Splash

by Kristen Kelly

  “Yes madam,” said the waiter.

  She snapped her gaze back toward the waiter. With raised brows she said, “Soooo…is there saffron in this dish or not?”

  Before he could answer, she made a disappointed sound in the back of her throat and shook her head, obviously not appeased by the waiter’s creased brows and lowered gaze. “Why am I wasting my time with you?” With an exasperated breath, she threw down her napkin, and shot to her feet. “I’ll ask the chef myself. Pausing only long enough to adjust the strap on one of her heels, she strutted across the mosaic tiled floor toward the kitchen.

  Turner laughed, thunderstruck by what just happened. She’s actually going to confront the chef. It tickled him that she was so brassy…so…. Sure of her convictions. She obviously knew a great deal about French food, maybe fine food in general as well. His mind was already doing the math. Would she know how to get Sam eating again? Maybe he’d not had the right food. Maybe he’d not had enough calories. Maybe he’d just not had the right woman. Well, he knew that last point was right on, but he certainly didn’t want to set his twin brother up romantically. Not now. That was exactly how he’d come to be a basket case. He married the wrong woman. Still, if he had someone like Val watching over his sick brother, just until Sam snapped out of his depression, perhaps he could finally live his life. Yep, a babysitter was what Sam needed. Someone who didn’t take his shit. Val certainly wouldn’t coddle him. She was just what Sam needed.

  Halfway across the restaurant, Val froze in her tracks, eyes wide as a baby calves’. “Diego,” she breathed.

  “Oh shit!” Turner threw down his napkin and leapt from his chair, upsetting his wine glass in the process. How the hell, did they get in here? “Dammit, Michael, how could you put someone like that on the guest list?” he muttered under his breath. He reached Val before Diego caught sight of her. In fact, it appeared the blonde wig had him stumped. It appeared he didn’t recognize her but Turner wasn’t waiting around until he did. He grabbed Val’s hand and the two of them bolted through revolving doors leading into the kitchen. The humidity and scents of roast beef, hot soup and steamed vegetables, assaulted them as they entered. Shining copper and steel pots hung overhead while confused chefs and kitchen staff in white uniforms heaved cleavers, ladles, and pairing knives over long metal tables. A waitress swung around, nearly falling into one of the pots; a large platter flew out of her hands into a sink. Warm soapy water splashed everywhere.

  Turner’s vision swiveled right to left, searching for an escape route. An older man with in tall chef’s hat shouted in angry French.

  “Yeah, you call yourself a chef,” Val said. “But let me tell you…” Turner yanked her in the other direction, freezing the rest of her words along her tongue.

  The chef waved a cleaver at Val but Turner quickly stepped in front. “Don’t go there, pal,” he snarled.

  The chef didn’t flinch. “Sortez de ma cuisine! Sortir! Sortir! Sortir,” he said.

  Turner threw up his hands. “Okay, bub. Put the knife down.”

  “A rat! A rat!” Val shrieked. “Over there.” She pointed toward a back shelf right above a hot steaming kettle. Taking advantage of everyone’s surprise and flurry, Val grabbed Turner’s hand. “There,” Val yelled. They ran into a man carrying a large pan of fancy French desserts. The boy reeled into a tail-spin and the frantic couple ducked beneath the tray. “This way,” Turner yelled. He pulled Val along. “I see the exit!” They pushed forward, turned a corner by the walk-in freezer, left at the double sinks, and then straight out the exit doors into a night filled with stars.. They didn’t stop running until they were at the other end of the parking lot.

  “You okay?” asked Turner.

  “I will be,” Val replied

  Slowing, they stopped to catch their breaths. “That was close,” Val said. Her face flushed red and she’d caught a snag in her stockings.

  “ How the hell did your friend there get through?” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.

  “My friend!” said Val, annoyed. “I thought you checked that place out?”

  “Well he must have some kind of connections, that’s all I can say.”

  Val took a deep breath. She looked exhausted and her mascara was running.

  “I don’t think anyone is following us,” Turner said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  Turner leaned forward, huffing and puffing, his hands on his knees.

  “I thought you said they’d never find me…damn I lost my shoe again,” Val limped past him toward the shoe,” muttering something about men being useless and not trusting any of them.

  “What was that?”

  “Not a thing,” Val replied.

  “Uh oh.”

  A large burly man with what looked like a trash bag came out the back door of the restaurant. “Who the hell…?” Val paused, trying to distinguish if she knew the guy but it was impossible to tell from this distance.

  “Let’s not stick around to find out,” Turner said. “Come on. …‘car’s this way.”

  Val put on a pouty face. “But I liked those pumps,” she whined. “They were…pretty.”

  “I’ll get you new ones,” Turner said, pulling her toward a white Cadillac. He held the passenger side door open to her. “Get in, Cinderella.” He shut the door and then got in on the other side. Then they sped away into the night.

  Chapter 7

  Valentina’s pulse quickened in her veins and something inside her sizzled and popped. She was beyond excited. Beyond aroused. Filled with the desire to show Turner her appreciation for whisking her away mere minutes from Immigration’s evil clutches, she struggled to reign in her enthusiasm.

  She’d never met anyone like Turner before. Not even close. He was sweet and kind but still maintained an air of authority with everyone he met. Strong yet compassionate. A master of his own universe. She saw how he treated the waiters, the coat girl, the valet. While complimenting them on their service he’d made it very clear what he’d expected in return. He’d treated her like a princess. That is, what she imagined how a princess might feel if she were being chased down by a mad man and a prince showed up in his shining white chariot. She smoothed down the wrinkles along the skirt of her scarlet silk dress. She’d been skeptical about the clothes but when she knew he had no intention of asking her for sexual favors in return, she was more than happy to model for him. Despite his hungry gaze, she had nothing to worry about. Not really. The perfect gentleman, he’d even pulled her chair out in the restaurant. Only men in fairy tales did that.

  Even with the console between them, Val’s body tensed from the heat radiating off Turner’s body. Still out of breath, he seemed to charge the air with electrons inside the car. She found herself wriggling against the wet spot inside her panties. That, and she was sweaty as hell from all the running. A warm hand pat her gently on her leg. A gesture of reassurance. A promise she had nothing to worry about. Heart beating like a hummingbird’s, Val didn’t move, hoping he would move his hand higher.

  The car crawled inside the traffic. Vegas was on fire. Bright lights lit up the hotels, making the strip appear like fantasyland. Neon signs blinked and glittered.

  Val rolled down the window just as a loud boom went off. She jolted and her eyes went round. “We’re being attacked!”

  Turner laughed. “Not to worry,” he soothed. “We’re not being attacked.” He pointed to her left. Bits of smoke filled the air as a life-size replica of a pirate ship loomed large in a lagoon. Men in period costumes stood on deck waving swords. They appeared to have shot a cannon ball not fifty feet away from the car. “For the tourists,” Turner explained. He patted Val’s thigh and then put both hands on the wheel.

  The car took a sharp right and then a left up a side street leading away from the strip.

  “Where are we going?” Val asked.

  “I told you. I restore houses. It’s the perfect place to hide out, don’t you think?”

 
“How would I know?” Val replied

  Soon it was apparent by all the expensive homes, they were in a different part of town. They stopped before a lemon colored house with a garage attached. Val’s mouth dropped open. “This is it?”

  “Uh huh,” Turner said pulling the car up to the curb.

  Val took in the enormous width and breath of the house. “Wow,” she said. “You did a nice job.”

  “Oh it’s not done yet,” Turner explained.

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope.” He went around to Val’s side of the car and opened the door for her. She stepped out of the car and onto the walkway, feeling like she was trespassing somehow.

  She’d expected a wreck. According to the television show, Land Lover Brothers usually purchased dumps so they could make a total transformation. But this was no dump. In Val’s opinion, this was a cookie cutter doll house. She stared up at the sharp peaked roof. It was edged in white ruffled trim. Large floor to ceiling windows gave it such beautiful curb appeal she half expected Mary Poppins to step out. The front door with brass knocker glowed from side lamps that flanked left and right. Scaffolding and building equipment perched against the house ten feet from the door. “Your project,” Val commented.

  “Yup. Do you like it?”

  Val shrugged. She didn’t want to admit it was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen, nor that she’d never stepped foot into one so lavish before. The houses back in Mexico were simply shacks compared to this. AT least in her part of the country. “It’ll do,” she said nonchalantly.

  “Good because this is where we’re holding up until I figure out what to do with you.”

  “Do with me,” Val echoed as they walked up the stone path. Her skin prickled. Not the comment she was hoping for. He made her sound like something he needed to dispose of. “Listen, I’m not your problem. Okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. You kinda are. That guy back there…” He jerked his head in the direction of the street. “The one with Immigration? Unfortunately, he’s one of my investors. I need to figure out how to make this right with him and keep you in this country.”

  “Good luck with that,” Val said. She leaned into the heat of him as his arm came around to insert the key in the lock. She didn’t want to think about Immigration or Diego. All she wanted was a release from the world, her problems, and her screwed up life. She could worry about everything else tomorrow. Turner seemed just the man to make her forget too.

  He swung the door open and urged her forward. “Voila, my sweet senorita. Mi casa es su casa.”

  Crossing the threshold, Val blinked. She shuddered into the bright white foyer; her one shoe clicking out a rhythm on harsh marble tiles. “Lovely,” she said trying not to sound too impressed.

  “Well, it will be,” Turner said. “Once we’re finished. We need to finish a few things first.” He pointed overhead. “I want to hang a crystal lamp right there. Gets pretty dark at nightfall. Come. Let me show what we did with the living area.” She followed him to the right, trying to not feel like a maid with a mop inside her evil stepmother’s palace. Her throat went dry, her pulse raced. Any minute she expected an alarm to go off. You don’t belong in a place like this. You never will.

  Turner, apparently sensing her unease, took her by the hand. The fact that he was beside her, made her settle, but not in every way. She’d been fighting the urge to see him naked again, the minute she’d laid eyes on the man. He was everything she found attractive in a man. Broad shoulders and fine ass. A sweet barely-there accent. A swagger to beat all swaggers. She itched to know if his bare skin was as soft and pliable as she suspected, if those hard muscles would contract to her touch, how long it would take for his release if she was bold enough to suck him off. His prettiness aside, there was more to Turner than met the eye and that was what really sealed the deal. He liked to play the wolf in sheep’s clothing act but that’s all it was. Just an act. He seemed to lack the selfish streak most highly successful men of his position and power possessed. The sense that the world needed to bow down to him. To give him what he desired at precisely the moment he desired it. Tuener was anything but snobbish. He tipped heavily, complimented everyone he came in contact with and seemed to be a generally nice guy. Which made it difficult to do what she knew she needed to do. Damnmit, I need to get my head out of my pussy.

  Turner plopped himself down on the sectional leather sofa. Another white room, this one sported a plush navy carpet that felt like heaven on Valentina’s stocking feet.

  “What do you think?” Turner asked. “This room is just about finished.

  “Huh,” Val heard herself saying. “Needs some wall art though.”

  “You think so?” Spreading one arm over the back of the sofa, he patted the space next to him. “Come. I think it’s about time we get to know each other. Again. This time we’ll have no interruptions.” He chuckled. “I hope.”

  Tentatively, Val sat on a separate sectional cushion, a few feet away. She trusted Turner but she didn’t exactly trust herself. Not when all she could think about was how big the man was inside his trousers, the way he looked without that towel and... Lost in thought, a sudden heat crawled up her neck. She pretended to study the texture of the couch. When she looked up, she found Turner was frowning. Within seconds he was grinning again.

  “I respect your distance, Val, but I assure you, I won’t bite.”

  Val gave him a tight smile. It wasn’t his bite she was worried about.

  His gaze traveled down the length of her. His hot look scorched ten degrees higher when they settled on her eyes. He surprised her by whistling. “Mm, mm,” he said shaking his head. “My, do you like nice in that dress.”

  “Thank you. Er, you like nice too,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  He loosened his tie and threw it on the glass coffee table. Then he undid the top four buttons of his shirt and leaned back, his arm draped along the back of the white leather couch. “So, how did you know so much about French food?”

  “My first husband was a chef,” Val replied. “I used to watch him cook. I took notes when he wasn’t looking, you know...in between…well…” She looked away. “He had a bit of a temper.” She stroked her cheek as if she’d just been sucker-punched.

  Turner’s brows furrowed. He seemed to be genuinely concerned by what she said. “Sorry, Val. You deserved better than that.”

  “Oh,” she said as if this was news to her. “It wasn’t all bad,” she explained. “I did learn a lot from him.”

  Turner leaned forward, his hands clasped between his spread open thighs. It made his shirt fall open. It showed a dimple in the middle of his chest—a few dark hairs peaking out. His hair was cut short on the sides but thick sexy waves swelled along the top of his perfectly shaped head. But it was his eyes she noticed most. The color of a clear blue sky, they darkened to sapphire when he looked at her. Through her actually. Holy smokes, batman, he’s gorgeous.

  “Cooking,” Turner murmured in that cool sexy voice. “It’s something you love, isn’t it?”

  “Uh…”

  “Val?” His grin expanded. She could tell he enjoyed the effect he was having on her.

  “Uh, yes. It’s the only thing I love to do,” she stammered. “Well…almost.”

  He licked his lips and she instantly wished she could take back her last comment. Especially after seeing that wolfish grin dangle in the corner of his mouth. Damn, he had beautiful teeth. She wondered what it would feel like to be nipped. Just a little…right inside her thigh. The thought made her antsy, her legs restless. Val sprang to her feet. “Damn stockings,” she complained. “I never wear these stupid things.” Reaching beneath her dress, she tried to straighten her binding pantyhose. In a huff, she yanked them down to her ankles. Stepping out of the wrinkled nylons, she threw them on the table. It didn’t escape Turner’s notice that they landed on top of his tie.

  “What?” Val snapped, seeing his eyes grow dark. “Don’t get any ideas, hotshot.”
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  Turner laughed. He looked down at his trousers. “You heard the lady.”

  Val’s eyes flashed but she couldn’t help the giggle escaping from her throat. Crossing her legs, she tucked them beneath her on the sofa.

  “And Diego?” Turner asked. “What kind of a husband was…” Before he could finish there was a noise like a garage door opening.

  Val jumped to her feet, her eyes wild.

  “Relax, sweetheart.“It’s just my crew.”

  “Crew?”

  A clatter of something metal hit the ground outdoors. The windows shivered. She ran to the window and looked out.

  “Who are those men?”

  “Landscapers. They’ll be dropping off their gear so they can work on the back gardens tomorrow morning. Not to worry though. They won’t bother us tonight.”

  “I see.” Val took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “You know…I really need to get my purse from the hotel…and my old clothes. And I need to pay you back soon as I find work.” She backed up quickly when a young man waved to her from outside. She turned around. “Um, you sure it’s not safe for us to leave tonight?”

  “I’m sure. What’s the hurry anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel…like I owe you somehow.”

  “I told you, Val. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “But…”

  “Listen, after what happened at the restaurant, the first place they’ll look for you is at the Bellagio.”

  “You’re probably right. But I will pay you back for the clothes. I just don’t know how yet.”

  “That’s important to you, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “I have an idea. Why don’t you make breakfast for the crew tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure but that’s not enough…”

  “We’ll discuss that at a later date. Okay? At least this way you’ll be working toward that debt. Will that make you feel better?”

  “Probably.”

  “Okay. Now that that’s settled, where were we?”