High Stakes

3

“HAVE YOU CONSIDERED becoming a chef?” Across the candlelit table from Derek, Candice took another bite of her grilled lobster and her lips curved into a blissful smile.

He couldn’t help the small surge of pride he felt at her obvious appreciation. “And give up my budding decorating career?”

“No offense,” Candice said, lifting her glass of Chablis. “But, you should probably go with your strengths.”

“I’m crushed.” But he couldn’t help grinning.

It was the first time in weeks he’d had time to cook—the first time in months he didn’t have to rush off to a meeting or a conference call after dinner. And mental gymnastics with Candice did have their moments. When he was done reaming his brother out for this stunt, he’d have to thank him.

She waved her long-stemmed glass. The lights of downtown Seattle glittered in the distance behind her, and glowing pleasure-boats cruised below on their way back to the marina. “Hey, even you over-achievers can’t be good at everything.”

He sat back in his chair, gazing at her from beneath raised eyebrows. “From a waste of air to an over-achiever all in one night.”

“You’re still a waste of air when it comes to decorating. Accept defeat with dignity and grace.”

Derek picked up his own glass of wine, taking a sip. One thing about being locked up in the Lighthouse Restaurant, they sure didn’t need to rough it on the culinary front. “And get the heck away from your renovation job, right?”

She nodded. “Exactly. Why don’t you go out and raise some venture capital or something. Leave the restaurant to me.”

“Venture capital?”

“I minored in economics.”

“You’re suggesting I should go out and make money, and you’ll stay here and spend it.”

“Now you’re catching on,” she voiced in a singsong, leaning forward. Then she smiled, and her green eyes lit up in the flickering candlelight. Her eyes were bright, her lips were soft and her cheeks were delicately flushed.

For the hundredth time that night he was blown away by her beauty.

“We could have a symbiotic relationship,” she said eagerly.

A shot of desire rippled through him. “You’re handing me openings on a silver platter again.”

“Symbiotic means mutually beneficial.” She smirked.

“I know.” He could think of so many mutually beneficial things he’d like to do to her right now.

His suit jacket had fallen open to reveal her purple dress. The neckline had crept down throughout the course of the evening, and it seemed to cling precariously to the curve of her breasts.

His thoughts kept veering off in inappropriate directions, and he seemed powerless to stop them. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull her into his arms. He tightened his grip on the stem of the wineglass.

“The carpet for the crown molding,” he said to distract himself. It was a giveaway on his part, but it was the first deal that came to his mind.

“My carpet for your crown molding?” she asked, sitting up straighter, obviously surprised by the generosity of the deal. Her movement tightened her dress, and he swore he could almost see the pink of one areola.

Derek swallowed a deep draught of wine. “Yeah.”

“The vintage, hand-knotted Safavid?”

“Right.”

Candice drew a breath, tightening her dress even more. “You won’t be sorry.”

He was already sorry. Most of his customers wouldn’t know a Safavid from a nylon Berber. The best he could hope for was an increase in his carpet-aficionado customer base. Maybe they’d order some extra drinks while dropping down on all fours to run their fingers over the imported fibers.

This round definitely went to her. But only because she was using her breasts as a negotiating tool—even if she didn’t realize it.

He had a sudden burning need to make a deal that was weighted on his side of the equation. “Let’s talk light fixtures,” he said.

“You’re not touching my bronze-and-stained-glass chandelier,” she warned, eyes narrowing.

“I gave you the carpet.”

She shook her head. “That was a completely different deal.” Pushing back her chair, she stood up.

Derek jumped up, too. “Where are you going?” He was still worried about her bare feet.

“To get some cocktail napkins.”

“Stay here.” He motioned with his hand. “I’ll get them for you.”

He went to the kitchen and retrieved a handful of white paper napkins.

“Got a pen?” she called.

He checked behind the maître d’s desk and found a pen.

“What are you planning to do with all this?” he asked as he returned to the table and set the napkins down in front of her.

“Contract amendments.” She scooped the pen from his outstretched hand. “The wainscoting for the stain and the crown molding for the carpet.”

She printed on a napkin for a moment.

Derek sat down.

“Sign here.” She pushed it across the table.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Dated and signed by both of us. It ought to hold up in court.”

“We’re not going to court.”

“I’m not taking any chances with my Safavid carpet.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

She folded her arms across her chest and smiled. “Then you have no reason not to sign, do you?”

Since her crossed arms brought her breasts up against the scooped neck of the dress, and since he could most definitely see soft, pigmented skin peeking out, he did as she asked.

“Perfect.” She smiled, scooping up the napkin. “We’re finished with those two items.” Then she blinked her long lashes. “Any other areas you’d like to discuss?”

He decided then and there to take her along for the next labor negotiation. While he wasn’t prepared to say she’d beaten him, he definitely wanted her on the team when the going got tough.

“The light fixtures,” he said, deciding it was time for him to win one. He had to concentrate to keep his gaze from dropping to her chest.

“The bronze and stained glass exudes character and history,” she began. “When customers enter the Lighthouse, that fixture will be the first thing they see. They’ll be overwhelmed by it’s grandeur and style. It’s a classic. It’ll highlight the wine rack—”

“It’s a light,” he said dryly.

“It’s not a light.” She looked affronted. “Well, yeah, okay, of course it’s a light.”

“I nearly fell out of my chair when I read the price.”

“But, it’s not just a light. It’s an antique.”

“Get a reproduction. Nobody will know.”

“You’ll know.”

“I won’t care. I’ll be too busy spending the money we saved.”

Candice leaned forward.

Derek nearly groaned at the cleavage she presented. It ought to be illegal.

Of course, he could tell her, and she’d probably cover up.

Nah.

“I’ll know,” she said. “I’ll care.”

“And that’s supposed to keep me awake at night?” It wouldn’t. Not like the thought of her breasts would.

“Okay. How about this. Restaurant reviewers will know.” She leaned back and smiled, obviously appreciating her own brilliance. She lifted her wineglass. “You want them to write about the cheap reproduction or the fine antique.”

Derek paused. He needed to succeed in at least one of these side deals, to salvage his pride if nothing else.

“I’ll give you the tiles,” she said. “The tiles for the light fixture.”

“But, I like the tiles.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She began writing.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ll keep the light fixture. You keep the tiles.”

“Wait a minute—”

“Why don’t you get the chocolate mousse?” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my feet.”

“YOU’RE CORRUPT,” said Derek as Candice savored the first bite of her chocolate mousse—creamy rich, melting smoothly over her tongue. He should seriously consider a career as a chef.

“Why?” she asked, licking every little morsel off the tip of the spoon.

“You got it both ways on the last deal.”

“That’s because you were so busy talking to my cleavage.” She grasped the top of her dress and tugged it up a little.

His spoon froze in midair. “You knew?”

“Please.”

He might be a great cook, but subtlety was not his middle name. The man saw a flash of skin and he was hopeless.

“That’s cheating,” he said.

“Cheating how?”

“You should have…” He made a lifting motion with both hands.

“You could have told me.”

A slow, secretive smile grew on his face. “Then you would have covered up.”

She smiled back, just as secretively. “Then you wouldn’t have signed away a fifty-thousand-dollar light fixture.”

“For fifty thousand dollars, you should have to strut around looking sexy all night.”

“Not in the contract.” She patted the two signed napkins.

“My mistake.”

She chuckled. “It’s cleavage, Derek. Every woman at the reception tonight showed off the same thing.”

“Not my mother or aunt Eileen.”

“Every woman under the age of fifty.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“There’s that opening again.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

He stared into her eyes for a long, silent moment. “You want me to?”

Danger signs flashed through her mind. No way she was walking into that one. “I want leather upholstery for the dining-room chairs.”

“That’ll put you over budget.”

“How can you know that?”

He tapped his forehead. “Mind like a steel trap. I remember the cost and the square footage required, and the outrageous labor charges.”

He did, did he?

She reached up and pulled a couple of pins from her hair, raking her fingertips through the tangled curls. Maybe she could get him to reconsider….

He watched in silence, his gaze following her every movement. His nostrils flared. “It won’t work. But nice try.”

“Taking down my hair wasn’t a bribe,” she lied. “I’m tired, and my head’s getting sore. It’s after midnight.”

His eyebrows crept up. “Uh-huh. Another nice try.”

“How long’s it been since you had a date?”

“A what?”

“A date. You’re sure susceptible to a woman who’s sitting here doing nothing but minding her own business.” She fought a grin.

“I’m not susceptible to anything.”

“Uh-huh.” She scooped up a small amount of the chocolate mousse with her index finger, then placed it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the rich cream, then slowly pulling the fingertip back out through her pursed lips. She was shamelessly copying a scene from a movie, but it must have worked because Derek’s eyes darkened.

“Stop,” he growled.

“Stop what?” She reached for the mousse again.

His hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m eating dessert.”

He stared deep into her eyes.

The heat of his hand seared her skin. Her pulse leaped and desire sizzled in her blood.

What was the matter with her? She was locked up alone with him for the foreseeable future, and she was acting like some kind of siren.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll stop.”

“Good decision.” He slowly released her wrist. He sat back and stared out the window, across the black lake to the star-studded sky.

“Derek…”

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