From Temptation to Twins

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Quit worrying, and let me try. You know he has the upper hand right now. We can bluff and bluster all we want, but we can’t afford much in the way of lawyers. We have to appeal to his sense of decency.”

  “You think he’s decent?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  Melissa put a hand on Jules’s shoulder, and their gazes met in the mirror. “You’re my big sister, and I respect your judgment. But you really don’t have to do this.”

  “You’re my little sister, and I respect your opinion, but I know exactly what I’m doing.” Jules mustered up a carefree smile. “It’s a date. It’s not like I’m going bull-riding or base jumping. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Melissa mimicked their father’s voice. “You, young lady, could come home pregnant.”

  Jules couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You know, I honestly think Dad would prefer me getting pregnant to us reopening the Crab Shack.”

  “What if Caleb Watford was the dad?”

  “Whoa,” Jules intoned, letting her mind wrap itself around that. Her father hated the Watfords with a single-mindedness that had only grown over time.

  “Good thing you changed out of that sexy dress.” Melissa patted Jules’s shoulder before letting go. “Big earrings and a chunky necklace, that’s what this outfit needs.”

  There was a knock on the door downstairs.

  “He’s on time,” Melissa said.

  Jules felt a flutter in her stomach. It wasn’t excitement, she told herself. It was anxiety.

  “I’ll tell him you’ll be a few minutes.”

  As Melissa left the room, Jules focused on her jewelry box, coming up with a pair of dangling earrings with multiple gold bead drops. She found a complementary necklace, six strands with scattered gold beads of increasing size.

  She made a last-minute decision to put her hair up, and swooped it into a loose topknot. She shook her head back and forth, liking the way the earrings swayed. Caleb’s voice sounded downstairs, its deep timbre reverberating through her chest as she sat down on the bedside to pull on her boots.

  Then she was ready. She put her hand against her stomach in an effort to quell the butterflies, took a final look in the mirror and headed for the narrow staircase.

  Caleb abruptly stopped talking and watched her as she descended, a worried expression taking over his face.

  “Did I get it wrong?” she asked, gesturing to the outfit. “Are we going hiking or something?”

  He shook his head. “You got it right.”

  She relaxed a little bit. “Good. You had me worried there for a minute.”

  “So, where are you taking her?” Melissa asked.

  “Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?”

  “It’s not like it’s her birthday, or you’re proposing or something. Why the big secret?”

  “She’ll see.” Caleb kept his attention on Jules. “Do you want to take a jacket?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  He was wearing designer jeans, an open-collar blue striped shirt and a steel-gray blazer. Like her, he’d gone middle of the road. His outfit didn’t give away a thing.

  “You shouldn’t be cold,” he said.

  She picked up her purse. “Okay, then let’s do this.”

  “Good luck,” Melissa said as they moved toward the door.

  “Luck?” Caleb asked Jules.

  Jules kept her tone bright, as they stepped onto the porch. “She means in trying to change your mind.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t thinking about that at all.”

  “Good. It gives me an advantage.”

  “I was thinking about showing you a really great time.”

  They made it to the top of the stairs, and he opened the passenger door to his SUV.

  “You can drop the act,” she told him as she stepped inside.

  “What act?”

  “You know this isn’t a real date.”

  “This is absolutely a real date.” He shut the door behind her.

  Confused by the statement, she waited until he was settled in the driver’s seat. “Listen, Caleb. I don’t know what your expectations are for tonight.”

  He pressed the start button. “My expectations are for dinner and some interesting conversation.”

  She told herself to take him at his word. It seemed counterproductive to belabor the point.

  “What if I’m boring?” she asked.

  He backed out of the short, gravel driveway. “You couldn’t be boring if you tried.”

  Now, there was a challenge. “Sure, I could.”

  “How?”

  She mentally ran through a couple of ideas. “I could talk about the stock market.”

  “Do you know anything about the stock market?”

  She didn’t. “That’s Melissa’s area of expertise. I know. I could talk you through the process of making a turducken. It takes eight hours, and it’s painstaking.”

  He swung the SUV onto the coastal highway. “What’s a turducken?”

  “A chicken inside a duck inside a turkey. It’s all boneless and layered with savory stuffing. It has Cajun roots, and it’s absolutely delicious.”

  “Sounds fascinating. Where did you go to school?”

  “Oregon Culinary Institute.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Quit trying to make this conversation interesting. First, you have to purchase a chicken, a duck and a turkey. Personally, I like to go both fresh and organic. There’s a poultry farm outside Portland that will—”

  Caleb chuckled. “You’re hilarious.”

  “You think I’m joking. I’m dead serious.”

  “You’re going to last about five minutes.”

  “Hey, I could write a thesis on this stuff.”

  “You have to write a thesis to become a chef?” he asked.

  “Papers, yes. But not a thesis. The exams involve creating and cooking dishes. I once did a spiced, seared ahi tuna that made the testers cry.”

  “With joy, or did you overdo the spicing?”

  “I got a perfect mark. Where are we going?”

  They’d turned off the main highway, taking a road that led inland.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “We’re not going into Olympia?”

  “What part of the surprise concept is foreign to you?”

  “I thought we’d at least be in Olympia.” She looked for a road sign, trying to remember where this road led. One came into view, getting closer and closer. “The airport?” she asked. “What’s on the other side of the airport?”

  “Not much.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  He gave her an odd look. “The airport.”

  “It’s the community airport. They don’t even have flights from there.” She was setting aside for the moment the outlandish concept that there might be a plane ride involved in this date.

  “They don’t have commercial flights,” he corrected.

  “Are we going sightseeing?”

  He smiled at that.

  “We’re taking a jet,” he said as the airport building loomed up.

  “You have a jet?” The evening was starting to feel completely surreal.

  “No, I don’t have a jet. Exactly how rich do you think I am?”

  “Pretty darn rich from what I’ve seen so far.”

  “I don’t own a private jet. I merely booked it from a service.”

  “Oh, well that makes a big difference,” she drawled.

  “It does to me. I’m not about to tie up capital in a jet I barely use.”

  “How very frugal of you.”

  He turned the vehicle into the small
airport parking lot. “I like to think so.”

  “That was sarcasm.”

  “No kidding.” He chose a parking spot in front of the low building and brought the SUV to a halt.

  As he shut off the engine and killed the headlights, she realized she was nervous and tried to figure out why. The airport was quiet, but not deserted. She could see an agent sitting inside what looked like a plush boarding lounge. There were several planes parked beyond the chain-link fence.

  But the uneasy feeling refused to leave.

  Caleb came around to her side and opened the door.

  She didn’t move.

  He held out his hand.

  She turned her head. “I don’t trust you.”

  “You don’t trust me to what?”

  “Am I going to end up stranded in Ecuador or Brazil?”

  He looked amused. “Ecuador?”

  “It occurs to me that you could dump me in some foreign country and come back and coerce Melissa.”

  “You have an active imagination.”

  “You have a conniving mind.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Exactly how would I explain your absence?”

  “You’d come up with something. Maybe you already have a plot in the works.” But as she spoke, she realized he made a good point.

  Her suspicions were starting to feel silly.

  “We’re going to San Francisco,” he said.

  “That’s your story.” But she was joking now. She was starting to relax. “Once we’re in the air, how will I know the difference?”

  “You’ll recognize the Golden Gate Bridge.” He reached out again, offering her his hand. “When we board, the pilot can show you the flight plan.”

  She was willing to admit that sounded reasonable—surreal, but reasonable. “I’ve never flown on a private jet.” She took his hand and stepped out.

  “You’ll like it.”

  “So, what’s in San Francisco?”

  “The original Neo restaurant.”

  * * *

  As they crossed the nautical-themed wooden walkway that led to Neo’s front entrance, Caleb tried to see the restaurant through Jules’s eyes. The two-story building sat oceanfront on a peninsula that provided views of both the marina and the ocean. The salty scent of the air and gentle hum of the waves gave the restaurant its signature ambiance.

  The structure was West Coast-style, as were all of the Neo locations, with soaring beams and plenty of windows. The polished wood reflected the interior light and gave a warm, welcoming glow.

  They walked inside to find several other couples in the foyer. The maître d’ immediately recognized Caleb, and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. But Caleb knew the maître d’ would seat the customers in order. He didn’t ask for preferential service. In fact, he insisted the customers were more important.

  The foyer was dramatic, two full stories in height, with a river stone feature wall that camouflaged the short hallway to the restrooms. The reception desk was carved from driftwood, another feature duplicated at each of the other restaurants. The hanging lights had burnished copper shades, and occasional tables were decorated with large, earth-toned pottery vases filled with fresh flowers.

  Beyond the foyer, muted saltwater fish tanks were interspersed with privacy screens that dampened sound and broke up the tables in the main dining room. Caleb planned to take Jules to the second floor where they would overlook dining tables and the open kitchen, and be parallel to one of the features—a carved redwood chandelier inset with nautical glass floats.

  Jules leaned close to him, speaking beneath the murmur of conversations. “This place is stunning.”

  “We renovated two years ago.”

  “You should be taking someone else on this date.”

  Her words made him grin with amusement.

  “You know,” she elaborated. “Someone who’s impressed by you, who’d be bowled over by your power and prestige, where you’d at least have a chance...”

  “I got your meaning,” he said.

  Regular date or not, he didn’t want to be with anyone but Jules right now. Their relationship was beyond complicated, but for now she was here, and that was his initial goal.

  Having assisted the other customers, the maître d’ approached. “Good evening, Mr. Watford.”

  “Hello, Fred. It’s nice to see you.” Caleb shook the man’s hand.

  “I didn’t realize you were joining us tonight.” Fred’s gaze moved to Jules.

  “It was a last-minute decision. This is Jules Parker.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Parker. Welcome to Neo.”

  Jules tipped her head back to gaze at the soaring space. “This place is spectacular.”

  “I’m so pleased you think so,” Fred responded. “Did you have a seating preference this evening?” he asked Caleb.

  “Something on the second floor? On the rail?”

  “Absolutely.” Fred motioned to one of the hosts, who immediately came forward.

  “Table seventy,” Fred said.

  “This way, please,” the crisply dressed man offered, gesturing with his arm.

  Caleb put his hand lightly on the small of Jules’s back, guiding her forward.

  “Be careful on the stairs, ma’am,” the host cautioned over his shoulder.

  The polished stair rail was subtly illuminated, and there were mini lights in the seams of the stairs, making it as safe as possible for patrons.

  Caleb followed her up and waited while the host pulled out her chair and placed her napkin.

  “Very nice view,” she noted gazing across the room and down to the dining area below. “Is that a real ship’s bell? Is everything antique?”

  “It is. Most of the decor is from the twentieth century, but it’s all authentic.”

  “I’m stealing some of these ideas.”

  “Good.”

  She turned her teasing attention to him. “You don’t care?”

  “It’ll make it easier for us to coordinate efforts.”

  “You don’t miss an opportunity, do you?”

  “Never.”

  She seemed to reconsider her approach. “The Crab Shack is not going to be Neo’s poor cousin.”

  “I never suggested that.”

  “Everything you’ve said and done is suggesting that.”

  “Poor cousin is a negative term.”

  There was a sudden rattle of dishes, and the floor beneath them vibrated.

  Jules eyes widened, and she gripped the edge of the table.

  “It’s a small earthquake,” he assured her. It wasn’t the first he’d experienced in San Francisco. “This building is designed to withstand—”

  But the rumbling beneath them increased. The lights swayed, and some glassware fell over, shattering. A couple of people screamed.

  “Caleb?”

  Caleb jumped to his feet. “Shelter under your tables!” he called to the patrons around him, projecting his voice over the rail and to the people below. “The building is earthquake-proof. Get down, but stay put. You’re safer in place than trying to exit.”

  The shaking increased. “Everybody under the tables,” he called louder. “Staff, help anyone who needs it.”

  He quickly moved to Jules, assisting her as she crawled under their table. “You’ll be fine,” he told her.

  Then he looked around, seeing an older couple struggling. He quickly gave them a hand.

  The shaking increased alarmingly, becoming more violent. Decorations began falling from the walls, and the dishes were cascading from their tables.

  “Caleb!” Jules cried.

  With a fast look around to ensure people were sheltering, Caleb rushed back to her, all but diving under hi
s own table.

  The noise grew deafening, as more items fell and people cried out in fear. He grasped Jules, pulling her close. “It’ll be all right.”

  “I know.”

  “The building won’t fall down.”

  Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the redwood chandelier shift. One of the anchor bolts popped and the whole contraption dangled precariously, the glass floats raining down. “Look out!” he cried.

  Then the chandelier crashed two stories to the floor.

  Caleb craned his neck, immensely relieved to see it had hit the open kitchen instead of a table.

  “Anybody hurt?” he called down.

  “I don’t think so.” It was Fred’s voice, and Caleb saw that a group of staff members had clustered with him around the rock wall. That was a good decision. The wall was anchored in concrete set deep in the earth.

  As the shaking started to subside, Caleb could see flames licking up from the gas grill, through the redwood chandelier.

  He clasped Jules’s hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “Everybody needs to get out of here.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Help that older couple.” He pointed. “I have to make sure the gas is turned off.”

  She nodded.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She looked calm and capable.

  He was grateful for that.

  The shaking had all but stopped, and he stood again. The lights flickered but stayed on.

  “There are five exits,” he called out. “One in each corner on the first floor, plus the main entrance where you all came in. There’s no need to panic, no need to run, but you should leave the building and gather at the back, away from the beach. Staff will help anyone who needs it. I repeat, slowly leave the building and gather at the back away from the beach.”

  He leaned down to Jules who was crawling out from under the table. “You’re good?”

  “I’m good. Go. Put out the fire.”

  Caleb left her to help the older couple and made his way downstairs. Fred was there to meet him, along with the manager and the head chef.

  “The gas needs to be shut off,” he said.

  “We’re working on the back kitchen connections,” said Kiefer, the head chef. “But I’m worried there might be leaks in the lines.”