but pride made her a fool. This member of the “hired help” didn’t need a stranger’s intervention. “I didn’t need you rescuing me then, and I don’t need it now.”
His face was level with hers, and for the first time it truly registered how handsome he was, in a careless, I-get-up-looking-like-this-in-the-morning kind of way. Skin like sand, eyes dark as eternity. Long nose, full lips and pointed chin.
He was saying something. “Rescue you? What, when you had your teeth sunk into his hand like a squirrel with the mother of all walnuts?” He smiled, and in the darkness of his eyes the moon came out from behind the clouds. “I wasn’t rescuing you, I was rescuing Stack!”
It figured. Men knew how to stick together. “He deserved it,” she pointed out.
“I bet he did,” he said, and then, as if explaining the hazards of crossing the road to a toddler, he added, “Maybe next time you’ll be more careful about who you flirt with.”
You could have tossed a beanbag into her gaping mouth from across the room, and won a teddy bear. “Who I flirt with?”
The man went purposefully on. “He’s an eyeful, I’ll give you that, and a charmer. But I think you just learned how fast he can turn on you.”
She shot to her feet and dumped the crab cakes into the garbage, trying to bring her indignation under control. It didn’t work. When she rounded on him, he was standing right behind her. “You think I was flirting with him?“
The heat of her outrage could have singed the unruly lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead. “I assumed …”
“I don’t want to know what you assumed …” She stopped. She really needed to get back to work. She bit off her tirade and cut around him, heading for the doorway.
He kept pace, apologetic. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Stack has a way with the ladies …”
“What, manhandling them into submission?”
“He’s very charming when he’s sober. Give him five minutes, and he can turn any woman into Jell-O.”
“Any woman but me,” she snapped.
He gave her another long, slow look and said softly, “Looks like you’re different.”
“Different from what? The kind of woman who’d fall for a glass of wine and an invitation to slow dance in the kitchen? I should hope so.” She squinted at him suspiciously. “You seem to know that pig well enough, by the way.”
She couldn’t tell whether the smile he gave her was rueful or mocking. “I should. That pig’s my father.”
Chapter 2
Low blow, Elliot thought as the look of horror spread across the woman’s dark, pretty face. She began to babble, “Oh, I … I … I had no idea.” The irritation she’d shown since he’d put his foot in his mouth with that remark about flirting dissipated.
She didn’t deserve such discomfort, so he hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry. I’ve called him worse—and so have a few dozen women, I bet.” To put an end to the issue, he held out his hand. “I’m Elliot Bookman Jr.”
She looked at his hand as if she thought he’d palmed a joy buzzer, but she shook it anyway. Her hand was warm and smooth, the hand of a woman who took care of herself. He liked that. He had to remind himself to release it within the time limit set by good manners, rather than indulge for just a few more seconds in its warm softness.
“Shani Matthieu.” She was frowning, half embarrassed, half anxious to get out of there. “Mr. Bookman—”
“Elliot,” he cut across with the standard joke. “My father’s Mr.—”
“I need to get back to work.” She brushed away a floppy lock of dark brown hair, pushing it up and over her ear in a gesture that made her seem girlish. Those hands again.
She rushed through the doorway—and careened into a shadow that had sidled in without either of them noticing.
The man was about Elliot’s height, but long-limbed and thin. He was so pale as to be almost transparent, save for the ferociously glowing freckles. His eyes were the color of brackish Florida swamp water, the kind that hid lurking gators. A black tuxedo draped over his thin frame made him look like Jack Skellington in Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. The kente-cloth cummerbund looped around his waist immediately identified him as the aforementioned Yvan.
“Shani!” His voice was a Yoda-like rasp. “What’s this about you biting my client? And hitting him with a tray?”
She hit Stack with a tray? Elliot regretted having missed that part. Then he noticed his father standing behind him, glowering, and decided the situation was too grim—for Shani at least—to merit a chuckle.
Shani drew in her lip, her beautifully shaped teeth working at the full, wine-tinted flesh. For a second he thought she mightn’t answer, but she squared herself and said resolutely. “He was getting fresh with me.”
“How fresh does a guy got to get for you to bite him? “
“Fresh enough. He put his hand on me and I asked him to stop …”
“That’s a lie!” Stack swayed a little, and Elliot knew it wouldn’t be long before he passed out. “The crazy chick bit me for no reason!”
“Why would I bite you for no reason?”
Another waitress arrived on the scene and hesitated before snatching up a tray of tidbits and scurrying off as if afraid Yvan’s anger would spill over in her direction.
Fat chance. Yvan was totally focused on his current victim. “Little lady, jobs are hard to come by, especially with bosses as patient as me.”
Elliot was surprised Shani didn’t snort.
“This is your only warning. I want you to apologize to Mr. Bookman.”
“What?”
Yvan confirmed his demand with an insistent nod. “You apologize, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll still have a job by the end of the night.”
The tortured look on Shani’s face was too much for Elliot. He could practically hear the scales shifting back and forth as she tried to determine which was worth more: her job or her pride? Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue appeared. The gesture was jarringly erotic, which was an odd response to have, given that the situation was so serious. She inhaled, looked about to speak and stopped again. Facing her, Yvan frowned like an old schoolmaster about to administer a whippin'. Behind him, Stack looked victorious.
She closed her eyes and plunged in. “Mr. Bookman.” she began.
This was wrong. Elliot stepped forward, shielding her from the ire of her employer and his father’s unfounded self-righteousness. “The lady has nothing to apologize for. I saw what happened. My father was getting out of line, and she defended herself.”
Shani
