“Good evening, Mr. Layhe.” She sounded breathy. Uncomfortable with her own reaction to him, Lucy cleared her throat. “Table for one?”
“That depends.” His eyes undressed her, his voice rich, like Belgian chocolates or imported schnaps. “When is your next break?”
“That depends. Do you have my notebook?”
Full lips curled, and he produced the precious cargo from his inside pocket. When she took it, his fingers grazed hers, and she shivered.
“Did you read it?”
He shrugged, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I skimmed it a little. Only to see what it was.”
She absorbed the violation, making peace with the innocent mistake. “And?”
“Pipe smoke. I love it too. Granddad had a collection, pipes in all shapes and sizes.” His navy eyes drifted, as if unearthing memories long buried. “One looked just like a dragon claw. When my mother auctioned them off, I cried.”
His unexpected boyish charm chiseled holes in her freshly restored walls, but the incessant prank calls from an unknown number she’d received in the last day or so weren’t something she could entirely overlook. Tapping the pads of her fingers on the notebook cover thoughtfully, Lucy gestured toward the dining area.
“Right this way.” She escorted Murray through the maze of linen tablecloths and candlelight, straight to a booth she saved for high rollers, or surprise VIPs. She could feel the very real caress of his gaze on her bare shoulder and silk-covered backside as he trailed behind her. She handed him a menu and took his coat.
“I’ll be back.” Lucy rushed off and after sacrificing the newly acquired ten-dollar bill to a waitress she couldn’t stand the sight of, Lucy secured a replacement for herself out front. By the time she got to Murray, he already had a cocktail in front of him. He looked up from his menu as she slid into the booth opposite him.
“Pumpkin bisque. I love seasonal menus, don’t you?”
“Life’s too short for small talk, Murray. Got something real to say?”
He huffed, clearly amused rather than offended. “I have plenty to say. How long have you got before you’re due back?”
“How long do we need?” She picked up a water glass.
“Do you work tomorrow?” He set his menu aside, and his undivided attention made her pulse race. She sipped her water a little too greedily. Her mouth was painfully dry in the intimate setting, and his cologne triggered all kinds of nasty ideas.
“Not if I don’t want to.” She sat back against the worn leather and crossed her arms. “Why do you ask?”
He picked up his cocktail, and a hint of his dimples appeared. “I thought we’d take that trip to Marion I promised you.”
Her head tilted, and her fingers found the gold chain around her neck. Catching herself, she consciously didn’t fidget. Granny used to slap her with the fly swatter when she caught her doing it. “Marion’s what? Forty minutes from here? That’s not an overnight trip.”
Murray leaned a little closer. His gaze darkened, glittering with promise. “The way we go about things, it is.”
Lucy felt a charge and was pissed at herself for even speaking to him. “Before I agree to anything, do you have a girlfriend…or a fiancée I should know about?”
“No.” He seemed genuinely stumped by her question.
“Huh.” She pondered the calls again, nothing but heavy breathing and a dead line. Then there was that lipstick warning.
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve just gotten some hate and I don’t know who from.”
Murray stood and took a seat beside her in the booth. “Tell me.”
She gave him the highlights. Confusion and anger contorted his handsome face.
“You called the police…” He brushed her hair off her bare shoulder.
She snickered, a cynical attempt to disguise her visceral response to his touch. “No.”
“Why not?” Perplexed, he set his drink down and studied her.
“What would they have done?” She picked up his glass and took a sip, hoping no one would see it and that the fiery liquid would calm her nerves. Murray’s concern reinvigorated her own. “Bring in a handwriting expert?”
“Dust for fingerprints, maybe?”
“Do you really watch that much CSI, or is that just your privilege talking?”
Lucy smirked, but before Murray could respond, a couple arrived at the table.
“Fancy meeting you here! Look who it is, Townes!”
The intrusive woman looked familiar, but Lucy definitely knew Townes. Jarred by his arrival, she forced a bright smile.
Murray seemed unpleasantly surprised to see them both. “This is unexpected, Tallulah. You told me you’d never set foot in this hellhole again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Murray. I’d push a Girl Scout into traffic for crème brûlée. Francophilia, that’s my jam.”
The woman turned a bright smile Lucy’s way. “My brother’s forgotten his manners. I’m Tallulah Layhe.”
“Lucy. Fagan.”
Townes smiled and offered his hand. “Reverend Townes Hildebrandt.”
“I’ve heard you in action.” Lucy maintained her cool, but inside she was throwing a screaming fit. “You’re very good.”
“What are you two doing here? Hot date?” Murray’s eyes locked onto Townes, who turned a rosy shade of red. Lucy wasn’t sure what she’d stepped in joining Murray at the VIP table, but she knew she didn’t like the smell of it.
“If you’ll excuse me—”
“Where do we put our coats?” Tallulah’s gray eyes fixated on Lucy’s as Townes helped her out of her leather coat that probably cost more than Lucy’s car.
“I can take them,” Lucy offered, and by the look of satisfaction Tallulah wore, Lucy understood she was being reminded of her place. Murray, whose deep frown lines didn’t disguise his distaste, stood so she could extract herself from the booth.
“Lucy, my sister used to work here. Small world, right?” He was talking to her, but his eyes were on Tallulah’s. “They kept her in the back of the house though.
