“Do you know who that is?” Gerry asked in his booming voice, giving Roxie a quizzical expression.
Roxie shook her head. All she knew was she wouldn’t have to go searching for Mr. Mercedes. He’d come to her instead. Her heart thudded uneasily in her chest. Did he know who she was? He couldn’t. She’d been covered from head to foot, so it would have been impossible for him to recognize her. Or did he have some other method of seeing through her black leather outfit?
“He’s Charles Vernon, one of the sharpest lawyers in the States,” Gerry told her excitedly. “He’s Boston born and bred.”
“And he’s supposed to be worth millions,” Verna added, tugging at her apron.
“Oooh, and isn’t he sexy?” Eileen put in, the eyes in her stout face going all unfocused and dreamy.
Roxie swallowed, and in as level a voice as she could manage said, “I didn’t know,” as she poured iced tea into a tall, frosted glass. The devil came in all different disguises, and Charles Vernon was two different kinds rolled into one. He was rich like her father, and that gave her cause for concern. Desperately she tried to remember if the Harrier and Vernon families travelled in the same social circles, but nothing came to mind. To make matters worse, her body had responded unequivocally to the masculinity of the man seated in the booth. The crotch of her panties was damp. It had been all she could do to stay motionless waiting for him to either place his order or tell her he hadn’t made up his mind yet. His assessing gaze as those smoldering gray eyes had journeyed languidly up her bosom to her face had aroused her and bothered her in a very sexual way. Her breasts had ached with an unaccustomed fullness and her nipples had stood up proudly. Of course, today had to be the day she’d worn a lacy bra without much support. The other one was in the wash.
“You might want to snag a wealthy man like him,” Verna called out as Roxie exited with the iced tea on a round tray.
No chance. I just got away from that madness.
On one hand she hoped Charles Vernon was gone, and on the other she wished he would stay. Just to feast her eyes on him some more, she told herself. Brushing stray strands of hair from her eyes, she looked up, right into his eyes. She would have sworn they could see through her and deep into her soul. She hoped to God that wasn’t true. Prisoners could rarely argue for their freedom, and Roxie vowed she’d never again be incarcerated by the trappings of wealth and greed.
Boldly, Charlie watched Roxie as she set the iced tea on the table at his right hand.
“There you go,” she said brightly, averting her gaze. “Have you decided what you’ll eat?”
He heard the cultured accent to her words and wondered who she really was, witnessed the graceful bearing of a woman who’d been raised in society. Unlike himself, he thought morosely. He’d had to scrounge for every penny in his youth. Nothing had been handed to him for free—he’d had to work hard for it. The familiar resentment was building up again. He quelled it with some difficulty.
And who was to say that Roxie came from a wealthy background? All the signs are there, Charlie. The elegant bearing, the straight face, the curvaceous, man-killer body… Wait a minute. Her body wasn’t a product of wealth and prestige. I have Roxie pegged all wrong. That’s all. However the uneasy feeling in his gut remained.
He pondered the subject of food while Roxie waited and he sipped at his iced tea, which was sweet, the way he liked it. As delectable as Roxie was. Should he ask her out, on a whim? What if he was wrong and she was one of those gold-diggers who ripped off rich men’s bank accounts and white-washed their self-esteem? His gaze travelled to her waist, up her chest, then to her face and the much-too-innocent eyes.
This time there was a hint of distrust in their blue depths. His mind had detoured from her question. What did he want to eat? Charlie caught sight of the “wildcat” burger. He hadn’t a clue if he’d like it, or even what it was, but he barked, “The wildcat. With fries.”
A wildcat in bed, please.
He imagined what it would be like to fit his cock between the warmth of her thighs, and impossibly his hard-on became larger, more rigid and more painful. If only the buzzing in his head would stop and his heart would quit pounding so loudly that he would swear Roxie could hear it slamming in his chest.
The wariness in her eyes was abruptly replaced by amusement. “Is that really what you want? A wildcat?” Her lips, so smooth and utterly kissable, curled into a thin smile.
She had him there. Roxie had probably guessed that if he could have, he’d have given a much different order. One for hot, sweaty sex, and plenty of it. He blinked and, uncharacteristically, faltered. What would he reply? His hands, now clenched together in his lap, were clammy. The toughest trial had never left his thoughts frozen, his mind helplessly searching for the right thing to say. He wanted to raise his hand, to slowly pull out the pins from her honey-blonde hair and watch as it cascaded over her shoulders in a silky mass. He’d bury his nose in her fragrant, heady scent. Charlie sucked in a deep breath. Man, but he was in bad shape.
“Table sixty up!” the cook yelled.
“That’s my order,” Roxie said, throwing a nervous glance toward the counter where food steamed on a plate. “Should I put the wildcat down for you?”
Charlie had never been a man to run but today, faced with a woman who shouldn’t have appealed to him the way she did, with her sexy lips and curvaceous body, his self-control ebbed to about minus seven on the Richter scale. He had to flee, and that wasn’t his normal mode of operation either.
“Wrap that up for takeout.”
“Sure.” It was a husky whisper.
Before she turned and raced for the plate, he caught the flicker of wry gaiety in her eyes. Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the floor.
He bent to search for his cell phone and the messages that would distract him from a candy-pink uniform and the gorgeous looker wearing it to sexy perfection.
At table sixty, a few booths down from Charles Vernon, sat the heavyset guy. Roxie cringed at the mere thought of going near the nondescript, pasty man again. He hadn’t touched her, even when he’d boarded the same bus as she had back in Maine. There was something about him that she didn’t trust, but she doubted he knew who she was. Still, it was uncanny that he was eating here when there were hundreds of places in LA to dine. He’d placed his order as if he didn’t recognize her too, which worried her, but he couldn’t be one of her father’s bodyguards…could he?
“Could you bag a wildcat plus fries for table fifty-four?” she asked as steadily as she could in a loud voice.
Verna elbowed her none too gently. “Does he want to go home with you?”
Roxie shook her head. The smell of frying oil, hamburgers and French fries was getting to her, but she reminded herself she needed this job. So what did it matter that each morning she bathed herself in perfume in an attempt to mask the powerful odor, or that she had to wash her clothes by hand each night so they wouldn’t stink of hot grease? At least she was free of her father’s overwhelming control.
Gerry leaned over the chest-high counter and gave her a blatant wink. “What?” He canted his head toward Charles Vernon. “He doesn’t want to feast his eyes on you?” The owner’s booming voice carried across the small kitchen area, sending a shiver of trepidation down Roxie’s back. In the two months she’d worked for him, Gerry had shown himself to be vulgar but good-natured. She said nothing in reply and was proud of herself that she didn’t even bat an eye at his query. Her father’s demanding nature had taught her well.
Gerry smiled with satisfaction and chuckled to himself before he returned to his work with a verve that always shocked her. How could someone be so happy throwing burgers on the grill or preparing shrimp salads? She grabbed the steaming burger and fries for table sixty and repressed a shudder that she had to approach the guy in the plaid shirt again. She shouldn’t be afraid of him—he had been kind to her, offering to carry her two pieces of luggage from one bus to another—but he didn’t inspi
re trust in her either.
Gerry called out, surprising her yet again. He was in a good mood today, she thought. “You need a push in the right direction? Sometimes you make me think you can’t take care of yourself, you being so petite and all.”
Roxie sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “I can take care of myself, Gerry.” Plate in hand, she turned away. She’d been doing an admirable job of it for several months now. She didn’t need a man who was roughly the same age as her father giving her a push in any direction.
With a lowered gaze, she passed by table fifty-four. Every fiber of her body tingled with heightened awareness of Charles Vernon. She tried to still the pang of fear, then table sixty was in front of her before she could think further.
“Here you go,” she said to Plaid Shirt as brightly as she could manage.
“Looks good,” he muttered. As she backed away, ready to flee, his big, red-haired hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, easily encircling the small bone. Roxie attempted to jerk free without making a scene but failed to extricate herself.
“Would you come out with me? I’m kinda gettin’ lost in LA. Big place, you know.”
When hell freezes over. How do I extricate myself from him?
He scratched his long, untrimmed beard and the blank, almost lifeless look he gave her caused a shiver to run down her spine.
“No,” she told him firmly and quietly.
His hand clamped over hers again, tighter this time. Her gaze met his bloodshot eyes. Had he been drinking or shooting up? None of that was her style.
“I was really hoping we could become friends.”
Pain roared through her wrist, making it hard to think clearly. There was no use in mincing words with him.
“Let me go—”
A smooth, confident, very masculine voice intervened. “The lady said to let her go, chum.”
A feminine thrill shot through Roxie. The sexiest man alive was coming to her rescue. She dared to transfer her gaze to him. His face was impassive. The midnight-blue Armani suit moulded his physique precisely, showing off bulging biceps, a trim waist and sculpted thighs. Those smouldering gray eyes meant business too, with a glare that would have left most men fleeing in fear. Not her tormentor, though.
Deliberately, Plaid Shirt laboured to his feet. “Or else what, asshole?”
Uh-oh. Roxie didn’t want the diner to become a battlefield between two male egos—or worse, two male bodies. She had no doubt who would be the winner in a physical contest even though Red had an extra hundred pounds on Charles. Besides, she could stick up for herself and didn’t need Charles’ help, although the feminine side of her revelled briefly in the knowledge that he was standing up for her.
She had a few tricks of her own. Straightening her shoulders, she said in a breathy whisper that meant business, “I can handle this.”
Charlie’s arms rested easily at his sides, his fists unclenched. It was as if he didn’t see her. He kept his eyes on the other man. “When a lady speaks, you listen.” His voice was terse and lethal.
Roxie gave a deep sigh. Either this brewing battle would play out by itself, or she had to intervene. In the back of her mind, she sensed the diners staring, perhaps wondering what the heck was going on. She had to end the momentum toward disaster in a hurry. She thought quickly. If she inserted two fingers between her lips, she could hope the loud whistle would bring the men to their senses, but she didn’t think so. Or she could pretend to faint which was, in her opinion, a rather lame action. Or she could wait the two out. None of those seemed like good options.
In her best no-nonsense tone, Roxie warned, “Whoever wants to throw the first punch, use this as your target.” Daring both men, she pointed an index finger at her chin.
Charles’ eyes widened in dismayed surprise. Plaid Shirt cursed under his breath as his bloodshot gaze fell on her face. “Naw, I ain’t never hit a woman before. Not about to start now.” Stiffly, he turned and limped away, shoving open the diner’s front door with such force that the glass rattled dangerously.
Charles pressed his lips together in a tight grimace and focused stormy gray eyes on her. “LA is more than I bargained for.” With that said, he turned on his heel and strode out.
Her lips parted in astonishment, Roxie watched him go, fighting for something to say. Would “thank you” work? Or what about “you forgot your order, sir”?
Eileen sidled up to her and whispered unctuously, “Talk about killing two birds with the same stone.”
Dumbstruck, Roxie stayed silent. She’d just managed to chase away the sexiest man on earth. She should have known Charles Vernon was a man she could have in her fantasies but never in real life.
She returned to her work. Time dragged on and on, interminably. When the bell above the entrance jangled, she looked up to check if it was Charlie coming back, but on each occasion the patron was someone else, someone less interesting, less handsome. Maybe she’d have to seek him out at his office…but she dismissed the hasty thought. What would she say to him anyway? I want to have sex with you? She was a waitress in a diner that served the courthouse and its vicinity. Charlie was mega wealthy and probably had his choice of women at any time. The rumination did nothing to soothe her. Unless she divulged her true identity, Charlie was one of the few unattainable men in her world and she’d have to accept that.
Chapter Two
LA is more dangerous than I bargained for? Of all the stupid things to say! And I still haven’t had lunch.
Charlie turned left instead of right and headed toward a park, far enough away from the wooden burger that he wouldn’t crane his head to see it and wonder about Roxie. Still, he pondered, gazing emptily out onto the fountain in which several people from nearby high rises waded in the warm water. What if the man in the plaid shirt came back to toy mercilessly with her? Had Charlie done wrong by leaving her undefended? How had she managed with scumbags before? Surely any waitress knew how to deal with men like that? Did Roxie enjoy her job? She appeared to like her coworkers and the diner patrons.
More questions roared through his mind. Where did she come from? How had she learned to handle herself in such a genteel yet forceful manner? He grinned with amusement. He was willing to bet he wasn’t wrong about her, that she came from a higher social circle than the one she currently worked in.
Sitting on the grass, he glanced back toward where he had come from. He could barely make out the highest point of the top of the big roof burger. Should he return and make certain Roxie was all right? Sometimes incidents like the one she’d been through left women rattled. He needed to go back and, if for no other reason than to reassure himself, ascertain that she was okay. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, how the candy-pink uniform clung to each inch of her body, outlining every curve, how the pearly white buttons lying on her breasts begged to be unfastened with a gentle touch to reveal the delicious, tempting skin underneath.
He was having trouble breathing thinking about her, naked, without her uniform. His heart clutched in his chest. He filled his lungs as deeply as he could with the hot, humid air. How could he be in such a state over a woman whom he hardly knew? And for the second time that day. Southern Californian chicks were hot.
In his imagination, Roxie faced him in a flowing black, strapless gown, her eyes shiny and her arms wrapped around his neck. He lowered his head and kissed her glossy, parted lips with a featherlight touch. Her bosom, pressing erotically against his chest, heaved up and down with need. Her fragrance enveloped him in its subtle cocoon, drowning out his own musky scent. Lifting the left side of the gauzy gown, he edged her knees apart. His cock hardened so painfully that he could barely draw in a breath. Roxie moaned under his tender assault and that one sound of longing almost drove him over the edge. Yet he hung on, his overwhelming desire to pleasure her warring with his wish to have her quickly, to put an end to his torture.
“Do you want me?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, her liquid blue gaze assessing his face.
>
He laughed softly. “Need you.” He took her small wrist and settled her unresisting hand over his erection. Her fingers brushed lightly against his rigid shaft through the silk of his trousers. Every nerve ending in his body fired up, shooting darts of passion through him and into his penis.
She smiled that even-toothed, cheerful smile that dazzled him and comforted him. “Words could never let you know how beautiful and tempting you are,” he murmured on a groan.
Her laugh was as musical as her voice, stroking him, arousing him, taking him higher sexually than he’d ever been before. His balls were tight and painful now. He swallowed hard, attempting to ease the fierce ache. Slowly, he pushed the satin from her shoulders just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. His intake of air rasped in a dry throat as Roxie’s warm breath fanned his cheeks.
She arched one eyebrow and said with a crooked smile, “You’re not so bad yourself.” Leaning against his thighs, she trembled like the most delicate of butterflies.
Her words made him chuckle ever so softly. He wasn’t used to women complimenting him. He accepted with good grace. “You’re an angel,” he remarked, his ears ringing loudly. His angel of mercy, who would soon put him out of his misery…but more torment would come before that.
The black satin against the pale alabaster of her throat and shoulders aroused him to fever pitch. Around them in a wide circle, the dancers performed a slow, sensual waltz. The women sparkled in their multicolored finery and glimmering jewels and the men held them as carefully as crystal wineglasses. Roxie and he stood in the midst of grandeur and yet were somehow apart from it. He ordered a canopied bed with netting to be brought forth.
Roxie was oblivious to the dancers surrounding them, her blue eyes gleaming with heat and passion. She moved a few steps back and, with her gaze intently fixed on his, she slid the gown’s bodice from her breasts. As he bent forward, the gown rustled the rest of the way down her body and pooled around her feet to the polished floor, hiding her high heels and her crimson-red toenails. Her breasts jutted forward and her lovely lips gave a wide, playful smile. She twined herself into the diaphanous material hanging from a bed’s canopy. Silk rasped against netting. Charlie sucked in a deep breath. Lord have mercy, but she was more beautiful than he’d imagined. If only he could reach out and touch her flawless skin, those globes that tempted him to lean forward and kiss them one by one, ending with his hungry lips on her extended areolas, to greedily suck on them, to savor their sweet taste.
Full Throttle Yearning Page 2