High Stakes

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Jenna’s tired of listening to us bicker on the job site.” He frowned at Candice’s feet. There could be metal shavings and stray nails on the floor. Not to mention the danger of splinters. “You should put your shoes back on.”

  “I don’t bicker. And I can’t put my shoes on.”

  “Why not? The shoes part.” He could debate the bicker part all night long if necessary.

  “My feet are swollen. The shoes don’t fit anymore.”

  “Well then sit down.” He strode over to the corner of the dining room and pulled one of the padded restaurant chairs from under the tarp. Their red velvet upholstery was faded, and the carved walnut arms would have to be refinished, but they were still very comfortable.

  Choosing a relatively clear corner near the windows, he set it down. “Last thing I need is for you to get hurt.”

  “Always the gentleman.”

  He retrieved a second chair, then placed one of the tables between the two. “Damn straight.”

  She picked her way across the room and sat down.

  He was both surprised and grateful that she finally did something he asked. He suspected there was a first-aid kit in the kitchen somewhere, but he didn’t want to have to look for it because Candy had a nail in her foot.

  “Find anything we can use?” she asked.

  “Nobody left a screwdriver behind,” he replied.

  “And, you can’t break down the door?”

  “You really want me to?”

  She sighed, curling her feet beneath her, tucking the dress over her knees. “No. That would be irresponsible. It’s a great door.”

  Derek sat down in the other chair. “My shoulder would probably break before the door anyway. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

  “True.” She propped her elbows on the table. “You really think we’re that bad?”

  “Bad how?”

  “Enough of a problem to warrant this.” She gestured around the room.

  “Tyler’s overreacting.”

  “Maybe it is a joke. Maybe he’ll be back soon.”

  Derek doubted that. “Maybe.”

  Candice brightened. “Good. So, what do we do while we wait?”

  “You’re asking me? I thought I was a waste of air.”

  A grin sneaked out on her face. “Did I really say that?”

  “More than once.”

  “Goes to show you how desperate I am.”

  “You hungry?” He didn’t know about Candy, but he hadn’t had a chance to eat at the reception. Since they’d exhausted all of the obvious escape plans, and sitting here twiddling their thumbs wasn’t going to do any good, they might as well make the best of their captivity.

  “What do you mean hungry?” she asked. “Did Tyler leave a picnic I don’t know about?”

  “We’re in a restaurant.”

  She glanced toward the kitchen, forehead furrowing. “You mean we can…”

  “Far as I know, it’s still in working order.” Derek rose from his chair. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Tyler would have a change of heart in a couple of hours. In the meantime, there was no need for them to starve.

  She peered through the doorway. “You know how to operate that stuff? It looks pretty complicated.”

  He held a hand out to her. “If you’re hungry. I’ll cook you something.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I’m a ogre, and I’m toying with you.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Come on.” He moved closer. “I’ll carry you over the danger zone.”

  “Oh, no you won’t.”

  “Don’t get all obstinate on me.” Crouching, he slipped one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees. “Not when I just got you to admit I wasn’t a waste of air.” He easily hoisted her up, settling her against his chest.

  She stiffened. “I never admitted any such thing. Put me down.”

  “I can put you down. But if you get a nail in your foot, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

  “A nail?”

  “It’s a construction site.”

  She glanced suspiciously at the floor. Then her hands went around his neck. “Oh. Well. In that case. Okay.”

  His footsteps echoed as he paced across the room.

  After a moment, Candice relaxed against him, all supple muscles and smooth curves. Her fingers brushed rhythmically against the nape of his neck, and her soft bottom nestled against his stomach. Her skin was warm through the sheer stockings, heating his fingertips.

  “Can I make a mighty steed joke?” she asked.

  He sucked in a breath and tightened his grip, trying to ignore the glimpse of her creamy cleavage. “Not unless you want to leave yourself wide-open again.”

  Her clear green eyes widened and an unexpected blush rose in her cheeks as the meaning of his words sank in.

  Aha. Her Achilles’ heel. If he made it sexy, it kept her quiet.

  He’d have to remember that.

  NESTLED AGAINST Derek’s broad chest, Candice felt as though she’d tumbled into an illicit fantasy. She’d admit to admiring his body on occasion. What woman wouldn’t wonder about the feel of his sculpted muscles?

  And now she knew.

  They were shifting steel. Warm and hard as he easily carried her to the kitchen. Closing her eyes, she gave into temptation and inhaled deeply.

  A dark flood of sensuality instantly filled her senses. Derek might be pompous and overbearing, but he was also sexy as sin. Her thighs tingled under his fingers. Her body softened and resistance was replaced by desire.

  Too soon, he set her down on the tile floor. As his hand left the small of her back, a taut gaze passed between them, weakening her knees. Her breath stopped for a split second. But then he blinked, and his expression neutralized.

  Turning abruptly, he headed for the walk-in freezer, grabbing the lever handle and yanking it forward. The heavy door groaned open, and he flipped the light switch and stepped inside.

  Candice followed more slowly, forcing herself to shake off the unsettling feelings. A few seconds of fantasy was one thing, but this was Derek. Derek.

  He was everything her mother had warned her against—an entrepreneurial shark who only existed to make money and gain power. He ate women like her for lunch.

  “Let’s scope out our choices,” he said from inside the freezer. “Filet mignon, rack of lamb, sockeye salmon, baby back ribs…”

  She rubbed her shoulders and curled her toes against the chill of the floor as she gazed at the packed shelves lining the freezer room’s walls. “You know how to cook all this stuff?”

  “Sure. Don’t you?”

  Growing up with both a cook and housekeeper on staff had left some definite shortcomings in Candice’s homemaking skills. “I’m pretty good with a microwave.”

  Derek gave her a disapproving frown. “You survive on processed food?”

  “Not always.” Her teeth chattered for a second. “When I visit my parents, Anna-Leigh sends care packages home with me.”

  “That’s pathetic.” He shrugged out of his tux jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  She shook her head, pushing it off. This was getting way too cozy.

  His hands held it firm against her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Your teeth are chattering.”

  “We’re in a freezer.”

  He sighed heavily. “Do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “Do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “You wear my coat, I’ll make you dinner.”

  “That’s—”

  “A deal?”

  “Fine.” She pushed her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the big jacket around her. She had to admit, the body heat lingering in the soft lining felt like heaven. The weight of the fabric pushed comfortingly down on her shoulders.

  He flicked open the buttons on his white shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves over his forearms. Then he moved farther into th
e hallway-like freezer. “You can’t even cook a steak?”

  “I don’t like steak.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Seafood.”

  “Hmm.” Derek took a few more steps down the shelves.

  She stayed put near the open freezer door, soaking up every whiff of warm air that crept in from the kitchen.

  He smiled, retrieving a couple of plastic packages. “Lobster ought to do it. You check the refrigerator for butter. I’ll light the grill.”

  “You’re going to cook lobster?” Not that she was an expert, but lobster sounded even trickier than steak.

  “You bet.” He hustled her out of the freezer and closed the door behind them.

  She rubbed one cold, stocking-covered foot against the opposite calf, trying not to feel outclassed. “Didn’t you have a cook when you were a kid?”

  “Sure we did. Doesn’t mean I can’t read a recipe book. Go into the fridge and get me some butter, and…” He glanced around the kitchen. It was cluttered with crates and boxes full of new equipment. None had been unpacked yet, since the bulk of the work so far had been in the dining room.

  “Never mind,” he continued. “I’ll find the spices.”

  By the time Candice got back from the walk-in refrigerator, Derek had the grill flaming and he was stirring a pot on the big stovetop.

  “What’s that?” She peered around his shoulder, sniffing at the mixture.

  “Chocolate.”

  “You’re making chocolate lobster?” Maybe he’d overstated his cooking expertise.

  He grinned. “Chocolate mousse for dessert.”

  “No way.” She did cake from a mix sometimes, brownies on an adventurous day.

  He slanted her an accusatory look. “Your faith in me is not particularly inspiring.”

  “But, you always act like such a pampered, spoiled…” Candice bit her lower lip. Here the man was making her a fabulous dinner, and she was insulting him.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions about people,” he said softly.

  “Considering how much time we’ve spent together over the past three months, I didn’t think it was jumping.” Culinary expertise aside, she had ample evidence to back up the fact that he was pampered and spoiled.

  He adjusted the flame under the open grill, then flipped a switch to start an exhaust fan above it. “It takes two to tango.”

  Candice stilled for a split second, overtaken by an image of tangoing with Derek, right here, right now, on the dining room floor. She shook it away. The fact that he could cook didn’t make him any less dangerous.

  “You argued with me over the wood stain,” she pointed out.

  “You argued right back.”

  He was right, but she knew you couldn’t give an inch with Derek. And it wasn’t quite the same thing.

  “Honey gloss?” she scoffed. “Natural satin blends with the entire theme, and it’s only a halftone off the color you’re fighting to the death for.”

  Derek slowly stirred the pot of melting chocolate. “And honey gloss is only a halftone off the color you’re fighting to the death for.”

  Candice compressed her lips. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “It’s exactly the same thing.”

  He just didn’t get it. Natural satin was part of a complex color design. His honey gloss was merely an uninformed, untrained whim.

  Or else he was being obstinate. Quite frankly, she suspected the latter. “What about the wainscoting?” What was his excuse for that?

  “Your choice is what? A quarter of an inch wider than mine.” He unwrapped the lobster tails and set them on the grill. Then he swiftly set out a small pot of butter to melt.

  “I’m going for authenticity. Believe me, it makes a difference.” She watched his quick, clean movements. “You need some help with that?”

  “I’m fine.” He crossed the room and retrieved a basting brush from a cutlery drawer. “It makes a whole quarter of an inch difference,” he said as he walked back toward her, brandishing the brush for emphasis. “Not to mention several thousand dollars.”

  “Thanks for not mentioning that.”

  “No problem.” He swirled the brush in the melting butter.

  “Why do you care so much?” she asked.

  “Why do you care so much?” he countered.

  “I’m the decorator. It’s my job to worry about the details.”

  “I’m the hotel owner. It’s my job to worry about the bottom line.”

  “I won’t go over budget.”

  “You won’t come in under budget, either.”

  “That’s why they call it a budget. I’m going to build you the best restaurant I can within the financial limit you set.”

  “Nobody’s going to notice the damn wainscoting.”

  “Maybe not specifically—”

  “See?” He basted the lobster tails with his left hand, stirring the chocolate with his right. “Why waste the money on something nobody will notice?”

  She dragged her gaze away from his mesmerizing hands. “Not specifically the wainscoting, but they’ll notice the overall effect. Like the top of the wine rack. Will some customer walk in and say ‘Look, honey, the pattern of the marble on the wine rack flows into the overall scheme of the atrium’? Of course not. But, subconsciously, they’ll notice. There’s a fine line between four and five stars.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Stick with me, baby, and I’ll push you over the top.”

  Derek stopped stirring and basting, and he stared at her for a moment. The sensual heat in his deep blue eyes was unmistakable. “Left yourself wide-open once again,” he whispered low and husky.

  She drew back, confused.

  A slow smile crossed his face. “Much as I’d like to go ‘over the top’ with you, baby, I don’t think it’s a good idea, given our current adversarial professional relationship.”

  Her face heated. “I only meant…”

  He chuckled. “I know. But, damn, you give a guy openings that are just too good to pass up.”

  He turned his attention back to cooking. “Tell you what, in the spirit of cooperation, I’ll give on the stain if you give on the wainscoting.”

  Candice blinked. She didn’t plan to give on anything. “But, the wainscoting is—”

  “A difference of thousands of dollars.” He raised one eyebrow. “For a quarter of an inch. Can we get a negotiation going here or not?”

  Candice was silent for a moment. It wasn’t her first choice, but she supposed they could make the wainscoting work. “If you get the wainscoting, I get to choose all of the stain and paint colors,” she said.

  Derek stared at her. “You want me to give you all the stain and paint colors for a mere quarter of an inch?”

  “It’s thousands of dollars,” she countered.

  He grinned. “Done.” He lifted the spoon out of the chocolate, blowing on the liquid to cool it.

  “What do you think?” Cupping his hand several inches below the spoon, he moved it toward her mouth.

  She leaned hesitantly forward and licked the tip of the spoon. The rich, dark, sensual chocolate flavor bloomed in her mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation.

  “Go to the head of the class,” she said.

  “Why, thank you, teacher.” Somehow he made the words sound like a caress.

  3

  “HAVE YOU CONSIDERED becoming a chef?” Across the candlelit table from Derek, Candice took another bite of her grilled lobster and her lips curved into a blissful smile.

  He couldn’t help the small surge of pride he felt at her obvious appreciation. “And give up my budding decorating career?”

  “No offense,” Candice said, lifting her glass of Chablis. “But, you should probably go with your strengths.”

  “I’m crushed.” But he couldn’t help grinning.

  It was the first time in weeks he’d had time to cook—the first time in months he didn’t have to rush off to a meeting or a conference cal
l after dinner. And mental gymnastics with Candice did have their moments. When he was done reaming his brother out for this stunt, he’d have to thank him.

  She waved her long-stemmed glass. The lights of downtown Seattle glittered in the distance behind her, and glowing pleasure-boats cruised below on their way back to the marina. “Hey, even you over-achievers can’t be good at everything.”

  He sat back in his chair, gazing at her from beneath raised eyebrows. “From a waste of air to an over-achiever all in one night.”

  “You’re still a waste of air when it comes to decorating. Accept defeat with dignity and grace.”

  Derek picked up his own glass of wine, taking a sip. One thing about being locked up in the Lighthouse Restaurant, they sure didn’t need to rough it on the culinary front. “And get the heck away from your renovation job, right?”

  She nodded. “Exactly. Why don’t you go out and raise some venture capital or something. Leave the restaurant to me.”

  “Venture capital?”

  “I minored in economics.”

  “You’re suggesting I should go out and make money, and you’ll stay here and spend it.”

  “Now you’re catching on,” she voiced in a singsong, leaning forward. Then she smiled, and her green eyes lit up in the flickering candlelight. Her eyes were bright, her lips were soft and her cheeks were delicately flushed.

  For the hundredth time that night he was blown away by her beauty.

  “We could have a symbiotic relationship,” she said eagerly.

  A shot of desire rippled through him. “You’re handing me openings on a silver platter again.”

  “Symbiotic means mutually beneficial.” She smirked.

  “I know.” He could think of so many mutually beneficial things he’d like to do to her right now.

  His suit jacket had fallen open to reveal her purple dress. The neckline had crept down throughout the course of the evening, and it seemed to cling precariously to the curve of her breasts.

  His thoughts kept veering off in inappropriate directions, and he seemed powerless to stop them. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull her into his arms. He tightened his grip on the stem of the wineglass.

  “The carpet for the crown molding,” he said to distract himself. It was a giveaway on his part, but it was the first deal that came to his mind.