The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “Errr, yes. Stout.” She barely restrained herself from rubbing her tongue with her napkin to get the bitterness off. There’s no amount of fat and sugar I could put into this to make it palatable.

  “You have every right to hate me, Ms. Remy. I defeated your father at his own game, took his beloved restaurant which was surely to be your inheritance, and ultimately left you and your mother to face the world alone.” He stretched out his long, graceful fingers and lightly stroked the back of her left hand. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I had no idea Mr. Remy was quite so ill.”

  Emotion made her throat swell shut. So unfair. Tenderness and sincerity from the arrogant man would devastate her defenses like nothing else. “We didn’t either.” She raised her gaze to his. Gleaming pools of melting obsidian didn’t flinch or withdraw from her perusal. Because he had nothing to hide? Or because he was such a practiced liar? Her fingertips tingled, bewildering her even more. Why would her magic come to life when she wasn’t cooking? She had no other gifts.

  But it wasn’t her imagination, because he felt it too. His eyes flared and his stroking fingers froze on her skin. “What was that?”

  “Magic,” she whispered, as shaken as he.

  “Can you break this curse, Clare?”

  The way he said her name, slow and gentle, a verbal stroking of pleasure and hope, made her shudder. This couldn’t be happening. Just the faint touch of comfort and his voice alone had her quivering like an eager puppy. He’d already made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t attractive to him. He might stoop to a little seduction to get what he wanted, but that was all it could possibly be.

  He’ll leave me brokenhearted and powerless, while he goes in search of his next conquest.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Michelopoulos, but the healing arts were my mother’s gift. Mine has always been in the kitchen.”

  Disappointment deepened the lines about his eyes and he withdrew his touch. She wanted to weep at the loss. How sad that such a minor compassionate human gesture in the moment of her grief had nearly done her in. “Surely you inherited a portion of your mother’s ability?”

  “Not likely. In fact, the only witch I’ve ever known with more than one gift is my mentor, Ms. Kettlewich. She’s a rarity in our world.”

  His elegant fingers wrapped around his cup—instead of her hand—and she couldn’t make herself stop watching the way he stroked the ceramic. Stupid, to be jealous of a coffee cup. “Explain to me the basis for this curse. You said it unlikely your father would have cast such a spell. Why?”

  “The risk.” Chills crept down her spine and goose bumps flared on her arms, making her shiver. She huddled over her cup and dared another sip of the bitter coffee. At least it didn’t make her want to scrape her tongue this time. “Magic isn’t free.”

  He started to open his mouth, probably to offer a ridiculous sum of money. She shook her head to stall him. “Not money, Mr. Michelopoulos. I’m talking about the cost to the witch or wizard. It takes energy to cast a spell, and some spells are more difficult than others. After all the magic I worked here yesterday, I went home and slept heavily for several hours, but I woke up refreshed and renewed, ready to work my gift again.

  “But if I tried to do something outside of the kitchen, like changing the weather or trying to heal someone, I might be unconscious for a week. Some witches even burn themselves out trying to work a spell. Or they blow up their houses. Helga often jokes that the famous Chicago fires were caused by a fool trying to work a little kitchen magic.”

  “So there’s a cost. Fine. If I were a wizard, I’d access the situation, consider the risk, and for the right reward, I’d pay the price.”

  “With regular magic, yes, I agree. But curses are a different breed of magic and they require a great deal of force because they’re against nature. Abnormal. It’s like you becoming a farmer, or if I were to try to become a movie star.” She laughed softly, but he didn’t rise to her joke. “A curse is entirely negative energy. The chances of it turning back upon the creator are significant. So not only do you have to pay the price to release such a massive amount of energy, but you also have to be willing to suffer the aftereffects of the curse.”

  He studied the cup before him like he’d never seen it before. “So whatever he did to me…might have backlashed onto him? Or Remy’s?”

  “If he did actually curse you—and honestly, Mr. Michelopoulos, as much as you two battled over the years, I still don’t believe he would have done such a thing—then yes, it could have affected him. I don’t know that it could have affected Remy’s, though. I’ve never heard of that kind of recoiling effect. The problems you mentioned—were they happening even when you weren’t here?”

  He twisted the signet ring on his finger, and while his eyes blazed with emotion, his face blanked into an empty mask. “Problems brought me here, Ms. Remy.”

  Her instincts insisted she was very, very close to something he didn’t want her to see or know. “And are you having any issues yourself? Whether you were here at Remy’s or not?”

  He leaned forward, his mouth quirking into that arrogant smirk once more. “I’m not the kind of man to have issues, Ms. Remy. I pay other people to take care of those problems before I’m even annoyed by their existence. That’s why I came looking for you. Yet I must admit that my annoyance factor is still very high.”

  She refused to be baited by his deliberately snide remarks. Honestly, did the man think he was dealing with a toddler in a diaper or a full grown woman? “Perhaps you should take a nap, then, sir. I certainly wouldn’t want to annoy you this evening when we open the restaurant.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “I haven’t decided if Remy’s will open tonight.”

  Ignoring his dark look, she rose and dumped the coffee into the sink. Hopefully he didn’t notice how much she’d wasted. “The menu’s ready for you to take a look. I thought it might be nice to return to one of my father’s original specials that put Remy’s on the map.”

  “I certainly never said you could come into my restaurant and change my menu.” Each word rang with heavy intent, carefully—and loudly—enunciated.

  Common sense told her to cease teasing the man, but she just couldn’t help waving the flag beneath the bull’s nose. “Check our contract, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

  “That damned contract is…”

  She turned with a bright smile. “Oh, so I can leave, then, with my father’s ring? Because if you fail to uphold our signed contract—that you prepared, I might add—then the ring becomes immediately due.” Batting her eyes at him, she sashayed over and dropped the menu she’d written out over her first cup of tea this morning. In her sweetest voice, she said, “I hope it meets your approval, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

  FIVE

  Yiorgos stared in disbelief at the packed dining room. He’d finally relented as gracefully as possible and agreed to open Remy’s tonight, but only because he hadn’t expected any customers to actually arrive. At heart, this was still a small town, and news got around fast. All it’d taken was one poor word-of-mouth review soon after he’d put on that blasted ring, and their customer base had dwindled alarmingly. But that small town gossip must have acted in her favor tonight, because every backwoods hillbilly must be here.

  Had she advertised somewhere? Made a few calls to some of her father’s old buddies? When he questioned Dmitri, the man only shrugged. “She claims that all she did was cook her father’s specials, and the people knew.”

  “Oh come on, don’t tell me you buy that nonsense. Bribes or threats?”

  “Bribes.” Dmitri grinned. “If she cooks it, they will come.”

  “I’m French and even I know that’s a very bad joke from a very bad movie.” Paul didn’t appear distressed that he’d been replaced by a so-called chef with no formal training. In fact, the poor man had practically wept with joy when Yiorgos told him he was relieved from duty. He’d be on the first plane back east in the morning.

  “So you’re telli
ng me all these people just happened to drive by, smelled the famous Remy dishes, and came stampeding in for a taste?”

  “Something like that.” Her lush voice came from behind him, low and quiet yet echoing with a hint of laughter that wriggled its way into his belly and heated his entire body.

  He turned around slowly and swept an assessing gaze over her from head to foot. She’d dressed simply since she’d obviously be in the kitchen working in the heat and mess that came along with a dinner rush. Although she only wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, she looked absolutely stunning.

  Oh, not in a flashy model sort of way, but the jeans encased her shapely thighs and ample bottom, making him think of all sorts of inappropriate activity. Her cheeks were pink from the heat in the kitchen, her hair damp, tendrils and wisps escaping to hang about her face. And while that shirt might only be plain cotton and not silk, it clung to her breasts, and yes, they were as lush and ripe as he’d suspected.

  Earthy and sensual, she looked sweaty, touseled, and well loved.

  The little witch dared to wet her lips. “Don’t you feel it?”

  He started, wondering if she knew he was seriously thinking about dragging her back into the kitchen and kicking everyone out so he could sample those full, tempting lips himself.

  “After last night, you ought to feel it,” she continued. “Once you’ve tasted my magic, you’re more sensitive to it. That’s why all the old customers knew to come back. They felt the pull of Remy magic.”

  Yiorgos ran a hand through his hair to keep from putting his hands on her, whether to strangle, shake, or kiss her he couldn’t decide. “Do you mean to tell me you addicted me to your magic?”

  Up went her chin to a haughty angle. “That’s a rather harsh word, Mr. Michelopoulos. It’s not like that at all.”

  Fury pulsed in him, dark and raw. Now he was sure—if he put his hands on her, he’d definitely strangle her. The thought of her magic crawling around in him, making him dependent, vulnerable… He could barely speak through his clenched teeth. “You’re drugging my customers with magic—without their knowledge—so they’ll want to come back for another hit. No wonder Remy’s has been able to stay in business so long despite the location and size of the building! You’re nothing but a drug dealer, Ms. Remy.”

  When Clare Remy got angry, her voice went even lower, vibrating with vicious tension. “How dare you insult and belittle what you can’t possibly understand?”

  Thank God she didn’t screech or shrill like a shrew. He smiled, deliberately curling his lip to antagonize her further. “Why don’t you enlighten me, then? Tell me how you’re not taking advantage of these people? You’re like some kind of vampire, feeding off the oblivious citizens of this little town!”

  “I take nothing from them.” Her shoulders quivered, but she fisted her hands at her side and didn’t back down or turn away from the confrontation. “In fact, if anyone’s the vampire, it’s the people who come here and feed on my magic. Remember the cost we talked about earlier? I pay that cost, Mr. Michelopoulos. I sweat and work in the kitchen like any of the rest of your staff, but the magic takes its toll as well. The only thing I get from these people is the pleasure on their face when they taste something so wonderful that they actually feel better. Daddy used to swear he’d healed people with his cooking alone and I didn’t believe him.”

  “I guess you’re taking the old saying to heart,” Yiorgos drawled out, still chaffing under the imagined yoke of this addiction. Perhaps that’s why he kept noticing her shapely figure. The husky, compelling tenor to her voice. The annoyingly courageous way she kept threatening him with his own damned contract. “The secret to man’s heart really is through his stomach, but only after you addict him.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Michelopoulos. You’re entirely safe.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she averted her face, staring out over the crowded dining room. “You have no heart.”

  Damned if her chin didn’t quiver and her eyes shone suspiciously in the candlelight. A twinge of guilt gave him momentary pause. This evening should have been a triumphant return to her father’s restaurant. By all accounts, the guests were thrilled with her dishes. She was a success and following in her father’s footsteps.

  Now he’d ruined all that excitement for her with his accusations. Whether hasty or not, he didn’t yet know, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that her magic was a living, crawling thing inside him, spreading like a cancer. No, that’s just the curse eating my body away.

  “Nothing negative will happen to these people in any way.” Her vibrant voice dulled, flat and carefully even. She refused to meet his gaze. “There’s no ill effect if they never return to Remy’s. However, if the magic is working here, they’ll remember how delicious the food was and how good and wonderful they felt while they dined here. They may come back hoping to feel that wonderful again, but it’s entirely their choice. For the cost of a reasonably-priced dinner, they can taste something extraordinary that brings to life their senses in a way they never experienced before. If that’s a drug, so be it. If it’s a sin in your book to make people feel better, than I’m guilty as charged. Now please excuse me while I go serve up the next course of drugs.”

  Fighting back tears, Clare strode through the bustling kitchen and straight through the back delivery door to get some fresh air. Stars were obscured by the streetlights of the city, but the air tasted clean and warm. On the verge of spring, everything would be blooming soon, bursting into life. Mom’s roses would fill the air with perfume and their garden would be filled with nature’s bounty. Daddy’s favorite time of the year.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. So unfair to have his good name and everything he’d worked for his entire life ruined by that arrogant, judgmental bastard. To accuse her of dealing drugs! Addicting innocent people, warping them with her magic. Her father had slaved his entire life in that kitchen just to make people happy and to share his enjoyment of fine dining. He’d trained in Paris and traveled the world, learning from the best, yet he’d been perfectly happy to come to this small Midwestern town and open his own restaurant.

  Only to be called a drug dealer.

  She swiped tears from her cheeks. Michelopoulos was a complete fool, afraid of what he didn’t understand. Okay, so maybe his distrust was a little justified after she’d used her gift to distract him long enough last night in order to work in her terms into the contract. It wasn’t her fault if he was particularly susceptible to her chocolate creation, and she’d certainly warned him not to eat so much of it.

  Voices echoed across the parking lot. They’d been so busy tonight that customers had parked in the back of the lot, usually reserved for the employees. Clare stepped back into the shadows along the wall, unwilling to be seen crying. The last thing she wanted was for Michelopoulos to know how badly he’d wounded her, and she couldn’t forget that this entire staff was his. He’d replaced everyone she’d known from when her father had run the restaurant.

  “We’re so glad that Remy’s has reopened.”

  Three people came closer, approaching a white Cadillac. The couple was older, probably someone who’d known her father. In the darkness, she wasn’t sure who they were. The other person…

  Clare crammed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from making any noise, making herself as small as possible against the wall.

  “Technically we never closed,” Yiorgos Michelopoulos said in that annoyingly know-it-all way of his. “We were merely having some issues with the kitchen staff, but we’ve brought in new management and a new chef.”

  “Put whatever spin on it that you will, Michelopoulos, but we both know this restaurant has been in serious trouble since Emile Remy passed away. It’s just not been the same.”

  “Never fear, Mayor, we’re turning that all around.”

  “You’re still considered an outsider in Joplin, and I have to admit that most people don’t look too kindly on you for taking Remy’s away from Emile, whatever deal you
two worked out. But this restaurant is an important fixture in our town. It’s been our most popular and favorite restaurant for as long as I can remember. Even before you two started fighting over the fifth star.”

  “It’s so wonderful to be able to come back and celebrate our anniversary,” the Mayor’s wife said. “We’ve been coming here for twenty five years until Mr. Remy passed away.” She squeezed her husband’s hand, and even hidden in the shadows feet away, Clare could see the love glowing in the woman’s eyes. “I swear there were times over the years that I doubted our marriage would last until one more anniversary dinner. But each time we had a serious disagreement, we treated ourselves to Remy’s. Somehow, that made all the difference.”

  “It never mattered how bad the day had been, eating here could make us forget those troubles just for awhile. If you asked every person in there tonight, each of them would have some special story to tell you. Birthdays, celebrations, solemn remembrance dinners for passed loved ones, first dates. Remy’s has been a part of this town’s life for a very long time and we’ve missed it, Mr. Michelopoulos. Whatever you’re doing to bring us back, keep doing it. We need Remy’s.”

  Tears dripped from Clare’s eyes again, but this time they weren’t from anger and frustration. That was probably the worst thing about her father’s passing—she hadn’t been able to go to Remy’s and share fond memories and tales with his friends and staff who’d known him the best. She didn’t make any noise, but Mr. Michelopoulos stiffened. He didn’t turn to scan the shadows, but he sensed someone watching.

  Flee? Or wait? The back door was only a few feet away, but the gravel would crunch beneath her feet. It was late enough that there wasn’t a lot of traffic noise up and down the main street in front. He’d surely hear her steps, or at least the door, which had always squeaked.

  Her heartbeat accelerated, her palms damp. Her nerves zinged and throbbed like she’d rolled around in broken glass and sandpaper. Too many emotional battles today, combined with long, satisfying hours in the kitchen. If he stalks over here as the lordly tycoon, I might resort to physical violence to remove that perpetual smirk from his handsome face.