“Stash, you have to help me choose,” she said, overwhelmed by the exotic-sounding dishes. “Is there anything that’s a particular favorite of the Elliotts? Anything they hate? Do any of them have food allergies?”
“No allergies. One or more of the ladies are always watching their carbs, so you should choose at least one dish with that in mind.”
“All right, how about this grilled chicken with the cashew and water chestnut stuffing?”
“Excellent choice. Now, something with a bit more oomph for the adventurous palettes.”
“Quiche Cantonese?”
Stash nodded his approval. They went on in this fashion, with Stash giving her hints. Obviously, he could have put together the menu by himself, but Bryan had wanted to let her make the choices, which warmed her heart. He was being very thoughtful. Her choice of wine was strictly a guessing game, but she trusted Stash not to allow her to make a really dumb mistake.
As she showered and began to dress a little while later, she realized she was looking forward to her dinner. She’d enjoyed planning it and couldn’t wait to see how the Elliotts reacted to it.
She’d meant it when she told Bryan she thought owning a restaurant would be fun. She’d always enjoyed good food and had been ecstatic to discover dishes beyond the plain meat and potatoes she’d been raised on. She could hold her own in a kitchen. Her mother had taught her the basics, and she’d done some experimenting during her In Tight days, before Cruz had begun taking up all her time and attention. During the past couple of years she hadn’t cooked anything too exciting—that would have fallen under the category of indulging herself and having fun, things that had been off her list. But she’d bought cookbooks and read them.
She loved Une Nuit—the whole package. She loved the bustle in the kitchen, the various chefs yelling at each other, sometimes in languages she didn’t understand. She loved the smells and sounds, the well-heeled patrons in the dining room, blissfully unaware of the contained panic going on behind closed doors as Chef Chin demanded perfection. She loved the soft jazz music that played in the background, the muffled din of forks and chopsticks and ice tinkling in glasses, the easy laughter as diners reveled in their own senses.
She sighed. It wasn’t her world, but she enjoyed being a part of it. This was much better than being on the fringes of the music business, which was glamorous but painfully sordid.
The bedroom door opened, and Lucy gasped and held her skirt in front of her until she realized the intruder was Bryan. He grinned at finding her in her panties and bra.
“You scared me half to death. The least you could do is stomp when you come up the stairs, so I’ll have some warning.”
“I’d much rather catch you unaware,” he said with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Aren’t you fetching. C’mere.”
She did, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as if he’d been away for weeks instead of hours. Her knees got all wobbly and her chest ached from shortness of breath.
“Sorry I took so long. Did you get everything sorted out with Stash?”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I came straight upstairs. Couldn’t wait another moment to see you, and thank goodness I didn’t delay.” He slid one hand inside her panties.
“We don’t…uh…really have time to…uh…” She couldn’t come up with a more energetic objection. In truth, they could have had an appointment with the Queen of England, and she’d have made the monarch wait.
“We’ll just have to be fashionably late.”
Bryan had his clothes off in seconds. Rather than take her to the bed, he sat in a cushy chair that was intended for reading, and pulled Lucy into his lap. She didn’t need much coaxing; the moment she’d seen him, her body had started preparing itself for him. She was flushed, her nipples hard and aching for his touch, and she was warm deep inside and already tingling between her legs though he’d not yet touched her there.
She wiggled out of her panties, threw her bra aside, all the while making certain to brush against Bryan’s arousal as much as possible. When she turned to face him again, she straddled him in the big chair, torturing him unmercifully by brushing her soft curls against him.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Are you suggesting we rush?” she asked innocently.
From behind, he reached between her legs and slipped a finger inside her. She gasped and whimpered, no longer in a teasing mood. “Okay, let’s rush.”
“That’s my girl,” he said as he poised his shaft at her entrance. She lowered herself onto him, letting him slowly fill her, enjoying every inch of him.
Once they were joined, he did manage to take his time, grasping her by her bottom and controlling the depth of his strokes. She braced her hands on his shoulders and, as always, let him have his way with her. Any control she had over him was a myth in her own mind.
She let her body take over, her mind just along for the ride, until the exquisite pressure released in an explosion of tingly heat and tremors that reverberated all the way to her fingers, toes and eyelashes.
Bryan let go as the last of her cries of passion echoed across the bedroom. She fell on top of him, too weak to sit up straight, and felt his body convulse as he emptied himself inside her.
They didn’t move for a couple of minutes until Bryan finally broke the silence. “I love watching you come.”
“Ditto.”
“You don’t hold back anything. It’s all in your face to see—every emotion is all right there.”
She sincerely hoped not—because she feared she was falling in love with Bryan Elliott, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it except walk away.
And that cure was worse than the disease.
Nine
They were ten minutes late for the party in the private dining room on the floor below the restaurant, but no one seemed to notice or care. The first appetizers were being passed around, wine was flowing and conversation hummed.
Bryan noticed that someone had put place cards on the table. “Was this your idea?” he said, picking up his own and showing it to Lucy.
She nodded. “I thought it might be better if everyone from the same magazine didn’t sit together. So we don’t have conversational cliques.”
And Lucy had done something else rather bold: instead of putting together two long tables, she’d arranged the copper-top tables into a big square.
“Is it okay?” she asked uncertainly. “I thought everyone would be able to see and talk to everyone else this way.”
“You think my family needs to talk more?”
“They talk a lot. Just sometimes not in the most productive ways. And some of them could do with more listening.”
Bryan laughed. “I hope you’re not fantasizing you can be a peacemaker. The bitching and moaning and yelling isn’t going to stop until someone is named CEO.”
“I can try.”
Stash appeared to take drink orders, but everyone seemed content with the wine.
“Do you want to check the menu?” he whispered to Bryan.
“I’m sure it’s fine. But I don’t see any garlic butter.”
“I’ll send someone down.”
“I’ll come up and get it. I want to make the rounds in the dining room.”
Upstairs, he did some glad-handing. He sent a bottle of wine to a man he recognized as a competing restaurateur, comped a plate of hors d’oeuvres to several cast members from a soap, paid his respects to an opera diva.
Then he spotted someone he hadn’t seen in his rounds, a woman dining alone at a small table, nursing a glass of red wine. Her eyes darted around the dining room until finally her gaze found him, and she smiled uncertainly.
He walked briskly to her table, and she stood to greet him.
“Mom. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How come no one told me you were here?”
Amanda Elliott hugged her son, then straightened her neat suit jacket. “I’m not sure your new hostess recognized me
. And if you’re busy, it’s okay.”
“Never too busy for you. Mom, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. She’s downstairs.” He hesitated, knowing his mother was no longer comfortable around the Elliott clan. “We’re having a party to celebrate EPH profits.”
“Then you’re busy. I’ll come back—”
“No, Mom, I think you should join us. Karen’s here.” His aunt Karen was the one Elliott Amanda had remained close to, other than her sons.
“Is Patrick here?” she asked warily.
“He meant to be, so he could whip everyone into a frenzy of competition. But he canceled. Gram’s not feeling well, and he didn’t want to leave her home alone.”
Amanda immediately showed her concern. “Maeve’s all right, isn’t she?”
“Just her arthritis acting up. Come on, bring your wineglass. Everyone will be happy to see you.”
“Everyone? Then your father’s not here?”
“Everyone, and he is here. His divorce from Sharon is final, you know.”
“I heard. I also heard about your new girlfriend, and I am curious.”
Bryan took his mother’s arm, giving her no chance to protest further. He forgot about the garlic butter that had sent him upstairs in the first place.
“Everyone, look who I found.”
Amanda looked embarrassed, but Bryan wasn’t disappointed in his family. Several of his cousins popped out of their chairs to greet Amanda with a hug. They were all fond of her, and her absence at family gatherings was always commented on, except by Patrick.
Then there was Daniel, Bryan’s father, who never said anything about Amanda. But Bryan knew his parents still had lingering feelings for each other.
“Mom,” Bryan said, “I want you to meet Lindsay Morgan.”
“Lindsay.” Amanda took both of Lucy’s hands in hers. Bryan was alarmed by the sheen of tears in his mother’s eyes. What was that about? Surely the mere sight of Lucy didn’t fill Amanda with despair. She’d never been like some moms, thinking no girl was good enough for her boys.
They exchanged a few pleasantries, and Lucy said, “Oh, Mrs. Elliott, won’t you join us?” Without even realizing it, Lucy had slipped into the role of hostess. It seemed a natural for her. What was more, it felt somehow…right.
“Call me Amanda, please. And I can see you all are in the middle of something. Bryan insisted I come down and say hi, but I’ll be on my way now.” But her turndown lacked conviction. Bryan could tell she wanted to stay. Though she often claimed she’d been much happier away from the big, noisy Elliott clan, Bryan knew she sometimes missed being a part of something larger than herself.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Karen, and Bryan could have kissed his aunt. “You come join us.”
“You can take Finola’s chair,” said Bryan’s uncle Shane. “Obviously she can’t tear herself away from work, not even to gloat that she’s in first place.”
This comment started a round of arguments, as it had been intended to do. Amanda shrugged and took the last empty chair where Finola’s place card sat. Bryan watched his father’s face to gauge his reaction. Daniel’s gaze hadn’t left Amanda since she’d entered the room, and any fool could tell he was anything but indifferent. But he was guarded enough that Bryan, even with all his training in body language, couldn’t tell whether Daniel was pleased or angry to have his ex-wife—his first ex-wife—thrust into his company. They sat only two chairs away from each other, with a table corner between them, so they could easily converse if they wanted.
More appetizers appeared, followed by the soup and salad choices Lucy had made. It would have been hard for her to go wrong—everything on the Une Nuit menu was designed to be mixed and matched. But Bryan was nonetheless pleased with and, yes, proud of the menu Lucy had put together. He told himself it was because he wanted her to appear to be a good match for him, as befitted their cover. But he knew it went deeper than that, which troubled him. He had no business getting so attached to her. Given the progress they were making on the Alliance Trust case, she wouldn’t be with him for long.
As various members of his family got up to stretch their legs between courses, a certain amount of musical chairs took place at the table. Bryan found himself seated next to his cousin Liam, one of Uncle Michael and Aunt Karen’s sons. Liam was the chief financial officer at EPH, and just before the main course, he’d made a brief speech detailing the profits at each of the four EPH magazines. He’d also read a prepared speech from Patrick congratulating all of his children and grandchildren for rising to the occasion and making the competition a real horse race.
That had produced a few snide comments about what, exactly, Patrick had intended besides increasing profits, but Lucy, of all people, managed to smooth over the outbursts of acrimony and keep the evening on a pleasant note.
“So, Liam, how close is the race?” Bryan asked his cousin confidentially. “You gave us the raw numbers, but I understand the winner is the magazine that grows the most, percentagewise.”
“It’s closer than you can imagine,” Liam said in a low voice. “But I chose to underplay that. Other than to say that Charisma is in first place, I don’t want the other editors to know just how close they are. It’ll only make them crazier.”
“Things are kind of tense, huh?”
“You have no idea. Everyone’s on their best behavior tonight, maybe out of consideration for you and Lindsay and some of the others here who aren’t directly involved with the magazines. But I’m afraid—really afraid—that this crazy competition of Granddad’s is going to create rifts in the family that can never be healed.”
“You’re talking about Finola?”
“She was already on shaky ground with Granddad. Frankly I was relieved she didn’t show tonight. I’m not sure she could have buried the hatchet, even for one evening.”
“In one of her brothers’ heads, maybe. Well, she’s always had something to prove.”
Stash and three waiters chose that moment to appear with several of Une Nuit’s famously decadent desserts as well as some pistachio sorbet for those with more modest appetites. When serving was completed, he leaned down to whisper something to Bryan.
“Oh. I’ll be right up.”
He excused himself from the table, but before he went upstairs, he stopped by Lucy’s chair. “Any interest in meeting Britney Spears?”
“Really?” Lucy squeaked. “She’s here?”
“Having drinks.”
Lucy didn’t have to be asked twice. He thought it was charming that she was so starstruck, that her unfortunate experience with Cruz Tabor hadn’t made her bitter.
Upstairs the bar was packed, but the crowd seemed to part for Bryan. Many of the regulars knew him and nodded, giving curious glances to Lucy, but he didn’t want to take time for introductions now.
He found the Britney Spears party at the very epicenter of the crowd. The star stopped midconversation to greet him. He welcomed her warmly to Une Nuit, introduced her to Lucy, who managed to squeak out a nervous greeting. He ordered a bottle of Cristal on the house, handed Britney a card and told her to call him or Stash if she ever needed anything. He was about to leave when the flash of a camera caught his attention.
The first thing Bryan did was step between Lucy and the camera, which he couldn’t see, but he knew the direction it had come from. He didn’t relish having his own picture taken and usually managed to avoid it, since celebrity wasn’t exactly good for the anonymity required of an undercover operative. But better his face in a tabloid’s than Lucy’s.
With the second flash, he saw the perpetrator, a tall, skinny kid with frizzy hair and a pocket camera.
Bryan reached him in an instant, grabbed his arm and prevented him from taking another shot. “That’s not allowed in here.” He walked the kid to the front door.
“You’re throwing me out?” he said in a loud enough voice to garner attention.
“No. You give your camera to our hostess for safekeeping. She’ll give it back
when you’re ready to leave.”
“Forget it, man,” the guy said, jerking his arm out of Bryan’s grasp and huffing out the door.
Bryan made a quick apology to Britney, who was gracious about it, and he and Lucy returned to the private party downstairs.
“That was cool,” Lucy said. “Thanks. You must think I’m silly.”
“No,” he said, but he was too preoccupied to say more. Should he have followed that kid, taken the camera away? He wasn’t one of the known paparazzi. Probably just a Britney fan. Still, fans sometimes sold their pictures to the tabloids.
Well, nothing he could do about it now.
The next morning, on the way home from their morning run, Bryan stopped at a newsstand and bought the latest issue of Global News Roundup, one of the tackiest tabloids on the market. Rather than celebrity news, the Roundup sported doctored photos of the president with his supposed alien baby, a giant squid the size of the Queen Mary, and stories about how the government was practicing mind control through chlorinated tap water.
“Not your usual reading material,” Lucy commented as Bryan paid the vendor a couple of bucks.
“I have my reasons.”
“Surely no paparazzi would stoop to publishing Britney’s picture in that rag.”
Bryan laughed. “No, I’m not worried about that.”
He didn’t explain further until they were home, showered, and had shared a breakfast of yogurt and whole-wheat bagels. She’d been pleased to discover Bryan didn’t always indulge in the high-fat fare from Une Nuit.
When the dishes were washed and put away, Bryan opened the briefcase he’d taken with him yesterday and produced a thick stack of Global News Roundup, to which he added the current issue.
“I have to leave again today.”
Lucy groaned. “I know your work is important, but I’m getting a little stir-crazy, stuck in your apartment all day by myself.”
“Our surveillance of Vargov has produced some results. He made contact yesterday with a known terrorist sympathizer. Their conversation was encrypted, but the lab is working on it. We think it might lead us to Stungun. If it does, we’ll have all the evidence we need to make arrests.”
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 11