The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) (6 page)

Ruefully,
she wrapped a hand around the mug and tried not to stare.  The man was
gorgeous and rich and brilliant.  Evidently he possessed a soul, too.

“Well,
then, Ms. Remy, I shall ask the most difficult question first.  Do you
hate me too much to help me?”

Surprised,
she searched his face.  He was trying for bland and smooth, but he kept
his eyes guarded, veiling his secrets in those dark depths.  True
vulnerability?  Or merely stage two of his conquest?  She couldn’t be
sure.  “I never said I hated you.”  She took a sip of coffee and
nearly spluttered it all over his immaculate shirt.  “Oh dear.”

His
lips curled in the first genuine smile he’d bestowed on her.  “A bit
stout?”

“Errr,
yes.  Stout.”  She barely restrained herself from rubbing her tongue
with her napkin to get the bitterness off. 
There’s no amount of fat
and sugar I could put into this to make it palatable.

“You
have every right to hate me, Ms. Remy.  I defeated your father at his own
game, took his beloved restaurant which was surely to be your inheritance, and
ultimately left you and your mother to face the world alone.”  He
stretched out his long, graceful fingers and lightly stroked the back of her
left hand.  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.  I had no idea Mr.
Remy was quite so ill.”

Emotion
made her throat swell shut.  So unfair.  Tenderness and sincerity
from the arrogant man would devastate her defenses like nothing else.  “We
didn’t either.”  She raised her gaze to his.  Gleaming pools of
melting obsidian didn’t flinch or withdraw from her perusal.  Because he
had nothing to hide?  Or because he was such a practiced liar?  Her
fingertips tingled, bewildering her even more.  Why would her magic come
to life when she wasn’t cooking?  She had no other gifts.

But
it wasn’t her imagination, because he felt it too.  His eyes flared and
his stroking fingers froze on her skin.  “What was that?”

“Magic,”
she whispered, as shaken as he.

“Can
you break this curse, Clare?”

The
way he said her name, slow and gentle, a verbal stroking of pleasure and hope, made
her shudder.  This couldn’t be happening.  Just the faint touch of
comfort and his voice alone had her quivering like an eager puppy.  He’d
already made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t attractive to him.  He
might stoop to a little seduction to get what he wanted, but that was all it
could possibly be.

He’ll
leave me brokenhearted and powerless, while he goes in search of his next
conquest.

“I’m
sorry, Mr. Michelopoulos, but the healing arts were my mother’s gift. 
Mine has always been in the kitchen.”

Disappointment
deepened the lines about his eyes and he withdrew his touch.  She wanted
to weep at the loss.  How sad that such a minor compassionate human
gesture in the moment of her grief had nearly done her in.  “Surely you
inherited a portion of your mother’s ability?”

“Not
likely.  In fact, the only witch I’ve ever known with more than one gift
is my mentor, Ms. Kettlewich.  She’s a rarity in our world.”

His
elegant fingers wrapped around his cup—instead of her hand—and she couldn’t
make herself stop watching the way he stroked the ceramic.  Stupid, to be
jealous of a coffee cup.  “Explain to me the basis for this curse. 
You said it unlikely your father would have cast such a spell.  Why?”

“The
risk.”  Chills crept down her spine and goose bumps flared on her arms,
making her shiver.  She huddled over her cup and dared another sip of the
bitter coffee.  At least it didn’t make her want to scrape her tongue this
time.  “Magic isn’t free.”

He
started to open his mouth, probably to offer a ridiculous sum of money. 
She shook her head to stall him.  “Not money, Mr. Michelopoulos.  I’m
talking about the cost to the witch or wizard.  It takes energy to cast a
spell, and some spells are more difficult than others.  After all the magic
I worked here yesterday, I went home and slept heavily for several hours, but I
woke up refreshed and renewed, ready to work my gift again. 

“But
if I tried to do something outside of the kitchen, like changing the weather or
trying to heal someone, I might be unconscious for a week.  Some witches
even burn themselves out trying to work a spell.  Or they blow up their
houses.  Helga often jokes that the famous Chicago fires were caused by a
fool trying to work a little kitchen magic.”

“So
there’s a cost.  Fine.  If I were a wizard, I’d access the situation,
consider the risk, and for the right reward, I’d pay the price.”

“With
regular magic, yes, I agree.  But curses are a different breed of magic
and they require a great deal of force because they’re against nature. 
Abnormal.  It’s like you becoming a farmer, or if I were to try to become
a movie star.”  She laughed softly, but he didn’t rise to her joke. 
“A curse is entirely negative energy.  The chances of it turning back upon
the creator are significant.  So not only do you have to pay the price to
release such a massive amount of energy, but you also have to be willing to
suffer the aftereffects of the curse.”

He
studied the cup before him like he’d never seen it before.  “So whatever
he did to me…might have backlashed onto him?  Or
Remy’s
?”

“If
he did actually curse you—and honestly, Mr. Michelopoulos, as much as you two
battled over the years, I still don’t believe he would have done such a
thing—then yes, it could have affected him.  I don’t know that it could
have affected
Remy’s
, though.  I’ve never heard of that kind of
recoiling effect.  The problems you mentioned—were they happening even
when you weren’t here?”

He
twisted the signet ring on his finger, and while his eyes blazed with emotion, his
face blanked into an empty mask.  “Problems brought me here, Ms. Remy.”

Her
instincts insisted she was very, very close to something he didn’t want her to
see or know.  “And are you having any issues yourself?  Whether you
were here at
Remy’s
or not?”

He
leaned forward, his mouth quirking into that arrogant smirk once more. 
“I’m not the kind of man to have issues, Ms. Remy.  I pay other people to
take care of those problems before I’m even annoyed by their existence. 
That’s why I came looking for you.  Yet I must admit that my annoyance
factor is still very high.”

She
refused to be baited by his deliberately snide remarks.  Honestly, did the
man think he was dealing with a toddler in a diaper or a full grown
woman?  “Perhaps you should take a nap, then, sir.  I certainly
wouldn’t want to annoy you this evening when we open the restaurant.”

His
eyes narrowed to slits.  “
I
haven’t decided if
Remy’s
will
open tonight.”

Ignoring
his dark look, she rose and dumped the coffee into the sink.  Hopefully he
didn’t notice how much she’d wasted.  “The menu’s ready for you to take a
look.  I thought it might be nice to return to one of my father’s original
specials that put
Remy’s
on the map.”

“I
certainly never said you could come into my restaurant and change my menu.” 
Each word rang with heavy intent, carefully—and loudly—enunciated. 

Common
sense told her to cease teasing the man, but she just couldn’t help waving the
flag beneath the bull’s nose.  “Check our contract, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

“That
damned contract is…”

She
turned with a bright smile.  “Oh, so I can leave, then, with my father’s
ring?  Because if you fail to uphold our signed contract—that you
prepared, I might add—then the ring becomes immediately due.”  Batting her
eyes at him, she sashayed over and dropped the menu she’d written out over her
first cup of tea this morning.  In her sweetest voice, she said, “I hope
it meets your approval, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

FIVE

Yiorgos
stared in disbelief at the packed dining room.  He’d finally relented as
gracefully as possible and agreed to open
Remy’s
tonight, but only
because he hadn’t expected any customers to actually arrive.  At heart,
this was still a small town, and news got around fast.  All it’d taken was
one poor word-of-mouth review soon after he’d put on that blasted ring, and
their customer base had dwindled alarmingly.  But that small town gossip
must have acted in her favor tonight, because every backwoods hillbilly must be
here.

Had
she advertised somewhere?  Made a few calls to some of her father’s old
buddies?  When he questioned Dmitri, the man only shrugged.  “She
claims that all she did was cook her father’s specials, and the people knew.”

“Oh
come on, don’t tell me you buy that nonsense.  Bribes or threats?”

“Bribes.” 
Dmitri grinned.  “If she cooks it, they will come.”

“I’m
French and even I know that’s a very bad joke from a very bad movie.” 
Paul didn’t appear distressed that he’d been replaced by a so-called chef with
no formal training.  In fact, the poor man had practically wept with joy
when Yiorgos told him he was relieved from duty.  He’d be on the first
plane back east in the morning.

“So
you’re telling me all these people just happened to drive by, smelled the
famous Remy dishes, and came stampeding in for a taste?”

“Something
like that.”  Her lush voice came from behind him, low and quiet yet
echoing with a hint of laughter that wriggled its way into his belly and heated
his entire body.

He
turned around slowly and swept an assessing gaze over her from head to
foot.  She’d dressed simply since she’d obviously be in the kitchen
working in the heat and mess that came along with a dinner rush.  Although
she only wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, she looked absolutely stunning.

Oh,
not in a flashy model sort of way, but the jeans encased her shapely thighs and
ample bottom, making him think of all sorts of inappropriate activity. 
Her cheeks were pink from the heat in the kitchen, her hair damp, tendrils and
wisps escaping to hang about her face.  And while that shirt might only be
plain cotton and not silk, it clung to her breasts, and yes, they were as lush
and ripe as he’d suspected.

Earthy
and sensual, she looked sweaty, touseled, and well loved.

The
little witch dared to wet her lips.  “Don’t you feel it?” 

He
started, wondering if she knew he was seriously thinking about dragging her
back into the kitchen and kicking everyone out so he could sample those full,
tempting lips himself. 

“After
last night, you ought to feel it,” she continued.  “Once you’ve tasted my
magic, you’re more sensitive to it.  That’s why all the old customers knew
to come back.  They felt the pull of Remy magic.”

Yiorgos
ran a hand through his hair to keep from putting his hands on her, whether to
strangle, shake, or kiss her he couldn’t decide.  “Do you mean to tell me
you
addicted
me to your magic?”

Up
went her chin to a haughty angle.  “That’s a rather harsh word, Mr.
Michelopoulos.  It’s not like that at all.”

Fury
pulsed in him, dark and raw.  Now he was sure—if he put his hands on her,
he’d definitely strangle her.  The thought of her magic crawling around in
him, making him dependent, vulnerable…  He could barely speak through his
clenched teeth.  “You’re drugging my customers with magic—without their
knowledge—so they’ll want to come back for another hit.  No wonder
Remy’s
has been able to stay in business so long despite the location and size of the
building!  You’re nothing but a drug dealer, Ms. Remy.”

When
Clare Remy got angry, her voice went even lower, vibrating with vicious
tension.  “How dare you insult and belittle what you can’t possibly
understand?”

Thank
God she didn’t screech or shrill like a shrew.  He smiled, deliberately
curling his lip to antagonize her further.  “Why don’t you enlighten me,
then?  Tell me how you’re not taking advantage of these people? 
You’re like some kind of vampire, feeding off the oblivious citizens of this
little town!”

“I
take nothing from them.”  Her shoulders quivered, but she fisted her hands
at her side and didn’t back down or turn away from the confrontation.  “In
fact, if anyone’s the vampire, it’s the people who come here and feed on my
magic.  Remember the cost we talked about earlier?  I pay that cost,
Mr. Michelopoulos.  I sweat and work in the kitchen like any of the rest
of your staff, but the magic takes its toll as well.  The only thing I get
from these people is the pleasure on their face when they taste something so
wonderful that they actually feel better.  Daddy used to swear he’d healed
people with his cooking alone and I didn’t believe him.”

“I
guess you’re taking the old saying to heart,” Yiorgos drawled out, still
chaffing under the imagined yoke of this addiction.  Perhaps that’s why he
kept noticing her shapely figure.  The husky, compelling tenor to her
voice.  The annoyingly courageous way she kept threatening him with his
own damned contract.  “The secret to man’s heart really is through his
stomach, but only after you addict him.”

“Don’t
worry, Mr. Michelopoulos.  You’re entirely safe.”  Crossing her arms
over her chest, she averted her face, staring out over the crowded dining
room.  “You have no heart.”

Damned
if her chin didn’t quiver and her eyes shone suspiciously in the
candlelight.  A twinge of guilt gave him momentary pause.  This
evening should have been a triumphant return to her father’s restaurant. 
By all accounts, the guests were thrilled with her dishes.  She was a
success and following in her father’s footsteps.

Now
he’d ruined all that excitement for her with his accusations.  Whether
hasty or not, he didn’t yet know, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that
her magic was a living, crawling thing inside him, spreading like a
cancer. 
No, that’s just the curse eating my body away.

“Nothing
negative will happen to these people in any way.”  Her vibrant voice
dulled, flat and carefully even.  She refused to meet his gaze. 
“There’s no ill effect if they never return to
Remy’s
.  However, if
the magic is working here, they’ll remember how delicious the food was and how
good and wonderful they felt while they dined here.  They may come back
hoping to feel that wonderful again, but it’s entirely their choice.  For
the cost of a reasonably-priced dinner, they can taste something extraordinary
that brings to life their senses in a way they never experienced before. 
If that’s a drug, so be it.  If it’s a sin in your book to make people
feel better, than I’m guilty as charged.  Now please excuse me while I go
serve up the next course of drugs.”

Fighting
back tears, Clare strode through the bustling kitchen and straight through the
back delivery door to get some fresh air.  Stars were obscured by the
streetlights of the city, but the air tasted clean and warm.  On the verge
of spring, everything would be blooming soon, bursting into life.  Mom’s
roses would fill the air with perfume and their garden would be filled with
nature’s bounty. 
Daddy’s favorite time of the year.

Tears
coursed down her cheeks.  So unfair to have his good name and everything
he’d worked for his entire life ruined by that arrogant, judgmental
bastard.  To accuse her of dealing drugs!  Addicting innocent people,
warping them with her magic.  Her father had slaved his entire life in
that kitchen just to make people happy and to share his enjoyment of fine
dining.  He’d trained in Paris and traveled the world, learning from the
best, yet he’d been perfectly happy to come to this small Midwestern town and
open his own restaurant.

Only
to be called a drug dealer.

She
swiped tears from her cheeks.  Michelopoulos was a complete fool, afraid
of what he didn’t understand.  Okay, so maybe his distrust was a little
justified after she’d used her gift to distract him long enough last night in
order to work in her terms into the contract.  It wasn’t her fault if he
was particularly susceptible to her chocolate creation, and she’d certainly
warned him not to eat so much of it.

Voices
echoed across the parking lot.  They’d been so busy tonight that customers
had parked in the back of the lot, usually reserved for the employees. 
Clare stepped back into the shadows along the wall, unwilling to be seen
crying.  The last thing she wanted was for Michelopoulos to know how badly
he’d wounded her, and she couldn’t forget that this entire staff was his. 
He’d replaced everyone she’d known from when her father had run the restaurant.

“We’re
so glad that
Remy’s
has reopened.” 

Three
people came closer, approaching a white Cadillac.  The couple was older,
probably someone who’d known her father.  In the darkness, she wasn’t sure
who they were.  The other person…

Clare
crammed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from making any noise, making
herself as small as possible against the wall.

“Technically
we never closed,” Yiorgos Michelopoulos said in that annoyingly know-it-all way
of his.  “We were merely having some issues with the kitchen staff, but
we’ve brought in new management and a new chef.”

“Put
whatever spin on it that you will, Michelopoulos, but we both know this
restaurant has been in serious trouble since Emile Remy passed away.  It’s
just not been the same.”

“Never
fear, Mayor, we’re turning that all around.” 

“You’re
still considered an outsider in Joplin, and I have to admit that most people
don’t look too kindly on you for taking
Remy’s
away from Emile, whatever
deal you two worked out.  But this restaurant is an important fixture in
our town.  It’s been our most popular and favorite restaurant for as long
as I can remember.  Even before you two started fighting over the fifth
star.”

“It’s
so wonderful to be able to come back and celebrate our anniversary,” the
Mayor’s wife said.  “We’ve been coming here for twenty five years until
Mr. Remy passed away.”  She squeezed her husband’s hand, and even hidden
in the shadows feet away, Clare could see the love glowing in the woman’s
eyes.  “I swear there were times over the years that I doubted our
marriage would last until one more anniversary dinner.  But each time we
had a serious disagreement, we treated ourselves to
Remy’s
. 
Somehow, that made all the difference.”

“It
never mattered how bad the day had been, eating here could make us forget those
troubles just for awhile.  If you asked every person in there tonight,
each of them would have some special story to tell you.  Birthdays,
celebrations, solemn remembrance dinners for passed loved ones, first
dates. 
Remy’s
has been a part of this town’s life for a very long
time and we’ve missed it, Mr. Michelopoulos.  Whatever you’re doing to
bring us back, keep doing it.  We need
Remy’s.
”

Tears
dripped from Clare’s eyes again, but this time they weren’t from anger and
frustration.  That was probably the worst thing about her father’s passing—she
hadn’t been able to go to
Remy’s
and share fond memories and tales with
his friends and staff who’d known him the best.  She didn’t make any
noise, but Mr. Michelopoulos stiffened.  He didn’t turn to scan the
shadows, but he sensed someone watching.

Flee? 
Or wait?  The back door was only a few feet away, but the gravel would
crunch beneath her feet.  It was late enough that there wasn’t a lot of
traffic noise up and down the main street in front.  He’d surely hear her
steps, or at least the door, which had always squeaked.

Her
heartbeat accelerated, her palms damp.  Her nerves zinged and throbbed
like she’d rolled around in broken glass and sandpaper.  Too many
emotional battles today, combined with long, satisfying hours in the
kitchen. 
If he stalks over here as the lordly tycoon, I might resort
to physical violence to remove that perpetual smirk from his handsome face.

Yiorgos
made pleasantries with the mayor and his wife, even though he was distracted by
the watcher.  The hair on nape of his neck prickled, but from the way heat
pooled deep in his belly, he suspected it was Clare.

His
stomach growled so loudly the mayor chuckled and got into his car.
 "Sounds like you need to sample some of that magical food yourself,
Mr. Michelopoulos.  Good night."

As
if I'd dare eat any more of her food knowing what it'll do to me.

The
car pulled away, and he turned slowly.  He could barely see something
darker than the shadows against the wall, but it was her.  None of the
other kitchen staff possessed the temptations of such a curvaceous shape.

Surprised
she hadn't taken the opportunity to escape, he stalked toward her, relishing
the way her eyes widened.  She licked her lips nervously, drawing his gaze
to her mouth.

"Do
you understand now, Mr. Michelopoulos?"

Blood
thumped a frantic staccato in his body.  "What I understand is that
you've addicted every person in this town."