Temptation

by J. C. Wilder

  “I’m glad ye came,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “How are yer palms?”

  “Much better as is my ankle.”

  He cast an appreciative glance at her slim ankles. “I dinna figure ye’d wear those shoes if yer ankle was still bothering ye.”

  “You’re right about that. A sore ankle and these stilts would equal a disaster.” She glanced around the crowded room. “This looks like the place to be this evening.”

  He nodded. “I got lucky. A few months ago I booked a new jazz trio for the club. It just so happens that a local station put them on heavy rotation and now people are arriving in droves to see their first set.” He grinned. “I expect the next two weeks to be completely insane around here.”

  “That’s good for business.”

  “Aye, and I couldna be more pleased.” Sinjin saw Julius wave at him and he took Vivian’s arm and steered her toward the bar, trying not to notice how warm and fragrant her skin was. “We’ve also had a few wee calamities. My hostess twisted her ankle and a bus boy took her to the hospital. To top if off one of my waitresses called in sick. So on my most crowded night so far, I’m short three people.”

  “Sounds like you have your hands full.” She started to pull away. “Maybe I should come back another time?”

  “Nae, please don’t go. I’d like ye to stay and enjoy yerself, maybe catch the show and have a bit of dinner wi’ me.”

  She laughed as she slid onto a barstool. “Is this how you treat all of your customers who suffer a mugging?”

  He shook his head. “Just the special ones.”

  “You’re smooth, Mr. St. James.” He caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “Very smooth.”

  “I aim to please.” He stepped behind the bar. “Did ye make a police report about yer purse?”

  “Yes and all of my cards have been reported as stolen and the replacements are on their way.”

  “Good.”

  “Excuse me, Sinjin,” Julius said. “We’re low on rum and I need to run downstairs for some more.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take over for now.” He turned toward Vivian. “Can I get ye a drink?”

  “Chardonnay?”

  “Kendall Jackson?”

  “Lovely, thank you.”

  Sinjin poured her a glass of wine then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, sending a lightning bolt of warmth up his arm. He was well acquainted with what lust felt like, the fiery temptation coupled with a rush of anticipation. This wasn’t just lust, it was more, much more.

  He gave her a heated look before he was pulled back to the business of bartending. How much time passed he didn’t know as orders kept piling up with customers. A dropped tray of food caused a minor calamity as his employees scrambled to clean it up and repair the damage in record time. He barely managed to snatch a word with Vivian from time to time though he was aware of her presence every second.

  When the band started their first set at nine, the crowd in the bar had thinned and he could take his first breather. Turning toward her end of the bar, he found her seat vacant, only a half-empty wineglass in her place.

  Vivian had grown bored with the television in the bar. A newsflash had disturbed her mellow frame of mind. Some poor woman had been killed, her throat slit while she’d been shopping in the Quarter. The televised image was a bloodstain on a tiled floor, her packages around where she’d landed. Moments later they flashed the victim’s photo, curly dark hair, dark eyes and a smile from ear to ear.

  When this woman had left her house that morning, had she had an inkling that she’d never return? Was there anyone to mourn her passing?

  Vivian turned away from her troubling thoughts to watch Sinjin work. With a neat white apron around his slim waist and a perpetual smile, he worked efficiently as he poured drinks, brewed coffee and directed his staff with a nod of his head or a slight hand gesture. Even short-staffed, the Chat was relatively well ordered. The major clog seemed to be the absence of the hostess. There was a definite delay between tables being cleared and prepped and the customers being seated.

  Vivian glanced at Sinjin, finding him elbow deep in orders and they were still piling higher. Customers stood two deep around the bar, money in hand as they waited for their cocktails. Since it didn’t look as if she’d have any time soon with him, she might as well make herself useful.

  She slid off her stool, leaving her unfinished wine on the bar. After tucking her backpack behind the bar and out of the way so no one would trip over it, she approached a harried looking Tracey.

  “I’m here to help.” She picked up a handful of menus. “Where do I start?”

  Tracey gave her an up and down look, taking in the silk blouse and Prada heels. “You’re going to act as hostess?”

  “Think I can’t?” Vivian gave her an arch look. Telling Vivian Carrington that she couldn’t do something was akin to tossing a match in a haystack, someone was going to get scorched.

  “I think you’ll get dirty,” Tracey shot back.

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” Vivian edged the waitress away from the hostess stand. Two sheets of paper lay on the podium-style stand. One was a layout of the restaurant seating and it was covered in plastic with X’s over the occupied tables. The other was a handwritten sheet of parties waiting to be seated, time of arrival and number in the party neatly listed.

  Glancing over the dining area, she saw that a table set for four had just been prepped. She ran her finger down the list and located the first small group waiting for seating. Drawing upon her considerable restaurant experience as a diner, she picked up three menus. “Caldwell, party of three.”

  As they stepped forward, she marked them off the list and x-ed the table on the layout before escorting them to their table. After they were seated, she presented them with menus and a promise that their waitress would arrive shortly. Thrilled that she’d seated her first party, she returned to the hostess stand with a brilliant smile on her face.

  “That went well enough, didn’t it?” She held her hands toward Tracey. “See, no dirt either.”

  The waitress rolled her eyes. “You forgot the silverware.”

  Vivian scowled as Tracey walked off to take their drink orders. Well, live and learn. As another table was cleared, Vivian consulted her list and this time she didn’t forget the silverware.

  The evening passed quickly as she led group after group to their respective tables. She fielded complaints and compliments alike and, luckily, the latter far outweighed the former. After the first hour, she really got into the swing of life at the Chat and time passed quickly.

  Three hours later with every minute spent in her favorite Prada heels, she would have killed for a pair of house slippers. Along with her aching feet, she’d acquired a whole new appreciation for the food service industry. Before it would never have occurred to her the labor involved in preparing and serving the lavish presentations she called dinner. Now she knew how much work went into every morsel and it was a lesson she would not soon forget.

  The four waitresses worked as a well-ordered team, efficiently taking care of patrons and giving Vivian a hand when she bungled things, such as when she tried to seat ten people at a table set for four. Within seconds, the waitresses had rearranged the tables to accommodate the party and Tracey had only smirked once.

  As the restaurant crowd thinned around midnight, Vivian sank gratefully into a chair in her favorite corner. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes. Never in her life had she been so exhausted. But it had been fun, surprisingly fun actually. She didn’t realize before tonight how introverted she’d become. Now, thrust into the middle of a busy restaurant and forced to talk with the customers, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed dealing with the public. A social creature by nature, she’d allowed herself to become secluded behind a wall of privilege.

  “Ye’ve certainly earned this.”

  The sound of Sinjin’s sexy voice brought her head up. He laid a silver-dom
ed plate on the table and it was all she could do to not swoon as he removed the lid and the mouth-watering aroma of pulled pork rose in the steam.

  “Oh, pure heaven. Thank you so much.” She forced herself to sit up as she reached for the fork.

  “Thank ye. After ye jumped in to lend a hand, things certainly ran smoother.”

  Vivian grinned. “It was fun.” She waved at the other empty chair. “Will you join me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  She took a bite of the tender barbequed pork and couldn’t prevent a groan of delight as the meat literally melted on her tongue. She swallowed. “Aren’t you going to eat as well?” she asked as she scooped another bite with crusty sourdough bread.

  “No, I’ve already eaten.”

  A young Latino boy approached them and handed Sinjin a small black coffee cup. His dark eyes widened when he saw Vivian and he gave her a shy smile before leaving as silently as he’d arrived.

  Vivian sighed as the taste and texture of perfectly seasoned pork delighted her palate. Silent, she dug into her food, aware that Sinjin watched her, yet unable to stop herself from gulping down her food like a common farmhand. She’d never gone hungry in her life, but she’d never felt as ravenous either. Just goes to show that hard work was good for a body.

  “Do ye need a job?”

  She laughed and picked up her tall glass of sweet tea, pleased to find it wasn’t the syrupy concoction that most southerners seemed fond of. “How did you guess?”

  “Since ye were robbed, I thought maybe you could use a short-term job. My hostess won’t be back for a few days and that leaves me short-handed at a critical time.”

  Now full, Vivian kicked off her shoes and wiggled her cramped toes. “What would the pay be?”

  “Well, we pay more than minimum wage and tips are some of the best in the city or so I’m told.”

  “Any perks I should know of?”

  “Well…” a smile curved his mouth, igniting a pit of warmth in her stomach. “We have a few that ye won’t find anywhere else in the city.”

  “Such as?”

  “Ye’ll get to spend time with me.”

  She ran her fingertip around the top of her tea glass. “You think a great deal of yourself, don’t you, Mr. St. James?”

  He shrugged. “It has been said before.” He reached down and captured her foot, raising it to rest in his lap. “How about nightly foot rubs?”

  Vivian closed her eyes and groaned when he kneaded the balls of her feet, zeroing in on the aches and soothing them with his big hands. A shiver of pure delight ran through her body. Against the lace of her bra, her nipples hardened as she relaxed into her chair. She didn’t care that she was sprawled in a very unladylike fashion, her foot in his lap, her legs askew, probably showing an indecent amount of thigh in public, no less. Granted, the restaurant almost empty and the club was filled to capacity, but someone walking through could see them.

  As he finished his massage on one foot, she opened her eyes. “Do you think you can get me an interview with the manager?”

  Sinjin chuckled as he captured her other foot and continued the exquisite torture, eliciting another moan of relief. “I’m pretty sure I can arrange something. I have an in with the boss.”

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  His strong hands rubbed her ankle, making her more aware of her body than ever. Her legs felt as limp as noodles as he massaged the back of her calf, the very sensation of his palms against her stockings stirred feeling between her thighs, and she could feel herself grow moist. Vivian shifted in her chair, more aware then ever of the subtle friction of her bra against her aroused nipples. She knew he desired her and she wanted him as well. The question wasn’t about desire, as they seemed to possess that in spades. The question was what she needed in life and a romp with a man who was only out for a good time wasn’t on her agenda.

  Been there, done that.

  She forced herself to sit upright, removing her feet from his lap. His small apron did little to hide the impressive bulge beneath it. No doubt about it, what she was feeling was mutual. But a dead end was still a dead end, no matter how long the street was.

  “I should be getting back.” She winced as she pushed her feet into the torturous shoes. The massage had been lovely, but within minutes her feet would be hurting again.

  “Shall I walk ye back to the hotel?” Sinjin rose as she did, crowding her. The heat radiated off him. His height and obvious strength were impressive as he towered over her.

  “No, thanks.” She stepped away and forced a carefree laugh. “I will need a cab, please. I don’t think I can walk that far this evening.”

  He smiled. “A cab it is then.”

  Vivian retrieved her bag, her gaze once more drawn to the television as they replayed a snippet of the Quarter murder scene. Marked by yellow crime scene tape, the spill of blood was stark against the pale marble and the whole scene had a surreal feel to it. What made one human want to destroy another in such a violent fashion?

  “Yer ride is here.”

  Vivian turned away from the disturbing scene on the television.

  “When will I see ye again?” Sinjin asked. He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as he escorted her outside.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll be here at five to give you a hand.”

  “Ye decided to take the job?” he said.

  “I did. In exchange for dinner each day plus a percentage of the tips.”

  He nodded. “I think we can work something out.”

  She flashed him a quick smile as she slipped into the cab. “Except this time I’ll be wearing more comfortable shoes.”

  Sinjin shut the door then leaned in the open window. His lips brushed her cheek, sending a jolt of heat through her system. “Take good care of her, she’s very special,” he said to the cabbie.

  Raising a hand to her tingling cheek, as the cab slid away from the curb Vivian couldn’t prevent the delighted chuckle that erupted. She’d done it! Her purse had been stolen but she wasn’t destitute, not yet. She didn’t have to call Stephan and have him wire her money as she’d landed a job. Granted, she wouldn’t get rich but she’d manage. Her shabby little hotel was certainly cheap, which was why she’d picked it. For a woman used to suites in the finest hotels in the world, her little dive away from home was quite the comedown.

  She grinned. She could get along just fine without her trust funds and with every day that passed, she was closer to discovering the woman she was meant to be.

  * * * * *

  “What do you mean, you don’t have the diary?” Mikhail clenched the arm of his chair and felt the glossy wood fracture in his grip.

  Miles stood before him, ramrod straight and expressionless. “It was stolen from my home.”

  “Which raises the question as to why you didn’t return the diary to me immediately, but we’ll address that later.” The vampire forced himself to release his grip on the chair. Silently he cursed his blindness and physical frailty. He felt the fear and distaste he aroused in Miles, but he wanted to see the revenant’s face.

  For now, until he was healed, he would have to rely on his instincts and he didn’t like what they were telling him now.

  “How will you go about rectifying this situation?” he asked.

  “I have a lead on the perpetrator. There have been a series of burglaries in the area. The profile fits this crime as well. It is my belief that the burglar who stole the book is the same person. The authorities are working under the theory it’s a professional.”

  Mikhail made a sound of impatience. “Why would a cat burglar steal a book? It has no monetary value outside of those who realize what it contains.”

  “Exactly. This person knew exactly what the book is or they wouldn’t have taken it.”

  Mikhail rubbed his chin, running his finger over the now-familiar pattern of the scar tissue. Disgusted, he dropped his hand. Would he never get used to his disfigurement? “So it’s one of us?”

  �
��It would appear so.”

  That certainly added a new wrinkle to the puzzle. If the diary were now in the hands of another preternatural, the question became what would they do with it? It would stand to reason that, if they were loyal to him, they’d have contacted him already to sell the diary. If they were loyal to Alexandre would they turn it over to him? Did that mean he had the book already?

  If Mikhail were really lucky the book would have fallen into the hands of one of those who stood undecided in the battle, a witch or a werewolf. Neither line had declared their allegiance, though lately the witches seemed to be leaning toward Alexandre and his ilk.

  “And you have a plan for tracking this person down?”

  “It is already in the works.”

  “And I will have the diary back when?”

  “One week.”

  But could he be trusted? Miles had come to him voluntarily, granted, but he’d disobeyed orders to return the book. Obviously the revenant had other plans, but what exactly were they?

  “That would be acceptable.” Mikhail rose from his chair. “In order to speed you along in your quest, I’ll have one of my most trusted people aid you.”

  He heard the scrape of Miles’ feet on the floor. “That isn’t necessary—”

  “But I insist.” The vampire smiled and he knew it wasn’t pleasant. “Gerald, you will aid Miles in his reconnaissance mission.”

  “Yes, Master.” Mikhail felt the air move across his skin as Gerald bowed. “We will not fail you.”

  Mikhail’s gaze shifted to where Miles stood, a tall dim shadow among shadows and felt the anger emanating from the revenant. Before Cass’ death, Miles had enjoyed an almost equal relationship with his former companion. Now he was but another drone who’d have to work his way up the ranks of Mikhail’s army. They both knew it and it grated on the revenant. Mikhail was sure it gave him many hours of unease. While he enjoyed Miles’ discomfort, it also made him an uneasy ally at best.

  “Miles, I would recommend, in order for you to have continued good health, that you do not fail me again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Master,” Mikhail prompted.