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  And he’d have his candy now.

  “Is that because you’re madly in lust with me?”

  He laughed. “Hell yes.”

  She sighed, a light, satisfied sound. Then refused him. “If you want to see me, pick a place besides your house.”

  “You’re a tease.” She wanted him just as badly, he knew.

  A shadow in his periphery caught his attention. He cocked his head slightly. Grace stood in his doorway. For how long, he didn’t know, but she raised her hand and gave him the “come see me” signal. He jutted his chin in acknowledgment.

  Jezebel gave a musical laugh, then lowered her voice. “With last night in the back of your car, you can’t call me a tease.”

  “Correct.” His cock rose with the memory. He wanted to repeat last night’s activities and more. Over and over. In his bed. All night long. He just had to figure out how to get her there. “If it’s my choice, then I want dinner with you.”

  She paused a long moment. “I can do that.”

  Ah, victory. It was so damn sweet.

  “But I don’t want to go anywhere near Vatovola’s.” A slight edge trimmed her voice.

  It was a good restaurant, but he had something better in mind anyway. “I know a hole-in-the-wall place with great food.” It had the advantage of being close to his office, too.

  “Will it be crowded?”

  “No.” Which is the way he wanted it. Quiet, candlelit, with her almost to himself. He gave her the directions and told her to park in the garage where he kept his car. “Meet me in half an hour.” He waited for her to object.

  “God, yes, I’ll be there. I need to get out of here.” Click, and she was gone.

  Definitely, she’d had a bad day. It was evident in the slightly sharp edge to her tone. He’d make her forget it all.

  He had enough time to deal with Grace’s issue before he left to meet Jezebel, but for the first time in memory, he was irritated with the fact that he had to address work first.

  It struck him that that had been Katy’s complaint. His job came before her and the girls. It wasn’t true, but his work had been what supported them. The more things he provided, the more time he was away from his family. But hell, he didn’t need the depressing thoughts now. It was done, over.

  Grabbing his keys out of his desk drawer, he locked his office after him and headed down to Grace’s. If she didn’t drag out the conversation, he had enough time to make it to the drugstore for something very essential to his evening.

  Elton stopped in the hall and gaped, his eyes wide behind his wire rims. “Are you leaving?” He gulped. “Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t be leaving. It’s, well—” He stopped before a stammer entered his voice.

  “You don’t have to explain, Elton.” And neither did Scott. Yet it was odd for him to leave work on the dot of five.

  By her desk, Grace leaned over, her skirt up her thighs as she straightened her pantyhose. He almost backed out, but she saw him, her cheeks a ruddy red as she tugged her skirt down.

  “You need something before I leave?” He didn’t mention finding her intimately occupied. He didn’t think of Grace as a woman, but obviously she was struggling with the aftermath of divorce, something he understood all too well.

  “I was curious what gym you go to.” If possible, the heat in her face deepened. “I’m interested in joining a good place and wanted a recommendation.”

  That was the last thing he would have imagined. “My gym?”

  Her gaze flashed over him. “You’re in such good shape, I just assumed . . . ,” she trailed off.

  “I do go to a gym, but it’s a men-only club.” Which avoided the meat-market atmosphere. “Sorry I can’t help.” He didn’t thank her for the compliment, either, since it was obvious she hadn’t meant the words in that particular way.

  Yet . . . why was she embarrassed? She couldn’t have any ideas about him. He was her boss. She’d never jeopardize her job. “If that was it, then,” he said, “I’m outta here. I’ll be in on the weekend to set up for the audit committee meeting.”

  “Okay.” She smiled, if a bit sheepishly and without meeting his gaze. “Have a nice Friday night.”

  In the hall, he stopped a moment. Nah. Really. She wasn’t the type for an office fling, especially not with the boss.

  Now Jezebel? She was a whole different kind of woman. Where she was concerned, he wanted far more than a mere fling.

  10

  HER stylish hot pink dress accentuated her breasts, and the brevity of its length called attention to her mile-long legs.

  Je-sus. Scott was instantly crazy hard.

  She stood by the side of her Mustang, five spots down from his car. Beeping his remote, he threw his drugstore package behind his seat, then relocked.

  The restaurant was close. “Can you walk in those heels?” he said, salivating over her trim ankles as he approached.

  “I’m a woman.” She glanced down at the matching pink sandals. “Of course I can walk in heels.”

  He grinned. She was definitely a woman and her usual sassy self. Damn, he was becoming obsessed. It was a good thing. She made him feel alive.

  He grabbed her hand before she could balk and led her to the elevators heading down to street level. Millennium housed its head-quarters in downtown San Jose. It made for a long commute home over the mountains, but Scott arrived early and left late, so he missed the traffic. He enjoyed working in the city because he could go home to mountain living, leaving the mad rush behind.

  “What kind of food are we eating?”

  “Greek.” Her hand felt small and dainty in his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with someone other than his daughters. It was probably pathetic, but he liked the glances Jezebel garnered on the street. More than one well-dressed businessman took an extra long gander at her.

  Yet she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she gazed up at him as he guided her through the early evening throng taking up the sidewalk. He adjusted his stride to hers. Despite her gorgeous long legs, she couldn’t keep up in those shoes.

  “Greek’s a lot of lamb, right?” Her eyes were a startling blue in deep twilight.

  “It’s one of their specialties.”

  She closed her lids a moment, a pleasure sound rising in her throat as if she were having sex. “I love lamb.”

  She made him wish he was her next meal. “Then you’ll be glad to know they have the best.”

  She clung to his arm with enthusiasm. For a woman so slender, she definitely loved her food. “I’ve had an absolutely rotten day, and I deserve lamb.”

  She deserved all the delicacies he’d give her tonight. “This is it.”

  She stopped, stared. Café Demetrius didn’t appear special. Paint flakes left holes in the restaurant’s window signage, and the screen door needed a new hinge. Yet inside the miasma of scents, rosemary, garlic, roasting meat, was mouthwatering.

  “Don’t let looks be deceiving,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve been in the kitchen, and it’s clean as a whistle.”

  Demetrius himself scuttled forward, his protruding belly covered by a neat, still-white apron. “Mr. Sinclair, we’ve been wondering when you’d be back. Mama has missed you.” Mama was his wife, a stout, rotund woman, and the genius in the kitchen. “And my, your lady is so lovely.” He grabbed her hand, bending over it just shy of placing a kiss and revealing the balding spot on the crown of his head. “We have a wonderful special tonight.”

  “She’s going to need lamb.”

  “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.” She cupped both hands over Demetrius’s grip on her. “I’m definitely going to need lamb. I’m having a lamb attack, in fact.”

  “Oh my wife is making the most perfect lamb dish tonight.” He kissed his fingers. “Her specialty.”

  “Then I can’t wait.”

  Demetrius melted under her smile. “This way, please, I’ve saved my best table for just such guests as you.”

  Since it was e
arly, three tables of the approximate twenty-five were occupied. Scott had the feeling they were all the “best” tables. The old-fashioned black-and-white checkerboard floor was faded yet spotless. The tables were round and small for intimate conversation, a bud vase of daffodils and a flickering candle in the center of each.

  With a flourish, Demetrius swept out a chair at a table in the back corner. Jezebel smiled as she sat. “You’re so kind.”

  Taking the seat next to her rather than opposite, Scott ordered his favorite merlot to start. Demetrius bustled off to the opposite corner of the room and slipped behind a screen.

  “The place isn’t very full.” With her fork, she drew patterns on the tablecloth, again clean but faded with many uses. “It’s a wonder they can stay in business.”

  “This place is a favorite for the traditional Greek community.” His leg next to hers, he felt her heat all the way to his gut. “Greeks are a late crowd, Demetrius tells me.”

  “I like that he knows your name.” She smiled.

  His heart beat faster. Even the woman’s smile set him off. He wondered how deep he was going. He wanted her in his bed, but he envisioned taking her to all his favorite places, restaurants, Point Lobos down in Carmel, the wine country, Hyde Park in the heart of London, the French countryside, Buenos Aires, a city he’d never been to but somehow found fascinating.

  Another couple, both men, entered and proved Demetrius knew everyone’s name.

  “He’s a very friendly guy.” Scott had started coming here after Katy left, before he’d forced himself to learn to cook.

  After seating the men, Demetrius brought the wine. Pouring a jot, he waited as Scott swirled, sniffed, and tasted.

  “Perfect, as usual.”

  The portly man beamed, then took their orders, the lamb specialty for the lady and Scott’s traditional moussaka, a minced meat dish with eggplant and a rich cream sauce. Mama added potatoes to her recipe. He hadn’t had a bad meal at the café.

  When they were alone once more, he tipped the candle to the side and studied the flame. “So, it wasn’t such a good day?”

  “It was a fine day.” Yet the air between them turned icy.

  He took her fingers in his hand, playing with the nails. She had what he’d heard referred to as a French manicure, clear nail, painted white half circles on the tips. Still nice. He was waiting for the naughty red polish to come out. “I’m so glad to hear your day was fine. How was your week?”

  “That was fine, too.” She pulled her hand away and clasped both in her lap.

  “Good.” How could he get her to talk to him? Then he wondered why it was important, the reason probably akin to his wanting to take her to his favorite spots.

  “All right, it was my first—” She paused, almost as if considering her words. “My first week at this new job.”

  “Hard fitting in?”

  She tipped her head, perusing him through her lashes, the candlelight playing across her face, her skin smooth, flawless. “I’ve never had trouble fitting in.” Before.

  He was sure he heard the word tacked on. Which didn’t clarify about the new job, but it did make several other things clear. Her stress sometimes when she called, like tonight. He suddenly felt like a substitute for what might be missing in her life, and he wasn’t at all sure he liked it. “Tell me about it.”

  She laughed. “What, like tell Daddy everything and he’ll make it all better?”

  “Not Daddy.” He didn’t like the age reference.

  “Good, because I’ve already got a daddy, and I’m not in the market for another one.” She smiled at the end, but he felt the edge of something in her voice.

  It was easier talking sex than talking about her life. At least she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. Demetrius brought their meals, the service quick since the place wasn’t busy. With Mama doing the cooking by herself, it could sometimes take upwards of half an hour, but the food was worth it.

  She closed her eyes, leaned close to her plate, and inhaled deeply. “Oh my God, that smells absolutely divine.”

  Demetrius beamed, a dimple flashing at one side of his mouth. “I’ll tell Mama.” And he rushed away to do just that.

  The familiar hardening of Scott’s cock took over. She made everything a sensual experience. He wanted to partake of so much more, though even he had to admit the lamb smelled damn good.

  She sliced a small bite, relished it a long moment, then bit her bottom lip and moaned. Just as she did when she touched herself. “You were right about this place.”

  His mouth watered and not for the food. “Try this.” He held out a forkful of moussaka.

  Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she guided his fork to her lips. First, she drew in the scent. “Ooh.” Then she tested with the tip of her tongue. As if she were licking at a drop of his come. “Mmm.”

  She made him hard and his briefs wet. He couldn’t take much more.

  His wrist still captured in her grip, she slid the fork into her mouth, lids half closed, as if she were taking his cock between her lips. Then she moaned as if the meat were caviar.

  “I’m not sure which.” Helping herself to another bite right off his plate, she murmured, “I still think the lamb.” She carved a piece, glanced at him, then instead of spearing it with her fork, she picked the bit up in her fingers, and motioned him.

  He ate from her fingers, her skin smooth, supple, scented with lotion. Taking the lamb in his mouth, he sucked her finger as she pulled away. The lamb was fine, but she was so much more tasty.

  Watching him, her eyes deepened to ocean blue.

  “That was so fucking good,” he murmured, and they both knew he didn’t mean the lamb. He’d kill to have her for dessert.

  Her pulse fluttered at her throat. Then she put her hand to his shoulder and pushed him back in his seat. “You,” she whispered, “need to stay over there.” She licked clean the finger he’d sucked. “Or Mr. Demetrius will have us arrested.”

  “Let’s go now.” He meant every word.

  She arched one brow. “I can’t miss my lamb.”

  Fuck her lamb, he wanted to say. She was a tease. He loved it. He’d let her tease him all night. In the end, she’d be his.

  “Okay, here’s what’s on my mind. I’ve got this friend.”

  The abrupt change threw him. He’d been in orgasmic heaven. Yet if he wasn’t careful, he’d overload right at the table. “So, you have a friend.” He drew in a deep breath, tamping down his excitement for the moment. Everyone had a friend by the same name as their own. “And your friend’s in trouble?”

  “Not trouble, per se.” She groaned over a bite of potato. She’d make him nuts before the meal was over. “It’s just that she, my friend”—she glanced at him through her lashes—“has family issues going that she doesn’t quite know how to handle.”

  Hence the tense comment about not needing another daddy. “And you want my advice?” Somehow, the fact that she asked his opinion was almost as pleasurable as eating from her fingers.

  She speared a grilled cherry tomato, raising it to her lips to lick away the juice before she popped it in her mouth. Did she know how she affected him?