by Shelly Ellis
“What dogs?”
She lowered her fork and smiled. “Your two Jack Russell terriers. . . . remember?”
“Oh!” He laughed. “Yeah, I took them with me. Those little guys couldn’t be left behind.”
Finally, the conversation made it around to Hank’s “wish list.”
“So,” he said, pushing his plate aside. He opened his suit jacket and pulled out a folded white sheet of paper from one of his pockets. “I made a list of what I’m looking for . . . like you asked.”
Stephanie finished chewing the last of her snapper and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Hand it over. Let me see.”
He gave an impish smile and handed her the sheet.
She unfolded it and scanned the itemized list.
“Five bedrooms,” she read aloud, “an in-home theater . . . pool . . . four-car garage . . .” She looked up at him and smiled. “All of that’s doable as long as you’re willing to spend a pretty penny to get it, honey.” She continued reading. “Fireplace . . . spanking me until I come . . .”
Her voice trailed off. She raised her eyebrows, trying her best to mask her shock as she continued to read the rest of Hank’s list. Oh, the deacon was one dirty bunny! She had never read a list that included so many four-letter words; mentions of lube, leather, and whips; and references to positions she was sure would require both of them to see a chiropractor afterward.
When she was done, she handed the sheet of paper back to him.
“So do you think you can get me everything I asked for?”
The impish smile hadn’t left his face.
Stephanie raised her wineglass to her lips and languidly sipped, to buy herself some time before she answered him.
Frankly, she didn’t know if she could be quite kinky enough to fulfill all the deacon’s fantasies, but she could bluff and act her way through most of it . . . well, maybe half of it. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d just forget the rest.
“Have you been to the doctor lately, Hank?”
“No. Why?”
“Because you might wanna get a checkup to see that you’re healthy. Wouldn’t want you to drop dead during the night I’m about to give you.”
He grinned. “Is that so? So my list didn’t scare you?” She lowered her glass back to the table and turned toward him, meeting his gaze. “Do I look scared?”
“Some women are a little intimidated by my . . . my tastes. You know?”
Is it the request that she put you in a dog collar and give you a ball gag, or is it the reference to the orgyfest that sends them running, Hank?
“You’re the one who should be intimidated. You might not be able to keep up with me.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
She then leaned toward him and kissed him. When she did, he practically leaped at her.
Hank was all tongue and all hands. She had heard of strong kissers, but this man practically sucked the breath out of her! When she felt his hand climb underneath the hem of her dress, she knew she had to put on the brakes . . . fast! Kinky deacon was about to get them thrown out of the restaurant.
Stephanie wrenched her mouth away and pushed against his chest.
“I like my men eager, Hank, but save some for later. OK?” she said, breathing hard.
He looked at her hungrily, then slowly nodded.
On that note, Stephanie decided this would be a perfect time for a bathroom break. She would give Hank a chance to simmer in his manly juices. Leaving a man wanting more would only build further anticipation.
“I have to powder my nose, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.” She smiled and scooted across the other side of the leather seat and out of the booth.
“I’ll be waiting.”
She rose from the table, adjusted the hem of her dress, and made sure to put a little shimmy in her walk as she crossed the restaurant and headed to the ladies’ room. Even with how hot under the collar Hank already seemed to be, she wanted to give him a view that would further raise his temperature.
Stephanie used the bathroom and checked her makeup and hair one final time in the mirror before tucking her clutch underneath her arm and walking back into the restaurant. As she neared their table, a familiar baritone voice boomed behind her.
“Stephanie! What a coincidence! What are you doing here in the city?”
You’ve gotta be kidding me, she thought with exasperation.
She slowly turned on her heel to find James gazing down at her. This man was starting to become a real pain in the ass! She had run into him more in the past couple weeks than she had in a whole year. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn that he was running into her on purpose, but even he couldn’t be that crazy.
“I was just having dinner with some business associates when I saw you.” He strolled toward her and pointed across the room at a table where several men sat. Of course, it was one of the best tables in the house. “Are you enjoying dinner here, too? Got tired of sampling the overpriced fare at your sister’s restaurant?”
Stephanie took a slow breath and pasted on a polite smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m busy right now, James. I don’t have time for chitchat.”
“Ah.” He laughed and nodded. “I get that response a lot lately from the women in your family. But see, you are going to make the time to talk to me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And why is that?” “Because,” he said, leaning toward her. “I hold all the cards, Stephanie.”
She squinted, having absolutely no clue what he was talking about. Why did James insist on talking like a James Bond villain?
“Cards? What cards?”
“I’m talking about money that you owe me . . . that all of you owe me. Your sister didn’t tell you about our little conversation?”
Stephanie didn’t answer. She was too stunned to respond. He sighed. “I guess not. Well, I explained to her that I haven’t forgotten the money that I gave to you, your mother, and your other sisters. And frankly, my goodwill and patience have run out. I want my money back.”
Oh, hell, no! Is this asshole trying to shake me down in the middle of a five-star restaurant?
“I didn’t know you were keeping receipts all that time, James.”
“I didn’t need to.” He tapped his forehead. “The totals are all in here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, why don’t you just save the suspense and spit out the total like the cash machine that you are. I’ll write you a check, we can both go back to our tables, and you can leave me the hell alone.”
His smile withered.
“Name your price.”
“Fine. Nine thousand dollars.”
She gaped. “Nine thousand dollars? Are you joking?” When on earth did she borrow nine thousand dollars from James? Was he counting every time he bought her a drink . . . every time she turned on a light or flushed a toilet in his home?
“That’s just crazy! I’m not paying that!”
“Well, that’s your prerogative. We could always settle it in a courtroom. If you’d rather pay a lawyer that amount, only to lose in the long run, that’s up to you.”
Now he was threatening to sue her? What the hell?
Nine thousand dollars meant nothing to James. It was the proverbial drop in the bucket compared to how much wealth he had. Hell, he could spend that much in a weekend! But it meant a lot more to her bank account, and he knew it.
You petty son of a bitch.
Yes, it was petty, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tangle with him in the courtroom. The judge might not see things her way, especially since James was golf buddies with half of the district and circuit court judges in the county. He was right. If he did go through with his threat to sue her, she’d probably lose. Then she’d be short not only nine thousand dollars but another few thousand in legal fees.
Inwardly, Stephanie fumed, but she wouldn’t give James the satisfaction of seeing her go off in public. She wouldn’t make a scene, even
if she yearned to scream a full-on opera. Instead, she would play it cool and casual.
Stephanie walked toward the restaurant bar and politely tapped the shoulder of one of the men who was sitting hunched on the stools, nursing a Scotch.
“Excuse me, sir. Could I just squeeze in and use a spot on the counter for a second.”
He raised his gaze from his glass. At first the man looked irritated at being disturbed, like he was going to say “no.” But when he turned and saw her standing behind him, he looked up and down and smiled. “Sure, go right ahead.”
Stephanie opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook and a gilded pen. Her stomach turned. Her hand shook as she wrote out the amount. She couldn’t see him, but she could almost feel James smiling arrogantly behind her. It took all her willpower not to turn and hurl the checkbook at his fat head.
A few seconds later, Stephanie signed and handed him the check. “I want something from you in writing, a note confirming that all my debts to you are settled.”
“Sure, I can do that . . . as soon as the check clears. This will clear, won’t it?” he asked smugly, gazing down at her check. “I don’t have to worry about it bouncing?”
That was it. She wasn’t going to swallow down her anger anymore.
“Go to hell, James,” she snapped. “And make sure this is the last time you contact me about what I supposedly owe you . . . the last goddamn time! I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want to just happen to run into you again. If you continue to harass me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he challenged, lifting his chin. He snickered. “Call the cops? Have me thrown in jail?”
She grinned. “No, I’ll just let it slip to the biggest gossips in Chesterton that little problem that you have.” She glanced down at his crotch. “You know . . . that limp dick you’ve got . . . that little itty bitty problem you have keeping it up,” she said, holding thumb and forefinger together to emphasize just how small he was.
James’s smile disappeared. His face instantly flushed bright red.
“Not all men can take a little blue pill. I heard you had a bad allergic reaction to it. Kind of put a damper on your sex life, huh? And Lauren said the times you did manage to get it up, you guys were usually done in five minutes flat.” She laughed. “Way to show a lady a good time, James!”
“You cunt,” he muttered between clenched teeth. He looked beyond furious. “You fucking bitch. I should—”
“I’ll also share other choice details about you that Lauren told me, details I’m sure you’d be pretty embarrassed for everyone else in town to hear.”
A vein bulged along his temple.
“That’s right, James. I’ve got a few cards of my own. So stay away from me. Stay the hell away from my sister. Leave me and my goddamn family alone. OK?”
Stephanie could tell by the expression on his face that if they weren’t in a busy restaurant, if they were alone, he would hurt her. He’d probably come close to killing her. But James would never show his rage in public. He was all about the image. That’s why she knew her threat to share his embarrassing little secrets would keep him in check.
“You have a nice night now,” she said airily.
She then walked around him and back toward her table. She didn’t look back.
Hank gazed at her. He had probably been watching the whole conversation unfold.
She scooted onto the leather seat beside him.
“Now, where were we?” she whispered with a smile, linking her arm through his and leaning toward him.
He didn’t return her smile, but remained tight-lipped instead. “Who was that?”
“No one. He’s just . . . just an acquaintance.” She lightly kissed Hank’s lips. “Don’t worry about it, baby. Now back to that list of yours. Instead of doing everything on it, would you settle for maybe ten line items?”
She watched in dismay as he tugged his arm out of her grasp.
“OK, how about fifteen?”
“I saw him talking to you at the Baylors the other day, too,” Hank said, bringing the topic back to James. “Is he an ex or something?”
She sighed and finished the rest of the wine that was left in her glass. “No, my sister’s ex . . . and an annoying one at that.” She placed her hand on his leg and rubbed the inside of his thigh. “But that doesn’t mean he has to ruin our fun, does it?”
Hank removed her hand and loudly cleared his throat. “I think we should . . . we should cut our date short tonight.”
“But why? Because of James? I told you that he’s my sister’s ex. Not mine! Believe me! He won’t bother—”
“No. No, I . . . I got a call while you were in the ladies’ room. Something’s . . . come up. I need to take care of it.”
“Something’s come up? You mean something’s wrong? Do you need to—”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s nothing serious. I should just take care of it, which is why I have to leave earlier than I planned.”
“Oh,” she said, now deflated.
Hank waved down their waiter who passed their table. “Can we have the check, please?”
Stephanie slumped back against the booth’s cushion and sighed. James had obviously scared Hank off. So now she was not only short nine thousand dollars, but she had also lost the interest of sexy Deacon Montgomery.
Damn, she thought. And she already had her leather bondage outfit planned out.
Hank pulled in front of her house less than half an hour later, making amazing time on the Beltway and Dulles toll roads. He had to break the speed limit and zip between cars to get back to her place so fast. He claimed that whatever he had to get to wasn’t an emergency, but he certainly wasn’t acting like it.
She hoped, as he walked her to the door, that maybe she could salvage the date with a good-bye kiss—something to remind him of the hot and steamy potential they had shown earlier. The right kiss could make him come back for more. Maybe they could try for another date next week.
When they mounted the last step on her concrete walkway, she turned to him and smiled.
“Well . . .” she said.
“Well . . .” he echoed.
She walked toward him and toyed with one of his suit lapels. “I had a nice time tonight. I’m sorry you have to leave so early.” She gave an exaggerated pout.
“I am, too, but . . . duty calls.”
She slowly linked her arms around his neck and leaned toward him, preparing to plant on his lips the sultriest, wettest kiss she could muster. But suddenly he darted his mouth in the other direction, avoiding her lips. He kissed her cheek with a light, almost brotherly peck. She blinked in surprise.
“Gotta go,” he said, before abruptly tugging her arms from around him, turning on his heel, and racing back to his car.
She stood in front of her door dumbfounded as she watched him pull off less than a minute later.
“Damn it,” she muttered, stomping her foot in frustration.
Chapter 11
“Should I . . . should I start plating the entrées?” Lauren asked. She turned from the stove, wiped her hands on a dishcloth, and faced her first new client, the ex-Dallas Cowboy/ millionaire Cris Weaver.
He had been standing about ten feet behind her for the past hour and a half, observing her while she cooked. He said he wanted it to be part of the evening: Lauren doing her kitchen voodoo while everyone else at the party watched her work, like they were watching a show.
Whatever, she had thought flippantly on the phone as he made his request. You’re the one writing the check, sweetheart. Short of me wearing a thong bikini while I’m cooking, I’m game for just about anything at this point.
Her casual attitude disappeared, though, when she realized he would be staring at her the whole time she cooked. Knowing his dark eyes were on her had been unnerving, but miraculously she had managed to not burn herself or set his kitchen on fire.
“Or I can hold off serving the entrées for a bit . . . until your guests arrive. The meat
shouldn’t dry out if you want to wait.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s up to you.”
Cris propped his elbow against the kitchen island’s granite countertop, shifted on his leather stool, and took a sip of red wine. “No, you can go ahead if it’s done. I have no idea when they’ll get here. I might as well start without them.” He grinned. “The food smells too good not to eat.”
He certainly was in good spirits for a man who was throwing a party and not one guest had shown up.
If it was me, I’d be pissed, Lauren thought as she glanced at the two porcelain platters covered with appetizers. Most of them—dates wrapped in applewood bacon and stuffed with blue cheese, deviled eggs filled with crabmeat ravigote, and white pork boudin balls—still sat untouched. It looked like the price of his dinner was quickly escalating from $875 a plate to $3,500 a plate with every minute that guests didn’t arrive. She felt bad for the guy.
Lauren pursed her lips. “All right. Well, I guess you can go ahead and sit at your dinner table. I’ll bring the food to you in about two minutes.”
“You’re serving me, too?”
Lauren opened his oven to reveal a bubbling pan filled with pork chops. The room suddenly filled with the food’s intoxicating aroma. “Sure, why not? You’re paying a lot of money for this.” She used both ends of the dish towel to tug the pan out of the oven without burning her hands. She set it on the stove top. “I may as well give you the full service, right?”
“Really? And what does the ‘full service’ include exactly?” At those words, the hairs started to prick on the back of her neck. A delicious thrill went down her spine.
She looked over her shoulder at him. She could have sworn he was flirting again. She thought she heard laughter in his voice, but she pushed that thought aside when she saw that he was gazing at her innocently.
Stop projecting, Lauren. He’s not attracted to you.
“Plating, serving, wine refill, and cleanup,” she said flatly in response. “At least, that’s what I would call full service.”
“I see. Well, I guess I’ll wait for my full service in the dining room.”
He stood from his stool, taking his glass of red wine with him. Lauren watched as he walked out of the kitchen and rounded a corner.