Proud to Serve Her (1 Night Stand Series) (4 page)

Yes. He could totally envision that.

Her mouth opened and closed. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.”

“As I said, wine says a great deal about a person. But you are not dining at your Styrofoam palace, you’re having dinner with me.”

Her wariness gave way to a flash of trepidation that vanished under a wider smile. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and about your date….” Time to come clean, fantasy or no fantasy. It was her birthday and what began as a fanciful tease wasn’t fun anymore.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No. Let’s not. I’m really enjoying this…now…just the way it is.”

His conscience argued against the idea, but she looked so pleased that he was hard-pressed to push the issue. It was dinner.

It’s her birthday
….

“Very well, it’s your birthday. We’ll do it your way.” He turned away from the niggling worry of common sense and focused on the fantasy. “Now, what you see in front of you is a filet, butterflied thin and cooked slowly with red wine. A burgundy.” He emphasized his earlier selection and grinned at the warm sparkle in her eyes. “And
au jus
, allowing the meat to absorb the flavors of both as it’s slowly turned on a low fire. The lettuce is romaine, cooled to thirty-eight degrees to preserve freshness. The idea is to slice into the steak, spear a small section along with the lettuce and to bite into both simultaneously.”

He demonstrated, spearing a sliver of his steak with one crisp lettuce section and leaned toward her, fork aloft. His gaze never left hers as her mouth parted beautifully, accepting the offering and he glided the meat home to her tongue. His abdomen tightened as her lips closed on the fork and she took the whole bite.

Her low groan lacked any hint of artifice or drama. Instead, her eyes shimmered, surprise filling them. With two fingers to her lips, she chewed and spoke at the same time. “Oh, my God….”

“The steak is rich, but the lettuce is cool, it’s an assault. Save the wine for when you are done, or it will change the flavor subtly on your palate.”

“I’ve never had anything like this before….”

“That’s why tonight is all about new experiences.” She picked up her knife and fork and began to cut into the steak. The echoes of Blue Star’s experimental melodies rolled into the quiet air around them, muting the hum of the restaurant beyond the heavy curtains.

Yes, sitting down to dinner had been the best plan. Her pink tongue flicked out to catch every morsel of steak.

He couldn’t wait for the next course.

***

In very fine restaurants, and she’d eaten in enough of them, the salad didn’t come until after the meat, and the cheese typically came after that. But nothing about this evening or the meal, seemed to be following what she would normally expect. By the time the hedonistic steak and salad course was swept away and a bread bowl laden with soup was set before her, she didn’t care.

She immersed herself in the evening, in her pretend date with the waiter, and the wildly delicious food. It was past eight, she should be home reviewing case files, but Judge Albert was going to issue a continuance in the morning no matter how prepped she was, the plaintiff’s case wasn’t ready and her client had been dealing with nuisance suits for years.

Damon poured a third glass of wine and gestured to the bowls. “Sweet potato bread, cooked hard, cored out to serve as the bowl for sweet potato soup. There’re diced Idaho potatoes with a dash of paprika and a pinch of salt for flavor. The soup is a palate refresher, it will relax your taste buds and prepare them for the next course.”

She loved the way he talked about the food and didn’t hesitate to dip her spoon for a taste. The soup was rich and creamy with a hint of sweetness, but to her utter surprise she could taste the paprika.

“You like?” He swirled the wine in the glass, leaning back in the chair. He’d angled his seat until they were sitting closer together. The stretch of his long legs beneath the table warmed hers and she’d compensated to sit slightly twisted, taking advantage of her front row view. He really was the whole delicious package from the white shirt contrasting with his olive complexion. Although not a huge man, the elegance and precision in his movements emphasized his musculature.

And then there were his eyes.

She’d never understood the phrase ‘drown in his eyes’ until she was able to feast on the sight of his. They were the most perfect shade of midnight blue. The sound of the restaurant beyond the curtains might as well have been miles away for all that it failed to intrude on their intimate tête-à-tête.

“If I forget to mention it later,” she murmured, “I think this is my favorite birthday.”

He grinned and her pulse thudded. “We’ve just gotten started, don’t give away the prize until the mission is complete.”

Laughter bubbled up and she took another spoonful of soup, her gaze skating over to watch his hands as he began to eat. His expression was neutral as he sampled the flavors.

“It’s not quite perfect. I think we should have added the Idaho potatoes later.”

“I think it’s wonderful. But now I am very curious.”

“And what are you curious about?”

“You know so much about food and you obviously enjoy it, but why a restaurant? There’s so much more to running a restaurant than just the food.” She’d seen the unfortunate results of what happened of creative passion overwhelmed by the demands of running a business. It wore a person down. In at least two cases, she’d seen those same passionate people lose their appetites for creating altogether because the work of ownership carried too much pressure.

“My mother was passionate about food. She believed in the family table, the breaking of bread and the joy of serving. Every Sunday, we came home from church and she’d serve food, the neighbors came over, and brought dishes with them. You could always find food at our house. Saturday nights were always about the preparation. It was a party to stand in the kitchen, sampling the different flavors, putting together the combinations. Even when the steel factory layoffs came and Dad was out of work, she could turn potato and leek soup into an experience. ‘Damon,’ she would say, ‘food is for the soul. Your belly only thinks it is in charge. Never let hunger determine your meal.’”

“That sounds amazing.” Her parents favored microwaveable meals in front of the television or she ate at her desk in her room as she pored over her books. They’d never dragged her away to
experience
a meal, often as not, leaving her to study when they went out to meals and bringing her back some take out. “I can’t imagine spending hours cooking. My culinary skills extend to opening a pot pie box and nuking it for five minutes.”

“And why don’t you cook?”

“You think all women know how to cook?”

“Absolutely not. One of the women in my unit burns water and a buddy of mine pays his wife not to cook because he’s had food poisoning twice.” His quick grin lit her own and she couldn’t help the laughter.

“That’s awful.”

“But true. So no, I don’t
expect
a woman to know how to cook. But why didn’t you learn?”

She glanced down at the nearly empty bread bowl and wondered if it would be impolite to begin to nibble on the soup-soaked bread. As though reading her mind, he reached over and tore off an edge, drenched it in the creamy bottom and held it up to her lips.

She caught his gaze as she took the offered bite, her tongue just barely grazing his finger, but he didn’t pull away, instead, catching a stray drop sliding over her lower lip and offered it to her. Boldness flooded through her and she drew his finger into her mouth until she cleaned off the drop.

“You were saying?” The hint of teasing drifted along the thick undertones of his voice and she sighed.

Yep. No matter how this evening ended, it was definitely the best birthday ever.

“I was something of a prodigy when I was younger. By the time I was seven, my parents had to enroll me in a private school and I skipped several grades. By the time I was twelve, they hired a private tutor because I was a freshman in high school. I graduated at sixteen, but only because my mother was reluctant to allow me to graduate at fifteen. I finished my Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice at nineteen and law school a month before my twenty-second birthday. I’ve been an associate at my law firm since then, and I just got offered partner last week. I haven’t had time to look at anything except books or legal briefs.”

His expression dimmed at her sigh and she fought for a smile.

“I’m whining and I’m aware of that. I never really paid attention to anything else, it’s not that I was denied the opportunities, I was just….”

“You were focused. You had an objective. I get it. I skipped the college experience. Went straight into the Corps the day after I graduated high school. Family tradition. My grandfather, my father. My great-grandfather was a Navy man. My uncle was in the Army, and I have a kid brother who went Air Force, something about liking to play with his stick.”

A shiver washed through her at his easy grin.

“So you were a Marine….”

“No, ma’am. I
am
a Marine. I’m just not on active duty.” He picked up his wine glass and she mirrored him, barely aware of the waitress stealing away their plates and replacing them with a platter of steak and steamed vegetables. The scents creeping up from the plates set her mouth to watering and her stomach cheered.

Unless she planned to spend eight hours on the treadmill the next day, she’d never burn off so many calories.

“Thank you, Mindy.” He never lifted his gaze from Helena’s and her cheeks began to ache from smiling, the muscles of her face locked in a permanent grin.

“Yes, thank you.” She managed a quick glance at the waitress who winked and slipped away as quietly as she’d come. The parting curtain revealed dimmer lighting beyond and the haunting blues of a lone jazz horn.

“Oooh, you have live musicians, too.” Her heart did a little fist pump. She’d had one case take her to the French Quarter a year before, just a week after her birthday and a street musician’s performance brought her to tears. She’d never heard such a mournful, beautiful sound before.

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to tell you about your dinner?”

“You can tell me anything you want. I’m completely in your hands.” Apprehensive desire knotted in her belly. It was the single, most provocative thing she’d ever said to a man and the intensity flaring in his blue eyes told her he’d received the message, loud and clear.

“Completely?” he asked, setting the wine glass to the side and plucking hers from her nerveless fingers.

“Completely.”

Tingles followed the brush of his skin on hers and she held her breath. “Will you let me feed you?”

“Haven’t you been doing that already?” The one-two punch of her heart against her ribs sounded so loud in her own ears.

“Yes, but I want to give you the full experience. I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed…let me feed your soul, one bite at a time.”

Heat flamed between her thighs and her panties dampened. Not quite trusting her voice and not altogether certain it was the best idea, she nodded slowly.

He traced his fingers across the palm of her hand. “Close your eyes.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, burning an imprint in her mind of his intense expression, earnest gaze. Clenching her fingers into her napkin, she closed her eyes.

“How is your palate?” The words shivered through her, and he abandoned her palm to stroke her cheek. She hoped he never stopped.

“I don’t know. I think it’s…I think it’s okay. Everything has tasted wonderful.”

“Let’s see.” His breath whispered against her lips, the warmth of him washing over her face. Her eyelids fluttered, but a brush of his fingers kept them closed.

The first touch of his lips on hers and she forgot to breathe. His lips were soft, warm and her mouth opened in a silent O. Her thoughts fogged. Electricity raced down her spine. His tongue rubbed against hers, an invitation. She forgot to think altogether.

Chapter Four

Her mouth opened willingly beneath Damon’s. What began as a provocative tease, escalated to explosive passion. She kissed with an almost shy, abandon that rang a chord deep inside him. He forgot about the food, teasing her palate, and the game of seduction. The earthy, rich, sweet scent of her filled him. Need raged through him and his pants tightened a notch. The desire to take it slow and explore warred with the want to strip off all their barriers and claim her right there on the table.

Her head fell back and he smiled and coaxed her tongue back against his own lips, sucking sweetly and delighting at her first tentative thrust against his teeth. Cradling her face between his hands, he drew lazy, slow circles with his thumbs against her cheeks. He wanted her boldness. He wanted her to demand. Hell, he wanted to answer those demands.

Inch by inch, her body shifted in the chair, turning in toward him until a length of her bare leg brushed against his pants and the fire he teased roared to life. A low moan seemed to roll up from her belly and then her hands were in his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. The push-pull thrust of their kiss dropped a live grenade of lust in his belly, detonating until his cock swelled painfully.

Her shudders dragged him back from the decadence of her lips. Breaking the kiss, he glided his fingers along her arms, and tugged her fingers away from his hair until he could cradle both of her hands in his. Her eyelashes fluttered open revealing glazed passion in her eyes. No trace of nervousness remained in her expression. Her sexy, sweet swollen lips—plumped from one, sinfully delicious kiss—quirked into a grin.

“How was my palate?” The sassy comment was so at odds with her thready whisper.

“Hungry.” That was not the word he intended to use, but it fit. This was a woman who needed to be kissed and kissed often. Thank God those words didn’t fall from his lips, but too many viewings of
Gone With the Wind
at his mother’s house and Rhett’s effusive declaration to Scarlett fit.