“Men,” Liza muttered. “Dogs.”
“Woof woof,” he agreed happily.
Em shook her head and tasted a roll herself. It did melt in her mouth, made her stomach rumble happily, and actually brought a helpless smile to her face, just as a movement caught the corner of her eye.
A tall, broad man stood at the back of the restaurant, leaning against the doorjamb of the kitchen. Seeming extremely comfortable with both himself and his surroundings, his posture and manner spoke of a quiet, rock-solid confidence.
A confidence she’d experienced firsthand.
Unlike earlier in the elevator, he wore a white chef’s hat and jacket, which only accentuated to his height and well-built body. His staff moved around him like a well-tuned army, most of them taking the time to say something to him, or at least cast him a smile, which he always returned.
“That’s him?” Liza whispered. “Because
“Yeah.” Suddenly Em felt hot in the cool room, and reached for her water. Even from this distance she felt the weight of his quiet, assessing stare, and wondered what he was thinking.
Then his lips curved oh-so-slightly, and she knew.
He was thinking about the kiss, the one that would have knocked her socks off if she’d been wearing any, the one that had rendered her deaf, dumb and blind.
And made her wet.
Even now, her thighs tightened with the memory, and she squirmed.
And his not-quite-smile went just a bit naughty.
Oh, God. Her glass nearly slipped out of her hand, and she set it down with such awkwardness on the table that water sloshed over the edge.
“Easy,” Liza murmured, putting a hand over hers. Then she smiled at the chef, pointing to the appetizers, and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Chef smiled and gave a slight nod of his head.
Nope, no trouble in the confidence arena.
“He is pretty yummy,” Liza noted, and Eric craned his neck to check him out.
“Not that yummy,” he said.
Liza laughed and patted Eric’s arm. “Don’t worry. You’re yummy, too.”
“Yeah?” He turned a suddenly extremely interested face toward her. “You still think so, huh?”
Liza shrugged. “You have a mirror.”
He grinned and leaned in close. “If I’m so yummy, why did you let me go?”
They all knew why. Because Liza’s crappy childhood memories of her mother’s eight marriages had made her afraid of commitment.
Eric, who’d grown up without a mother at all, had the same issue. Together, they hadn’t trusted their love enough, and they’d had two collective feet halfway out the door at all times.
Now Liza, more mature in many ways, strove to keep it light and tapped him playfully on the nose. “I let you go because you’re an ass.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I’m a yummy ass.” Eric grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over her bare ring finger. “Now tell me the truth. Why did you let me go?”
“An ass is an ass, Eric.”
“Right.” Eric nodded, and sat back. “That explains it. Clear as mud, thanks.”
Across the room, the sommelier handed the chef a champagne bottle and gestured to a table. Jacob Hill nodded, then walked over to the couple seated there, where he began conversing with them as he smoothly, easily, opened their champagne for them.
“Just look at him,” Liza murmured. “Do you suppose he makes love to a woman the same way he opens a bottle of champagne? I bet he does.”
Em thought about that and felt her body heat up even more.
The waitress set their dishes on the table, momentarily blocking Em’s view of the other table. By the time she moved away, Jacob Hill was gone.
She didn’t see him again during the scrumptious meal during which the three of them shared two bottles of wine. They turned down dessert and once they’d settled the bill, Liza stood up first and visibly wobbled.
Eric surged up and slid an arm around her. “Whoa there, tiger.”
Liza grinned and set her head on his shoulder. “You’re so pretty.”
Brow raised, Eric looked at Em.
“Three glasses of wine,” Em explained.
“That’s right. I’m a cheap drunk.” Liza grinned, sliding her hand down Eric’s back to pinch his butt.
Eric narrowed his eyes. “What was
She waggled her brow. “What did it feel like?”
Eric shook his head. “You are
“Okay, I’m not.” She laughed and patted the butt she’d just pinched. “But I am,” she whispered extremely loudly.
“You said you’d rot in hell before you slept with me again,” he said, confused.
“Silly man.” She went to pat his cheek, missed, and nearly poked out his eye. “Never take a PMSing woman seriously.”
“Okay.” Eric caught her hand, saving his other eye, and nodding agreeably as he pulled her close. “I can work with this information.”
“Eric. She’s tipsy,” Em admonished. “You can’t take advantage of a tipsy woman.”
“Sure he can.” Liza bit his throat, eliciting a rough sound from Eric. “Take advantage of me all you want.”
Eric let out another sound, this one of regret. “Em’s right. Knock it off.”
“Fine. I’ll go to my room,” Liza said. “Where I plan to eat everything in the minibar. Did you see that thing? It’s completely stocked with stuff from Dean & Deluca.”
“You just ate,” Eric reminded her.
Liza waggled a finger in his face, this time almost poking it up his nose. “Do you know nothing of women?”
“Apparently not.”
“Just take me to my bed, superhero.”
Eric’s eyes darkened. “I like the super part.”
“Eric,” Em warned softly.
“Right.” He frowned at Liza. “I’ll put you to bed, but that’s all I’m doing.”
“Oooh, playing hard to get.” Liza sighed and again set her head to his chest, staring up at him adoringly. “You’re good at that.”
Eric looked over her head at Em helplessly.
She shook her head.
Eric’s jaw ticked. “I’ll get her to her room. You going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be safer than you,” Em assured him, watching as he led Liza out of the restaurant.
Alone, Em looked around her and decided if she sat for much longer, she’d just begin obsessing again. Maybe instead, she’d walk around the city for a little bit to clear her head. Make a plan of action that involved more than drooling after the man she needed to talk into saving her sorry butt.
She got as far as standing up and reaching for her purse when a low, husky voice drawled in her ear, “Leaving without dessert is an insult to the chef.”
Her heart kicked once hard, and she turned her head, coming eye to chest with Chef Jacob Hill. At the sight of him, the rest of her kicked. The man exuded a raw sexuality that made her feel her own sexuality in ways she hadn’t in a long time, if ever. “You.”
“Me,” he agreed. “You look beautiful.”
“Oh…thank you.” She tugged at her black cocktail dress, modestly cut, but snug and-she hoped-relatively sexy. “I wasn’t sure of the dress code here-”
“I didn’t mean your clothes.” When he smiled, as he did now with a dash of wicked intent, he flashed a single dimple on his right cheek, and she had the sudden, shocking urge to run a fingertip over the spot.
