I'd layered the blue eyeshadow on like it had gone out of style in the eighties. I hadn't had time to do my hair so it still hung straight and wasn't a glorious frizzball like I'd wanted, but I thought I looked pretty good. For my purposes anyway.
The driver recovered and opened the door. "Ma'am," he said. "My name is Zachary. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you," I told him, and got in.
The car was even nicer on the inside than on the out, and the outside had been pretty damn sweet. Buttery leather seats caressed my thighs through my fishnets, and there was a tiny bar built into the seats in front of me. Look at me, it seemed to say. I'm classy and made of real wood.
"Is the bar free, or do I have to pay a surcharge?" I asked the driver as we pulled away from my apartment.
"Mr. Waters said you were welcome to anything you wish, ma'am." Unlike Katy and Arthur, Zachary seemed more standoffish, but that was probably my outfit talking. He was the soul of politeness otherwise, but I could practically feel him replaying the plot of Pretty Woman in his head and trying to figure out which scene he was in.
Well, I might as well give myself a little liquid courage. I popped open the bar and grabbed a bottle at random. Scotch. Of course.
Yuck.
Trying to act cool, I replaced itand looked out the window. "So where are we going?" I asked.
"To lunch, ma'am," Zachary said.
My mouth twisted. "Did Mr. Waters give you instructions not to tell me where exactly we'll be going for lunch?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," he said. "I've never spoken with Mr. Waters directly. But..." In the rear view mirror he looked faintly embarrassed. "I am supposed to, er, drive around a bit before dropping you off.”
He looked worried.
“Don't fret,” I told him. “I won't tattle.”
I settled back and watched the city glide by me, hoping to calm my jangling nerves, but I must have been more tired than I'd realized. The cumulative effect of the car's momentum and last night's ill-considered bender combined to send me into a doze. I was startled awake by the door opening.
“Hrble?” I said intelligently. I glanced around, disoriented.
“Here we are, ma'am,” the driver said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.
“Thank you,” I said. He helped me out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up. Story of my life.
To my surprise, I discovered that I had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.
Anton Waters was waiting for me just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still stopped me in my tracks.
Dammit. I'd forgotten just how arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.
“Miss Dare,” he said.
I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly, but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.
One large, warm hand caught me before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean, hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.
“Watch your step,” he said. Then, gently, he let me go.
I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I said.
He held out a hand. “Please. Let's be seated.”
I gripped my purse, holding the strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at him. He
The driver recovered and opened the door. "Ma'am," he said. "My name is Zachary. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you," I told him, and got in.
The car was even nicer on the inside than on the out, and the outside had been pretty damn sweet. Buttery leather seats caressed my thighs through my fishnets, and there was a tiny bar built into the seats in front of me. Look at me, it seemed to say. I'm classy and made of real wood.
"Is the bar free, or do I have to pay a surcharge?" I asked the driver as we pulled away from my apartment.
"Mr. Waters said you were welcome to anything you wish, ma'am." Unlike Katy and Arthur, Zachary seemed more standoffish, but that was probably my outfit talking. He was the soul of politeness otherwise, but I could practically feel him replaying the plot of Pretty Woman in his head and trying to figure out which scene he was in.
Well, I might as well give myself a little liquid courage. I popped open the bar and grabbed a bottle at random. Scotch. Of course.
Yuck.
Trying to act cool, I replaced itand looked out the window. "So where are we going?" I asked.
"To lunch, ma'am," Zachary said.
My mouth twisted. "Did Mr. Waters give you instructions not to tell me where exactly we'll be going for lunch?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," he said. "I've never spoken with Mr. Waters directly. But..." In the rear view mirror he looked faintly embarrassed. "I am supposed to, er, drive around a bit before dropping you off.”
He looked worried.
“Don't fret,” I told him. “I won't tattle.”
I settled back and watched the city glide by me, hoping to calm my jangling nerves, but I must have been more tired than I'd realized. The cumulative effect of the car's momentum and last night's ill-considered bender combined to send me into a doze. I was startled awake by the door opening.
“Hrble?” I said intelligently. I glanced around, disoriented.
“Here we are, ma'am,” the driver said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.
“Thank you,” I said. He helped me out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up. Story of my life.
To my surprise, I discovered that I had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.
Anton Waters was waiting for me just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still stopped me in my tracks.
Dammit. I'd forgotten just how arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.
“Miss Dare,” he said.
I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly, but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.
One large, warm hand caught me before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean, hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.
“Watch your step,” he said. Then, gently, he let me go.
I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I said.
He held out a hand. “Please. Let's be seated.”
I gripped my purse, holding the strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at him. He
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