Authors: Kathy Love

Devilishly Wicked (5 page)

BOOK: Devilishly Wicked

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Chapter Five

W
hen Tristan pulled his Bentley Supersport into the small parking lot of the place that was his absolute favorite restaurant, he could tell Georgia was thinking this must be some kind of a mistake. But he parked and shut off the ignition. She looked around as if some posh little bistro must be hidden around there somewhere. But no.

“This is it? Your favorite restaurant?” She stared at the neon sign, with part of the name burnt out so it read
ILLIE’S BAR AND GRILL.

“Willie,” he clarified, just in case she missed the darkened W. “It’s my absolute favorite.”

She looked at the bar again, then back to him. “Really? This doesn’t seem like your style.”

Tristan didn’t respond; instead, he slid out of the car and came around to open her door.

“Isn’t it time to admit that maybe you don’t really know my style?” he said, offering her a hand.

She ignored it, using the car door to lever herself out of the low-slung seat. The action wasn’t easy and required her to hike up her tight skirt a bit more than she would have liked, if her reddened cheeks were any indication. But she did manage to pull herself upright without any aid from him. Of course, not before revealing a healthy glimpse of her thigh-high stockings and the bare, creamy skin above them.

Tristan held back a groan. He couldn’t hold back his arousal though, and just hoped his suit coat hid that fact.

Embarrassedly, she adjusted her skirt, and then shot Tristan a glance. His eyes locked with hers, and he knew he hadn’t managed to hide his desire for her. But instead of saying anything, he held out a hand, gesturing to the building’s doorway.

“Right this way.”

She hesitated for a moment, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of his lustful look or the looks of the establishment. He decided to assume it was Willie’s and not him.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but this place has the very best heroes in New York. And killer onion rings and fries, too. Not to mention, excellent ice-cold beer.”

“Heroes?” she said, picking her way carefully over the uneven and cracked asphalt. Tristan automatically moved his hand to the small of her back to steady her. He felt her stiffen slightly as she had the other times he’d touched her, but as before, she didn’t move away. He was glad about that.

He looked down at the potholed pavement, making sure she didn’t accidently step into one of the gaps, only to find himself admiring how her shoe straps looked circling her dainty ankles.

And the curve of her calves. Which led up to those creamy thighs. Damn.

“Heroes?” she repeated, shooting him a quick quizzical look before returning her attention to the ground.

“Sandwiches,” he said rather absently, trying to get control of his lust. “You know, subs.”

“Oh,” she said, shooting him another look, this one sheepish with a slight smile. “I guess I should know that term, huh?”

“You’ve never heard of heroes?”

“I guess maybe I have,” she said, sounding a little vague herself. Like she was distracted, too. By him? He hoped so. He shouldn’t have to suffer through this desperate longing alone. “But we just call them subs in Ohio.”

They reached the door, and he opened it for her. “You are from Ohio? I thought you were from Georgia.”

“Nooo,” she said, and then laughed. “Georgia is just my name, not my name
and
location.”

“You have a great laugh.”

Georgia stumbled as she took a step over the threshold, and his hand curled around her waist to steady her.

“See, klutz,” she said after a moment, her voice a little breathless and her pale skin pink again.

Damn, he wondered if her voice would sound that way in bed, if her skin would get flushed with desire rather than embarrassment. Pink all over. With darker pink around her nipples and dusky pink, moist skin between her thighs.

This time he did groan.

“Oh, no,” she said, pulling out of his hold. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hardly,” he said, his tone wry, which he could see confused her. Could she really not know the effect she had on him?

She studied him briefly, and then turned her attention to the restaurant. She walked ahead of him into the large, warehouse-style room. One side was set up as a bar with neon lights, tall round bar tables, a long shiny wooden bar, stools, and three pool tables.

The other side was partitioned off by a half wall and frosted panes of glass, where people could sit down to eat.

Tristan’s hand returned to her back, because he had to touch her again, even innocuously. He steered her in the direction of the restaurant side.

“Two,” he said to the woman standing at the hostess station, surveying a seating chart. She automatically reached for two menus before looking up to see them. When she caught sight of him, she dropped the menus, fumbling to retrieve them.

Vaguely, he was aware of the hostess’s attraction to him. But her desire was a pale comparison to Georgia’s heady scent. The hostess’s scent was like a poor knockoff of an expensive perfume, whereas Georgia’s was the real deal, and worth every penny.

“Welcome,” the woman said, still clearly flustered by Tristan. But she recovered enough to offer him a coy smile.

Tristan didn’t return the look.

“Right this way.”

Tristan nodded his thanks, then allowed Georgia to go ahead of him. He watched the sway of Georgia’s hips and that perfectly rounded derriere. He imagined taking her from behind. Would she struggle at first, if he just bent her over? Or arch her back and give him exactly what he wanted. He discovered both options excited him.

He nearly made a moan of disappointment as she slid into the booth the hostess directed them to. He missed the view already.

Tristan took a seat across from her, and discovered he was just as pleased to take in Georgia’s amazing cleavage and truly lovely face.

After a moment, he realized the hostess still lingered. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. The hostess shifted, seeming to realize she didn’t have anything else to say. So she simply mumbled, “Enjoy your meal,” and then walked away.

“Does that ever get tiring?” Georgia asked with a smile. But he noticed it didn’t quite reach her dark brown eyes.

“Does whatever get tiring?”

“The adoration from women as soon as they see you?”

Ah, she was jealous. He rather liked that idea. His Peaches being possessive.

“I didn’t notice,” he said, which wasn’t quite honest. He had noticed, but he didn’t care. He just wanted Peaches’ adoration.

At the moment, he amended. Peach was currently his flavor of the month.

“Isn’t this place great?” he said, not wanting to talk about other women.

Georgia looked around, and then nodded approvingly. “It’s definitely pretty cool. Still not your sty—” She caught herself.

Tristan smiled. “I’m telling you, Peaches, a whole lot of things about me would surprise you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” she agreed, and it was her turn to sound wry.

But before he could question her about what she meant, exactly, she looked down at her opened menu and asked, “So which hero is your favorite?”

“I like ‘The Works.’ ”

She found it on the menu. “Wow, that really is the works. Everything but the kitchen sink. That thing has to be enormous.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But I’m not really into moderation. I have a great fondness for overindulgence.” He gave her one of his pointed looks and instantly she blushed.

She returned her attention to her menu.

“I should have known your home state from your resumé,” he said suddenly.

She looked back up, surprised. “You were the one who hired me? I always assumed it was Finola.”

He laughed at that. “Since you worked for her, I’d think you would have realized she didn’t do anything for herself. Not when others could do it for her.”

“I-I—” She clearly didn’t know the correct response. Georgia was a smart lady. She knew he was telling the truth, but she also knew any negative response could be unprofessional and potentially come back to bite her. So, instead, she changed the subject. “Did you hire her other personal assistants by just looking over their resumés, then calling to tell them they had the job? No interviews or anything?”

“Well, the way Finola went through assistants, it hardly seemed worth the effort.”

“Well, there goes my theory that I was hired sight unseen because my resumé just popped when compared to all the others,” she said with a slight smile that hinted at the dimples framing her pretty lips.

“Maybe it did,” he said, smiling back.

She made a face. “Well, you clearly don’t remember a thing about it, so that sort of kills that notion, doesn’t it?”

“Well, one thing is for certain,” he said slowly, straightening his silverware, “you are definitely my favorite personal assistant. And like I said, I hired many.”

Georgia didn’t say anything, and he looked back up at her.

She had blushed again. He loved her easy reaction to him. And even though he knew she thought it was just one of his lines, he was being honest. She was by far his favorite. He hadn’t even mustered up a mild attraction to most of them.

Hmm, now that he thought about it, he wondered why. What made her different?

“Hi, there.” A waitress appeared at the edge of their booth, smiling at Georgia first. But as soon as her attention turned to Tristan, Georgia might as well have been invisible.

“Would you like to hear the specials?” she said, her voice low. This one was definitely more seasoned than the hostess, and she wasn’t going to have any trouble going for what she wanted.

Normally, Tristan would have gone along with the waitress’s interest. It was easy, and he was, after all, a demon of lust. But today, her attention just irritated him. He wanted to focus on the woman he was sitting with. He wanted to have Georgia to himself.

“No need,” Tristan said, his tone unusually curt. Again, not how he usually treated a woman who was openly attracted to him.

The young blonde’s face fell.

“Want to try my favorite?” he asked Georgia, all that curtness leaving as he spoke to her. He didn’t wait for her to answer.

“We’re going to have two of The Works with the onion rings. Plus a side of fries. And two of your Willie’s pale ales. Tall.”

Again, the blonde looked thoroughly disappointed that he was so concise. Then out of sheer jealousy, the waitress raised an eyebrow in Georgia’s direction. “That’s a lot of food. Far more than I could ever eat.”

Tristan didn’t miss the pointed jab, and from Georgia’s deflated look, neither did she.

“Well, the lady here,” he said in an acerbic tone, “is humoring me, since this is my favorite place. Although, I’m beginning to wonder why. The service isn’t what I remember.”

The blond waitress had the good grace to look worried.

“I’ll be right back with your beers.” She hurried away from the table and straight to the bar.

Georgia watched the waitress’s departure with a mixture of relief and sympathy.

Peaches was too kindhearted. The waitress had been blatantly rude to her, yet his sweet assistant felt bad for her.

The idea that Georgia might possibly be used to comments like the waitress’s bothered him. He couldn’t say why. That comment wouldn’t affect his mission to have this woman. So why did he really care about Georgia’s potentially wounded ego?

He didn’t want to contemplate that, so instead he said, “You popped.”

“I—popped.” She immediately turned her attention away from the unimportant waitress and down at herself. She touched the lacing on her corseted top, as if she expected it to have popped open.

Which would be nice. He’d love to see more of those luscious breasts of hers.

“As soon as I saw you—
you
definitely popped.”

It took her a moment to understand he was referring back to her comment about her resumé. Then as expected, she blushed.

Now she busied herself with straightening her silverware. “Well, I’m sure I definitely wasn’t the usual applicant. Multicolored hair, funky glasses, vintage wear.”

“No, you weren’t. Frankly, you were more interesting and quite refreshing.”

She stopped spacing her knife and spoon the perfect few centimeters apart.

“Interesting and refreshing.” She smiled wryly. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

Tristan sighed. “Do you ever just take a compliment?”

Honestly, it was starting to bother him. He was so damned attracted to this woman. Couldn’t she see that? Feel it?

She stared at him for a moment, but then went back to fiddling with her spoon.

“Sorry,” she said, then mumbled something about “going along with his games,” but he didn’t quite hear what she said, because the waitress returned at the same time.

“Here you go.” She set down two large glasses of beer, then waited.

Really, this chick wasn’t going to be put off easily, was she?

Tristan lifted his glass to his lips and took a testing sip, even though he’d had the same ale dozens of times.

“It’s great, thank you,” he said dismissively.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tristan shot the woman a look. He might have appreciated this woman’s persistence another day, but definitely not at the moment. “I think we’re good right now.”

The waitress lingered just a moment longer as if she was trying to think of something else to say, but apparently nothing came to her.

“Well, just let me know if you think of something,” she said with a sweet smile. “My name is Chrissy—if you need anything.”

Her eagerness actually made Tristan feel a little disgusted. Did
Chrissy
not see he was here with another woman?

BOOK: Devilishly Wicked

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