Winning Streak

by Alice Ward

  “Here are the specials tonight,” Chris said, locking his eyes on mine and running down the list. I focused intently, committing the appetizer, salad, and two entree dishes to memory. At a place like Kristopher’s, reading the night’s specials off a piece of scrap paper was a big no-no. The head waiter wasn’t supposed to do any writing. When I took the guest’s orders, I would stash them away in my head and then go over to the server station and dictate them to my back waiter, who would then place the order with the kitchen.

  Chris’ demeanor grew more serious. His eyebrows furrowed and his chin tucked down. “Your guest tonight is Niall Lambert and some of his colleagues.”

  My breath halted. My heart sped up. Niall Lambert. I’d never waited on him, but he’d been in the restaurant during several of my shifts. Each time his cool gray eyes looked my way, the same thing always happened. A heat wave washed over me. My toes curled.

  Undoubtedly, there was something about the man. Just what it was though, I had no clue. It wasn’t his pleasant attitude. More than one story about him making servers cry circulated the restaurant.

  For the record, no customer had ever made me cry. But no customer had ever made the muscles between my thighs constrict with just a glance.

  Folding my hands behind my back, I headed for the dining room. The timing was perfect, with Daniel just finishing pouring wine for the table. With a slight bow, he stepped back from the head of the table.

  And there he was. The jet black wavy hair. The strong jaw. The lightly tanned skin. The piercing rain cloud eyes.

  I swallowed hard. I could do this.

  Daniel nodded to me as we passed and I took up my position near the head of the table.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I began. “Welcome to Kristopher’s.”

  I could feel them on me. Those charcoal eyes. Their gaze was a laser, piercing the side of my face. I focused on the rest of the men at the table, specifically the ones who actually bothered to look at me. It was customary to address the host of the party, if there was one, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. That close to Niall Lambert, my knees were sure to buckle if he so much as blinked in my direction.

  I went through the motions, giving a lavish description of the specials. Amazingly, I pulled it off without forgetting anything, despite the presence of the man to my right.

  I answered the few questions about the menu, then took an order for appetizers. Spinning on the balls of my feet, I took my leave, only breathing fully once the table was yards behind me. My back waiter took the order and went to place it while I saw to another table that had just been seated.

  After taking care of the lovey-dovey couple tucked into one of the corners — a nice reprieve — I headed back to Mr. Lambert’s table. Thankfully, the man in mention was engaged in a conversation with the fellow on his left.

  Before I could ask if the party was ready to order entrees, the food runner brought the appetizers. I pointed out each dish and then stepped back so the busser could top off the water glasses. With a pitcher in each hand though, he’d picked up one of them at an odd angle, putting too much weight on his wrist. His hand shook, and I reached out to take the pitcher from him. Condensation slicked the glass, and it slipped, going right through my hands...

  And down onto Niall Lambert’s lap.

  With a glorious slow motion effect, the water flew up like a tidal wave, striking the white tablecloth then the floor — but practically drowning Mr. Lambert. The liquid soaked his fine gray suit, half a dozen glasses of water altogether.

  I froze, not able to believe it. I’d never made a mistake at Kristopher’s — never dropped a plate, never forgotten a diner’s order.

  The scene continued to move in slow motion, the collective gasps of everyone around permeating the air, the man next to Mr. Lambert scooting his chair out of the way, as if that somehow might save him from water already spilled.

  One set of chilly eyes snapped up, locking onto mine, and time picked up, barreling past me.

  I was as good as dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Niall

  I cursed under my breath, grabbing the white cloth napkin on the table and pressing it into my pant legs. The waitress dropped to her knees, her face obscured thanks to the haze filling my vision.

  What the hell was wrong with people? It wasn’t as if her job was particularly difficult. Stand there, prattle off some specials, act like you gave half a shit about the customers. A monkey could do it.

  Another staff member appeared behind the waitress, handing her a towel. She got to work, dabbing my legs and thighs.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said into my lap, the towel furiously rubbing the pants’ fabric against my now cold skin.

  My teeth ground together, a slew of words forming in my mouth. Just as I opened my mouth to let the woman know just what an idiot she was, she looked up into my face.

  I’d seen her from a distance. Taken note of her before. Never, though, had she been so close. Her green eyes sparkled in an unexpected way, despite the fear and humiliation that also filled them. They were wide, desperate... pleading.

  My muscles twitched. The waitress froze, still staring up at me, waiting for my reaction. I let the moment stretch on. The anticipation in her green eyes grew, making me rigid with a new feeling. The way she gazed up at me, waiting to see what would happen next.

  A half dozen other reasons the waitress might be on her knees filled my mind.

  “Are you all right?” someone asked. “Mr. Lambert?”

  I didn’t look up to see who spoke. It didn’t matter. My longings from earlier — the ones that were in danger of only being partially satiated — were suddenly presented with a new opportunity. The promise of big game.

  I stood, taking the woman’s forearm and pulling her up along with me. She went easily, light as she was.

  “Come with me,” I muttered, then began walking. The dining room passed us by as I took her toward the hallway. “We’ll speak to your manager,” I said, just for the sake of the people listening and watching the drama unfold.

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped as we turned into the dimly lit hallway. “There was water on the pitcher.”

  I didn’t answer, instead kept walking, setting my destination for the end of the hall. The bathrooms flew by, and we turned the corner.

  The waitress spoke up. “Th-there’s nothing down here but the supply closet.”

  “Good.”

  I spun her around, pressing her back against the wall, keeping her far away from everyone else. Her eyes were still wide, a bit of her dark brown hair having come loose to dance along her eyebrow. She froze, her face mere inches below mine. She was undeniably beautiful, as well as younger than I thought. Although somewhere in her early twenties, the fear on her face made her seem even younger.

  “Please don’t go to my manager,” she begged.

  The smile tugged at my lips. I liked that tone of voice. And I liked it even better when the woman using it didn’t have any clothes on.

  The idea that had grown in me during the trek across the dining room was now fully formed, ready to come out and stake its claim.

  “I won’t go to your manager,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  She sighed in relief, her shoulders sinking. I kept my hand on her arm, not done with her yet.

  “On one condition,” I continued, but waited to finish until she met my eyes again. “You spend a weekend with me.”

  TO BE CONTINUED...

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alice Ward is the bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She’s an amazingly prolific writer, releasing a new book almost every single month. Her books are widely read, especially by women and any other lovers of the romance genre. My Stepbrother, My Lover, was her first smash hit.

  Alice has been in love with love since she was a little girl. She had quite the collection of Barbie dolls growing up and spent much of her playtime crafting the perfect Barbie wedding day (and when she wasn’t doing that, she was working on attempting the perfect cartwheel).

  When Alice outgrew Barbie dolls, she began to write her thoughts down in her diary. This was how she discovered that she had a knack for telling romantic stories. Her first fans were her close girlfriends, and her stories were a hit among them. They, along with her family, enthusiastically encouraged her love for writing.

  Alice now lives in Miami with her wonderful, hunky husband. The beach is her all-time favorite place to relax with her laptop and write. When she needs a break from writing (and when no one’s looking) she loves thumbing through celebrity gossip magazines. It’s her guilty pleasure.

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  COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Alice Ward

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.