Twice As Delicious Page 2

  At most events, all it took to drum up new business clients were a few conversations with guests lingering near the petit fours. It happened so often that I expected it, and sometimes I could spot the person in the crowd who’d turn out to champion my goodies on any given night. That was why I wore the dress and stilettos instead of an apron and my work clogs. I only made the sale when I dressed to impress.

  Invariably, some wealthy socialite or an older man would approach the table for a plate of seconds or thirds. They’d notice me replenishing the trays and would comment on the addictive taste or unique texture of one of my treats. Then they’d ask about a recipe or mention an upcoming event they were hosting and would love to have their guests rave about the food.

  Then I was in.

  I had them hooked.

  My dishes were the best to hit the Manhattan event circuit in years, or so I was told. I’d come to believe it because I knew that, at a bare minimum, my menu was unique, and I’d worked my ass off to gain that notoriety. And to think it had all started with my grandmother’s olive bread recipe. Though I’d gotten several recipes from her, it was the one thing she’d actually taught me on my only visit to meet her many summers ago before I hit my teens. She and my mother weren’t close, so I was grateful for the one visit, because that was when I discovered my love for cooking and baking.

  My parents were working class people. A mechanic and a school teacher. They worked hard, did their best, but hadn’t had enough money to send me to college. No college meant no fancy degree. My culinary education came from working in kitchens to pay the bills after I finished high school. As a self-taught food professional, every one of my recipes was my own creation. Even those from my grandmother had been tweaked. I dreamed them up, started from scratch and refined them in my own little catering side gigs. I worked hard. Each scar and burn on my hands was proof that I busted my ass. It took years of trial and error to perfect each item, just as it did to build this business. To get where I was today.

  So yes, I could see a potential customer from across the room, and once I did, before the night was up, I’d close them. You could say that word-of-mouth was my marketing strategy. From their tasting to my schmoozing.

  Except tonight, I was stuck in the kitchen. No one was out front championing my creations.

  And now, I wasn’t alone.

  These sexy as sin strangers loomed, stealing my focus, two gorgeous obstacles to throw me off my game because, while I needed to arrange the next tray of bacon wrapped shrimp, I was making small talk. Undressing them with my eyes

  God, they were gorgeous.

  They both stood in the middle of my domain—definitely not theirs—injecting new energy into the space, affecting my livelihood in the sexiest, most tempting way possible.

  Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Or the apple. I wasn’t sure which because I’d stopped attending Sunday school when I was eight. All I knew was they walked in, and I lost my ability to think straight. It was a wonder I could even speak my name when Dane introduced himself, when he’d held my hand in his. Fuck yes, that touch. Firm grip, big hand. Dominating. I had to wonder what he could do with those hands.

  Even when the big, brawny one headed down the hallway to get to the driveway, I’d almost swallowed my tongue. Complete opposites, the two of them. One all crisp businessman with a quick smile and easy charm, the other tugged at the tie about his neck like a puppy on a new leash. Rugged. Unrefined.

  Yeah, opposites. Yet I found them both so damned appealing. Crazy, really. I didn’t have time to check out one guy, let alone two, but I owed it to women everywhere to at least flirt.

  Flirt? I inwardly rolled my eyes. I was completely out of my depth, and I was sure I looked it, frozen in place with one hand hanging limp at my side and the other in mid-air over one of the food warmers.

  If I weren’t careful, my two servers would return any minute and no new trays would be ready for the guests. Thank goodness that Mr. Big, Broad and Sexy left to go looking around, leaving me with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Irresistible.

  Leo and Dane.

  And when Dane stared at my hovering hand and said, “Don’t let me keep you from what you were doing,” I magically unfroze and got back to work. Or tried to. I was never flustered in the kitchen...until now.

  “You mentioned being short-staffed tonight. Can I help with anything?” he asked as I made my best effort to fill two trays of savory dishes. I didn’t have to look straight at him to know he was watching every move I made, and didn’t need more than peripheral vision to notice him step closer. But when he stopped a few feet from me and leaned against the countertop, grabbing one of the shrimp from the tray, I was tempted to take more than a look.

  “Thank you for offering,” I said with just a quick glance toward him. “But that’s not necessary. You’re a guest. You should be out there with everyone, celebrating with the newly engaged couple, or enjoying the ambiance. Not eating back here.”

  He chewed, swallowed. “There’s enough ambiance to enjoy from right where I’m standing,” he said, his voice laced with confidence and charm, and maybe a little lust. “As a businesswoman, you know a guest’s needs come first?”

  With the first tray full, I moved it to the end of the counter, ready to be served.

  “Of course.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a guest, and I need to stay right here with you.”

  I felt myself blush, heat spreading to not just my cheeks. My pussy got damp, and I had to hope my hard nipples couldn’t be seen through my dress. I didn’t dare look down to find out. Instead, I glanced at him. Dane’s dark gaze was piercing and...interested. I had no idea what to say, especially while his flattery was working so well. Panties ruined, check. Interested in what those hands could do, check. Eager for his friend to come back so I could check out his hands, too. Check. What they might be able to do to me together. Double check. Oh crap. Together?

  I was losing my mind.

  “Just say the word, Harper,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts. “I’m more than prepared to ditch the suit jacket, roll up my sleeves, and get dirty.”

  Get dirty. I grinned at that.

  He offered me a sly smile in return as his gaze roved over my body. “I mean, get my hands dirty.”

  Yeah, he so didn’t mean that.

  It wasn’t the suit jacket that I wanted off, but it was a good start. It seemed fair for me to see a little more of the fit, firm body that his business suit was molded to so well. It had been a long time since I’d been out on a date, and longer since I’d slept with anyone. And here was this guy. Blatantly flirting and I was into it. Most guys who came on this strong would have gotten the heel of my stiletto on the top of their foot by now. I wanted mine under the foot of his bed.

  Leo came back then, all quiet swagger. He took a similar stance to his friend, leaning against the opposite counter. His gaze met mine, held.

  He was definitely undressing me with his eyes, practically eye-fucking me from across the room, and I tried not to squirm. Where Dane seemed relaxed, Leo was intense, and as a man who looked like he hit things for a living, rightfully so.

  Eye-fucking could totally go both ways, and I looked my fill. When the corner of Leo’s mouth tipped up, I snapped out of it.

  “I’ve got it under control over here,” I said, wiping the corner of my own mouth with a fingertip. Was that drool? I cleared my throat, smiled with a lot more confidence. “Don’t let that stop you from ditching whatever clothes you want to in order to feel more relaxed. Well, within reason.”

  Leo’s eyebrow went up, obviously having missed the first part of the conversation.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing how you like to relax,” Leo commented.

  “Me, too,” Dane added.

  I met his eyes, saw the fire in them. The lust that filled them overpowered my senses, causing heat to build from deep in my core. I had to look away to avoid the urge to touch him, to skim my hands down his chest or wrap them around his
neck as he kissed me into oblivion.

  This was crazy. Insane. I should grab the platter of appetizers and use it like a shield, protecting myself from them. Though I doubted plate silver could protect me from the pheromones I was sure they exuded.

  I should take the trays out to the guests myself, put plenty of space between us. Cool off my thoughts...and my body. But no. I wanted the banter. The innuendo. I wanted him. Them.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because they were so flipping hot or because it had been too long.

  “I can tell a lot about you,” Dane added, which made me more than a little curious.

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “You’re the kind of girl who plays as hard as you work. Like Leo here.”

  Dane angled his head to his friend, who offered him a smile and a mock salute in return.

  “Just keeping you alive.”

  Dane ignored him and continued. “The kind who works hard but isn’t afraid to get a little dirty.”

  “Really? And what makes you think that?” When had my voice turned all breathy?

  Still leaning against the counter, he turned his whole body to face me. His hand slowly reached up, and I held my breath when he cupped my cheek in the warmth of his palm. It was a bold move, touching me like that. But then again. I didn’t pull away.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  My two servers walked in with four empty trays between them, ending the moment. Dane didn’t move or pull away on their arrival, but I was the one who needed to be the professional, not him. Taking a step back and still feeling the heat of his hand on my cheek, I grabbed the newly stocked food trays and walked between the two of them to hand them off. It only made me realize how big they were, even with me in my crazy heels.

  My shoes weren’t the only things crazy. This was crazy. I was crazy. I was working. Working! Being caught like this was probably a godsend. It reminded me that I wasn’t here to let loose. I was on the clock, not just for this party, but for the lineup of events with this influential client. I needed every dollar of his business to get by.

  I couldn’t flirt with the guests, no matter how attractive they were. No matter how much my body wanted them. Fun could wait.

  Work came first. Always. As the swinging door closed behind the servers, I took a deep breath, steeled myself against their charm. I turned and pulled up my professional facade once again. “I’m really sorry, Sir.” I looked from Dane and then at Leo. “The kitchen is off limits to guests, and I’m sure you don’t want me to get in trouble with my client. If you wouldn’t mind, the great room is through that door.” I raised my arm in the direction the servers had taken. “It’s lovely by the pool tonight. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

  Dane opened his mouth to say something just as Mrs. O'Sullivan, the hostess of the party and my client, popped her well-coiffed head through the door I’d just indicated.

  “Everyone loves the shrimp, dear. Please bring more.”

  “Coming right up, Mrs. O'Sullivan,” I chirped, offering her my pleasant, I’ve got this smile.

  Dane pushed off the counter, slipping one hand into his pocket after my client disappeared. “You’re right. Work comes first. We’ll let you get back to it, but don’t be surprised if Leo or I come looking for you later on. With all this work, you’ll need to unwind, and we’re just the guys to help with that.”

  Leo winked at me in silent agreement to his friend’s words.

  I barely reacted to what he said. On the outside, anyway. Inside, I was itching to find out what he meant.

  Three

  LEO

  When Dane told me he had to go to an engagement party, I’d slapped him on the shoulder and told him to have fun. Without me. But when he’d said it was being hosted by the O'Sullivans of Long Island, I shut that shit down. I knew of the O'Sullivans. Who didn’t, besides Dane?

  No one.

  That was because the O'Sullivans were connected. Like seriously connected where a meeting with the head of the family, Mr. Shamus O'Sullivan himself, was often a one-way trip. Word on the street was that he shot people full of lead and asked questions after. That didn’t sit well with me, especially when Dane was walking right through their front door.

  An engagement party was civilized and shit, but Shamus O'Sullivan wasn’t the least bit civilized. You could put lipstick on a fucking pig and all that. It was still a pig. And this engagement party might be a happy occasion for his twenty-something son and his fiancée, but with the amount of heat the men in the house were packing, it was just a front.

  Sure, Mrs. O'Sullivan probably wore the pants in the relationship at events like this, but Shamus wouldn’t change. Shit was going down. No doubt about it. Deals being made, hits planned, all over a bunch of food you had to eat with your fingers, pinky up.

  There was no fucking way I was letting Dane walk into that alone. It didn’t matter if his connection was loose—a client’s daughter was marrying the crime boss’s son—but if we were going through the front door, he’d been vetted. Since my job was to protect his ass, I’d put on a fucking suit and damned tie.

  Eat one tiny bite at a time.

  The minute we arrived, I could feel eyes on us. If shit was going to happen, I wanted a way out. And while Dane bitched about me being overly cautious, he could just fucking deal. I wasn’t going to bed with concrete shoes tonight and neither was he. Not on my watch. And so I followed my usual routine, identified any dangers, found the exits, and as I’d told him, a discreet safe exit all while a string quartet subtly played.

  It had been all business until we saw her.

  Fuck.

  Her.

  Harper.

  The caterer with the sky-high heels and a body a man would drop to his knees to worship. Or worship from his knees, with her dress up about her waist as he tugged down some lacy panties and learned her taste.

  Made her come.

  I was good at reading people at a quick glance. Not only was she hot as fuck, but she was wound up fucking tight. She hid it well, obviously stressed from the work, but had it under control. I’d tasted the food. Good stuff. The guests seemed to like it, too, and appeared to be having a good time. No one knew of any issues she was having. That was the sign of a good caterer. Hell, any kind of business owner in the service industry. I’d humped enough dirty dishes as a busboy in high school to know the deal.

  But when Dane had started chatting her up, she’d kept that wall up. Pretended with us. But I knew my friend, and he planned to break that wall down, and he’d all but forced me to find the damned safe exit while he did so. It was the first time ever I didn’t give a fuck about an escape plan.

  But he’d thawed her out some by the time I returned. Even said some shit that would have had some women tossing a drink in his face, or worse, kneeing him in the balls.

  Not Harper. She was into it. Into us. So I’d joined in on the fun. While it lasted. No sooner had Mrs. O'Sullivan stuck her head through the door did Harper return to all business. Calling Dane ‘Sir’ and speaking like a greeter at church.

  Yeah, she needed to get laid, get a few orgasms behind her to soften her up a bit. This might be her job, but she’d be off the clock soon enough.

  As we returned to the mansion’s great room to mingle and chat with rich fuckers with Napoleon complexes, it was the first time I was content to do so. We’d wait for Harper to finish her work. And when she was done, she’d be ours.

  She wanted it. We just had to close the deal.

  Two boring as fuck hours later, I was positive my tie was slowly strangling me. I had no idea how Dane did it, wearing a monkey suit every day. Me? I was more comfortable in a pair of board shorts and bare feet, hands taped and mouth guard in. My office was the ring, or it had been until Dane needed security.

  And that was why I circled the lower level of the house once more as Dane chatted with the mother of the groom and a few other matronly women whose names I couldn’t remember. Everyone was looser from the free-flowing wine an
d liquor. The only danger he was in from that group was an overeager matchmaker. I’d seen Harper twice since we’d left her in the kitchen, one time circulating a tray of mini quiches—Dane told me what they were—and the second time collecting empty glasses.

  Maybe she felt me undressing her with my gaze, but she’d glanced across the room and stared. Not long enough for anyone else to notice, but I had. She offered a small smile before turning away, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. A pink I guessed was the same color as her nipples. While she may have been dismissing me, at least for show, it only gave me a stunning view of her pert ass and killer legs. What was it about that woman in heels? I just wanted to walk her toward the nearest horizontal surface, bend her over it and fuck her in those ruthless stilts.

  We’d take her, but not here. What I planned on doing with her required at a minimum privacy and potentially my tie, some lube and a butt plug. I groaned. It was downright impossible to be a good bodyguard with a fucking hard-on. Fortunately, I’d been able to stand by the bar, cock hidden so as not to shock any of the old biddies or piss off their mob husbands. When Dane wanted to go and Harper finished, we’d be escorting her out that safe exit off the kitchen. Not into her catering van, but into Dane’s SUV.

  My balls ached to fuck, the perfect reminder that it was time to leave. I swept the study, the front hallway, the formal dining room and entered the kitchen. The now-familiar servers were there, stowing clean glasses into plastic crates.

  No Harper. I went down the hallway to the back door, peeked outside. I glimpsed the catering van lit by the exterior lights, but our girl wasn’t out there. Back in the kitchen, I pinned down one of the servers. “Where’s your boss?” I asked.

  She was in her twenties, cute, clean cut. Pretty, but I was only interested in Harper. This girl was probably in college studying engineering or English literature and needed some extra cash. She fit in well with this crowd with her sleek and simple ponytail and pearl earrings, at least with the ones not wearing shoulder holsters and ankle sheaths.