Touch of Heaven

by Maureen Smith

  Raina took a slow turn around the room, admiring everything in sight.

  Watching her, Mr. Gibbons smiled quietly. “I trust you’ve found the accommodations to your satisfaction?”

  Raina laughed. “Oh, yes, most definitely.”

  “Excellent.” As he began bowing gracefully out of the room, he said, “Dinner will be served at eight. Make yourself at home, and please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gibbons.”

  Once the door had closed behind him, Raina wandered over to the huge, inviting bed. It was drowned in silk sheets in the richest hues of cream, burgundy and chocolate. Unable to resist, she dove onto the bed and rolled around, luxuriating in the heavenly texture of silk against her skin.

  So this is how the other half lives, she mused. The superwealthy. Must be nice!

  Raina liked to think she didn’t have a materialistic bone in her body, but even she could appreciate the breathtaking grandeur of Warrick’s secluded estate. She’d read articles, of course, about the “architectural masterpiece” he’d purchased and refurbished five years ago, but nothing could have prepared her for the real deal. Warrick had definitely come a long way from the dilapidated, drug-infested projects of the Third Ward, a thought that caused her chest to swell with pride and satisfaction. Because no matter what he and his family thought of her, Raina had never begrudged Warrick his success. She knew he’d worked hard to get where he was, never taking a single thing for granted. He deserved to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

  Just not at the expense of mine, Raina mused, suddenly reminded of the reason for her presence in his home.

  Over the next several days, Warrick was going to do everything in his power to try to convince her to sell her property to him. She had to be on guard, prepared to withstand any tactic he employed to weaken her resistance.

  Because if she allowed him to successfully break down her defenses, her spa was not the only thing she stood to lose.

  Two hours later, freshly showered and dressed in a leopard-print silk halter and pale linen slacks, Raina sat down to dinner with Warrick in the formal dining room. Accentuated with beautiful crown molding, Roman columns, a soaring marble fireplace and an elaborate crystal chandelier, the room was every bit as grand as the rest of the mansion.

  But for the first time that evening, Raina was not riveted by the opulence of her surroundings. Something else had ensnared her attention. Or, rather, someone else.

  Sitting across from her at the long mahogany table that seated thirty, Warrick was stunningly, brutally handsome in dark gabardine trousers and a black dress shirt open to the strong column of his throat. With little or no effort he exuded raw animal magnetism, a potent masculinity that Raina found utterly irresistible.

  The chandelier was dimmed low and a pair of candles were lit on the table, lending an intimate quality to the cavernous dining room. Raina watched, transfixed, as candlelight danced across the hard angles and planes of Warrick’s face, the ruggedness of his features softened only by the lush sensuality of his lips. As he raised his wineglass and took a languid sip of Merlot, Raina stared at his long, lean fingers, imagining those hands roaming over her body and stroking her fevered flesh as she shuddered through an orgasm.

  When his dark, glittering gaze met hers across the table, she quickly glanced away, half-afraid he would read her mind. She stared up at the domed tray ceiling, studying the fancy trim work and molding with exaggerated absorption.

  “This is quite a house you have,” she remarked, striving for a normal tone. “The detailing in every room is exquisite.”

  “Thanks,” Warrick murmured, sounding distinctly amused, “but you’ve already said that three times since we sat down.”

  Raina blushed. “Have I?”

  “Yes. You have.” He set down his glass, those midnight eyes probing hers. “Are you nervous, Raina?”

  The husky timbre of his voice made her think of their naked, sweaty limbs tangled together as they thrashed around on the silk sheets in her bedroom.

  She forced out a breathless laugh. “Of course I’m not nervous! I just get, uh, chatty when I’m hungry.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  You have no idea!

  Aloud she said, “It’s been a few hours since we had those hors d’oeuvres on the plane. And I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch before we left because someone was rushing me.”

  Warrick chuckled ruefully. “I guess I have been starving you today, huh?”

  Raina grinned. “Just a little.”

  “Well, don’t worry. My chef has something really special planned this evening. Ah, here he is now.”

  Raina glanced up, then did a double take at the sight of the stocky Italian man with a smooth, bald head and warm blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, as he was doing now.

  Raina stared at him in surprised recognition. “Oh my God! Aren’t you Sonny Bellini?”

  He laughed, carrying two large plates over to the table. “Last I checked my birth certificate.”

  “I’ve seen you on the Food Network cooking channel!” Raina exclaimed. “My sister is a huge fan of yours! She loves to cook, and I think she’s even tried all of your recipes. She’s not going to believe this. What’re you doing here?”

  Warrick chuckled dryly. “Sonny was my personal chef before he got his big break and left me for the bright lights of Tinseltown.”

  Sonny laughed, wagging his head at Raina. “Don’t listen to him. He’s the one who used his Hollywood connections to get me signed on with a big talent agency. I was perfectly content being his personal chef. The pay was phenomenal and he throws the best damn parties of anyone I know. But he insisted that I should be hosting my own cooking show, and when this man sets his sights on something, there’s no stopping him.”

  Raina smiled weakly, hoping those words would not prove prophetic in her own dealings with Warrick.

  Warrick drawled, “Every so often Sonny takes pity on me and comes back to cook for me.”

  The chef winked conspiratorially at Raina. “I want to torture him with reminders of what he’s missing.”

  Raina grinned. “Well, speaking of that, my sister’s going to torture me if she finds out that I met you and didn’t at least get your autograph. I don’t suppose you brought any extra copies of your bestselling cookbook with you.”

  “I have a few in the library,” Warrick smoothly interjected. “I’ll make sure you get an autographed copy before Sonny leaves. Which won’t be until Sunday, because he has graciously agreed to cater my Fourth of July party this weekend.”

  “Really?” Raina asked.

  “Yep,” Sonny said, nodding and smiling at her. “My staff and I are looking forward to it. Like I said, this man knows how to throw one helluva party. Anyway, I’ll leave the two of you to your dinner. Enjoy your meal.”

  Raina had been so enthralled by the unexpected appearance of the celebrity chef that she hadn’t noticed what he’d served them until he’d left the room. When she glanced down at the table, her heart sank at the appallingly meager portion of food on her plate.

  Warrick, who had picked up his fork to begin eating, noticed her dismayed expression and calmly inquired, “Is something wrong with your meal?”

  “Um, yeah.” Raina glanced over her shoulder to make sure Sonny was out of earshot, then whispered worriedly, “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Raina stared at Warrick’s face, surprised to realize that he obviously saw nothing wrong with what they had been served. She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “No,” he clipped, “what did you say?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.” Raina reached for her fork, then couldn’t resist mumbling under her breath, “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not spending all of your money on food.”

  Warrick frowned. Slowly, deliberately, he set down his fork, pushed away from the table and stood. Raina watched, with mounting cha
grin, as he walked over to the tall bay windows that overlooked the gardens and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

  Oh, great, Raina thought. Now she’d gone and offended him. Who knew he would be so sensitive? It wasn’t his fault his former chef had served them such measly portions of food. And she had a right to be disappointed; she’d hardly eaten anything all day! Still, she felt guilty for sounding like such an ingrate.

  She blew out a ragged breath. “Warrick, I’m—” she broke off abruptly, staring in disbelief as his broad shoulders began to shake. Wait a minute. Was he—?

  Suddenly Warrick threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  Raina’s mouth dropped open. She gaped at him, comprehension slowly dawning. “You mean…You’re not really—”

  The rest of her query was drowned out by another shout of deep, masculine laughter. Warrick turned, shaking his head at her, tears of mirth glimmering in his dark eyes. “You should have seen your face, Raina. Your expression was priceless!”

  Raina sputtered uselessly, then glared accusingly at him. “You had me worried that I’d offended you!”

  Grinning, he strode over to her, leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Priceless.”

  Raina didn’t know what got to her more: the affectionate kiss, the boyish prank, the engaging warmth of his smile or the unabashed merriment in his eyes. Her insides melted faster than a snowball on a summer afternoon in Houston, and she began to laugh.

  On cue Sonny reentered the dining room carrying two steaming plates, a wide grin on his face. Raina laughed harder.

  “How’s that?” the chef asked teasingly as he set down the plate in front of her.

  Raina took one look at the appetizing spread before her—balsamic chicken with mango-glazed shrimp and herbed potatoes—and nodded approvingly. “Now that’s more like it!”

  Sonny and Warrick traded pleased, conspiratorial grins before the chef departed with a cheerful, “Buon appetito!”

  Raina, still chuckling, shook her head reproachfully at Warrick. “You got me so good.”

  He grinned. “I know. The look on your face when you saw that first plate said it all. For a minute there I was afraid you were going to stab me with your fork.”

  Raina laughed. “Would’ve served you right! That was a cruel joke to play on me, Warrick, especially after I had just told you how hungry I was. And pray tell, was it also part of the prank to tease me with tidbits of food earlier on the plane?”

  Warrick nodded, watching as she cut into her chicken. “I wanted you to be good and hungry by dinnertime so you’d have no excuse not to eat your food.”

  Raina gave him a bemused look. “Why on earth would you think you’d need to starve me in order to get me to eat?”

  He smiled enigmatically. “I have my reasons.”

  “Well, trust me, one thing I’ve never had a problem enjoying is a good meal.” To prove her point, Raina ate a bite of chicken and closed her eyes on a deep, appreciative sigh. “Mmm, that is sooo good.”

  “Yeah? You like it?”

  She nodded vigorously. “It’s tender, juicy and very flavorful. But don’t take my word for it. Try it yourself.”

  Warrick sampled a forkful and nodded. “That is good. But, then, I don’t think Sonny has ever made anything I didn’t like.”

  Raina grinned. “Bet you kick yourself all the time for letting him go.”

  Warrick chuckled. “Every so often,” he admitted. “But then I remind myself that Sonny’s culinary gift was meant to be shared with the world, and it would have been selfish of me to deprive him of bigger and better opportunities.”

  “How very noble of you,” Raina said with a teasing smile.

  Warrick winked at her. “Anyway, it all worked out for the best. I have a new personal chef that I’m very pleased with. He’s away for the holiday weekend, but take my word for it when I tell you how talented he is. As he should be. He received his culinary training under a good friend of mine.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Michael Wolf.”

  Raina stared at him, fork halfway to her mouth. “You know Michael Wolf?”

  Warrick smiled at her awestruck tone. “He used to be an engineer before he went into the restaurant business and became a celebrity chef. We both belonged to the National Society of Professional Engineers. When I first launched Mayne Industries, I approached Michael about going into business with me, but by then he was already thinking about pursuing his lifelong dream of owning a restaurant. Needless to say, I was very happy for him when he called me a few years later to invite me to the grand opening of Wolf’s Soul in Atlanta.”

  “And now he has, like, five locations!” Raina enthused.

  “Seven,” Warrick corrected.

  “Oh my God! My sister loves Michael Wolf. I seriously think she would get on her knees and propose to him if she ever met him. I’m not kidding!” Raina added at Warrick’s soft chuckle. “Reese has every cookbook he’s ever written and religiously records his show. She keeps hoping that he’ll open a restaurant in Houston.” She paused, looking hopefully at Warrick. “You wouldn’t happen to have any insight into his future expansion plans, would you?”

  Warrick grinned, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint you but, no. I don’t.”

  “But you’re friends with him,” Raina pressed, undeterred. “You could always call him and find out, then put a plug in his ear about how great the Houston market would be for a restaurant like Wolf’s Soul.”

  “I could,” Warrick agreed, reaching for his wine and taking an idle sip. As he slowly lowered the glass, his amused gaze met hers. “Are you asking me to?”

  Remembering the way they’d negotiated Alphonse’s internship, Raina said boldly, “I’m not asking you to. I’m demanding it.”

  Warrick laughed. “Bravo, Miss St. James,” he said, his eyes filled with warm admiration. “You learn fast.”

  Raina grinned broadly, inordinately pleased with herself.

  As they resumed eating, Warrick said conversationally, “So, Raina, tell me about yourself.”

  It was a strange request coming from a man she’d known since she was ten years old. She faltered for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

  Noting her reaction, Warrick said quietly, “You can know a person more than half your life, and never really know them at all.”

  Amen to that, Raina mused bitterly, thinking of the way Yolanda Mayne had betrayed her trust and turned her entire family against her. In their eyes Raina was the villain, the one who’d seemingly changed overnight and violated their trust, leaving them to wonder if they’d ever truly known her.

  Raina searched Warrick’s face, trying to decipher the meaning behind his own words. But his expression was unreadable.

  She took a sip of wine, then asked carefully, “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you want to tell me. For starters, what do you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

  Raina hesitated, knowing that whatever she told him would sound incredibly dull in comparison to the jet-setting lifestyle he led—traveling around the world aboard his private jet, hosting fabulous house parties, mingling with celebrities and corporate tycoons, dating glamorous women, attending glitzy award shows and movie premieres. Just that morning she’d heard on the radio that he was among the glitterati who’d converged on the town last night to attend the birthday bash of a popular hip-hop artist, who, incidentally, had also dedicated his first hit single, “Boyz from Da Ward,” to Warrick.

  Nothing she shared with Warrick could possibly interest or impress him.

  Why do you care? an inner voice demanded. Your life is no less fulfilling or important than his just because you don’t travel in the same social circles. You have nothing to prove to him!

  Warrick was watching her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Is it just me,” he said, “or do you always take this long to answer a simple question?”

  “I like to go salsa dancing,” Raina blu
rted.

  A spark of interest lit his eyes. “Salsa dancing?”

  She nodded, smiling. “A few years ago Reese talked—no, bullied—me into taking salsa lessons with her. At first I felt really silly and clumsy, like I had two left feet. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good dancer, but salsa requires a different level of skill and coordination. Reese was a natural, of course, being a cheerleader in high school and college. I, on the other hand, needed some help. Thankfully, our instructor was very patient and understanding, not to mention a hottie,” she added with a naughty grin.

  Warrick shook his head, mouth twitching. “I’m sure he didn’t mind putting in some extra time after class to, ah, give you more personalized attention.”

  Raina’s grin widened. “No, he didn’t seem to mind at all. Anyway,” she continued when Warrick’s black brows furrowed together, “once I got over my self-consciousness, I really began to enjoy salsa dancing. It’s fun, energizing and very liberating.”

  “Liberating, huh?”

  Raina nodded quickly, warming to her subject. “Whenever I go salsa dancing, I really lose myself in the music and the movements. All my worries melt away, and I find myself becoming…”

  “Uninhibited?” Warrick supplied.

  “Yes! That’s a perfect word. I feel totally uninhibited. Don’t laugh, but it’s like the music reaches inside my heart and grabs hold of my hips, and I just go wherever the rhythm takes me. It’s amazing. Mesmerizing. I feel powerful and sensual and—” she broke off abruptly, her face flushing as she realized, too late, that she’d just revealed rather intimate details about herself.

  Stifling an embarrassed laugh, she reached for her glass and took a hasty gulp of merlot.

  Warrick remained silent, staring at her with an expression she didn’t know how to interpret. He probably thought she was crazy, getting all worked up over something as simple as salsa dancing.