by Michele Hart
Allen shot another indignant smirk. “I haven’t scared them all off. Not physically. Some I blackmailed, some pictures here, some pictures there. The Internet lasts forever.”
Greg sent a look Jerry’s way. “How bad a hit did the import company take in the Miami port burglary?”
Dispassionate, Jerry replied, “They made off with some antiques we’d contracted to pass on to buyers. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced with some clever dealing. We’re filing a claim. You’ll get your cost back. It’s just money.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Greg muttered, staying low-key on the subject so Jerry didn’t become suspicious of his questions.
The port robbery was about more than money. It was about Greg’s father’s murderer.
“The police had told me a few cases of Rubia’s wine order had been left behind by the thieves. Did the police release what was left of your shipment?” Jerry asked, rubbing a cigarette into the ashtray, to everyone else’s visual relief.
Greg replied, “Yeah, they did some fingerprint work on the remaining crates, just on the off-chance the robbers had moved the crate to get to the rest of the shipment. I’d arranged for three cases of wine for the Cook-off to be shipped home. It’ll make it here sometime this week.”
Jerry gave a distracted nod, his eyes pinned to the dance floor where girls danced with one another for lack of brave men.
The night went on as Greg switched from watching his brother and friends fail at hitting on women to watching Elissa from afar. When he caught her eye, he smiled at her. She tried to conceal her own small smile, but didn’t do it well, and he liked that. He could tell she put off returning to their table until she absolutely had to replenish drinks, and even then, she didn’t let them bait her into much conversation. She wisely kept her head down.
But they weren’t much looking at her face when she had a luscious set of boobs, hot legs, and rump from Hell to stare at and drool over. They probably never looked her in the eye.
Ten-fifteen came fast. Greg had called George Staples earlier that day, and tapped the repayment of an old favor to have the new server’s shift end around ten-thirty, instead of her scheduled midnight release. In fact, Greg would soon rearrange her entire schedule.
“Work day tomorrow,” he prompted, willing the guys to take the hint. They groaned, paid their bills, and dragged themselves from the booth. Luckily, their across-the-board failure with the fairer sex gave them good reason to split the scene.
Greg planned to await the end of Elissa’s shift.
Chapter 6
Grateful to be free of those torturous spike heels and a skirt so short she could catch a cold, Elissa sat in the dark booth Greg and his friends had commandeered. Joyful to be clothed in a soft pair of jeans and cotton top, she counted her cash, relieved for a good night in tips. She wondered which of the Amigos had left a forty dollar tip. Hopefully, Jerry had been the big tipper to make up for being a jerk. She didn’t have a single reservation taking a few bucks from him for the sexual harassment.
In truth, it had been fun putting up with Jerry, knowing he was a friend of Greg’s. The look on Greg’s face with Jerry’s every hit had been classic comedy.
The smile was short-lived. Her heart thudded in her chest to know she had to go to school in a few days and speak to her financial counselor about setting up a payment plan for the last few quarters’ books. She was beginning to sink under the weight of school fees and rent. Just tonight Reno’s manager had deeply disappointed her by changing her schedule, cutting her hours drastically. She couldn’t contemplate having to quit school for simple survival. The thought made her stomach roil.
Elissa came from the club entrance to find Greg leaning against the V-dub, looking as handsome as any man possibly could, his arms crossed over his chest and his peaceful eyes posted on her. He wore dark blue jeans that fit him oh-so-nicely, one foot crossed over the other in repose. He was so tall, he made her car look smaller. A short-sleeved, button-up, tan shirt that looked soft and silky hung on his broad shoulders, complimenting his Latin skin tone.
I wish I were that shirt. I’d be tempted to do things shirts shouldn’t do.
His nearly black hair, cut a little longish for business, curled around his neck and gleamed from the overhead street lighting. Bangs fell into his eyes over a bright smile. Terribly sexy. How lucky could a girl get to have his sight posted on her? Thank God she’d changed from the Reno’s uniform into jeans and a lacy top, more like herself.
She couldn’t suppress the glow she felt beaming from her on sight of him. Just gazing upon him did flighty things to her insides, made her heart quiver, and caused a heat flash on an already warm summer night. Surely she’d seen a more handsome man in her twenty-four years of life, but she’d be damned to recall that guy at all. Her goose bumps hadn’t seen a better-looking man.
When she reached Greg, he swept her up into his arms, buried his face into her hair, and he spun her around, giving her a girly squeal.
“Toffee....” he whispered into her ear in appreciation, his warm breath tickling her neck. “Now I’m hungry for cheesecake again, and the restaurant’s closed.”
Greg smelled like the woods at dawn when the sun began to cook the dew clinging to trees and greenery. She was glad he liked her toffee body spray. It seemed like a fair tactic when his musky scent made her way too weak.
“Didn’t expect to see me?” he asked, releasing her just a little, and her eyes ate up his darkly handsome features lit by the harsh light over their cars. She didn’t want to like him so.
What had she often heard? Opposites attract … but not for long. Elissa was just lucky Greg sought her out to apply all his sexy electricity. Even if she were fixed in the sights of a practiced seducer.
“I figured you wouldn’t get the chance to slip me your keys and directions to your place in front of your boy-band, but I didn’t suspect you’d wait for me. I’d planned to stop by Rubia’s in the morning for your keys.”
“No need.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key on a ring along with a folded piece of paper with MapQuest directions, his excuse for being there. He passed them to her, and she examined the directions and map under the streetlight, fairly sure she’d have no problem finding the address.
“So this means I get to take you out to dinner for house-sitting.”
Elissa rolled her eyes and grinned. “How many dinners do you owe me now?”
“I don’t know. But I hope never to catch up. We could just agree that I always owe you dinner.”
“It’s hard to say no to that. How did the stock count go this morning?”
His smile turned into a beaten frown. “We threw out everything already opened, inspected every sealed can and package. Can’t take a chance on poisoning people.”
Elissa nodded. “Maybe that was the goal, just to cost Rubia’s some money.”
He lifted a brow, and the look of doubt on his face told her he suspected more. “Let’s hope that’s all it was, but that hardly seems worth the risk of a robbery and tampering charge. Any staff member could’ve walked in and caught the thief in the middle of their mission.”
“That’s high risk, alright. Are there any new staff members who might’ve arranged this, either intending to rob the place or just to slip in some tainted ingredient?”
Greg shook his head. “I asked Sissy and Julian that very question. They assured me they have no new hires. We’re lucky in that the majority of our staff has been with us for a while, mostly family members and their friends in school.”
Elissa smiled and gave his shoulder a light punch. “And you said the boss is a jerk.”
He flashed an evil grin. “If you took a position at Rubia’s, I couldn’t fool around with you. Unacceptable.”
Elissa burst into laughter. “We can’t have that.”
“What do you say we go check out the competition tomorrow night? Let’s go to Willows Steak House, see what their chef is all about. Wil
lows might be the second best restaurant in town.”
They both pretended skepticism and dismissal of Willows’ nationally known reputation as one of the top ten best steakhouses in the country.
A silent moment hung between them before he finally said, “I guess I should let you go home, then. It’ll be an early morning for me. Julian and Sissy will be hitting the markets to replenish our ingredients supply, no time to place orders. I’ve an investors’ meeting in the morning and a company stock vote to prepare for.”
A shock hit Elissa. “You didn’t have to throw out the cheesecake, did you?”
A frown stretched over his face, and he nodded.
“That is a crime. The thief should be captured and tortured for that alone.”
“I agree.”
Greg put her back into his arms, secretly thrilling her. She’d forgotten what that felt like, to be held in a man’s arms.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Call my cell when the shipment arrives.”
“You got it.”
He slipped his hand into her hair and brought her to his mouth, placing a tender and attentive kiss on her lips, feathering hers with his a time or two. She’d never known a man with a kiss so powerful and joyfully disheveling, or a kiss she wished would never end. But he did end it before she was driven mad to turn the kiss more passionate.
Parting from him, she met his dark eyes and could swear she saw an ache there. “That’s what I really wanted to do all night,” he muttered low.
Her head now filled with him, he took the keys she’d fished from her purse from her hand, unlocked her car door, and opened it for her. Elissa couldn’t remember the last time a man opened a car door for her before him. She could get used to it.
She could get used to Greg.
What am I thinking?
* * * *
On her way to his house, Elissa drove through a typically Florida neighborhood of upscale contemporary-style homes with arches at the doorways in pastel colors. Citrus trees of every variety decorated lawns, some heavy with fruit, some just blossoming and filling the air with the scents of orange, lemon, and lime. Wealth oozed from the ancient oak yards, triple garage homes, and perfectly manicured hedges and walkways, which only reminded her of Greg’s and her very different roots.
What Greg made her want of him had no relationship to status or money. She feared what she’ll want from him if they kept this up. Like his true heart. And she feared what he’d want from her, like the surrender of all her life plans.
That was it, she vowed. No matter what happened, she’d keep her brain the boss instead of her short-sighted heart. She’d block notice of what compromised her future’s safety.
Her car turned through suburban curves, as she cautioned herself not to dream of more of Greg during this con. Under analysis, she’d been led to him by money, and their relationship was born on money. She coached herself to expect the end, to aim for the cash payoff, to think of the next incoming financial bomb, the next overdue bill.
Still Greg stood in the forefront of her mind, and all care for money dissolved away. He knew how to make her feel his presence. If she didn’t commit to the money, she’d lose her goal, could too easily fall for him and have her heart ripped out. She needed to become more materially minded, and she mourned a little bit that she wasn’t naturally so. Elissa barely survived college on small grants and two jobs, and she considered moving in with Penny and Smoochy to cut the expense of a place to study and sleep at night.
The house number led her into the driveway of a beautiful cocoa-colored home built in an ultra-modern style with a perfectly manicured lawn and pillars at the door. She sat in the V-dub, her eyes roving the impressive house, not big and ostentatious but subtle and tasteful, and she wondered how interested in her Greg would be when he learned her mother was a cashier at a discount store, left with little more than a mortgage after the death of her father.
Elissa wasn’t Greg’s caliber, but she decided to enjoy what time he gave her. When he was in the room, she forgot her troubles. He was an intoxicating happy pill.
Homework in hand, she unlocked the front door and strolled in through the hallway, bypassing an archway leading to the kitchen, but stopped cold to inspect the view before her.
A large livingroom stretched out, cathedral ceilings two stories high, all appointments earth tones, a beautiful wood floor stretching everywhere until the kitchen tiles. Natural light streamed through two separate spreads of glass doors flanking a large and beautiful fireplace.
Mocha-latte leather sectional furniture sat in the middle of the room atop a huge, soft-looking cocoa rug. One set of pit furniture faced the east wall where a big-screen TV hung alongside a home theater sound system. A stack of unrecognizable electronics was tucked into a recessed panel in the wall beside the TV, a rack holding a couple hundred DVDs also set into the wall on the other side.
Displayed on both sides of the entertainment center were nostalgic paintings, one a view of the exterior of Rubia’s Restaurant, another view of the wine cellar interior. They were beautiful. Elissa approached the paintings and studied the signature of the talented artist but couldn’t make out many letters.
Another set of mocha-latte sectionals faced the west wall where a lovely white-wood carved fireplace stood as the focal point of that arrangement, guarded by an iron leaf grate to prevent sparks from setting a fire. The hearth was spit-clean and looked unused. Two étagère flanked the fireplace filled with books, statues, and mementos. There was a tiny matchbox rendition of a gold Trans Am, same year as Greg’s cherished car, sitting in front of foot-high renditions of Greek statues, looking out of place but cute and boyish.
Beyond the étagère of the west wall stood the two sets of glass panel doors opening to a back yard. Elissa strolled over to the doors to see a very private space, a lovely stone-inlaid pool. Tall hedges lined the yard with a privacy fence behind that. She’d never seen a more relaxing spot to lounge away a lazy day.
Back inside the house, she studied the south wall of the living room where a computer station carved from walnut wood butted up against the far wall among shelves full of books, and a hallway beyond that, probably leading to bedrooms and baths.
She stepped into the elegantly tiled and appointed kitchen on the north side of the livingroom, gazing upon every detail. Like Rubia’s, everything was decorated in a grapes-and-wine motif she thought beautiful and full of celebration. Grapes-and-vines cutting board, spice shakers, towels. Grapes-and-vines magnets, wine rack, blender cover. The kitchen couldn’t be prettier. A feminine touch lay in every room.
She opened the refrigerator to find it well stocked, another solid sign of a woman’s presence. Usually a single man with a demanding career would have a refrigerator stocked with little more than leftovers growing new life forms and mustard. That’s all. Of course, he could walk into Rubia’s kitchen and get the best food in town. Greg didn’t appear to be starving, for sure.
What am I doing, worrying about a guy I met just a week ago?
She snagged a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator and admired the kitchen’s open design that would allow the cook to participate in anything that happened in the livingroom. She liked that.
This home stood worthy of a picture, something out of House and Garden and looking like it was owned by a movie star. She felt like a sow’s ear standing in the midst of a silk purse. She took up her camera phone to show Penny the most beautiful home she’d ever stood in, but felt bad doing it, like she invaded Greg’s privacy, so she didn’t take pictures.
Her eyes wandering the big room again, she strolled to the computer desk and perused boring computer and accounting books that must have come from college. Then she spotted Greg’s diploma hanging on the wall so she bee-lined to it, unedged to see that he’d graduated from Columbia University with an MBA. Ivy League education. It was almost depressing.
Where were the Ivy League women destined to marry well who should be flocking around Greg? They
probably lurked in corners, ready to pounce on him. She’d already encountered a few socialites at the graduation party who’d fawned over him quite a bit.
She loathed the twinge of jealousy it gave her, not at all proud of it. She’d run into sharks again, attending this party here and that party there, and she hated that every time she encountered one of them, she’d have to look her worst as they looked down their noses at her. At least she had a good education to fall back upon, not Ivy League but not completely inept.
Spring water in hand, Elissa opened one of the glass doors and stepped outside to feel the warm summer sun on her face. The stone-lined pool tempted her with the sunlight hitting the water in just the right way, producing magical sparkles.
She paced to the pool’s edge, sat, and was glad she’d worn shorts. She wasted no time in hanging her legs into the water, thinking the coolness divine. Her criminal psychology book in hand, she quickly settled into a comfortable position, and she focused on the study of the sociopathic personality.
A chapter and a half later, Elissa heard the ring of the doorbell so she rose to her feet, shook her limbs of the water so she wouldn’t track through the house, and paced to the entryway to spot the deliveryman through the peephole of the door.
She signed on the line and watched him haul three cases into the house with a hand truck, and she thanked him as he went on his way.
Examining the cases, she read the winery’s swirly logo on the box sides, Saint Corbinian’s Estates, a little etching of an Italian monastery for a logo. She wondered if the bottles were supposed to be refrigerated, then she cursed herself for knowing so little about wine. White wine chilled, red wine room temp? She knew there were a few white wines served warm and a few red wines chilled. Luckily, she knew where to reach an expert.
Elissa went to her purse and dialed Greg’s cell phone number.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” his deep voice answered, most likely having seen her number on his cell’s caller ID.