Talk about bondage.
She glanced up to see if Benny had noticed, but his eyes were back on the line, his hands working the brake and bell with practiced grace.
“We’ll be closed for over a month, but I only have a week for vacation. I’m not letting those contractors tear out one nail unless I’m watching.”
Benny shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You can’t be there all the time. Girl as young and pretty as you shouldn’t be cooped up in that restaurant as much as you are. You need to get out. See the city. Enjoy being young while you can.”
Ariana folded the next page over, her breath catching at the image of nude lovers immersed in the mineral baths in nearby Napa Valley. She’d never been to Napa. Not once. And by the looks of the photo, she was missing a lot more than wine.
“Sounds like a plan,” she answered. “I’ve got one week to experience San Francisco. Think that’s enough?”
Benny laughed heartily, the booming sound coming from even his belly. The straining cables beneath the street, the heartline of old San Francisco seemed to chuckle right along with him.
“With the right man, a woman can experience the world in one night.”
Ariana laughed in response, but privately mulled his words over, allowing her romantic side to believe Benny knew what he was talking about—that there was a man out there for her. One completely enamored with her. One who would put her pleasure, her satisfaction, before his needs. No, her pleasure and satisfaction would be his needs.
She wanted a sexy, uninhibited, confident man who would show her the soul of the city and the depths of her desires. And then, at the end of the week, he would fade away as if he’d never existed, leaving her with a lifetime of scorching memories to heat her through the cool San Francisco nights.
Without warning, the quixotic fantasy was slapped out of her head. Her hat tumbled onto her lap and she scrambled to catch it and the magazine before they flew off the car. Adjusting her backpack, she grinned wryly at the long tube that had just hit her—and at her own fanciful interlude. Such a dream lover didn’t exist…in her experience. She had no men at all in her life except for Ray, the restaurant’s day manager, who was happily married and treated her like a sister; her uncle, Stefano; the majority of her wait staff; and, of course, her customers.
Customers.
One in particular.
Benny slowed the cable car to pick up a trio of laughing coeds, then made the turn at Jackson Street for the brief ascent to Hyde, up toward the fancy houses on Russian Hill. Toward the place where she’d heard he lived. He being one Maxwell Forrester. A customer.
But not just any customer. The customer she lusted after. The customer who’d shown up in one too many of her fantasies as of late, even though they’d exchanged no more than twenty-five words in the past year, not including, “Would you like lime in your club soda?” or “The crab pasta is particularly good today.” He’d become a regular at Athens by the Bay, though one she’d wisely kept a distance from.
He possessed too much potent male power for a woman like her, at first reeling from a divorce and then determined to make her own way without any distraction from her goals. And Maxwell Forrester most definitely distracted her.
He jogged into the restaurant every morning for coffee before finishing his run to his office somewhere in the Embarcadero. Luckily, since she usually came in around two o’clock to handle the afternoon and evening crowds, she’d only seen him in the mornings on rare occasions. His sleepy, bedroom eyes and barely combed-through hair did a number on her senses each and every time. Not that seeing him after a long day at work was any better. He often jogged back from his office, in sweatpants and a jacket that were just ratty enough to mold to his broad shoulders and lean thighs, and just designer enough to remind her that he was out of her league.
She didn’t know much about him—he was wealthy, did something in the real estate business and lived in Russian Hill. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t even see him again until the restaurant reopened sometime at the end of next month.
Ordinarily.
Except that if fate was on her side… She checked her watch, shifting the magazine so she could activate the blue light. He might still be at the restaurant. The private party, a wedding-rehearsal dinner, had been booked at Athens by the Bay by Maxwell Forrester’s friend, Charlie—another regular customer, but one she’d gotten to know a bit better. Charlie had worked with her to plan tonight’s dinner, using their one-on-one meetings to casually drop the information that Max would be his best man at his upcoming wedding.
Charlie Burrows had all the subtlety of a barge. The groom-to-be made no secret that he thought Max and Ari should get to know each other better. Until she and Charlie had met yesterday to finalize the plans, Ari interpreted Max’s cool friendliness toward her as a hint that he’d also heard Charlie’s matchmaking arguments and wasn’t interested.
But during their last meeting, Charlie had claimed that her assumption wasn’t true. He’d never encourage Max to date anyone since his pal hated fix-ups. Unfortunately, Charlie was a horrible liar and Ariana sensed that there was something in his claim that didn’t ring true.
But completely focused on her goals, Ariana had waved away Charlie’s suggestion. She didn’t need a date with anyone but her architect and her loan officer, and those were strictly business.
Of course, now all the blueprints were authorized and the financing was signed, sealed and delivered. She had to face the fact that she had a whole empty week ahead of her, a fascinating city all around her and an ignored libido driving her crazy.
Suddenly, crazy didn’t seem so bad—and it definitely wasn’t out of place in San Francisco. She fanned through the article, witnessing once again what this amazing, charming, insane city had to offer—with the right man and the right attitude.
MAXWELL FORRESTER SHOVED his platinum credit card back into his eelskin wallet and shrugged over the cost of his and Madelyn’s wedding-rehearsal dinner. He had more than enough money to cover the expense, but growing up poor had saddled him with a frugal nature he constantly battled. A day didn’t pass when he didn’t remember going to bed hungry, knowing the food stamps had all been used, all too aware even at the age of ten that if he wanted so much as an extra peanut butter sandwich, he’d have to go out and earn it himself.
As expected of a man in his current financial position, he’d told Charlie, his best man, to spend whatever was necessary to make the evening elegant for Max’s future bride, their families and wedding party. He should have known better than to hope Charlie, Madelyn’s favorite cousin and Max’s best friend, would even think of capping his spending.
“You ready to go?”
“It’s early yet,” Charlie scoffed. “You’ve got one more night of freedom and you want to call it quits at—” he pulled his sleeve back to read his watch “—midnight?”
Charlie’s argument lost some of its punch when even he realized that it was indeed late, what with the wedding less than twelve hours away.
Eleven hours, to be exact, Max realized. Not twelve. Not a minute more than eleven. Once he said, “I do,” he’d be stuck with his decision to marry Madelyn. He shrugged away the thought. He wouldn’t be any more stuck tomorrow than he was today. Max had already made a promise to Madelyn that was just as binding as a wedding vow. And though he
