge. He really needed to make it to the gym more often if lifting a few heavy platters, albeit all day, made him this achy. “But thanks for the compliment. I’m forty.”
Her hand flew to her mouth in mock surprise. “Forty? Wow, you’re ancient.”
“And feeling it.” He shifted in the chair and grimaced as his back spasmed. “In fact, I’ve just thought of a way you can pay me back for my slave labor.”
“How?”
“A full-body massage.”
“Dream on.”
“Already been doing plenty of that, sweetheart, and you’re front and center in them all.” He winked, enjoying their banter now that she’d loosened up.
She rolled her eyes, but the amusement playing about her mouth told him she was enjoying their wordplay as much as he was. “I’ll pay for a massage at the hotel spa, and that’s my final offer.”
He crossed his arms and pretended to huff. “Not the same as having your hands all over my body.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Maybe we can make it a couple’s massage?” He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed.
“Do you ever turn off the flirting?”
“No, it’s my thing. Is it working?”
To his surprise, she nodded, a faint blush stealing into her cheeks. “A little.”
“I like your honesty.”
“And I like . . . the way you helped me out when you didn’t have to. Thanks again.”
She’d been about to say, I like you. He could see it in the sudden tension of her shoulders, in the glance away, and he wanted to tell her the feeling was entirely mutual. In fact, now that her job was done and he still had a few days of R&R left, he hoped they could indulge this mutual “liking” and see if it could turn into something more—like several nights of unbridled passion.
“You’re welcome. So what are your plans now the job here is completed?”
“I’ve got another job lined up at Storr’s newest hotel in Lake Taupo, about four hours from Auckland, then I’m sticking around for a few days, relaxing.” She stared at him, the color in her cheeks intensifying. “But first, I wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me? My way of saying thanks for going above and beyond the last two days.”
Thrilled by her offer, which definitely meant she felt this buzz between them and wanted to prolong their contact, he nodded. “I’d love to. Did you have somewhere in mind?”
“There’s a great Indian restaurant not far from here, the best in Auckland apparently, and I have a hankering for some of that dahl you mentioned yesterday.”
“Then Indian it is.”
Though personally, he’d much rather be whipping it up for her, a cozy dinner for two, before feasting on her rather than food. Something to look forward to when they returned home, perhaps?
The moment the thought popped into his head, he wondered where it had come from. He’d never thought beyond one date, and dinner with Harper in Auckland could be classed as that. If they had sex after it, even better.
So what was it about this woman that had him contemplating cooking for her in the future?
“Great, you definitely deserve a treat after I’ve bossed you around for two days.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement, like she’d loved every minute of it. “Shall I meet you back in the foyer in two hours and we can walk to the restaurant?”
“Sounds like a plan.” If he could lever himself out of this chair, that is.
She stood in one fluid movement without a grimace in sight, which meant she was used to long hours on her feet and hefting sizable equipment around. Something in his expression must’ve given him away, because she held out her hand, a smirk quirking that mouth he’d love to devour again.
“Need some help, old man?”
“No,” he growled, waving her hand away, before thinking better of it. Any excuse to touch her.
He pretended to struggle, hamming it up, until he heard her mutter, “For goodness’ sake,” before holding both hands out to him. He seized them and stood, ignoring the twang of his back as he tugged, pulling her flush against him.
“I’m feeling so much better,” he murmured, plastering her hands to his chest and holding them secure. “It’s a miracle.”
“You’re impossible,” she said, but her admonishment came out breathy and barely above a whisper, and her gaze dropped to his mouth for a fraction of a second.
“Yet you like me anyway. Go figure?”
To his glee, she didn’t object. Instead, she eyeballed him, so he could see every tiny speck of indigo in her stunning blue irises.
“I do like you, which is surprising, considering our cringeworthy first meeting. But I’m here to work, and this job is too important to me to lose focus. Got it?”
“I’m flattered I make you lose focus.”
“You are definitely impossible,” she muttered, with no malice in her tone. “Dinner, and that’s it.”
“Dinner, and we’ll see what happens.”
Before she could protest, he swooped in to press a soft kiss against her lips, using every ounce of willpower to rein in the impulse to kiss her senseless.
She sagged agains
t him for a second before stepping back and tugging her hands free. He released her, but his chest burned where her palms had been, like she’d branded him.
“What was that?” A tiny frown grooved her brows, and she stared at him with uncertainty, like she couldn’t figure him out.
“A prelude to dessert.”
17
Harper had instituted a man ban for a reason. Several reasons, actually, starting with too many bad dates before her first real relationship, and ending with Colin dumping her because she’d revealed herself to him.
She didn’t like being single, which meant when a guy asked her out, she accepted. Friends of friends, guys she’d met at work while in the catering industry, even a few blind dates. Some of those dates had turned into relationships, but none had lasted beyond a few months, when she’d realize that while the guys may have potential they weren’t “the one,” and as her twenties ticked by, she became more discerning.
That’s why Colin ending it had devastated her.
He was a chef at an inner-city restaurant determined to work his way up. They’d had a lot in common, from their love of thriller novels to a three Tim Tam limit while watching Seinfeld reruns. He’d been cute rather than handsome, with his reddish hair and easy smile, but he’d been sweet and sensitive, which is why she’d finally trusted him with the truth about her vitiligo.
Sadly, the first time he’d seen her without makeup in their relationship ended up being one of the last, because a day later he ended it. By piping “I’m sorry” in cream cheese frosting on a carrot cake he’d brought home from the restaurant. She hadn’t been able to glance at carrot cake since.
Though she hadn’t let him off that easily. Fuming, she’d shown up at the restaurant where he worked at the end of his shift, and waited until he’d almost reached his car before confronting him. The idiot had actually shied away from her, like he thought vitiligo was contagious or something. She’d demanded he tell her why he’d ended their relationship, and he’d mumbled something about not having genuine feelings for her and wanting to focus on his career.
She rarely swore, but yelling, “Fuck you,” and seeing the dweeb flinch had been the closure she needed; that and flinging his stupid carrot cake at his windshield. That had been a particularly satisfying exclamation point on twelve wasted months with a jerk who didn’t deserve her.
Being on her own for the last year had been cathartic. She’d proved to herself she didn’t need a man in her life. Being single was fine and her job more than fulfilling.
Of course, her prolonged man ban could possibly explain her ridiculous infatuation with Manny, the gorgeous guy sitting across from her and eating with such gusto she wanted to sweep the table clear and lie in front of him so he could feast on her.
“Quit staring at me,” he said, swiping a piece of naan through the rich malai kofta. “You’ll ruin my appetite.”
“Considering you’ve managed to stuff your face with two onion pakoras, two potato bondas, a lamb samosa, and three pieces of chicken tikka before these mains arrived, that’s highly doubtful.”
“I can’t help it. Your bossiness made me ravenous.” He smirked as he stared at her mouth. “For more than food, in case you were wondering.”
She bit back a laugh, enjoying his flirting way too much. “I’m not. Now eat your dinner.”
“Still issuing orders, I see,” he said, grinning at her before popping the naan wrapped around a kofta into his mouth.
She did the same, savoring the explosion of flavor that made her taste buds dance. She loved the vegetarian koftas, a mix of potato, carrot, peas, and sweet corn, mashed together with paneer and formed into balls. The spicy gravy coating the koftas held hints of cumin, cilantro, turmeric, and garam masala, and the entire combination made her want to lick her plate.
She must’ve made an appreciative sound because when she glanced up from her plate Manny was staring at her like he wanted to drag her across the table and devour her.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Probably from the chili liberally used in the dish. Her excuse, she was sticking to it. “Now who’s staring?”
“Do you know how incredibly sexy it is to see a woman with a healthy appetite?”
His low tone sent a ripple of desire through her. Damn it, she needed to deflect, to get this evening back on track to being a simple thank-you dinner, before she flung money on the table, grabbed his hand, and made a run for it back to the hotel.
“Perhaps if you dated real women rather than model types who exist on lettuce leaves, you’d find my appetite normal?”
“How do you know I date model types?”
She snorted. “Have a look at you. You look like you’ve stepped out of a magazine for hot doctors. Of course you’d date equally beautiful women.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure whether to thank you for the compliment or berate you for making me sound shallow.”
“We all value appearances, and pretty people tend to stick with other pretty people.”
“Once again, I’m glad you’ve noticed this magnificent facade”—he gestured at his face, his smile wide—“but I’m not sure where the prejudgment is coming from when you don’t really know me.”
She knew enough. She knew he was chivalrous and kind in coming to her rescue when he didn’t have to. She knew he was a hard worker who took orders and executed them to the best of his abilities, even when he didn’t have expertise in food styling. She knew he had a killer sense of humor and could laugh at himself; he hadn’t brought up the whipped cream incident, but she couldn’t get it out of her head. And she knew all these things combined to make her like him more than was good for her.
For the first time in over a year, she wanted to say screw her man ban and just screw him.
“Eat your kofta,” she muttered, not surprised he didn’t understand where her snark was coming from. She may have gotten over Colin a long time ago, but the reason he’d dumped her still rankled. Because every morning when she looked in the mirror, her face devoid of makeup, and she saw the white patches blotching her skin, it reinforced how everyone valued appearances. Would any man want her enough to see past it?
Sensing her distress, he kept silent. Another brownie point in his favor, knowing when to turn off the charm. Damn him for reeling her in with his many attributes.
When they’d demolished the koftas and the dahl she’d insisted they order, he sat back and patted his stomach, drawing her attention to it. His shirt wasn’t fitted so she couldn’t see the definition, but she bet it was as perfect as the rest of him.
“I’m so full,” he said, with a little groan. “And I have to say, those koftas were almost as good as my gran’s.”
“I’m stuffed too. So no dessert?”
“I didn’t say that.” His eyes twinkled as he held up his hand, fingers spread. “Give me five minutes. Besides, haven’t you heard we have two stomachs, one especially designed for dessert?”
“Remind me never to get treated at your ER,” she deadpanned, and he laughed.
“Are you questioning my medical expertise?”
“Hey, if you believe that two-stomach thing, do you blame me?”
“It’s nice to see you smile again.”
Before she could move, he reached across the table and swiped his thumb across her bottom lip.
She let out a soft sigh, and he lingered for a moment before removing his hand.
“You had a naan crumb,” he murmured, uncharacteristic embarrassment making his glance slide away.
“Or you couldn’t resist touching my mouth,” she said, her bluntness surprising him when his gaze locked on hers.
“That too.”
Harper had no idea how long they stared at each other, oblivious to the clanking of dishes coming from the kitchen, the chatter of fellow patrons, and the soft sitar music piping through the restaurant.
> But when he asked, “Shall we head back to the hotel?” it seemed the most natural thing in the world to nod and place her hand in his.
18
Manny didn’t have time for romance. Hell, he barely had time to date. So to find himself strolling Auckland’s streets hand in hand with a beautiful woman who captivated him more with every passing moment had a distinct surrealism.
“Is this your first time in Auckland?”
“Yes. I’ve been booked in twice before for conferences here, but they ended up being transferred to Christchurch on the South Island. It wouldn’t matter if I had been though, as the conferences are so full-on it means I see nothing of the city beyond the hotels I stay at unless I tack on a few vacation days at the end, which I like to do on occasion.”
“Do you attend many conferences?”
“About three a year. The hospital values professional development as much as I do, so I squeeze them in when I can. What about you?”
He loved how Harper’s nose crinkled when she pondered. “I spend countless hours poring over food magazines, checking out presentation and camera angles and lighting. Does that count?”
“Absolutely. Doesn’t all that research make you hungry though?”
“Of course.” She gestured at her body with her free hand. “Have you seen my curves?”
“Oh yeah, and I’m eternally grateful for them.”
When she didn’t respond, he stopped beneath a streetlight and grabbed her free hand, tugging her lightly to face him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I think you’re beautiful.”
She didn’t believe him.
He felt it in the subtle stiffening of her hands in his, in the tiny frown that appeared between her brows, in the slightest downturn of her mouth. It confused the hell out of him, because she was gorgeous.
And it was more than her big blue eyes or her long brown hair. She had the glow of a woman happy to do things her way. A woman who took charge of her life and didn’t allow others to dictate to her. He’d seen it before with some of the staff at the hospital, women who weren’t as pretty as Harper but were strikingly attractive because of their inner confidence.
