21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (17 page)

And he could sample them all.

She seemed to lose some inner struggle and laughed. It was a gorgeous sound. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk about food this way before.”

“Too many people treat food like fuel. Firing up to rush from one place to the next. I get it. I’ve been there. But I can enjoy it now. Would you allow me to show you how?”

She smothered her laughter and the hint of color in her cheeks flared again. He liked keeping her off balance. He nodded to the plate. “Choose the pumpkin bread and try that with the cheese.”

He wanted to make the selection and offer it to her himself, but he was still playing the role of waiter. She hesitated, but reached for the pumpkin bread square and lifted it to her mouth. Anticipation curled in his stomach as her lips parted.

“Close your eyes, take a small breath through your nose. Let the smoky combination tease your palate and then taste with your tongue.” He wanted to follow the path of that bread and kiss her with the flavor warm on her lips, but he forced himself to remain still.

A hint of rebellion slipped through her gaze, followed by the barest sensation of impatience. Impatience for him or impatience for herself, he wasn’t sure, but her lashes fluttered down and her nostrils flared. She slid the bite into her mouth.

She was still for several seconds before gliding her lips against each other as though savoring the flavors and a mild ecstasy rippled across her expression.

Her eyes popped open, surprise and delight filling them. She pressed two fingers to her mouth. “Wow.”

“Indeed. Now sample the wine, a careful sip, just enough to let it swirl through the flavors already on your tongue.” How he envied the wine as the crystal touched her lips and she took a small drink. The color in her cheeks deepened, flushing to a healthier pink that heightened the sparkle in her eyes.

“Good?”

“Amazing.” She held the glass away, looking at it with wonder and then inspected the plate with a curiosity that filled his soul to satisfaction. “They’re all different.”

“Of course. Each one has a different story, a different experience waiting for you to discover.” He stood slowly, reluctant to continue the game and disappointment flashed across her face.

“I should probably wait for my dinner date.” A forlorn note creased the words. “I thought he would be here by now.”

“Then it is his loss for being late. But you have another course coming and we can easily prepare him anything he wishes. Don’t let his absence rob you of this opportunity.” He promised to kick the crap out of himself later if this backfired, but the air of loneliness around the woman diminished. She’d thought he was the waiter and he’d intended just a little bit of fun, but watching her rapture over the food, the careful way her teeth grazed her lips, and how she savored the wine were doing wild things to his cock.

He wasn’t sure she’d allow such abandon with her
date
.

She set the wine glass down with determination. “You know, you’re right and I am now very curious about the rest of this cheese.”

“That’s my girl.” He grinned. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

***

The sucking black hole of loneliness enveloped her with his absence. It was odd how delightful the restaurant sounded, the musical notes straining through the hum of the crowd, the swish of the doors, the clink, clank of the plates and the bursts of explosive laughter. The symphony descended into cacophony when her “waiter” vanished back into the kitchens. Helena sighed, swirling the burgundy—grenache—around in the glass. He’d brought her the burgundy, the wine for the hungry soul.
How did he describe it
?
Burgundy wine drinkers are hungry for something they’ve never had before
?

She sampled more, letting the wine flow around her tongue. It was spicy and fruity and gentle, all the things Damon described.

And the seat opposite her was still empty. Because she was hungry for something she’d never had before. She was hungry for a real connection, something both physical and intimate, but without the tangle of strings or the dating dance which was near impossible to meet on her schedule—and had been for more than a decade if she was honest with herself. Sometime between graduating high school at sixteen and entering college on an accelerated program that earned her a bachelor’s degree before she was nineteen, she’d forgotten how to have fun. If she wasn’t studying, she was working, if she wasn’t working she was sleeping, and then only in small increments. She was thirty years old and she had just received the offer to become a full partner in her law firm.

She should be out celebrating with friends, except her closet friend preferred his meals served on a plate in the kitchen and then to snuggle on her law briefs while she tried to review them.

Of course, what do I know
?
I think my date is playing waiter tonight, and I’m not sure why. But it’s fun and a little naughty
.

She inspected the thin slice of nine grain with the Swiss layered over the top and a drizzle of honey for flavor. Her last date had been to junior prom, which somehow didn’t seem to count in the great, grand scheme of things. A wild burst of laughter from the crowd dragged her away from the melancholy.

Thankful for the distraction, she bit into the hors d’oeuvre. The flavors melded together, blindingly sweet, tart, with something as familiar and homey as the wheat. The bread’s texture was grainy compared to the utter smoothness and she chased bits around her mouth, sliding them against her teeth before swallowing.

She washed the mouthful down with wine and a flush of guilty pleasure. She wasn’t supposed to play with the food. A glance at her watch said it was nearly twenty to eight and her date was still a no show.

Pausing mid reach for her purse, she frowned. Damon had taken her cell phone. She couldn’t even check to see if Madame Eve sent her a note that something else had come up.

Impatience flashed through her and she scooped up another piece of cheese and bread. She’d have to double her time on the treadmill tomorrow to begin to make up for the calories she was indulging in. But hell, it was her birthday, she’d been stood up by the so-called perfect one-night stand and she’d rather devour the sweet cheese and fruity wine than all the self-pity in the world.

A shadow drifted across her plate and she glanced up, half-ready to give the latecomer a piece of her mind, but her
waiter’s
raised eyebrows stilled the acidic words. The corner of her mouth turned up and she set the wine glass down.

“I take it you didn’t like that piece.”

If she could bottle his accent and intonations, she could sample them every day. “No…I mean yes, it was fine. I don’t think I really tasted that one, I was too busy being a bitter old bat.”

With practiced ease, he slid away the trencher of cheese and bread and replaced it with a round plate featuring crisped greens and the most sinful piece of steak. Her stomach recovered from the doldrums faster than her smile. The scent of wine lingered in the air, along with traces of beef and a mouthwatering spice she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“First, we do not insult ladies in this establishment, so no more
bat
comments. Second, if you’re bitter and old, you must introduce me to ancient and decrepit.” The confident ease in his voice did more to stroke her ego than all the pretty compliments in the world. For a horrifying moment, tears touched the back of her eyes and she blinked them away.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” But instead of abandoning her to the next course, he set out her silverware and traded the black napkin for a red before squatting down, one hand braced on the back of the chair.

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

Mortification vied with attraction and she shook her head.
Do you want to confess to being my date now? Because at this point, if you’re not, I have a feeling my date is going to be dramatically disappointed. Or I am.

“No, I’m sure you have a lot of better things to do than listen to me moan and complain.”

“Actually, there’s nothing better I have to do than listen to your complaints, particularly if I can fix them. As for moaning, just give me time. I promise, I can’t wait.”

Shock and awe rolled through her, but she wasn’t sure which one was winning. It was one thing to flirt with the truly good-looking waiter, his lean build and well-muscled physique a testament to his fitness, but it was something else to think he was flirting with her.

God, do I have to be so rusty at this
?
Is he actually flirting or am I just looking for crumbs
?

“Seriously.” He laid a hand over the top of hers. “Tell me what’s wrong. I promise you, if I can fix it, I will.”

Her throat choked up and she blinked back the mortifying assault of tears burning her eyes. This was exactly why she’d needed a Madame Eve, because she could light her competition up in the court room, but she’d never figured out how to capture that sizzle outside of it. “I was supposed to be meeting someone tonight, but I was late and obviously they are too or they didn’t bother to show up. It’s my birthday. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for the last week. I hadn’t really thought I had been and then everything went kerfuffle in court, and the judge was a pain in the ass, and I couldn’t get out of there on time, and it looks like I’m spending my birthday eating this beautiful food alone. So pity party, table for one.” The words poured out like a wound lancing open, the pressure on her chest eased, and the cramps in her legs relaxed.

She glanced away from Damon. She was not going to turn into some hysterical female bawling all over him because she’d been stood up.

“It’s your birthday….” His words were slow, mesmerizing and drew her gaze back in spite of herself.

“Yes. The big 3-0. Happy birthday to me…I don’t suppose your boss would let you join me for the meal?” She had no idea where the sassy invitation came from, but once it slipped past her lips there was no taking it back.

“Even if he didn’t, there’s no place else I’d rather be.” He smiled slowly, almost hesitantly. “About your date….”

“No.” She cut him off by turning her hand over under his and indulging in the contact, no matter how brief. “I don’t want to talk about him. He’s not here. Let’s just leave that plot buried, shall we?”

He threaded his fingers with hers. She liked his hands, the fingers were tapered, strong and evenly callused. Whatever he did for a living, he used his hands and he used them well. She half-wondered what it would be like to have them touching her, but immediately shuttled that into the inappropriate and creepy bin. Poor guy was probably just being nice to the hysterical customer.

“I would love to join you for dinner.”

Surprise flared in her.
Seriously
?

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.” She tried to withdraw, but his grip subtly tightened.

“No trouble at all. In fact, I should have from the start. Now….” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and his sexy blue eyes locked on hers. “Give me three minutes and we’re going to have the best birthday dinner you’ve ever eaten. I promise.”

“Three minutes?”

“And not a minute longer.”

He released her, rose to his feet and scooped up the cheese plate in one smooth motion. With a wink, he pivoted and headed off to the kitchen.
Did he just confess to being my date
? Hope flared in her stomach. She didn’t like the indecision or the worry.
You know, to hell with it. Whether he’s my date or not, he’s joining me
. She saluted her new resolve with another mouthful of wine.

She really was hungry for something she’d never tried before….

But somehow she doubted that Damon was on
Lagniappe’s
elusive menu.

He snapped into the kitchen, moving double time, a man on a mission. “Mindy, trade stations with Jan. I want you working the tables closest to the private lounge. You’re going to take over bringing out the dishes. John-John has the orders and he’ll give them to you when they need to be delivered.”

“Um, okay.” The redhead arched both eyebrows. “I thought that was your table.”

“It is. Hit the privacy curtain, time to see if the money I spent on that was worth the investment. And switch over the tracks to Blue Star.”

“Jazz trio?”

“Yes.” He swung by John John’s station, eyes skimming the marinating steaks. “Thirty more minutes on those. Sweet potato soup first and get Demi to hollow out some of those sweet potato breads for bread bowls.”

“You said those were too sweet.” John John didn’t look up, but amusement littered his words.

“Pinch of salt and paprika on the soup should offset that. Send those out in fifteen. Steaks in forty-five.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Damon. I’ll be sending.” Despite the sardonic
Driving Miss Daisy
humor, the chef spared him a reproachful look. “It’s about time you sat down with that young lady and stopped playing games.”

“Not changing strategies.” Guilt punched him. Should have just ‘fessed up so she didn’t feel stood up. He didn’t realize it was her birthday. He was such an ass. But he could fix it. “Just moving up the time table.”

Salad plate in hand, he exited the kitchen. The crowd continued to ebb and flow. Captain Dexter’s table had added four more chairs and he caught the hand wave from Logan and the nod from Zach. It didn’t surprise him that his fellow Marines made a show of solidarity, but it did leave him with a satisfied glow. They never left a buddy behind and tonight was no exception.

The curtains were already rolling around the private lounge, the swish of heavy velvet a whisper against the tiled floors. He caught the fabric, letting himself in before it closed then drank in the sight of her parted lips, raised eyebrows and wary pleasure—he was going to have to do something about that wariness.

Setting his filet and salad on the spot next to hers, he shifted the table settings and pulled up a chair. He checked his watch—sitting right at the three-minute mark.