"Hey, Jasper, can you take table three?"
Jasper Cruz turned to face his younger brother, Calvin.
A familiar combination of pleading and rebellion shone from dark brown eyes as Calvin shifted from one foot to the other. "I've got a crisis in the kitchen and you want me to play a waiter? I thought we agreed that would be your responsibility?"
The rebelliousness won over the pleading. "I gotta go to the bathroom."
Jasper lifted one brow.
"I'm sure table three can wait another ten seconds."
"Then I need to call Cecilia. I told her I'd call at six."
"Hmmm. I can always count on you to romance your women at prime dinner time."
"Give me a break."
Jasper hid a smile. He wondered if his younger brother knew he was capable of blushing. "Text her. I'll take this table while you go to the bathroom.
"Cecilia can wait another hour."
A scowl settled over Calvin's face but he decided not to argue. This time. "Fine." Calvin raced from the kitchen.
Jasper tried to remember if he'd ever been that young, where every lustful thought had been carved into his features and his body overruled his mind.
Probably not. He couldn't remember when he'd been willing to give up a business deal for a romantic afternoon in the park. Of course, that was probably the reason the family restaurant was going under. Pop had no problem throwing a sign on the door—Gone Fishing— even during peak lunch hours.
He shook his head. It was going to be a hell of a night. Another waiter had called in sick, and his normally stable chef believed his wife was having an affair. The man seemed to have a heavy hand with the pepper and seasonings tonight, almost as if he imagined he served his new wife's lover.
Jasper hoped everyone ordered the special. The sea bass was easy to prepare without screwing up the spices.
His progress halted as Steve, the bartender, blocked his path. "I need a smoke. Can you cover the bar?"
He grabbed for his patience and reminded himself he was here to save a restaurant, not kill his staff. "No. I told you the new rules. Smoke on your breaks."
Steve twitched and clapped him on the shoulder.
Since they'd grown up together, it was difficult playing the boss.
"Come on, dude. I'm dying here. The crowd's taken care of for the next few."
Jasper gave him a look that made many young interns quake. "Don't push me, Steve. I'm already playing waiter, and I'm not getting behind the bar. If you don't want me to fire your ass, get it back in your spot."
The mutinous look almost made him feel guilty. Almost. "You need to get laid, man." Steve trudged back behind the bar, cigarette still in hand.
No wonder Pagoda never made a profit.
Jasper had three months to turn the Titanic, and he'd already run out of lifeboats.
Pumping an obscene amount of money into the renovations would help, but if they didn't get a schedule together and solid, sparkling reviews for the food, God himself couldn't hold back the icy waters.
He fought a shudder, clawed deep for calm, and headed toward table three.
Then he saw her.
He stopped short and stared. A swirling array of emotions slammed through him like a hurtling freight train, and for one brief moment, he was in another time and another place. The last image of her flickered before his eyes, an image he'd been trying to fight since he had returned home.
She was with the same man as he'd seen her with a few weeks ago. The pathetic reminder of his lovesick spying twisted his gut but he greedily gorged on her appearance.
She took off her raincoat and threw it over the back of the chair. One hand reached up to shake the moisture from her hair, causing a couple of loose curls to escape the constraints of her perfect French twist.
Titian-red strands slid over her neck and shoulders.
He remembered those curls used to tumble down her back in wild gypsy waves.
Used to feel like fire trapped in satin when he would thread his fingers through them. The single candle on the table flickered and illuminated the pearl sheen of her skin, left bare by the low- cut black dress.
A pair of trendy black- framed glasses now shielded jade green eyes.
And something else, something intangible he couldn't grasp yet. Almost as if there was a wall built around her that screamed look, but don't touch.
He wondered if her companion ignored the signal. He wondered why the thought bothered him so much.
The woman reached for her menu and laughed at something her companion said. The sound drifted across the room, shot-silk amidst the clatter of china and glasses, and still heady enough to settle in the pit of his gut and squeeze. Hot enough to remind him of a sip of age-old whiskey. With a sting.
Out of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she has to walk into mine. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if a piano player named Sam burst into "As Time Goes By."
Jasper dragged in a lungful of air and paused for a beat. Then he walked toward table number three.
... Talia Rosser scanned the menu with an ease of an expert, her mind automatically making mental notes of prices and cuisine. She wondered if she'd have enough time to order the special.
"Uh-oh, you've got that look on your face."
Talia glanced up.
"What look?"
Victor Brites pulled his brows into a frown. "The critic look. Can't we enjoy one meal without whipping out your notepad? Let's be rebels tonight. Let's order a plain bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and forget about testing the chef's skills. I'm tired of working every time I pick up a fork."
She laughed. "Victor, you get to eat for free, and I don't even make you write the column."
"I don't care. I had a Big Mac yesterday and I couldn't enjoy it. I kept trying to figure out exactly what was in that special sauce."
She bit her lip. "Okay.
Since you're nice enough to suffer through the opera with me, I'll order the spaghetti.
An Italian restaurant can't screw it up, and we can make the performance in time."
His face lit up as he closed the menu. "Perfect.
Anyway, we're not on an official review tonight and —what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She watched the man approach her table and heard a strange roaring in her ears. Long strides closed the distance between them with the same ruthless determination he'd shown years ago. It had been part of him she'd fallen in love with.
Until he had used that same determination to walk right out of her life.
"Hello, Red."
As the deep, gravelly voice stroked her ears, Talia controlled a shudder. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet him and was grateful she still felt numb. Steel-blue eyes met and held hers. Piercing in intensity, as if he could see right into her soul. Once, he had. She'd sworn to never make the mistake again.
"Hello, Jasper." She kept her tone even as if running into your first love occurred on a daily basis.
"How are you?"
"I am fine." The polite, cliché conversation made her shudder, but no original words rose to her lips. His probing gaze released her and studied Victor. He seemed to take inventory as if checking for weaknesses that could be used later to his advantage. An awkward silence settled over the table.
"I take it you two know each other," Victor said.
Talia re-gathered her composure.
"Andrew Carson, this is Jasper Cruz." The two men exchanged nods. "Jasper and I dated many years ago. He was an up and coming advertising executive at the time." She forced a smile. "I'm sure he's been quite successful."
"I left."
Talia's head swung back around. "You left?"
"Yep." He rocked back on his heels with a satisfied look. "I moved into a different field."
"What are you doing now?" she asked.
The tiny smile turned into a full-fledged grin. She sucked in her breath at the sight of that slow smile flashing a perfect row of white teeth.
Totally confident. Overwhelmingly arrogant.
Devastatingly masculine. "This," he said.
Jasper whipped out a pencil and notepad from his jacket. "Can I take your order?"
She blinked. She took in his appearance, which consisted of a black turtleneck, khaki slacks, and a sports jacket. "You're a waiter?"
"Tonight I am. I'm the owner.
This is my restaurant."
A rush of memories flooded through her. Dear God, she'd known Pagoda sounded familiar.
How could she have picked his family's restaurant? Not that she'd ever been invited here when they dated. Other than it was Italian and located in Manhattan, Pagoda was just another common name of another place to dine.
Her stomach tilted. "You always said you never wanted anything to do with your family's restaurant."
Darkness settled over his features, then disappeared.
"I was wrong." His voice dropped to an intimate pitch. A shiver ran down her spine.
"About a lot of things."
Her hand shook as she reached up to slide the glasses back up her nose.
She was so not going there. Having a chatty conversation with the man who dumped her would only ruin her appetite. She took a deep breath and briskly closed her menu.
"How intriguing. Well, I think we're both ready to order."
Victor sat back in his chair and waved one hand in the air.
His face reflected growing amusement. "Talia, you order for me. You know what I want."
She registered Jasper's frown with relish. It would have been unheard of for Mr. Macho to let a woman order for him. For once, she succumbed to her evil side and deliberately leaned toward Victor. Her hand slid over his as she played with his fingers. His shocked expression almost ruined her moment, but she kicked him under the table and ignored his wince. "Darling, would you like to go traditional tonight?"
He blinked and remained silent. Her heel dug into his ankle.
"Oh, yes, sweetheart. Traditional is fine."
Her professional critic training kicked in and she relaxed into her familiar world of food. "I think we'll start with the calamari, and bring some bruschetta with that. The spaghetti and meatballs as the main course.
What's your vegetable?"
Did he wince, or was she imagining things? "Tonight we have broccoli rabe. But I recommend the salad instead of the vegetable.
We have a wonderful house dressing to accompany it."
"Broccoli rabe, please."
"We're known for the stuffed artichokes. I think you may enjoy that, instead."
Oh, yeah, he really didn't want her to have the broccoli. She'd been to enough restaurants to know when a waiter was told to push certain items.
Giddy satisfaction flowed through her veins. "No."
He shifted his weight.
"As you wish. May I suggest the special tonight, instead? The chef has been preparing it all evening and it's quite extraordinary. Chilean sea bass over a bed of polenta served with—"
"No, thank you. Bring us two glasses of Chianti Reserve, please."
Frustration beat from his figure. Jasper was used to being in control, both in and out of the bedroom.
Victor was probably driving him crazy with his refusal to speak. "Perhaps your companion would like an opinion?" Jasper asked.
Victor shrugged.
"Whatever she says."
She almost laughed as her ex-lover's jaw clenched. Talia blew an air kiss across the table.
"It's so wonderful you don't need to be in control. I won't disappoint you, darling. I haven't yet."
"Funny, you used to love not being in charge." He paused. "Quite loudly, if I remember correctly."
Her breath strangled in her throat as she remembered the way he used to back her up against the wall, lift her skirt, and make her beg.
She squeezed her thighs together, waited till she found air again, and forced a smile. "Not anymore.
We'll be skipping dessert to catch the eight o'clock show at the Met."
His pencil paused. "La Traviata?"
His thumb rubbed the edge of the pencil with slow, fluid motions, and Talia remembered those blunt fingers gliding over her naked skin as the powerful strains of the opera rippled through the air.
Remembered each stroke of his body against hers as he controlled the rhythm, ignoring her cries as he took her on a wild ride of pleasure until the tension exploded while the music rose to a crashing crescendo. Remembered lying in his arms afterward, gazing into the fire, knowing she belonged to him.
She cursed the huskiness to her voice.
"Yes."
"You always did like the opera."
His hot gaze drifted over her face, and lower. "Some things never change."
She looked away and handed him the menus.
"That'll be all for now.
Thank you."
"I'll bring your appetizer shortly." Jasper turned and strode gracefully across the room.
Victor cleared his throat.
"Whew, I have bruises on my leg. Next time remind me if I need to play the role of your boy toy."
"I'm sorry, Victor. It's... complicated."
He grinned.
"No problem, it was kind of fun.
I guess that's the guy who screwed you up, huh?"
His words hit the tender spot of memories buried deep. "Yep."
Victor reached out and awkwardly patted her hand. "Let's see, this is the part in the evening when my wife would say a few words to make you feel better."
"Care to give it a whirl?"
"Guys suck."
She gave a strangled laugh. "Tell me about it.
But he taught me a lot about myself. I'm stronger now." Maybe if she said it enough she'd finally believe it.
One brow shot up. "Just don't confuse strength with denial. Shutting yourself off from feeling isn't necessarily being strong."
"I always told you to be a shrink."
"Those weren't my words. They were from my own shrink."
Talia sighed. "Maybe he gives group discounts.
After tonight, I think I'm going to need it."
... Talia blinked back tears and fumbled for her water glass. Unfortunately, it was empty, so she settled for a sip of Chianti. The alcohol added to the fire on her tongue and did nothing to quench the blaze.
Victor seemed to have the same trouble.
He grabbed his own water glass. "Are you sure you didn't dump him and he wants revenge?"
Talia choked on the wine. "It does seem a bit, er, overpowering, doesn't it?"
"He must have used a pound of pepper and garlic." He signaled for more water. "And that broccoli rabe was just plain scary. I'm still chewing it and I ate the stuff an hour ago."
"The bread was good."
"Yeah, let's give the place four stars."
Talia laughed. There was nothing her friend hated more than a disappointing Italian restaurant.
"Don't get cranky. We'll just get a cannoli to go."
He snorted.
She rose from the table.
"Why don't you grab the check while I go to the ladies room?"
"Okay, I'll meet you out front."
Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she made her way toward the back of the dining area.
Her gaze swept over her surroundings, noting the combination of the old- and new-world style that made up the restaurant. One glance at the large modern bar showed her the restaurant was undergoing some growing pains, battling between the current times and the fight to keep the tradition. Talia pictured the mighty Jasper Cruz running the place like a pirate rules his ship.
She washed her hands and carefully checked her appearance. As she tried to smooth some loose tendrils of hair back into the French twist, her hands trembled.
She dropped her arms and stared into the mirror.
Three years.
How long had she waited and hoped for him to return? To chase her and admit he'd fallen in love with her and wanted to stay? Too long. Eventually, she grew up and grew strong.
She realized he'd never come back, and she needed to build her own foundation.
Now he was back.
Talia straightened her shoulders. It didn't matter, of course. She'd walk right out of his restaurant tonight and never see him again. The only shock made her body seem so strangely out of control.
She swung open the door and started down the long hallway.
"God, you look good, Red."
She froze, then turned slowly around and came face to face with her past.
"Thanks. You haven't changed a bit."
He gave a soft laugh and moved forward. Waves of masculine energy emanated from his body, pulling her in. His gaze traveled over her face, her hair, and downward. "From someone else, I'd take that as a compliment. Coming from you, I'm a bit leery."
Talia struggled to remain cool and distant.
"I'm sure my opinion won't keep you up at night."
A lazy grin curved his lips. "It's not your opinion I'm worried about. There were always other things about you that kept me up at night."
She jerked away as the intimate words flowed between them. "I've got to go."
"Wait." His hand shot out and closed around her upper arm. Shockwaves of heat ripped through her, and she stepped back, suddenly afraid of him. He seemed to sense her wariness and allowed her space. "I wanted to talk to you."
"There's nothing left to say."
He winced. "I tried to contact you, you know. I mean, I wanted to contact you."
"I see. Well, that makes up for everything, I guess.
Thanks for clearing up the misunderstanding."
He let out his breath.
"Dammit, Talia, please listen to me. I want to explain."
She shook her head.
"You're amazing. You actually think after bumping into me by accident you can clear up the past in one tidy episode? I have news for you. It doesn't matter."
"You're angry. I can understand that."
She laughed. "I'm not angry. I'm not sad. I just don't feel anything. I put what happened between us behind me, and have no need to dredge it back up."
"Because of him?" Jasper jerked his thumb down the hallway. "The guy you're with?"
Her mouth dropped open.
"I don't believe you're asking me that question."
"I don't think he's right for you," he stated.
"You're insane. I'm not staying around to hear more of your ranting. We have an opera to catch."
This time he stopped her retreat by backing her up against the wall. He leaned in. The familiar scent of lemon and spice swarmed around her, and though her mind screamed she hated him, her body remembered him as a lover. Her nipples rose in unconscious demand against the black wool of her dress, and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.
Sexual energy hummed and sizzled in the air.
"Let me go," she whispered.
"It's still there, Talia ."
She took in the arrogant thrust of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the Roman nose that dominated his face. His lips stopped inches from hers, and his breath rushed warmly against her mouth.
"What do you want from me?" she asked. "Do you want to play more head games? I don't need another roller coaster ride for excitement.
Find another player."
One thumb tipped her chin up. Something deep inside stirred back to life as she glimpsed a swirling array of emotions reflected in his features. Regret.
Pain. Desire. "God forgives me for hurting you as I did," he said.
Her voice trembled. "Let me go."
"I made that mistake three years ago. I'm not about to make it again."
"You arrogant, son of a —" she broke off and struggled for control. "I'm not interested in what you want anymore."
The pad of his thumb dragged over her lower lip, and she caught the gleam of determination and resolve to glimmer in his eyes. Her heart stopped.
She held her breath and waited for him to say the words.
"I was going to leave you alone." His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.
"But now I can't. Let me explain why I left."
Seconds ticked by. The clatter of china and glasses rang through the air. Mercifully, numbness settled over her, as she stared at the man who had walked away without a goodbye. His explanation was too late.
He was too late.
Talia removed his hand and pushed against his chest. He stepped back, and she moved around him.
Silence blanketed the long hallway.
Finally, she straightened her shoulders and spoke, her voice devoid of emotion.
"Goodbye, Jasper."
She turned and walked away.
About time he stared at a woman's back and dealt with dismissal.
His overwhelming arrogance stole her breath and her sanity, turning her into the tired, stereotypical representation of a woman scorned. With each stride to her table, her wrath rose and stripped away all of the surface layers she'd worked so hard to rebuild.
He probably believed a good explanation would make everything he'd done forgivable. Jasper always gained things too easily, whether it be women, sex, or love. How would it feel to have him finally experience real loss? Messy emotion? The sweet ache to get even pulsed in her gut.
Too bad there wasn't a way to teach him a well- earned lesson in humility.
Talia dragged in a breath and settled her composure. She refused to let the man ruin her evening.
He'd ruined enough of her days to last a lifetime.
She left the restaurant and didn't look back.
_____________________________________________________________________
Hey guys! Sorry for the long write-up, promise to be short and keep up the supense.
Thanks for reading and I hoped you liked the plot (:
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