Worth the trouble. Times ten. Times infinity.
Eric was studying Liza thoughtfully. “Which was it with us?”
“What?”
“Those two months we were married. Was it hot stuff or not worth the trouble?”
Liza opened her mouth, then closed it.
Eric’s amusement faded, replaced by an unmistakable hurt. “Right.”
The waitress came back and took their orders by memory, and then offered the services of their sommelier, who could come to the table and make wine suggestions if they’d like.
The sommelier turned out to be one of the women in the elevator, though if the tall, elegant, beautiful brunette recognized Em, she gave no indication of it.
When they were alone again, Liza set down her drink and looked at Eric. “It was hot stuff.”
Now it was Eric’s turn to blink in surprise.
Liza seemed just as taken aback and abruptly turned to Em. “If you don’t approach the chef tonight you’ll have to make an appointment,” she babbled. “By all accounts, this guy is media reclusive, and not interested in a career path other than what suits him personally. I bet he wouldn’t easily grant you an interview.”
“I know.” Em had worried about this. She worried about a lot of things. But mostly facing the sexy, gorgeous Jacob Hill now that she knew he lived up to his reputation. “I need to make contact tonight—” She broke off when the waitress came back and set down a plate of appetizers that they hadn’t ordered.
“From the chef,” the woman explained. “Vegetable spring rolls with chili oil and teriyaki mustard sauce. They’re a favorite here.”
Eric looked around at the other tables. They were all filled with people having conversations, sharing food, all enjoying themselves greatly, if the happy buzz in the place meant anything. “Does the chef always give away his food?”
“For his friends, or special guests, yes.”
Liza looked at Em.
So did Eric.
Em laughed nervously. “Uh, thank you.”
“Enjoy.”
“Oh, boy,” Em whispered when she’d left. “Do you think he sees us here?”
“You, you mean,” Liza said. “Does he see you here. Of course he does. He sent the food over.”
Em stared at the appetizers, then looked around her. Waitstaff moved easily and discreetly around the crowded room. No chef in sight.
“Must have been a helluva kiss.” Liza dug into the spring rolls, then moaned. “Oh, my God. Em, you’ve got to taste this.”
“Oh, yeah,” Eric said when he’d popped one in his mouth. “This guy knows his stuff.”
“The man’s a god,” Liza moaned.
“Are you sure all you did was kiss him, Em?” Eric reached for his second. “Because this isn’t a thank-you for a kiss. This is a thank-you for a good fu—”
“Eric.” Liza glared at him.
Eric just popped another appetizer into his mouth.
“Men,” Liza muttered. “Dogs.”
“Woof woof,” he agreed happily.
Em shook her head and tasted a roll herself. It did melt in her mouth, made her stomach rumble happily, and actually brought a helpless smile to her face, just as a movement caught the corner of her eye.
A tall, broad man stood at the back of the restaurant, leaning against the doorjamb of the kitchen. Seeming extremely comfortable with both himself and his surroundings, his posture and manner spoke of a quiet, rock-solid confidence.
A confidence she’d experienced firsthand.
Unlike earlier in the elevator, he wore a white chef’s hat and jacket, which only accentuated to his height and well-built body. His staff moved around him like a well-tuned army, most of them taking the time to say something to him, or at least cast him a smile, which he always returned.
“That’s him?” Liza whispered. “Because wow.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly Em felt hot in the cool room, and reached for her water. Even from this distance she felt the weight of his quiet, assessing stare, and wondered what he was thinking.
Then his lips curved oh-so-slightly, and she knew.
He was thinking about the kiss, the one that would have knocked her socks off if she’d been wearing any, the one that had rendered her deaf, dumb and blind.
And made her wet.
Even now, her thighs tightened with the memory, and she squirmed.
And his not-quite-smile went just a bit naughty.
Oh, God. Her glass nearly slipped out of her hand, and she set it down with such awkwardness on the table that water sloshed over the edge.
“Easy,” Liza murmured, putting a hand over hers. Then she smiled at the chef, pointing to the appetizers, and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Chef smiled and gave a slight nod of his head.
Nope, no trouble in the confidence arena.
“He is pretty yummy,” Liza noted, and Eric craned his neck to check him out.
“Not that yummy,” he said.
Liza laughed and patted Eric’s arm. “Don’t worry. You’re yummy, too.”
“Yeah?” He turned a suddenly extremely interested face toward her. “You still think so, huh?”
Liza shrugged. “You have a mirror.”
He grinned and leaned in close. “If I’m so yummy, why did you let me go?”
They all knew why. Because Liza’s crappy childhood memories of her mother’s eight marriages had made her afraid of commitment.
Eric, who’d grown up without a mother at all, had the same issue. Together, they hadn’t trusted their love enough, and they’d had two collective feet halfway out the door at all times.
Now Liza, more mature in many ways, strove to keep it light and tapped him playfully on the nose. “I let you go because you’re an ass.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I’m a yummy ass.” Eric grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over her bare ring finger. “Now tell me the truth. Why did you let me go?”
“An ass is an ass, Eric.”
“Right.” Eric nodded, and sat back.
