Snowy Mountain Nights (12 page)

She took them to a table in a far corner of the restaurant already set for two with wineglasses and tableware. A sprinkling of dark red rose petals lay on the white tablecloth, surrounding a trio of unlit votive candles.

Vivian took a lighter from her pocket and put a quick flame to the candles. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you.”

Once Vivian left, Garrison pulled out Reyna's chair for her before claiming his own.

“This place is beautiful. Is this where you take all your women friends?” So much for not showing her jealousy.

The corner of Garrison's mouth lifted. He was laughing at her. “My mother has had dinner here with me. Also a friend or two. Otherwise, it's just my place to relax and get away from it all.”

He did seem relaxed, despite the incredibly sexy suit that fit his body as if it was tailor-made, which it probably was. She could easily imagine him in an office, cloistered away from the rest of the world while he delved into the seedy underbelly of dissolved marriages, bitter separations and love gone wrong. Reyna took a deep breath to dismiss that thought from her mind. It wouldn't serve either of them very well.

A waitress came to their table. Small and quick, she was absolutely professional, treating them well but without the intimacy that Vivian had shown. She left them with glasses of water, Perrier for him and tap for her, and went to put in their order.

The restaurant was a fusion of African-American, West African and Caribbean cuisine. On the menu, fou fou and collard greens sat next to oxtails and stewed chicken. Fried chicken and waffles were served as a main course, with fried plantains as appetizers. The scent of Jollof rice and peanut soup wove like incense through the air.

“So.” The wooden chair squeaked faintly as Garrison leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “What's on your mind so heavily today?”

The sleeve of his jacket slid down to reveal platinum cuff links. The letter
G
. Reyna's eyes dropped to his thick wrist, unable to look away from them and his long hands, the veins raised and prominent. What did a lawyer like him do to get hands like that? She swallowed and forced herself to look away.

She'd always had a thing for veins. And with him it wasn't just his veins. She remembered every inch of him revealed in the firelight that night as he'd touched her and brought her to the very heights of pleasure. Every inch of him was perfection.

She sat back in her own chair, deliberately keeping her eyes off his hands. She cleared her throat. “I don't need a sugar daddy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Where's that coming from?”

“I got a call from Kellerman-Stark on Thursday. They offered me a job, even though I hadn't applied.” Faint traces of the anger she'd felt during that phone call snaked through her. “You can't buy me with a job, Garrison.”

“That's far from what I was trying to do.”

“Then what were you thinking? You don't know anything about my work. You've never seen my portfolio. For all you know, I can only draw stick figures and smiley faces.” She tightened her jaw. “I resent you trying to manage my life like that, especially since we only spent one night together.”

Across the table, his face grew tight. “What if I told you I want more than one night with you in my bed?”

She blushed, the thoughts exploding in her mind faster than she could control them. Him, naked in bed. Her, naked with him. His kisses. His slim hips pressing down into hers. “No.”

“No?”

“Don't try to sidetrack me. I'm pissed that you're trying to handle my life. That's what I want to talk about, not how good things are between us in bed.”

“Ah, so you
do
want to revisit what we shared in the mountains.”

“I...” She pressed her lips together, censoring herself. “I enjoyed the time we spent together at Halcyon, but I was frankly surprised that you called.”

He clasped his hands and watched her with the intensity of a hawk. “Wasn't the good time we had enough of a reason?”

“No. Good sex is as common as air—”

“Not in my experience,” he muttered.

Not in hers, either, but she was trying to make a point. “Don't,” she said. “Just don't.” At his mock-innocent look, she drew a frustrated breath. “Don't dismiss what I'm trying to tell you like it doesn't matter.”

“It does matter, Reyna. That's why I'm apologizing. I didn't mean to make it seem like I was willing to trade a job for more amazing sex with you. I'll take away all the jobs in the world if you'd just come home with me again.” His mouth tilted up, but his eyes were completely serious.

Something fluttered in her belly, but she didn't relent. “It doesn't work like that.”

“Reyna.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a soul-deep caress. She shivered in reaction and clenched her back teeth against the pleasure of it. Garrison unclasped his hands to tap a forefinger very lightly on the table. “I enjoy your company. Very much. Please forgive me if I've seemed dismissive or like I wanted to buy you. It's not either of those things.”

His tap against the table brought her eyes back to his hands. Reyna swallowed and forced her gaze back to his. Another bad idea. His gaze was a warm trap, the long-lashed brown eyes watching her with interest, admiration and more than a little desire.

“If this will convince you, I'll keep all the jobs to myself. I'll even stop begging you to sleep with me.”

Don't be so hasty.
But she clenched her teeth before those words could escape. “So what does that leave us with?”

“Each other's company,” he said. “And a beautiful night to enjoy it.”

“Garrison, I'm serious about this.”

“I know.”

Just then the waitress arrived at their table, her large silver tray heavy with the dishes they had ordered.

“Perfect timing.” Garrison adjusted the glasses on the table to give her room to put the food.

He thanked the waitress with a truly pleased smile. “This looks delicious.”

“Enjoy,” she said. “And let me know if you need anything else.” Then she turned and left them to their meal.

Before Reyna could say anything, Garrison held up a hand. His platinum cuff links flashed in the candlelight. “Truce. I don't want anything to spoil this beautiful meal. Okay?”

She had to agree. “Okay.”

The food was beautifully tempting and ready to eat. Vegetable stew with Jollof rice. Chicken roti. Peanut butter and fish soup. Fried ripe plantains. Reyna spread her napkin over her lap and turned to the business of enjoying their meal.

She and Garrison ate and spoke of other things. His mother, who loved her life in Tampa. Her parents, who still lived in their first house in Trenton. Her job at the tattoo parlor.

“What would you do if I walked in and asked you for a tattoo?”

Reyna laughed, surprised. “I'd ask if you were in the right place.”

The question had her eyes moving irresistibly over him. His flesh was smooth, brown and hard everywhere. Unmarked. It would be a shame to touch ink to it and spoil his perfection. She told him as much.

“But your tattoo is beautiful,” he said with a smoldering look at her, as if he could see beneath the fabric of her dress to the skin he spoke so lovingly of. “It adds to the symmetry and beauty of your body. It gives me an excuse to kiss every inch of your arm, shoulder and back.”

He had done just that in the dark hours of the night when they lay in his bed. With satisfaction lying low and sweet in her belly, she had felt him press delicate kisses over every part of her tattoo, down to her wrist and her fingers, then back up again. She blushed at the memory of it.

The candlelight flickering between them on the table reminded her of the cabin at Halcyon, the way the light moved over his hands, over his face.

“Thank you,” she said in response to his compliment, her skin warming with a blush.

The faintest of smiles drifted over his lips. “You're a beautiful woman, and I'm privileged to get this second chance to know you.”

He sounded so sincere, so gentlemanly, that all she could do was nod her head to accept his compliment. Again. The restaurant was filling up, the diners who'd been there before they arrived leaving to make room for the night owls.

As she shared the last of her fried plantains with Garrison and told him about her parents' love story, she became vaguely aware of a low-key buzz in the restaurant, the other diners turning from their meal to face the door. She frowned at Garrison, getting ready to ask what was going on, but his attention was completely focused on her. She stumbled into his intent gaze, the words falling back from her lips.

“Finish what you were saying,” he said. “I'm listening.”

His voice rumbled low and deep, sending a sensual thrill through her body. She forgot what she was talking about. The plantains were sweet on her tongue, her lips slick from the light oil they had been fried in. But despite every reservation she had about Garrison, it was his taste she wanted in her mouth, his essence wetting her lips. She drew a ragged breath.

This was ridiculous. Why couldn't she keep a single coherent thought in her head? It was different, she decided, being with him in the mountains, hating him, then making love with him. It all seemed like such an anomaly, something outside her normal life and experience. Something she could safely indulge in without repercussions. But now, with him in her city, at a restaurant near her apartment, things didn't seem so safe anymore.

“Garrison Richards?”

She blinked when he tore his eyes away from hers to glance at the person who had just spoken. Reyna blinked in surprise. It was her ex-husband.

Ian looked the same as when she had seen him last time on the television screen, his white teeth bared in a polished grin, hair freshly cut and perfectly accentuating his chiseled face. Handsome. With the money he'd made from his successful TV show, he dressed well in a pair of thousand-dollar jeans, what seemed like an equally expensive shirt and a dark blazer. His terra-cotta skin glowed as if he had just come from the spa.

Ian stood near their table staring at Garrison then at her, at the flickering candlelight between them, the nearly empty wineglasses. She could see him assessing the facts of what was before him.

Reyna nodded once to acknowledge Ian then took a sip of her wine and looked away. From the corner of her eye, she saw the flex of muscle in his jaw. He hated to be ignored, but she didn't have anything to say to him. And she couldn't imagine that he had anything to say to her.

Garrison stood up, and the two men shook hands. Vivian waited just ahead of Ian and the party of four—two women and two men—with him. Like him, the men were good-looking, square-jawed types, while the two women were both extraordinarily beautiful. Each held on to one of Ian's arms, even when he had reached over to shake Garrison's hand.

“I didn't know my ex-wife was looking for advice on another divorce so soon,” Ian said.

Reyna carefully put her wineglass on the table and went back to her meal, waiting for him to leave. Still standing, Garrison put one hand in his pocket and the other on the table. “She's still single and unencumbered, as far as I know,” he said.

“Ah,” Ian said, as if just understanding what was going on between his ex-wife and ex-lawyer. “You're screwing her.”

Reyna never understood why someone so convincing behind the camera was as transparent as glass in real life.

“That's not a very polite thing to say.” Garrison's voice dropped its cordial tone and became tempered steel.

“Polite?” Ian said with a sneer anyone close by could hear. “What's not
polite
is going through your list of former clients' ex-wives to find your next date.”

Reyna drew in a swift breath. The plantain she'd put in her mouth abruptly lost all its flavor.

“Your table is ready, Mr. Barbieri.” Vivian drifted toward Ian, looking uncomfortable. With subtle gestures, she was trying to get his party to their table and out of the way. Already, Ian's presence in the restaurant made nearly everyone starstruck. Now he was making another kind of scene.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” Garrison growled the question, the palm he'd rested on the table now tightened into a fist.

Reyna could feel the coiled energy in him, the unfamiliar anger. She wiped her hands on her napkin and glanced at her ex-husband, keeping her voice intentionally mild. “I think it's time you went on your way, Ian. Your lady friends look hungry.”

Ian grinned as if he had scored high points in a game. “Don't think you're special, Reynie. He likes them nice and used. You should check out the other ones he's been with. It's all on the internet for you to find.”

Reyna winced. She always hated it when Ian called her that, and he knew it.

“Leave now before I make you walk away, Barbieri.” Garrison's voice rumbled in a dangerous register.

Nervousness flared briefly in Ian's face, then he looked around him, apparently feeling safe that he was in a crowded restaurant with witnesses and maybe even friends who could back him up. “See you around, Richards. I'm sure it'll be with another used-up ex-wife.”

Garrison growled low in his throat, surging toward Ian. Reyna gasped and jumped between them just in time. Around her, she heard the gasps of other patrons, the rushing conversation as more and more people wondered out loud what was going on. Camera phones pointed at them. She grabbed Garrison's arm and pressed herself against him, showing Ian her back. “Don't. He's not worth it.”

“Yes, Richards. It's not worth the lawsuit.” Then Ian turned and walked away, following Vivian to a table on the other side of the restaurant.

Reyna could feel the anger vibrating just beneath Garrison's skin. He rarely smiled, rarely laughed. This temper, too, was rare. She instinctively knew that they shouldn't stay in the restaurant any longer. Not as long as Ian was there. “We should go,” she said.