Fortune's Just Desserts (11 page)

Wendy frowned as she watched them leave the main dining area. The busboy, Antonio, arrived and
swiftly began to clean up the mess. He'd brought a new tablecloth to take the place of the wet one. Wendy moved to help Antonio set up a fresh table. “What could Marcos possibly see in her?” she wanted to know.

Amused, the busboy looked from the departing couple to Wendy. “I really don't think it's her mind he's interested in.”

Wendy's frown deepened. “Yes, I know,” she answered darkly.

“For what it's worth, I think you're a lot prettier, Wendy,” the teenager told her. “If I was Mr. Mendoza and you were around, I wouldn't look at anyone else.”

Wendy smiled at him. “You're very sweet.” Too bad Marcos didn't think that way, she silently lamented. Bodily attraction notwithstanding, what could the man possibly see in that dreadful Leila woman? “Thank you.”

Finishing up, she reminded herself that she still had tables to wait on. Time to stop speculating about Marcos's love life and get on with her own.

Turning, she saw one of her customers raise his hand and beckon her over.

As she approached him, she didn't have to paste a smile on her lips. Contemplating Leila and her new, wet-chicken look, Wendy was already smiling. Broadly.

This despite the fact that she was fairly certain that when Marcos returned he would read her the riot act,
and he'd be within his right to do so. It hadn't been an accident on her part. She'd dropped the fork on the floor to begin with. She'd needed an excuse to trip the way she had.

And although the pratfall was guaranteed to get her in trouble, Wendy couldn't help thinking that it was damn well worth it.

Someone so self-centered and high-and-mighty as Marcos Mendoza's date deserved to be taken down a few pegs.

H
e wasn't back yet.

Wendy glanced down at her watch. It was eleven-fifteen. The last of the diners had settled their checks and trickled out of the restaurant.

Marcos still hadn't returned. In all likelihood, despite telling her he'd talk to her when he got back, Marcos wasn't returning. At least, not tonight.

She couldn't help wondering if he'd put the incident in its proper perspective and had just decided to forget about it.

It was either that or, when he'd taken his fuming date home, she'd immediately peeled out of her wet clothing and he'd decided that what Leila had to offer
was a lot more appealing than returning to Red and reading her the riot act.

Either way, she thought, apparently she was off the hook. At least for tonight.

Why she didn't at least feel a temporary relief about the situation was something she just wasn't going to think about right now.

If Marcos was happy fraternizing with airheads and women whose bra sizes were larger than their IQs, well then, that was his problem. Thank God her own tastes were not that shallow.

The main dining area and the patio around the fountain were eerily quiet at this hour. Cleanup had been even faster and more efficient than usual. One by one, the kitchen staff had left for the night.

Enrique, as was his custom, remained until the very end. He liked preparing a rough draft of the next day's menu after seeing what remained on hand after the doors were officially closed. Finishing his list of orders to the various suppliers—ready for placement first thing in the morning—he left it on Marcos's desk and walked out.

As he crossed into the main dining area, he saw Wendy at the bar, slowly polishing the glossy surface.

Enrique paused. “Do you need a ride home?”

Preoccupied, she'd been rubbing the same spot on the bar for more than ten minutes now. At the sound of his voice, Wendy looked up at him blankly.

“I'm sorry, what?”

He nodded at the bar. “You look as if you are killing time. I am assuming that you are waiting for someone to pick you up, so I'm offering you a ride in their place,” he explained. “It's been a long day.”

Yes, it sure has been.

She demurred, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I'm not waiting for anyone. I have my car,” she added.

“Then you are just interested in seeing how long it will take to rub a hole into the counter?” he guessed, amused.

Wendy looked down at the bar, then self-consciously stopped polishing, leaving the cloth where she'd found it. She might as well tell Enrique. Chances were the man already knew. He had a way of knowing everything that was going on at Red anyway.

“No. Marcos told me to stay put. That he'd talk to me when he got back.” She shrugged a shoulder. “But I guess he forgot.”

At that moment, they heard the restaurant's outer door open and then closing again. Loudly.

Enrique exchanged looks with Wendy. “That is either the loudest burglar that God ever made, or it's Marcos, returning.”

At that moment, as she listened to the front door slam shut, she wasn't entirely sure which option she was rooting for, Marcos or a burglar. All she knew was that her stomach was suddenly tightening like a wet piece of leather left out in the hot sun.

The lights in the kitchen were off. Heading to the
only place where there was still a light on, Marcos marched into the dining room.

One quick scan of the area told him that there were only two occupants left on the premises. Which made one too many.

He crossed to them. “Good night, Enrique,” Marcos said tersely.

Aware of what had happened earlier—everyone who worked at Red knew about the unscheduled “bath” Marcos's date had taken—Enrique assessed the situation before him quickly. And chose a side.

The chef looked at Wendy. “Do you want me to stay?”

Her eyes never left Marcos. The uneasiness she'd felt anticipating his return faded even as her chin went up. If the man was spoiling for a fight, she was not about to disappoint him by backing off and cowering. That wasn't the kind of stuff she was made of.

And she didn't need anyone acting as a shield or a go-between. If nothing else, these last few months she'd learned how to fight her own battles.

“No. I'll be fine,” she assured him, then added, her mouth softening just for a moment, “but thanks for offering.”

He gave her a slight, courtly bow. “Don't mention it.”

“
Good night,
Enrique,” Marcos repeated, his voice sounding more forceful this time.

“Make it short,” Enrique advised Marcos as he
passed the restaurant manager. “I need my dessert chef back in the kitchen and fresh in the morning.”

“We'll see,” was the only answer Marcos trusted himself to give the man in reply.

Wendy stood there, waiting for the tirade to be gin—or the ax to fall. Either way, she wasn't about to take it quietly.

But Enrique's footfalls were the only sound heard for several beats, until they finally faded away and the outer door closed for a second time in less than five minutes.

They were alone.

“I didn't think you were coming back,” Wendy finally said, unable to put up with the charged silence any longer. When he still said nothing, she couldn't resist asking, “Your ‘lady friend' all nice and dry?”

His expression darkened. He'd said this a dozen ways in his head on his way back here tonight. He'd deliberately waited for Red to close, hoping he would calm down. One look at her and all those well-laid plans had evaporated.

“No thanks to you,” he bit off.

This was like waiting for an explosion to go off, she thought. And if Marcos Mendoza thought he was going to intimidate her, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

Wendy spread her hands wide in a gesture of innocence. “I tripped. It was an accident.”

He didn't believe that for a minute. He'd observed
her these last few weeks. She wasn't the clumsy type. “Was it?”

Her chin went up again. He was eager for a confrontation, she could feel it in her bones. Well, he was in luck because she wasn't going to back down. “Are you suggesting I did it on purpose?”

His eyes all but pinned her to the wall. “Did you?”

Wendy instantly went on the defensive. “Why would I?” she demanded.

“Leila thinks you did it because you're jealous of her.” To be honest, the woman had harped on that point all the way home. It was the reason he had given up trying to calm her down and finally just left.

“She thinks?” Wendy asked, deliberately feigning surprise. “I didn't realize she was that accomplished.”

Marcos watched her expression carefully as he asked, “Then you're not jealous?”

“If I was jealous,” she told him between clenched teeth, “it would be of someone who was worthy of the emotion.”

He seemed to look right through her before he finally asked, “Are you referring to her or me?”

There was lightning in her eyes. He'd never seen brown eyes flash like that before.

“You figure it out,” she told him with a toss of her head.

The woman aroused such a wide variety of emo
tions within him, it was hard for Marcos to keep from unleashing them.

Hell, for two cents—

Fisting his hands at his sides to keep from grabbing Wendy and yanking her closer to him, he threw out a challenge to her.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you on the spot—other than my aunt and uncle backing your hiring,” he qualified.

The coda he added just made her angrier. As if she would actually choose to hide behind something like that. She didn't need to use the couple as a shield. She could stand up for herself—and she did.

Going toe-to-toe with him, she declared, “Because I'm good, and you know it.”

The woman thought a hell of a lot of herself. “Anyone can throw desserts together.”

She
knew
he didn't believe that. “Not the kind I make.” Her eyes narrowed. She'd had enough of this exchange. She didn't need this sort of verbal abuse. And she didn't need
him.
“You want to fire me for getting your flavor of the night wet? Fine. Fire me. Better yet, I quit!” she announced loudly, even though he was standing right in front of her.

Spinning on her heel, she pulled the apron from her waist and tossed it on the floor as she stormed away from Marcos. She'd taken exactly three long steps when she suddenly felt him grab her arm.

The next second he was swinging her around to face him again.
Really
face him.

But the protest on her lips was swallowed up when she found his mouth on hers.

Anger melted into pure heat and even though she'd started to shove Marcos back, she found herself threading her arms around his neck instead. The next moment she was diving head first into the kiss, her heart beating wildly. Ecstatically.

Marcos hadn't a clue as to what he was going to do until he was doing it.

This woman with the smart mouth got him so damn angry that he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her. Just talking to her, trying to reason with her, had his blood boiling and pumping madly through every single vein in his body.

The smartest thing he could have done—for himself, if not the restaurant—was to let Wendy Fortune walk out that door and out of his life. Permanently.

But the problem was, he didn't want her to leave.

Damn it, she got him so angry, so charged up, he couldn't think straight. Couldn't really think at all—except that he wanted her.

Wanted her more than he wanted order in his life.

The second his mouth touched hers, it was as if everything inside of him suddenly came out of the shadows and moved into the sunlight. Moved into the sunlight, absorbed it and wanted more. Wanted to be in the light,
her
light, forever.

She tasted sweeter than any of the incredible
desserts she'd been so cleverly creating. And this was the kind of confection that he couldn't see himself living without.

His heart continued to race faster and faster, making him feverish and light-headed.

The more he kissed her, the more he wanted to kiss her. The more he
did
kiss her.

Until the urges within him demanded more. Demanded that things be taken to the next plateau.

This was why he had gone back to immersing himself in an endless stream of women. He was desperately trying to deny what he knew in his heart was true: that he was so attracted to Wendy he couldn't even breathe right.

Oh, damn, oh, damn, oh, damn,
Wendy thought as everything inside of her scrambled to drink in what was happening. Scrambled to get more before something happened—like the last time—to cut her off.

This kiss was even more potent than the one the other morning.

She didn't know what time it was, what day it was, nothing. All she knew was that the core of her being was throbbing, wanting him, wanting to be made love to. Wanting to be joined together with this man.

Wendy had absolutely no idea where any of this would lead, and right now she didn't care. She'd never,
ever
wanted anything as much as she wanted Marcos right at this moment. She had no idea if they were good for each other, didn't care about a list of
pros and cons. The white heat of desire within her just begged to be quenched.

Pressing her body closer and closer to him, she ran her hands along his face, threading her fingers through his hair. She caught her breath as she felt his hands running along her body, molding her to him.

Her heart leaped up in expectation. Any moment now—

And then, suddenly, he was pushing her back, away from him, as firmly as he'd been drawing her to him only a moment ago.

Confused, dazed, Wendy blinked, feeling as if she'd just fallen through the rabbit hole into a completely foreign land. A place where the only language spoken was completely unfamiliar.

For a second, Wendy thought she heard Marcos say something to her like, “I'm sorry,” but that couldn't be right.

When he repeated it again, with more feeling and volume, she was forced to admit that she'd heard him correctly the first time.

“Sorry?” she echoed. “You're sorry? Sorry about what?”

Dropping his hands, he moved back from her, knowing that if he continued standing so close to her, he'd weaken and do exactly what he
couldn't
do.

“I shouldn't have done that,” Marcos apologized quietly.

“Why?” she demanded, hot tears of exasperation
and anger gathering in her throat. “It's the first thing today you
have
done right.”

Frustration had put the words into her mouth as well as the sentiment that was behind them.

Damn it, Marcos couldn't be pulling back.

Could he?

Was this a just a game to him? A game to see how far he could push her, then reel her back in? She wasn't some toy he could entertain himself with.
Why
was he doing this?

Exasperation tormented him. Marcos didn't understand how he could have allowed things to spiral out of control like this. He
knew
better, knew that he couldn't just allow himself to act on feelings, on stimuli.

He had more self-control than that—or
had
until Wendy had come into the picture. What
was
it about this woman that made him behave like this? Like a man who wasn't thinking clearly?

Clearly? he silently jeered. Hell, he wasn't thinking at all.

Marcos found himself holding her by the shoulders again. Not to hold
her
at bay, but rather himself.

Taking a breath, he tried to make her understand what he couldn't quite comprehend himself.

“We work together,” he began, selecting his words carefully.