thoughts kept veering off in inappropriate directions, and he seemed powerless to stop them. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull her into his arms. He tightened his grip on the stem of the wineglass.
“The carpet for the crown molding,” he said to distract himself. It was a giveaway on his part, but it was the first deal that came to his mind.
“My carpet for your crown molding?” she asked, sitting up straighter, obviously surprised by the generosity of the deal. Her movement tightened her dress, and he swore he could almost see the pink of one areola.
Derek swallowed a deep draught of wine. “Yeah.”
“The vintage, hand-knotted Safavid?”
“Right.”
Candice drew a breath, tightening her dress even more. “You won’t be sorry.”
He was already sorry. Most of his customers wouldn’t know a Safavid from a nylon Berber. The best he could hope for was an increase in his carpet-aficionado customer base. Maybe they’d order some extra drinks while dropping down on all fours to run their fingers over the imported fibers.
This round definitely went to her. But only because she was using her breasts as a negotiating tool—even if she didn’t realize it.
He had a sudden burning need to make a deal that was weighted on his side of the equation. “Let’s talk light fixtures,” he said.
“You’re not touching my bronze-and-stained-glass chandelier,” she warned, eyes narrowing.
“I gave you the carpet.”
She shook her head. “That was a completely different deal.” Pushing back her chair, she stood up.
Derek jumped up, too. “Where are you going?” He was still worried about her bare feet.
“To get some cocktail napkins.”
“Stay here.” He motioned with his hand. “I’ll get them for you.”
He went to the kitchen and retrieved a handful of white paper napkins.
“Got a pen?” she called.
He checked behind the maître d’s desk and found a pen.
“What are you planning to do with all this?” he asked as he returned to the table and set the napkins down in front of her.
“Contract amendments.” She scooped the pen from his outstretched hand. “The wainscoting for the stain and the crown molding for the carpet.”
She printed on a napkin for a moment.
Derek sat down.
“Sign here.” She pushed it across the table.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Dated and signed by both of us. It ought to hold up in court.”
“We’re not going to court.”
“I’m not taking any chances with my Safavid carpet.”
“I’m a man of my word.”
She folded her arms across her chest and smiled. “Then you have no reason not to sign, do you?”
Since her crossed arms brought her breasts up against the scooped neck of the dress, and since he could most definitely see soft, pigmented skin peeking out, he did as she asked.
“Perfect.” She smiled, scooping up the napkin. “We’re finished with those two items.” Then she blinked her long lashes. “Any other areas you’d like to discuss?”
He decided then and there to take her along for the next labor negotiation. While he wasn’t prepared to say she’d beaten him, he definitely wanted her on the team when the going got tough.
“The light fixtures,” he said, deciding it was time for him to win one. He had to concentrate to keep his gaze from dropping to her chest.
“The bronze and stained glass exudes character and history,” she began. “When customers enter the Lighthouse, that fixture will be the first thing they see. They’ll be overwhelmed by it’s grandeur and style. It’s a classic. It’ll highlight the wine rack—”
“It’s a light,” he said dryly.
“It’s not a light.” She looked affronted. “Well, yeah, okay, of course it’s a light.”
“I nearly fell out of my chair when I read the price.”
“But, it’s not just a light. It’s an antique.”
“Get a reproduction. Nobody will know.”
“You’ll know.”
“I won’t care. I’ll be too busy spending the money we saved.”
Candice leaned forward.
Derek nearly groaned at the cleavage she presented. It ought to be illegal.
Of course, he could tell her, and she’d probably cover up.
Nah.
“I’ll know,” she said. “I’ll care.”
“And that’s supposed to keep me awake at night?” It wouldn’t. Not like the thought of her breasts would.
“Okay. How about this. Restaurant reviewers will know.” She leaned back and smiled, obviously appreciating her own brilliance. She lifted her wineglass. “You want them to write about the cheap reproduction or the fine antique.”
Derek paused. He needed to succeed in at least one of these side deals, to salvage his pride if nothing else.
“I’ll give you the tiles,” she said. “The tiles for the light fixture.”
“But, I like the tiles.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She began writing.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’ll keep the light fixture. You keep the tiles.”
“Wait a minute—”
“Why don’t you get the chocolate mousse?” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my feet.”
“YOU’RE CORRUPT,” said Derek as Candice savored the first bite of her chocolate mousse—creamy rich, melting smoothly over her tongue. He should seriously consider a career as a chef.
“Why?” she asked, licking every little morsel off the tip of the spoon.
“You got it both ways on the last deal.”
“That’s
