The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) (3 page)

THREE

Yiorgos
drummed his fingers on the linen tablecloth.  Waitstaff moved about the
dining room, lighting candles at each table even though he’d already decided
not to open the doors tonight.  The Remy witch might have been able to
clean the kitchen that stubbornly refused his staff’s ministrations, but that
didn’t mean she could cook.

Even
if she did make something passable for dinner, he doubted whether she could run
the kitchen for the evening dinner rush. 

He
snorted.  Who was he fooling?  They hadn’t had an evening rush at
Remy’s
in over a year.  If they had a dozen customers, it would be a miracle.

Finally,
Clare Remy came out of the kitchen.  She’d donned the ugly suit jacket
again, but he couldn’t regret that she’d covered up that wretched pink blouse,
even though she did have a fine full-figured shape.  He pushed to his feet
and inclined his head, determined to be polite if it killed him.  He even
took her hand in his and brushed his mouth against her knuckles.  Smooth
satin met his lips, not harsh water-logged skin.  Strange, that her hands
would be so perfectly smooth and beautiful after scrubbing all those greasy
pots.

The
prim and proper schoolmarm would have hissed and jerked her hand away at such
intimate contact.  Instead, he swore Clare Remy dared to return his polite
caress by stretching out her fingers to trail along his throat as she withdrew. 
Candlelight did magnificent things to her face, highlighting her high
cheekbones and sculpted lips.  Her dark eyes gleamed like mysterious dark
pools of unplumbed depth.  Like a forgotten spring just waiting to be
discovered and sampled. 
By me.

Surprised
at the carnal turn to his thoughts, Yiorgos firmed his resolve.  If the
little witch was ripe for seduction, then surely she’d tumble all the quicker
into his scheme as well as his bed.  Settling back in his chair, he
watched her with veiled eyes.  She didn’t flinch from his smoldering,
penetrating gaze, yet she didn’t blush and simper either. 

What
manner of woman was Clare Remy?  An innocent virgin or a prim old
maid?  A seductress?  Despite his many years of experience, he
honestly couldn’t tell.  Which made him all the more curious to know
her.  To explore her thoughts and wants as much as her luscious body.

He
allowed a smug smile to flicker on his lips, deliberately trying to antagonize
her.  “I hope your meal lives up to my expectations.”

She
smiled back at him, amusement glittering in her eyes.  “My food will
exceed your wildest dreams.”

“What’s
on your menu, then?”

“Roasted
butternut squash soup, followed by shepherd’s pie.”

He
arched a brow at her and curled his lip with even more disdain.  “Peasant
fare.”

She
leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice to a husky timber that made his
body harden with interest.  “
Delicious
peasant fare.  I
caramelized the squash in the oven and roasted the garlic until it’s sweet and
melt-in-your-mouth delicious.”

The
tip of her tongue teased the corner of her lips, and he swore she gave a little
sigh of pleasure.  She gripped the snifter of dark amber liquid in front
of her, stroking her fingers over the glass until he had to shift in his seat.

“The
ground lamb is lean and browned, yet not dry.  Rich gravy flavored with
wine, carrots, fresh rosemary.  Topped with whipped mashed potatoes rich
with real cream and butter.”

She
let out a long, slow breath and raised the glass to her lips.  He’d filled
her glass with a healthy dash of Metaxa Private Reserve, not waiting to see if
she could stomach such liquor.  She threw it back with practiced ease, her
eyes falling shut.  Licking her lips, she gave him a smoldering smile and
set the glass back down.  “And I haven’t even gotten to dessert yet.”

Oh
yes she had.  The Metaxa made her already sensual voice rough and deep.

When
the bowl suddenly appeared in front of him, he jumped, shaken out of the
sensual web she’d woven about him by the arrival of the first course. 
Dmitri served them himself, and he gave a knowing wink before disappearing back
into the kitchen.

Yiorgos
scowled.

“What?”

Eyes
narrowed, he searched her face, his hackles rising.  The witch was
cunning, he’d give her that.  She’d been weaving her magic since the first
moment she’d walked in, dressed like a frumpy old maid but swaying her hips and
wielding that husky drawl like a weapon.  Who knew what manner of spells
she’d already cast against him?

He
couldn’t even fire her.  She hadn’t signed the contract he’d drawn up yet,
and she certainly hadn’t broken the filthy curse her father had thrown at him
in desperation.  Assured of her powers, Yiorgos stoked the hope burning in
his heart. 
She will break the curse.  I will be free.  Then
she can burn
Remy’s
down for all I care.

Smoothing
the suspicion from his face, he tapped the manila folder on the table beside
him.  “If your food passes my inspection, I’ve taken the liberty of
drawing up a contract for you, Ms. Remy.  I think you’ll find it most
satisfactory, while allowing me to protect my interests.  Shall we…?”

She
picked up her spoon and dipped into her steaming bowl of soup.  “I never
negotiate on an empty stomach, Mr. Michelopoulos.”  Holding the spoon in
front of her mouth, she gave him a challenging glance.  “Unless you’re
afraid I’d try to poison you or something…”

“Fine.” 
Warily, he studied the bowl for a moment.  He didn’t really care for
watery squash and it was a rather revolting orange color.  It smelled
nice, though, and his mouth watered despite the feared texture.  He picked
up a spoon and shoveled some of the soup into his mouth, intending to get it
down as quickly as possible.

Velvety
warm bliss exploded on his tongue.

He’d
eaten in the finest restaurants all across the world, and he’d never tasted
anything this good.  Smooth and creamy, sweet and savory, so many flavors
filled his mouth that he couldn’t keep up with the sensations.  Soup slid
down his throat like a warm, fine wine that spread glowing heat all the way
down into his stomach. 

Food
just didn’t taste like this.  Not like sex and happiness and love all in a
tidy little package that made his stomach gurgle with pleasure.

Impossible. 
Nothing tastes this good.

He
took another bite, telling himself that this spoonful wouldn’t be so
good.  His taste buds would be used to the complex flavors, and he’d be
able to find some element that wasn’t right.  A jarring hint of pepper, or
a bit of squishy squash that hadn’t been perfectly blended. 
Something.  Anything.

But
it was magical.  Bite after bite melted on his tongue, satisfying his
senses yet still managing to stir his hunger for more.  The spoon clanged
on the bottom, and it took him a few moments to realize he’d emptied the entire
bowl.

It
was all he could do not to pick up the bowl and lick it clean, or growl at
Dmitri when he arrived to whisk the dish away.

Then
he caught the scent of roasted lamb and Yiorgos forgot all about the
soup.  He made himself wait, enjoying the aroma for as long as
possible.  The potatoes on top were crusty golden and he could almost
taste the cream and butter.  Which vegetables had she mixed into the meat
inside?  Peas, carrots, it didn’t matter.  He’d love them all. 
Hell, if it smelled this good, she could put broccoli in it and he’d still gobble
it down.

“Why
don’t I take a look at the contract now, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

Raising
his head, he blinked at her, surprised.  That she was still here? 
That didn’t make sense.  His stomach fluttered briefly, almost anxiety or
a remembered plan of action, but the inviting scent of food wrestled his
attention for dominance.  Graciously, he slid the folder across to her,
trying not to act like a raving lunatic clutching his plate and howling at
anyone who threatened to interrupt his feast.

When
his fork broke the perfect crust of potatoes and the rich scent of lamb fully
hit his nostrils, he couldn’t help but let out a low groan of
appreciation.  Flushing, he chanced a quick glance at Clare to see if
she’d noticed, but she was too busy scanning the documents. 

He
barely suppressed a smirk.  His attorneys had been most diligent in
drafting his little agreement.  She’d be so busy trying to understand the
legal jargon that he’d probably be able to eat her shepherd’s pie too before
she noticed.

This
time, he slowly placed the first bite on his tongue, braced for the explosion
of taste.  He was determined to savor that first wondrous bite as long as
possible, because he knew it was going to be incredible.  The meat fell
apart in his mouth, tender and juicy without being too greasy.  She’d
managed to give it a fire-pit roasted flavor in that simple little kitchen, in
a matter of hours.  Tender and succulent, the meat tasted like it’d cooked
all day.

Seasoned
perfectly.  The vegetables were diced uniformly.  Gorgeous.  Not
too big or too small, each cube added color as well as flavor.  Tender
green peas so bright they couldn’t possibly have baked along with the
meat.  Onions, garlic, rosemary, a hint of wine.  Magnificent. 
And oh, the potatoes!  Such a basic, ordinary staple for any meat lover,
these potatoes managed to convey richness without heaviness.  Light and
fluffy yet perfectly creamy, they softened the hearty broth.

His
foodie heart wanted to sob when he realized he’d eaten the last bite.  He
cast a hopeful glance at her plate, but hers, too was empty, although she
continued to read the contract.  Her mouth moved slightly, endearing in an
odd way.  Her nose was too small for her face, he decided.  And her
mouth was too large.  She smiled unevenly, curling the right side more
than the left.

“Mr.
Michelopoulos?”

He
feared she’d been repeating herself for quite some time.  He tried to feel
horrified, but his stomach was too sated with complete bliss to allow him a
moment of embarrassment or remorse.  “It’s wonderful.  I’ve never
tasted anything better in my entire life.”

He
couldn’t even find the will to curse himself for revealing his hand so easily
to her.  He ought to have drawn out her unease, allowing her to believe he
was displeased with her results.  He couldn’t have her thinking he was too
eager to bring her into
Remy’s
.

“Wait
until you taste my chocolate cake.”  She smiled wider, evening out that
lopsided grin into something even more wickedly endearing.  “I’ve been
reading over your offer, and I’m quite delighted with it.”

He
laughed, and the sound shocked them both.  Eyes wide, she searched his
face, the passing of her gaze a scalding heat.  Damn, it’d been years
since he’d actually laughed.  No, chuckled.  Laughter didn’t convey
the amount of merriment he’d heard in his own response.

What
the hell’s wrong with me?  Has she drugged me?
 

Not
in a million years would he behave so stupidly at a business meeting, and this
was certainly a meeting of the highest priority.  His entire life depended
on its success.  He must have Clare Remy at his side.  She would
break the curse.

She
must.  She’s my only hope.

Despite
that thought, he couldn’t feel alarm.  Not with the sinful promise of
dessert that might be even better than the first two courses.

“However,
there are a few items I’d like to discuss further with you.”

“Of
course.”

She
beamed at him.  “I’m so glad you’re not going to be difficult to handle.”

He
frowned.  Difficult?  Toddlers were difficult.  Calculus was
difficult.  Yiorgos Michelopoulos was formidable.  A force to be
reckoned with.  Not tolerated.

She
waved her hand and Dmitri appeared, once more whisking away the dirty
dishes. 

Oh,
bliss, Yiorgos could already smell the earthy scent of chocolate, promising sin
and dark luxury, a hint of berry.  Maybe raspberry? 

Very
solemnly, she leaned forward, assessing his face.  “I must warn you before
I allow you to taste my dessert, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

Did
she think she could gain his secrets so easily?  He had to admit that with
the cake making him drool, he might be tempted to babble anything just to get
some of that temptation.  The scent of chocolate held his attention like a
dog obsessed with its ball.  At this point, she could balance the damned
plate on his nose and he’d sit here obediently, waiting for the first bite.

Irritated,
he reached for his own plate.  She closed her hand over his. 
Surprisingly strong despite her smaller size, she held him firmly, keeping him
from sliding the dessert plate closer.  “I’m serious, Mr.
Michelopoulos.  I wouldn’t have you accuse me of trickery later. 
This cake is dangerously good.  I call it ‘Death by Chocolate’ for a
reason.”

Until
Dmitri let out a snort, Yiorgos hadn’t even realized he was still standing at
their table.  “Fine,” he said sharply, keeping Dmitri under close watch to
ensure he didn’t try to remove the dessert plates too quickly.  The man
was a damned whirlwind when it came to cleaning tables.  “Dmitri’s my
witness.  I heard your warning and I’m not afraid of your cake, Ms. Remy.”