Des Chapman <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Making a list, checking it twice

I’m not even going to touch the fact that you compared finding a partner with shopping for groceries. Maybe have a think about that next time you’re looking at dating profiles. Finding ingredients for soup is not the same as ticking off the attributes of a potential date.

Des

P.S. I’m not Googling flamboyant flamingos…how do you think that would look to my IT guy?

P.P.S. Gotta run. See you on Tuesday.

Gracie dragged the email chain into a folder marked “friends” and finished her lunch. She was already looking forward to Tuesday with much more excitement than she should—and it had nothing to do with her date.

Chapter Two

The days dragged until Tuesday night. Gracie had a blind date with the cousin of a friend—a lawyer, divorced, no kids—so she returned to First. She’d changed at work, touched up her makeup, and ignored the fact that she was more excited to see Des than she was to meet her date.

The city was dark and glittery. A hint of leftover winter chill caused Gracie to pull her coat tighter around her. She’d had one of those days—the drop your latte, ladder your tights, trip on the stairs in front of your boss kind of days—and she was late.

Clicking up the narrow sidewalk, she kept her head down to watch for any cracks or grates which might claim her new stilettos. Breaking a heel would be the cherry on top of a perfectly crappy day and, if Murphy had anything to say about it, a broken heel would come at the worst possible moment.

Her feet moved quickly, a blur of bright red patent leather, as she hurried toward First. As she was about to turn into the restaurant’s entrance she slammed into something hard and dark. Her flattened palms connected with a solid wall of muscle, her nose pushed against black fabric as she tottered on her heels.

What in the—

“Whoa.”

Large hands gripped her arms and the scent of spice and wood-fire filled her nostrils. Forcing herself not to sigh against the man’s chest, she looked up and met two onyx eyes. She would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Gracie Greene, what a surprise.”

“Des,” she squeaked, stepping back to straighten herself. She brushed his hands off before her brain decided to remember how they felt, and tugged her coat back into place. “You shouldn’t come storming out of a doorway like that. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perhaps that someone should watch where they’re going.” He quirked a thick, black brow at her, his luscious lips curved into an amused smile.

Why did he have to smell so damn good?

“Isn’t the customer always right?” She tilted her head, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

Des stepped aside and pulled the door open with one hand, motioning with the other for her to enter. “I’m assuming the dude in the obnoxious suit is waiting for you? Be warned, he’s going thin on top. Give it a few years and you’ll be able to use his head for a solar panel.”

“You’re awful,” she said, stifling a laugh.

He didn’t move as she stepped through the doorway, the confines of the entrance forcing her to get close. At six feet something, he towered over her, and his huge shoulders crowded her as she slipped past. She kept her hands against her stomach, lest she brush them over the denim that melded to his thighs like a second skin.

“Give a girl a bit of room, why don’t you?” she muttered.

“That was much more pleasurable than giving you room.” His wolfish smile made her heart thud an erratic beat, her palms slick around the handle of her bag. “See you for a drink later?”

“Only if you’re lucky.”

She stepped into the restaurant, the dim lighting making everything warm and cozy. Deeply colored wood panelled the walls and candles flickered at every table. The space was intimate, sensual. Or perhaps she connected the place with Des, and she associated him with those words? Shaking her head, she looked around until she found the man in a suit sitting by himself. He wore a purple tie, as he’d said over the phone.

“Barkley?” His name was almost as obnoxious as his suit…almost. The dark gray wool was patterned with thick, white stripes, and the shirt he wore underneath was louder still.

“Lovely to meet you, Gracie.” He extended his hand. Clammy flesh slid into her palm and Gracie swallowed.

Perhaps breaking a heel wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen to her that evening. Her date smiled, his reptilian lips spreading thin.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, retracting his hand and appraising her openly.

“Date?”

“Specifically, blind date. I’m serious about finding someone to settle down with, and like all good investments, I like a thorough opportunity to do my homework before making any commitments.”

Did he call me an investment?

“Of course,” she said slowly, careful to keep her facial expression neutral. When she didn’t continue, Barkley motioned for the waiter.

“A bottle of the De Bortoli Reserve Chardonnay, please,” he said.

Gracie opened her mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut when her date relieved the waiter with a, “That will be all”.

“You’ll like it, Gracie. It’s an excellent wine.”

“I don’t drink chardonnay,” Gracie replied, stifling a smile at the shocked look on his face. “I’m quite capable of ordering my own drinks.”

“Excuse me for being a gentleman.”

Gracie seriously doubted he understood the first thing about being gentlemanly. She flagged down another waiter passing by.

“I’d like to order a drink, please.” She used her most charming tone and delighted in the red flush that swelled in Barkley’s cheeks. “A Bellini, please, with a cherry on the side.”

…

Des sat in the back office of First, clearing his head. His literal brush with Gracie had left him irritated and…horny. With a single glance, a flick of her lashes, a glimpse of a smile, she made his blood roar and his hands itch to be on her. It wasn’t healthy how much he wanted her, especially since she brought loser after loser into his bar.

Was she trying to torture him?

He stared at the unfinished staff roster. Lately he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the most basic of tasks without getting distracted by thoughts of her.

Paul walked into the office and winked at him. “Your lady friend is here. Looks like she’s on another date.”

“Don’t start,” Des warned him.

Paul held up his hands. “All I’m saying is that you might want to, you know, grow some balls and ask her out. It’s obvious you like her. What’s with the silent act?”

The last thing he needed was his younger brother berating him. The Gracie thing was… Well, it was complicated and Paul wouldn’t understand. He changed girls more frequently than he changed his underwear. He didn’t know what it was like to harbor feelings for someone in the unattainable zone.

“Besides, she’s hot. Why wouldn’t you ask her out?”

“Enough,” Des growled.

“Des?” The trainee barman poked his head into the office and thrust an order docket in Des’s direction. “I got a strange order from table seven. Where do you keep the cherries again?”

He smiled and plucked the piece of paper from the young man’s hand. “I’ll take care of this one.”

He hadn’t even finished pouring the Prosecco when Gracie appeared at the bar, her eyes narrowed. Her silken dark chocolate curls were piled on her head, but winding tendrils had escaped to softly frame her heart-shaped face. Large green stones hung from her ears and glinted in the candlelight.