Special of the Day

by Elaine Fox

  They drove the short blocks back to Roxanne’s building. P.B. pulled his Chevy Suburban into the back alley and left it in the spot where Steve usually parked his truck, as well as part of the space next to it. Getting out, he looked displeased as she opened her own door and let herself out her side, just as he had earlier in the evening. And just as he had earlier in the evening, he said, “I was going to get that for you.”

  “That’s all right.” She moved toward the back door, rummaging through her purse for her keys, and turned when she reached the threshold. “Thanks so much, P.B. I had a really nice evening.” She smiled and held out her hand.

  P.B. looked taken aback, then covered it quickly with a smile and took her hand, cradling it in both of his. “I was going to walk you to your door.”

  “This is my door.” She laughed lightly, hoping to sound less off-putting than she knew she was being.

  He paused, his expression skeptical. “So it is.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  Involuntarily, her fingers clenched, more out of a desire to make a fist and pull away than anything else. But P.B. misunderstood and tightened his grip. He tried to draw her closer.

  She resisted.

  “You are…” He growled low in his throat and smiled as if they were playing a game. “Irresistible. Rrroxanne. Now come on, all I want’s a hug.” He pulled on her hand again companionably. “I had a nice night, too.”

  She was being a jerk, she thought, and let him pull her into his bearlike embrace. There was actually something somewhat comforting about it. He was big and solidly built, and he smelled clean, like laundry detergent. She patted his back with one hand, her face squished against his chest. But the hug went on just a tad too long.

  And then a car’s headlights lit up the alley. Roxanne pulled her head back enough to see Steve’s truck round the corner from the street.

  P.B. didn’t let her go immediately, but leaned down and gave her a solid, closed-lip kiss on the mouth before stepping slowly back.

  More than enough time, Roxanne was sure, for Steve—who was vainly looking for his parking spot—to see them and suspect that they’d been doing more than sharing one reluctant kiss.

  Roxanne’s face burned with humiliation. Nothing like being caught kissing one man by the man you’d kissed just days earlier.

  What in the world would Steve think of her? And what would he tell the rest of the staff? They’d been bought by a slut, that’s what.

  Steve pulled his truck into the half spot next to P.B.’s Suburban. The SUV dwarfed the pickup like a territorial Rottweiler standing over a friendly spaniel.

  The door opened and Roxanne caught a glimpse of Steve’s tousled hair in the cab light before turning to unlock the door to the building.

  “I forgot, was this date night?” Steve’s voice sent a shiver up her spine and she was finally glad P.B. was there, if only because he could talk to Steve and she could beat it upstairs.

  She called good night to the two of them as P.B. was shaking Steve’s hand and, ignoring what sounded like a protest from P.B., she trotted up the steps to her apartment.

  She realized as she was sighing and closing the door behind her that she’d left her sweater in P.B.’s car, but that would just have to wait. She could get it from him when they went to the symphony. If they went to the symphony. Heck, she didn’t really need that sweater back.

  She took off her coat and hung it in the closet. The symphony. Why had she said yes? It didn’t matter if her instincts were all off about men. That didn’t mean she had to go out with guys she wasn’t attracted to. It just meant she had to be careful of the ones she was attracted to.

  And she had no business thinking about men right now anyway. She had a restaurant to open. This was it, the culmination of months of work, her lifelong ambition coming true before her very eyes. And she was putzing around with a couple of unsuitable guys who were nothing but an unwanted distraction.

  She needed to focus. They were opening in two days. No doubt there’d be some kinks to work out in both the menu and the service, too, so it wouldn’t run smoothly at first.

  It was exciting and stressful and scary. All the things dating was, so she certainly didn’t need both.

  She started down the hall toward the bathroom, anxious to get all her makeup off and crawl into bed, into oblivion. But she couldn’t stop thinking about all she needed to do. Her mind spun with excuses to get out of going out with P.B. again—too busy, too tired, menu problems, dough preparation, she couldn’t get involved right now.

  And when she tried to turn her mind from that it reeled over to what she should say to Steve. I was crazy? Temporary insanity? I kiss everyone like that after dinner? (Except P.B.)

  She was halfway to the bathroom when someone knocked on the door.

  Roxanne’s stomach flipped with dread. P.B., she’d bet. Steve probably let him in and he was here for a better good-night kiss, at her real door.

  She walked back across the living room and opened the door to see Steve, holding her sweater.

  “Delivery,” he said dryly, holding it out in front of him.

  “Oh. Thanks.” She took it from him, concentrating on smoothing the wrinkles and folding it neatly. She couldn’t meet his eyes, she was so embarrassed.

  “You guys have a good time?”

  She glanced up, his face was bland. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she knew it couldn’t be good.

  “It was fine. We…just ate.” She waved a hand to encompass everything else.

  They stood in awkward silence a long minute. Was he waiting for an explanation? She knew he deserved one, but she couldn’t think how to begin. It was crazy to even find herself in this situation. It was like middle school all over again—the awkwardness, the uncertainty, the boys.

  “Look, about the other night,” he began.

  “I know. I’m so sorry about that,” the words rushed out on an exhale. “It’s just—”

  “You’re sorry?”

  Her eyes flicked to his. He was genuinely surprised.

  “Well, yes, I, uh,” she said haltingly. “I shouldn’t have…well, you know…”

  She had kissed him. She remembered that. She’d turned her head when he’d obviously been going for her cheek. Then she’d leaned forward and put her lips on his again. She had done it and she had gotten what she’d asked for. Boy, had she ever.

  He laughed once, then sobered. “I thought I shouldn’t have. But then, I wasn’t even sure—”

  “I know. I wasn’t either—”

  She stopped herself. Sure of what? Let the man finish!

  But he stopped, too, and they stood looking at each other.

  “Look, do you want to come in for a minute? I, uh…” She leaned on the doorknob. “Maybe we should clear the air, you know? And I have part of a bottle of wine, if you’d like a glass.”

  He paused and she wondered if she should have just left it at whatever point it was they’d gotten to.

  He glanced at his watch. “Okay, sure. I guess it’s not too late.”

  It was close to eleven, late enough for Roxanne to be exhausted when she’d been with P.B., but she was wide awake now and ready to “clear the air,” as she’d said. She tried to remember all the little speeches she’d made up in her head the day after their dinner, but recalled only “it was a mistake” and “it should never happen again.” At this moment, though, those only sounded condemning, and somewhat accusatory, and she didn’t want to stir the waters up any more than they already were.

  She stepped back and ushered Steve in. He dropped what looked like a bookbag by the door, took off his coat and she led him into the kitchen.

  “Wine? Or would you rather have tea or hot chocolate?” She glanced around the kitchen nervously, then moved to the refrigerator and opened it. “I also have some soda, I think. Ginger ale?” She peered back over her shoulder at him.

  He seated himself at the kitchen island. “Tea would be great, actually
.”

  She straightened, pushing the door shut. “Okay. I think I have herbal, if you don’t want the caffeine. Or do you like regular?” She opened the cabinet next to the stove and poked around. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t sleep at all if I have caffeine at night.”

  She heard him chuckle. “Either way. I just got cold out there, talking to P.B.”

  At the mention of his friend, Roxanne felt humiliation return and with it her unmistakable blush. She kept her back to Steve, turned to the stove, picked up the kettle and moved to the sink. She filled it with enough water for probably ten mugs of tea, then placed it back on the stove, adjusting the flame to high.

  The box of tea she’d pulled from the cabinet lay next to the stove. She picked it up and brandished it in his direction. “How about Red Zinger?”

  “Fine.”

  She opened the box, pulled out a bag and placed it in a mug, making all moves deliberately while she tried to come up with something to say. Finally, she turned around, box of tea in hand. She leaned against the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the flap of the box.

  “I don’t know what you must think of me,” she said breathlessly. “I was just—out there—” She extended a hand to indicate the back alley. “With P.B. But I—”

  “Roxanne. That’s none of my business.” Steve shook his head, his eyes on the island in front of him.

  “I know, I know.” She pushed her hair back from her face and felt it fall in disarray. “But actually it is, in a way. I mean, a few nights ago I was kissing you and tonight…well, I just want you to know that I’m not playing games with you guys, no matter how it might look. I’m not even interested in P.B., not that way.”

  Steve looked up at her, his brows raised as if to say, And me? But he just murmured, “Is that right?”

  “And as for, well, you, the other night, I don’t even know what happened, why that happened. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean it’s clear we can’t be, uh, doing that. We work together. We, I, I own the place. I can’t be…” She flipped a hand out in front of her and searched for words. But there weren’t any. All she could think was, I can’t be screwing around with the flippin’ employees, and she knew that wouldn’t sound right.

  Steve took the words right out of her head. “You can’t be fraternizing with the employees.” His voice was low and rich with sarcasm.

  Beside her, the water in the kettle started to stir.

  Her hands gripped the counter behind him. “Well, yes. Don’t you think that’s true?”

  His gaze was steady on her, his eyes slightly narrowed. She wished to God she knew what he was thinking. “I understand why you do.”

  On the burner, the kettle began to hiss.

  “What does that mean? You don’t think so?” She stared at him, trying to fathom what he was saying. “I mean, you don’t think I should? Or rather, you do?”

  He looked confused. “You should what?”

  She threw a hand out. “Fraternize!”

  “With me?” He put a hand to his chest. His eyes seemed to be laughing at her now, dammit.

  The action in the kettle increased. A trickle of steam floated upward in the air next to her.

  “With anyone.” She swallowed. “Look, if you thought you started things the other night, then you obviously—you must have, well, thought of starting things. So maybe we need to agree…”

  She turned and slapped the box back down on the counter. She was making a mess of this.

  “Roxanne,” he said. His voice was so calm she was sure she sounded like a neurotic idiot in comparison.

  She turned around.

  “I think we’ve gotten off to a strange start.” He pushed himself around on his seat so that he was facing her more fully. “But it’s obvious we’ve both been caught off guard by events that…well, maybe we consider missteps.”

  Her heart thrummed in her chest as she looked at him, and she willed herself for once to keep quiet to hear what he had to say.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  “What did you consider a misstep?” she blurted. It was one thing for her not to want to “fraternize,” as he’d put it, quite another for him.

  The kettle beside her was about to whistle, but she didn’t want to relinquish his gaze. What, exactly, had he regretted? It was suddenly very important for her to know.

  Steve rose and made the two strides it took to reach the stove. He stood close and with one arm reached around her to move the kettle and turn off the burner.

  She glanced at the floor in an effort not to look too closely at his face, which was now practically beside hers. That’s what had resulted in the kiss the other night. He’d been so close, his lips right there. His body, his warmth, his seductive appeal…

  What was it about him?

  His words low, he said, “Why don’t we just stop analyzing this?”

  She glanced quickly up at him, then away. “I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”

  He paused a long moment, during which time she expected him to move away again. But he didn’t.

  Finally, he said, “I think you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  She looked up, into his eyes, blue-gray and sharp. His face was calm, his cheeks brushed with the barest stubble, just enough to make him look sinful. His hair, too long, lay about his head in casual disorder, and his white Oxford shirt was unironed. He looked like every mother’s nightmare. And every young girl’s bad boy.

  “Whatever I want,” she repeated, thinking, How the hell should I know what I want?

  But she did know what she wanted, she told herself. Someone like Martin, but not Martin. A non-lying Martin. Someone with whom she had something in common.

  Steve’s eyebrows twitched and he smiled in such a way that sent her thoughts careening wickedly, away from logic, past common sense, and straight into desire. Heat blasted through her body and she felt like the tea kettle, steam wafting out her pores.

  Whatever I want.

  Her body knew what that was. Even Steve seemed to know what that was. Wasn’t that why he was standing here, so close to her? Giving her that look that said, Take what you want, you idiot, or stop bothering me.

  She inhaled quickly and exhaled, realizing as she did that she was breathing as if she’d just run up the stairs. Her nerves pulsed, electrified.

  Her eyes dropped from Steve’s face to the open collar of his shirt. She wanted to put her lips there, on that sweet space of skin, just below the stubble. She licked her lips.

  “Roxanne,” Steve said, this time in a near whisper.

  His hand reached out and skimmed her waist to lie warmly on her hip. With a gentle grip he pulled her toward him.

  She swallowed hard and moved forward with his hand, coming up against his chest, her palms flat against his ribcage. She looked up at him, saw again that hunger in his eyes and felt her insides go molten.

  She parted her lips. He lowered his head. And they kissed.

  9

  Bar Special

  Between the Sheets—happy tonight, hungover tomorrow

  White rum, brandy, Cointreau, lemon juice

  Okay, so he was attracted to her. And okay, so it wasn’t smart.

  But hell, she was a beautiful woman and her body was pressed up against his like she wanted to crawl right inside his skin.

  He had stopped the kiss the other night. Out of consideration, confusion, uncertainty over whether he’d crossed the line or she had.

  Well, tonight, they both had. And if she wanted it stopped, then she was going to have to do it.

  The kiss started out frenzied. Her mouth was hungry on his, he answered with equal energy. Their hands groped, clutched and traveled over each other’s bodies, exploring, grasping, needing closer contact.

  Steve felt as if he were going to explode right out of his body. His blood sang, his senses spun, his desire was out of control.

  With great effort he slowed the kiss, running his hands up her back and into the da
rk softness of her hair, then to the sides of her face.

  She sighed against his mouth, and he teased her lips with his teeth and tongue. His hands held her head gently as he tasted her, sending her the message that he wanted to appreciate every slow sip of her.

  Roxanne’s mouth was rich and sweet under his, the skin of her face so soft he felt as if she were a delicacy exotic enough to have come from another world.

  Her hands moved down his back and rounded over his hips. With surprising strength, she pulled him into her, his desire, hard and obvious beneath his jeans, straining toward this oblique touch.

  His hands ran down her sides, found the spot at her hips where the shirt tucked into her jeans and pulled upward. His fingers found flesh and she gave a little moan. Her body melted against his.

  She was smooth and hot, her torso toned and strong, taut like a bow flexed against his frame.

  His hands touched her bra and moved around to cup her breasts. He groaned as he found the nipples peaked against his fingers.

  Tilting his head, he trailed his lips to her neck. Just below her ear he took a soft bite and sucked as his fingers softly pinched.

  She gasped and pulled him tighter, her hips moving into his.

  “The bedroom?” he murmured against her ear.

  He felt her nod. Slowly, he peeled himself away from her, letting his hands slide down her belly to her hips.

  Her face was flushed, her dark eyes nearly black with dilated pupils. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses. And her expression was pure desire.

  He could hardly believe she was real. The most exquisite woman he’d ever seen, hot, disheveled and glowing with passion for him.

  Freeing his hands from her shirt, he cupped her face, then took another long sip from her mouth. She responded like a magnet, leaning into him again, her hands grabbing the belt loops on his jeans and yanking him against her.

  “You know where it is.” Her voice was low, husky, and she gave him a heavy-lidded smile that was so seductive it kicked him in the gut.

  Taking her hand he led her down the hallway that was identical to his, turning left into the bedroom.