Truth or Dare (The Cunningham Family, Book 2) E-Book

Ember Casey

• Herausgeber: Ember Casey
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

From USA Today bestseller Ember Casey comes the sequel to the sizzling His Wicked Games...

After their passionate weekend at the Cunningham estate, Lily and Calder have decided to take their relationship to the next level. But love in the real world isn't all fun and games--especially when it becomes clear that Calder still harbors his share of secrets.

When Calder suddenly suggests they slow things down, Lily knows something is seriously wrong--and she's not afraid to pull out the big guns. She makes Calder a proposal he can't refuse: an ongoing match of Truth or Dare that she hopes will bring them closer together.

But as the contest increases in intensity, so do the stakes, and suddenly Lily and Calder have to face the question they've both been avoiding: what sort of relationship do they have when they strip away all the games?

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Books by Ember Casey

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Coming Soon

Books By Ember

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Truth or Dare

THE CUNNINGHAM FAMILY

BY EMBER CASEY

Copyright ©2013 Ember Casey

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Image © RomanceNovelCovers.com, used under license.

You can contact Ember at [email protected].

Website: http://embercasey.com.

BOOKS BY EMBER CASEY

THE CUNNINGHAM FAMILY

His Wicked Games

Truth or Dare

Sweet Victory

Her Wicked Heart

Take You Away

Lost and Found

Completely (short story)

Their Wicked Wedding

A Cunningham Christmas

Their Wicked Forever

THE FONTAINES

The Secret to Seduction

The Sweet Taste of Sin

The Lies Between the Lines

The Mystery of You

The Thrill of Temptation

ROYAL HEARTBREAKERS

Royal HeartbreakerRoyal Mistake

Royal Arrangement

Royal Disaster

Royal Escape

THE DEVIL’S SET

Jackson

STANDALONE NOVELS

The Billionaire Escape Plan

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CHAPTER ONE

I’m elbows-deep in invoices when a shadow falls across my desk.

“Just a minute, Dad,” I say without looking up. My pen scratches across the paper, slashing through the numbers I spent all morning typing up. “Leda Collins called and changed her head count again. Now she needs twelve round tables and ten extra chairs. I told her there’d be a rush charge on the additional linens, but she said she was fine with that.”

I push a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I’ve been staring at this latest batch of invoices for so long that my eyes are starting to cross.

“Have you heard from the Robinsons?” I continue, turning to my computer. “They were supposed to call and confirm for the twenty-eighth. And we should probably figure out when we’re doing the summer gallery show next year. I already have a bride who wants to use us for her reception in—”

A hand grasps me firmly by the chin and tilts my face up. Suddenly I’m staring into a pair of dark, intoxicating eyes, and my breath hitches in my throat.

“What’s this?” says a deep, familiar voice. “Have you forgotten about something?”

Even now, weeks after I broke onto his family’s estate, the sight of Calder Cunningham still makes my stomach flip-flop. He’s looking extra sexy right now, the broad line of his shoulders accentuated by his navy suit, his hair curling deliciously around his ears, the corner of his perfect lips curled up in amusement. But if he’s here, that can only mean one thing.

“Shit!” I say, pulling out of his grip. I scrabble around on the desk, looking for my cell, but I already know what the time will say. When I do find the phone, buried beneath a file of class registration forms, the screen reads 6:53PM.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“I swear, the last time I glanced at the time it was three o’clock.” I dart around the desk, looking frantically for my bag. If I hurry, if I leave my hair up and go light on the makeup—

Calder catches me as I try to sweep past him and draws me toward him. The motion pulls me off-balance, and I fall against his chest, my hands clutching at the smooth lapels of his jacket and my nose brushing the crook of his neck. I freeze, and he loops his arms around my waist and holds me there. He smells faintly of soap and, beneath that, his own intoxicating scent. I take a deep breath, breathing him in. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him, too long since he’s held me like this in his arms.

Okay, it’s only been three weeks. Three weeks since Calder chased me through the hedge maze on his former estate. Three weeks since I’ve had him in front of me, close enough to touch. Three weeks since his fingers skimmed across my bare skin, as they’re dancing over my neck right now. Those three weeks might as well have been a lifetime, as badly as I’ve missed him.

But of course, screwup that I am, I lose track of time on the day of our first real date.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I swear, I—”

He silences me with his lips. His mouth is gentle at first, hesitant, like he’s uncertain how I’ll respond after our time apart. Like he’s forgotten how natural, how right our bodies feel against each other. But the minute his lips touch mine, my entire body comes alive. Goose bumps ripple across my flesh, chasing the waves of heat that rush just beneath the surface of my skin. I let out a small moan, and whatever doubts Calder had seem to disappear.

He yanks me against his body, crushing me to his hard chest. His mouth moves hungrily, desperately, against my own, and mine meets his with equal passion. I revel in the taste of him, eager to drink it all in.

Damn, I missed this.

He’s backing me up against my desk now, and I don’t protest when he pushes me down on top of it. Something falls to the floor beside us. My files? The invoices? Honestly, I don’t care. One of Calder’s hands moves around the small of my back while the other winds in my hair, his fingers twisting and pulling at the strands. He leans over me, nudging my thighs apart so he can press nearer. There’s a clatter as something else tumbles off the desk. Something big this time—probably that dinosaur of a three-hole punch we’ve had since this place opened.

There’s no way Dad didn’t hear that.

I push Calder off of me and sit up, grabbing him by the tie even as my dad’s voice floats in from the next room. “Lily? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! It’s nothing!” I tug Calder around the desk and shove him down onto the floor. He’s too surprised to resist or argue, and I pray that he catches the warning in my glare. I’m just bending to pick up the three-hole punch when Dad appears in the doorway.

“Is everything okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” I say, waving the beast of a gadget at him. “Just knocked a couple of things off my desk.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Calder raise his eyebrows in surprise. I give him a small kick, hoping he gets the hint.

Dad is looking curiously at me, and I realize suddenly how disheveled I must appear. My hands skim over my shirt, my skirt. And—oh, God—my hair…

“It’s been a rough day,” I say, trying to brush it off, hoping against hope that my face isn’t as red as it feels. Crap, are my lips swollen?

But my dad either doesn’t notice or chooses not to see.

“That Collins woman again?” he says. “She’s been a real trip.”

I nod. “Called and changed her numbers again. I—”

Calder is touching me. His fingers are sliding up my leg—softly, slowly, sending shivers all the way up my thigh. I clear my throat and try to shift away from him, but his hand follows.

“I—I redid the invoices,” I manage, indicating the papers that are still on the floor. Calder’s hand has slipped beneath the hem of my skirt now, and it’s slowly inching its way upward. His breath is warm against my ankle. When I try to gently nudge his face away, he nips at my skin and flicks his tongue sensually along the back of my leg. I try not to squirm.

“How many do they have coming?” Dad asks.

It’s hard to remember the number with Calder’s mouth teasing my ankle and his fingers caressing my thigh. “Two hundred and twelve, I think?”

Dad whistles. “A big one.”

“We need it.” I lean forward and grip the desk, trying to keep my face blank. Calder’s ever-climbing hand is now tickling my strategically closed thighs, trying to force me to part them. In spite of the situation, my body reacts instinctively to the touch. Heat pools in my lower belly, a contrast to the panicked lump in my throat. I’m having trouble breathing normally, and my face and neck feel warmer with every passing second. I swear, if my dad finds out about us like this, Calder’s going to get it. And by “it” I don’t mean the prize he’s currently seeking between my legs.

I shift again, and this time I feel my heel connect with Calder’s cheek. He sucks in a breath, and I cough to cover up the sound.

Dad’s frowning. Great, he must have heard.

But no—he’s shaking his head. “Didn’t you have dinner plans with a friend?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” I smile. “I was just about to change.”

Dad’s smiling again. “Good. You’ve been working too much these past few weeks.”

“I could say the same of you.”

It’s true, but if I’m being honest, Dad looks the best he has in months. When the Frazer Center for the Arts was on the brink of closing, he was a mess. I’ve never seen him look so old, so tired, so haggard. But now he might be a decade younger. He’s smiling more—laughing, even—and, as cheesy as it sounds, the sparkle is back in his eyes. We’re not completely out of danger yet, but we’re moving steadily in the right direction, and that positive energy has been enough to make Dad excited about this place again.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “You have fun tonight, honey.”

“Will do.”

No sooner has he turned away than Calder grabs my hand and yanks me down beside him—or, more accurately, on top of him. I squirm as he wraps his arms around me, holding me hostage.

“That was an interesting welcome,” he murmurs against my hair. “First you forget about our date—”

“I didn’t forget,” I insist. “I just got caught up in—”

“And then you hide me from your father like we’re in high school or something.” His arms tighten around my waist. “Are you embarrassed by me?”

“No! Of course not! I just haven’t told Dad about you yet. He’s not—I mean, I don’t think he hates you or anything, but he…” I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but instead he flips me over so that I’m beneath him. His face looms over mine, but I don’t get a chance to read his expression before he dips his head and nuzzles my neck.

“You mean he won’t exactly be happy to know you’re dating the guy who almost brought this place down around your ears,” he murmurs before attacking my throat with his mouth.

I nod, too distracted by the thing he’s doing with his tongue to answer immediately. When I agreed to let Calder pick me up at work, I’d planned to meet him outside.

“Plus,” I manage after a minute, “he’s going to wonder how it came about, and I never exactly told him the truth about that weekend.” Ah, yes—those three days I spent trapped in the Cunningham mansion playing cat-and-mouse with Calder, letting him tease me and taunt me and give me the most intense sex I’ve ever had in my life. Even now I shiver at the memory.

But it’s not exactly something you tell your dad. Especially when the sex god in question is the person responsible for the near-ruin of his nonprofit arts center. And that’s exactly what makes our current position on the floor of my office especially compromising.

But Calder has noticed my body’s reaction, and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip out of his fingers.

“What, you don’t want your father to know what dirty, dirty things you’ve done?” he whispers against my throat. He grabs my skirt and begins tugging the fabric up toward my hips.

“Calder!” I rasp, batting at his hands. “Not here.”

He ignores me. His fingers slide up the backs of my bare thighs, moving to the lacy edge of my panties.

“Calder…” This time it doesn’t sound like much of a warning. God, when did I lose complete control over my body?

His hand slips beneath the thin fabric of my underwear and skims across my bare ass. I writhe against him, but my attempts to get away only backfire, judging by the bulge I feel in his pants. He starts to pull my panties down my legs. If I don’t do anything quickly, he’s going to have me right here on the floor of my office.

Not that my body seems to mind the idea. I’m trembling, aching for that touch I’ve missed these past weeks. When he slips his fingers between my legs, I just about lose it.

“What about dinner?” I ask him frantically.

“Screw dinner.”

“I still have to change.”

“Go naked.”

“If you think I’m going to have sex with you while my dad’s in the next room…”

“That just makes it more… stimulating, doesn’t it?” His finger brushes against my clit, and I suck in a breath.

Part of me wants to just give in, to surrender myself to the pent up sexual energy that’s consumed me since the last time we saw each other. But fortunately, the rational part of my mind hasn’t completely jumped ship just yet.

“Martin’s expecting us,” I remind him.

At the mention of his family’s former chef, Calder sighs. His explorations of my body cease, and his grip loosens on my waist.

“Martin was always quite the cockblock,” he growls. But he moves his fingers across my sensitive nub a final time, and amusement flashes in his eyes when I let out a soft whimper.

“Tonight,” he promises, “you’ll be begging me for it. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name, let alone annoying little things like dinner plans.”

His words send a thrill through my core, but I can’t let him see how much they affect me or we’ll never get out of here. I wiggle once more beneath him, and he sighs and rolls off of me. I give him a playful hit as I sit up. If we’re going to be on time for our reservation, I don’t have much time to change and freshen up my makeup.

“Just stay down there for a minute,” I say, glancing around once more for my bag. “I’m going to run to the bathroom and change.”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning. “Or you could just close the door and change in here. I promise I’ll behave.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. Besides, you’re not supposed to see me naked before the first date.”

His eyes darken. “I think we’re already past that barrier.”

“You know what I mean.”

He chuckles, but his eyes continue to burn into mine. “It won’t stop me from trying to get your clothes off.”

If we didn’t have a reservation—and if my dad weren’t right next door—I would just give into his teasing. But we aren’t locked away in his mansion, shut off from the rest of the world. We’re in the Frazer Center, and we have a very important reservation.

“Martin will be disappointed if we’re late,” I remind him again.

“Fine. I’ll behave. But you better hurry, or I’ll ravish you anyway. And I don’t care who in this place knows it.”

I find my bag behind the door and grab it, not bothering to respond. I don’t want to give him any encouragement. Even the feeling of his gaze on me makes prickles dance across my skin, and I know it wouldn’t take much to break my resistance completely.

God, it’s just too easy for him, isn’t it?

I race down the hallway and lock myself in the bathroom. It takes me only about a minute to slip out of my button-down and pencil skirt and pull on the black dress I brought along. It’s sleek and sexy, but not too revealing—perfect for a first date.

It feels so strange, preparing for an actual date with Calder. I mean, my primary acquaintance with this man stems from those passionate, erotic days I spent with him on his former estate. That whole weekend still feels like a very strange but vivid sexual dream—I mean, we played hide-and-seek, for God’s sake—and I can’t quite reconcile that experience with my normal everyday life.

I put on my heels next, and then I pull my hair out of its ponytail while I scrabble for my cosmetics bag. I’m suddenly nervous, and an anxious lump settles in my belly as I shake my waves of hair out around my shoulders. What will Calder think of me, now that the erotic fairy tale is over? When I’m not a desperate prisoner, and he no longer has the world at his feet? When we’re just two ordinary people eating dinner?

I force myself to take a deep breath as I give myself a final once-over in the mirror.

Everything’s going to be fine, I tell myself. I’m going to have an amazing time tonight.

I grab my things from the floor and hurry back to my office.

Calder is no longer hiding behind the desk.

“What are you doing?” I say, looking nervously down the hall. “What if my dad walked by?”

He’s standing at my wall, looking at my pictures. At the end of every instructional cycle, we take photos of each of the art classes. I’ve taught more than a few classes during my time here, and I keep every picture.

“I didn’t realize you worked with the kids,” Calder says, still staring at the images.

“I do a little bit of everything around here. At a place as small as this, you learn to wear more than a few hats.”

He nods, frowning a little. I wonder what he’s thinking—whether he’s remembering his own part in the Frazer Center’s troubles. But not his part—his father’s part. It’s not Calder’s fault that he inherited financial troubles.

I walk over and place my hand gently on his arm. The touch seems to bring him back to the present, and the clouds disappear from his expression. He turns to me, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes widen slightly. His gaze drifts down my body.

“You,” he says, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips, “are absolutely breathtaking.”

I’m blushing again. I try to tug my hand away, but he holds it tight. He flicks his tongue across the tips of my fingers, and heat rushes between my legs.

“I thought of your punishment,” he says.

“Punishment?”

“For forgetting our date.” He holds out his hand. “Your panties, please.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I think it’s a suitable request, considering the emotional distress you put me through.”

“Yeah, you seem very distressed,” I tease. But I don’t object when he reaches out and pulls up the ends of my dress.

“Go on, then,” he says.

I cast a quick glance back at the door before grabbing my panties and pushing them down. Calder gives my bareness an appreciative glance before dropping my dress, and I reach down and grab the garment that has pooled around my ankles.

At least I had the foresight to wear a sexy pair. They’re black and lacy, and Calder seems all too pleased when I hand them over.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I’ll take good care of them for you.”

“And what am I supposed to do? What if I get cold?”

He looks as if he’s about to devour me whole. “Then I’ll just have to take care of that for you, won’t I?”

He slips the panties into his pocket, and I press my thighs together. I’m already experiencing the effect he desired, but I can’t let things get out of hand.

“Dinner,” I remind him.

“Of course.”

I lead him to the door, taking care to glance around for Dad before slipping out into the hallway. I feel extra scandalous without any underwear, but I can’t let that distract me. We need to get out of here unnoticed.

We’re almost to the front door—almost free—when I hear a small gasp to my left. Morgan, one of our new teachers, stands at the door to her classroom, gaping at us.

Well, gaping at Calder, more accurately. He has that effect sometimes.

Morgan blinks, then squints. I imagine she’s trying to figure out how and why she recognizes the gorgeous man standing in our lobby. She wasn’t here last year to meet Calder the one time he visited the Center with his father, but she’s probably seen his face on the tabloids more than a couple of times.

But as much as I’d love to indulge her curiosity, Dad’s sure to spot us if we linger here too long.

“We’re late for dinner,” I tell her. “But I’ll talk to you in the morning?”

Morgan’s eyes flick to me, and she nods. The promise of an explanation tomorrow seems to satisfy her for the moment. I make another dash for the door with Calder in tow, but I pause at the threshold, glancing back.

“Do me a favor and keep this from my dad?”

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she breaks into a smile.

“I get it,” she says, winking. “Your secret’s safe. You two have fun.” Her voice rises suggestively on the last word, and I feel myself blushing once more as Calder and I escape outside.

“Can she keep a secret?” Calder asks, slipping a hand onto my lower back and guiding me across the parking lot. “Or should I expect a murder attempt by your father in the middle of the night?”

“He won’t murder you.”

“Ah, good.”

“He’s more of the torturing type.”

He grins in response, but I detect a hint of worry behind his amusement.

“I’ll tell him about us soon,” I promise. “I just need to figure out how to raise the topic.” But that’s not the only thing I have to figure out. Even if I can come up with a reasonable explanation for my current association with Calder, what exactly do I call this thing between us? I know that we’re attracted to each other, and I believe there’s a deeper emotional connection here. But how deep? We’re not even technically “exclusive”—right?

Look at me. We’re not even to the car and I’m already overanalyzing things.

Thus begins the Madness of Lily Frazer.

Still, I put on a smile. I’m on a date with Calder Cunningham. I need to stop worrying and enjoy myself.

He stops in front of a silver sedan.

“Your chariot, my lady.” He eyes the car sidelong. “This is where I wish I’d found a way to keep the Lamborghini.”

I laugh. “You’ve seen the death trap that I drive. This looks like pure luxury.” I should tell him that it doesn’t matter what he drives—that he could carry me to the restaurant on the handlebars of a bicycle, for all I care—but that sentiment sounds way too sappy. So I bite my lip and let him guide me into the passenger’s seat.

I cross my hands in my lap as he walks around to the driver’s side. My nerves have returned in full force. Back on his estate, I felt wild and wicked and seductive. In that strange, secluded mansion, I discovered a passionate, confidently sexual side of myself that I never even knew existed. Now? I feel like a freaking high schooler on her first grown-up date—uncertain and awkward and terrified.

Please, don’t let me vomit in his car…

He flashes me another one of his killer smiles as he slides into his seat. It sets off an entire circus of butterflies in my stomach. He puts his keys into the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, he leans over and takes me by the chin, pulling my lips to his.

I lean into his kiss, sinking into the sensations sweeping through me. This I can handle. This fire, this physical passion. I open my mouth beneath his, let his breath mingle with mine. His hand skims over my breasts, teasing my nipples to hard points beneath the thin fabric. I want to forget dinner. Forget the awkward formality of a real “date.” I want to slip out of this dress and let him fuck me right here in this car. I shouldn’t have stopped him before. I should have let him take me, because I know that as soon as we’re joined I’ll forget all these silly worries and remember that this, right now, is perfect.

But Martin is expecting us.

This time Calder is the one who pulls away first, but I can tell by the lazy curl of his lips and the dark gleam in his eyes that he wants to give into the same urges I do.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he says. “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman at the restaurant.”

I nod and sit back against my seat.

It’s just a date, I tell myself. I’m just nervous. I bet if I told him, he’d think it was cute.

But somewhere, deep down, I know this isn’t just a date, at least not for me. And that’s the part that’s terrifying.

CHAPTER TWO

I’ve only been to a few nice restaurants in my life. And by a “few” I mean, quite literally, two or three. Fine dining isn’t exactly a priority when you’re living off of the salary I am, but I’ve treated myself once or twice, when the occasion has called for it.

But Ventine’s makes all those other restaurants look like those cheap family chains—you know, the ones that offer “Two For” Tuesdays and $6 pitchers of margaritas on Ladies’ Night. Ventine’s is swanky with a capital “S.” White linens, silver fixtures, soft golden light designed to arouse all sorts of appetites. The walls are covered in dark, glossy wood paneling, and there’s a long, marble bar backed by a mirror with silver filigree along the edges.

It’s the grand opening, so the crowd is chic and lively and well dressed. I feel a little out of place among these people, even though I’m sure none of them will spare me a second glance. My dress might have come from a department store, but it’s as sleek and classic as anything from a designer boutique. Still, I feel like I’m walking into a scene from someone else’s life. Someone who goes to fancy parties and ribbon cuttings and drinks champagne with their dinner every Wednesday just because.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled to be here. I glance up at Calder. He’s used to events like this, places like this, people like this. I wonder, suddenly, how it feels for him to walk in here after this life was stolen away from him. But he smiles down at me, looking completely confident and comfortable. And when he catches the eye of the maître d’, the man comes rushing over as if Calder owns the place.

“Good evening, Mr. Cunningham, Ms. Frazer,” the maître d’ chirps, nodding to each of us in turn. “Please, let me take you to your table.”

Calder keeps his hand on my waist, holding me close to him as we move through the restaurant. I’m comforted by the heat of his fingers through my dress, a whisper of touch in the noise of this room. I might not belong with these people, but I belong with him.

“Martin promised me the best table in the house,” he tells me. “I told him I’d settle for nothing less.”

I grin. “I guess it pays to know the chef.”

The maître d’ leads us to a table near the back of the restaurant. It’s out of the main hustle and bustle of the floor, offering us a fair amount of privacy, but it still has a good view of the rest of the room. There’s a bouquet of amethyst calla lilies lying across one of the places.

“I almost went for roses,” Calder says, leaning down and speaking in my ear as he hands them to me. “But I thought these were more suitable.”

“They’re beautiful.” I bury my nose among the petals.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the fairy tale isn’t over yet.

Calder pulls out my chair for me, and his fingers graze my bare arm as he helps me sit. He takes the lilies from me and places them in a crystal vase already waiting on our little table. He prepared for this, thought out every little detail. It stirs something in my belly.

I feel Calder’s eyes on me as he takes his own seat, but I’m too overwhelmed to meet his gaze. This is too perfect. I’m not used to this.

Instead, I look out across the restaurant. This place truly is lovely. And if I can trust the sea of aromas greeting me, the food will be absolutely heavenly. Not that I’d expect any less. I tasted Martin’s food at the Cunningham mansion, back when the chef was still in Calder’s employ. He worked with the family for years—Calder’s entire life, essentially—but keeping a personal chef is a luxury Calder can no longer afford.

Not that it seems to matter. When I glance back up at Calder, he looks every bit the self-assured billionaire he always was. He’s watching me with those dark eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.

“I hope you trust me,” he says.

“Since when was that a good idea?”

He leans forward and closes his hand around mine. “I’ve already arranged the menu for tonight. On Martin’s recommendations, of course.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Making decisions for me already?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Believe me, I know better. But I want you to feel taken care of tonight.”

The idea pleases me more than I want to admit. God, what is he doing to me? By the end of the night I’m going to be a pathetic, simpering mess.

Fortunately, I’m saved from having to respond—and certainly making a fool of myself—by the arrival of the executive chef himself.

“Martin!” I exclaim. My acquaintance with the man was brief, but I always liked him, and I’m thrilled that he found this opportunity.

“Ms. Frazer,” he says, reaching out and clasping my hand. “A pleasure, as always.”

Calder’s standing, and he reaches out and claps Martin on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, old man,” he says. “Thank you for the table.”

Martin’s grin widens. “Actually, I should be thanking you, Mr. Cunningham. I’m sorry I can’t linger and chat, but I wanted to come by and say hello before the main rush. And assure you, of course, that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you have the perfect evening.”

“I have every confidence it will be,” Calder says.

“I hope you two brought your appetites,” Martin says. “Everything’s on the house tonight, of course.”

Martin retreats back to the kitchen, but no sooner has he gone than a waiter arrives with a bottle of champagne—some crazy-ass expensive champagne by the look of it.

“A gift from the chef,” he says.

I look over at Calder. “I guess this means he approves of me?”

The waiter pops the cork, and I watch him pour the golden liquid into a pair of glass flutes.

Calder, however, is watching me.

“The very first night Martin met you,” Calder says, “he told me he expected to be seeing a lot more of you.”

“You’re just teasing me.”

“Not at all. Sometimes I think Martin knows what I need better than I do.”

Again, he seems to know just how to throw me off-balance. Flustered, I quickly grab my glass of champagne.

“Look at that,” he says. “Five minutes in and I’ve already got you speechless.”

In spite of myself, I feel my flush deepen. “Try not to get a big head.”

He reaches over and slides his hand along my arm. “I like that I make you nervous.”

Nervous? My stomach is doing freaking somersaults. If I don’t change the subject, I’m going to end up a puddle of mush on the floor.

“What did Martin mean when he said he should be thanking you?” I ask.

Calder leans back in his seat. “It was nothing. I have a few connections in the restaurant industry, so I put him in contact with the owners of this place. It was the least I could do, all things considered.”

“He seemed excited.”

“He’s thrilled. I talked to him earlier this week, when he was making a few last-minute tweaks to the menu. You should have heard him. Like some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed upstart fresh out of culinary school.” Calder looks down at the table. “He worked in restaurants before, you know. The last place had two Michelin stars. My father must have paid him handsomely to convince him to leave that and come work for us.” His smile fades, he shifts in his seat.

I frown. “You don’t believe your father forced him to work for you?”

“Not forced, certainly. But hearing Martin talk about how excited he is to run a full kitchen again—it makes me wonder. If he hadn’t come to us, he might have had an entire restaurant empire by now. He would have had plenty of accolades, of course. Cookbooks, probably. Maybe even his own TV program.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you really see Martin as some celebrity chef running around and screaming at people on a reality show?”

That earns me a small smile. “Of course not. I just wonder if he regrets it all, sometimes.”

“I don’t believe for a minute that Martin regrets anything.” I reach over and take his hand. “He could have walked away at any time and had a dozen job offers, but he didn’t. He stayed because he loved working for you guys. You might not be related by blood, but you can’t tell me that man isn’t part of your family.” These last few months, he’s been the only family Calder has had. Calder’s own sister, Louisa, skipped away back to Southeast Asia as soon as their father’s funeral was over. I know she’s heavily involved in some philanthropic projects over there, but it still infuriates me that she’d run off to the other side of the world instead of helping her brother sort through the mess they inherited.

His thumb skims across the back of my hand. I look for some hopeful reaction to my words—a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, maybe, or a glimmer of understanding in his eyes, but I get nothing.

“Calder,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze.

He looks up at me then, and the look on his face nearly breaks my heart. We haven’t talked in depth about all of the changes he’s dealt with these past few months. His father’s death, his financial ruin, the loss of his childhood home—any or all of those things would have broken a weaker man. We walked through the house together, he and I, a few weeks ago. I held his hand and listened to his stories, helped him say goodbye. But it’s one thing to lend a hand or an ear, and quite another to know what to say to a person who’s just lost everything, whose entire life has been upended before your eyes. I can’t even begin to understand what he’s feeling, and anything I might say sounds so trite in my head.

My only solace is that the press hasn’t picked up on it yet. There was a flurry of interest in Wentworth Cunningham’s death, but it died down pretty quickly. The Cunninghams’ people must have worked overtime to keep the rest of it out of the news, but now that he can no longer employ any PR geniuses to hide his family’s dirty laundry, I know it’s only a matter of time. The tabloids will eat this up.

And I can’t do anything. Except offer that hand, or ear—or, all else failing, a suitable distraction.

I slide my fingers out of his and slip my hand beneath the table, finding his knee. His eyes widen as my touch moves up his leg, but then there it is: the curl of his lip, the flash of light in his eyes. It’s like he comes back to life again.

His hand grabs mine, stopping my advance.

“Be careful,” he says, his voice low and warm. “If you get me worked up, I might have to whisk you out of here before we even get to taste the appetizers.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Don’t tempt me.” His own fingers slide over to my leg, slipping over the thin fabric of my dress. “Or I’ll have you squirming right here in the middle of the restaurant.”

His hand is dangerously close to fulfilling that promise. Just the promise of his words is arousing me, and I shift slightly as the blood starts to rush between my legs. I have no doubt Calder would take great joy in getting me off right here. There’s something delightfully dirty about it, touching each other in this crowded, bustling room.

“Well?” he says, probing further. “Would you like to play a little game? See how quietly you can come?”

Oh, God. It wouldn’t take much, not at this point.

I might have let him do it, too, but the waiter suddenly appears with a tray full of appetizers. I jerk my hand back from Calder’s leg, but he continues to caress my inner thigh, even as the waiter arranges the dishes on the table in front of us.

I’m getting wetter by the second. He has me at a disadvantage, considering he has my panties. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from moaning when he begins to rub his finger along the length of my folds.

“All right, all right,” I say as soon as the waiter leaves. “I forfeit. I lose.”

“If we were anywhere but Martin’s restaurant, you’d be in deep, deep trouble.”

I don’t doubt it. Calder removes his hand from between my legs, and as I watch he brings his wet finger up to his lips.

Holy crap.

My whole body’s on fire. I want to look away, but I can’t tear my eyes from the sight of him tasting me on his finger. His own gaze remains locked on me, and I’m afraid those piercing dark eyes will send me over the edge. By the time he’s licked himself clean, I’m barely breathing.