The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) (4 page)

“And
you’ll allow me to write in a few changes to the contract you so generously
offer?”

“What
changes?”

She
smiled apologetically.  “I told you that I wasn’t completely pleased with
a few of the stipulations.  On page three, you state that I should be
compensated at the rate of one hundred thousand a year.”

“Fine,
fine.”  He waved a hand at the paper.  “Double it.  Next?”

She
blinked, opening and closing her mouth as though he’d managed to shock the
sense right out of her.  “That wasn’t what I meant, sir.  I thought
it way too high.”

“You
cook like a maestro.  You’re worth it.  Next?”

“One
page four…”  She flipped through the contract.  “You failed to detail
which of us would be responsible for maintaining the restaurant’s larder during
this period of employment.”

“Of
course I will.”  He gave a hard push against her grip, keeping her
attention on his right hand, while he reached over with his left to snag the
plate.  The Remy ring glinted in the candlelight, casting a blood-red glow
on her face.  For a moment, he swore her lips tightened and her eyes
flashed with raw emotion.  Hatred, retribution, condemnation.  He
couldn’t be sure, although it was harsh enough that some of the bliss created by
her food faded.

Until
he took the first bite of that dangerous cake.  Damn it, he’d forgotten to
go slowly, to savor that first bite.  Already the chocolate melted on his
tongue, a molten heat spreading down his throat.  She had to have drugged
it somehow.  The chocolate slipped deeper into his body, cascading alarms
throughout his nervous system.  His brain went on high alert.

System
overload. 

Too
many layers.  Too many fabulous sensations for his tongue to keep up.

Actually
that was the problem…or the beauty…in her dessert.  She’d managed to
create thin layers of chocolate cake, varying by texture and type of chocolate,
so that one bite carried dozens of flavors at the same time.  Milk and
dark, sweet cream and sharp bite mixed with just enough raspberry to give it
that extra kick from “too sweet” to “perfect.”

He
opened his mouth to speak, but it took him several tries to get the circuit
from his brain to his mouth to work.  “What else?”

She
listed off some other nonsense about dress code in his restaurant, the number
of employees she’d supervise, and most of all—at least as far as she would ever
comprehend until it was too late—the crux of the contract.  She would help
Remy’s
win that coveted gold star this year…or suffer his wrath. 
Win
or lose, she’s going to break this damned curse if I have to lie, cheat, or
simply take her to my bed.

Something
that might have been guilt bubbled up in his stomach like corrosive acid, but
quickly disintegrated beneath the next bite of chocolate cake.

 “May
I?  Mr. Michelopoulos, didn’t you hear me?  I need to know if that’s
acceptable to you.  If not, I’m really afraid that we can’t do business
together.  I’ll have to leave no matter how much I want to stay and help
you.”

He
pulled the plate closer and used the fork to gently lift out the top layer so
he could sample it alone.  “Yes, yes, whatever.”

Dmitri
gasped.  “Yiorgos!”

Unbelievable. 
The top layer of thick buttercream frosting was good enough he’d like to paint
her entire body with it so he could lick it off.  And he hated
frosting.  “Have you forgotten who gave you this job?”

His
old friend stiffened like he’d punched him.  In a way, he had.  “Of
course not, Mr. Michelopoulos.  May I be of any further service, sir?”

“Not
unless you’re going to bring me another piece of cake.”

Clare
gently shook her head.  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Michelopoulos.  It’s too
dangerous.  Why, think of your blood sugar!  The calories! 
You’d hate me tomorrow, and if we settle this contract, then we’ll be stuck
with each other until
Remy’s
is awarded the star next month.”

“I
don’t give a damn about the calories.”  He carefully lifted out a bite of
the next layer.  Sugary, almost crispy.  How’d she do that without
making it soggy as it baked?  If she’d baked each layer individually, it’d
be impossible to fit them all together seamlessly.  It looked like one
sinfully delicious cake, not twenty individual thin cakes.  “You must work
here, Ms. Remy.  I need you.  So signed the damned contract and eat
your cake, or I’m going to.”

She
smiled warmly and squeezed his right hand.  Had she been touching him this
whole time?  He couldn’t remember.  She scribbled a few lines on the
contract and then pushed it over to him.  With a flourish, he signed below
her name and shoved the papers aside.  Some of them fluttered to the floor
but he didn’t care.

Not
with Death by Chocolate Cake calling his name.

Mom’s
going to assume the worst.
  Clare checked her watch again.  Nearly
3:00 A.M.  Only partygoers and criminals would be out and about in Joplin
this time of night.  Certainly not virgins.

She’d
tried to slip away twice already, but each time she stood up, Mr. Michelopoulos
demanded another piece of cake.  Despite her warnings and protests, he’d
had three pieces already.  At least he’d eaten them slowly, dissecting
each piece layer by layer as though he were determined to discern her secret
recipe by taste alone.  Hopefully the hours in between had evened out the
flow of magic into him or he was going to be severely hung over in the morning.

This
morning.  Whatever.

She
spared a quick glance at the door over her shoulder and caught Dmitri’s worried
gaze.  She nodded and he came to their table immediately.  Using her
briskest, cheeriest voice, she said, “It’s time for bed, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

“Not
yet.”  His words slurred and he propped his face up with his hand as
though he might fall face-first into the half-eaten piece of cake before
him.  “I need to know the truth.”

Ignoring
his protests, she stood and gently took his arm while Dmitri took his
other.  “What truth?”

“How
do you make all those intricate layers?  Separate but united. 
Different yet the same.”  He stood on his own power, but swayed
slightly.  He smiled down at her, his eyes like liquid fire in the dimmed
lighting.  “It’s amazing.  I can’t figure out how you did it.”

Her
heart warmed at his praise, while her body went squirmy at his nearness. 
Up close and personal, his size was intimidating.  He wasn’t that much taller,
exactly, but his personality was formidable.  Larger than life, wicked as
sin, and half drunk on her magic, Yiorgos Michelopoulos was adorably gorgeous
without that condescending arrogance.

Pure
temptation.

Guilt
churned her stomach but she pushed that emotion away.  She couldn’t regret
using the man’s own arrogance to ensnare him.  He’d swindled her father
out of his restaurant and his power, stealing her inheritance as a
result. 

No
matter how many spells I have to cast, I’ll do whatever necessary to regain the
Remy ring.

Yiorgos
leaned down even more, his dark gaze pulling her inexorably closer.  So
close she could smell the spice of his cologne.  If his mouth had been
watering over her dessert, now she was the one embarrassed by the instant surge
of hunger flooding her senses.  He smelled like Snickerdoodle cookies,
cinnamon and cloves, dusted with sugar.

Her
favorite.

Oh
so dangerous, this game she played.

“Tell
me your secret.”  He breathed against her ear, his lips a faint caress
that made her knees tremble.  “I must know.  Please.”

Closing
her eyes, she allowed herself to pretend, just for a moment, that he might
really want her as a woman.  That she could flirt and seduce without fear
of losing her entire livelihood.  All the wonderful fantasies she’d read
about in her favorite books and dreamed all these years could come true. 

For
one sweet second, she even nestled her face against the hot velvet of his neck,
brushing her cheek against his firm jaw.  Then she raised her mouth to his
ear and let her own warm breath torment him.  “Magic.”

“I
knew it.”  He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her deeper into
his embrace.  “You really are a witch.”

Regret
made her eyes burn with what she could never have.  Pain crushed her
chest, strangling her.  She stepped out of his embrace and gave a sheepish
shrug to Dmitri.  “He’s going to be rather fuzzy until the chocolate wears
off.”

“What
should I do for him?”

The
urge to swipe her fingers through Yiorgos’s hair to tame that wild dark mane
made her fist her hands at her sides.  “Just take care of him.” 
Like
I never can.
  “Put him to bed.  He’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Did
you drug him?  Is that how you got him to agree to your terms?”

She
recoiled from the sharp accusation in the man’s voice.  “Of course
not.” 
Not exactly.
 
I merely bespelled him with the best
kitchen magic I’ve ever cast.
  She barely kept a grimace of
self-disgust from giving her away.  “He knows I’m a witch, or else he
never would have approached me through the Wizard Council.  My specialty
is food and he sampled the best I can offer for
Remy’s
.  You heard
me warn him not to eat another piece of cake but he insisted on another piece
not once but twice.  It’s not my fault he’s a pigheaded chocoholic.”

A
reluctant smile quirked Dmitri’s lips.  “He is indeed.  Well, I did
hear you warn him, several times.”  He smiled wider, his eyes dancing with
amusement.  “It’s going to be fun watching him explode in the morning when
he reads what he agreed to let you have.  I’m definitely going to enjoy
watching him squirm.”

“Oh
dear.”  She smiled faintly, already feeling the heat of arousal at the
thought of Yiorgos storming into the kitchen in the morning, his fury a sight
to behold.  “I guess I’d better let him get his beauty sleep then. 
See you in the morning, Mr. LaRue.”

“Please,
just call me Dmitri.  I’ve known him for years, and I have to admit that
I’ve never seen anyone handle him the way you did tonight.  I have a
feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

Ashamed,
she mumbled something she hoped was reasonably polite and headed to her
car. 
After I’m done with his friend, Dmitri’s going to hate me.

She
drove home slowly.  Any other time she would’ve hit every single light
heading out of town, but tonight she cleared Rangeline Road at a record
clip.  Of course it was the middle of the night and sane people had been
in bed for hours.  Maybe she’d luck out and her mother would be, too.

To
avoid the creaking back door and squeaky steps, she used magic to transport
directly into her room. 

“Clare,
thank God!”  Selma shot to her feet from the foot of the bed.  “Just
what do you think you’re doing?  Did you already sleep with the man?”

“Geez,
Mom, have a little faith in your daughter.  I’ve managed to stay a virgin
twenty seven years.  Even Yiorgos Michelopoulos couldn’t ruin me in a
single night.”

“Did
you get the ring?”

Weariness
made Clare’s arms so heavy she struggled to shrug out of her jacket.  Her
mother stood to help her, earning a tired smile.  “Not yet, but I saw it. 
He’s wearing it.”

“The
arrogant bastard.”  Her mother ground her teeth.  “Did you find out
what he wants?”

“He
wants me to help
Remy’s
keep its five-star competition rating this
year.  From the condition of his kitchen, I can see why he’s so
worried.  I’ve never seen such a mess.”

“Is
that all?”

Clare
frowned, nibbling her lip in thought.  That nagging sense of a trap still
loomed, but nothing in his lengthy contract hinted to his true intent behind
dragging her back to
Remy’s
.  He’d made the prize very sweet indeed
by offering to give the restaurant back to her.  Without the signet ring,
though, she’d be doomed to a cold and loveless life.  “You think there’s a
trap, too?”

“Of
course.  With men like that, there’s always an ulterior motive or two
lurking beneath the surface.  Just keep your head, Clare.  He’s used
to women throwing themselves at him.”

For
some bizarre reason, she wanted to throw all the trinkets on top of her dresser
onto the floor, scream at the top of her lungs, and maybe even stomp her foot
for good measure.  “I know, Mom.  But of course he’d never actually
look at me twice, right?  As long as I keep my skirt down he’ll never even
notice I’m a woman.”

“A
man like him can have any woman he wants, Clare.  Make sure he doesn’t
want you and you’ll do fine.”  She patted Clare on the back and headed to
the door, unaware of the furious turmoil sweeping through her.  “Keep just
the way you are, dear.”

Sweet,
pure and plain.  When she wanted to be fabulous, gorgeous, and passionate.

For
once in my life, I want to be an incredibly sexy wanton.  I want to have a
wild affair and tour the world with a gorgeous, rich man so in love with me
that he’d sell his soul to keep me, bound to his bed, blindfolded and ready for
his every wicked desire.