Fortune's Just Desserts Read online

  It wasn’t entirely his fault, he supposed. There was something about Wendy Fortune that just short-circuited every logical path before him, every plan he’d ever laid out for himself. Moreover, just by existing, she had made him come close to betraying everything he’d always promised himself that he wouldn’t do.

  While he was always more than open to enjoying the company of beautiful women and having a good time with them, there were lines he had always refused to cross. He never socialized with an employee after hours and he never went below his general age group.

  Wendy had made him break both rules.

  She was twenty-one, for heaven’s sake. His reaction to her had brought him damn close to being a cradle robber. Granted, there was only a five-year difference between them, but it was a major five years. There were times when he felt old for his age, and if she was any younger for hers, she’d be teething.

  Besides, seeing Wendy after hours didn’t fit into his five-year plan. He had mountains to climb, worlds to conquer and eventually his own restaurant to open. And his gut told him that that little lady, with her honeysuckle voice and huge brown eyes, was one major, sashaying distraction that would keep him from accomplishing any of it.

  Until Wendy had waltzed into his life, he had thought that no woman alive could make him toss caution to the winds just for the thrill of losing himself in her. But there she was, his own personal lost and found. He felt as if he both lost himself in her and found a side of himself he hadn’t known existed.

  Rousing himself, Marcos shut off the lights and headed for the front door.

  Those same instincts he was damning for drawing him to her told him that if he made the supreme mistake of giving in to the temptation presently rattling his cage—if he made love with Wendy—nothing would ever be the same again.

  All of his precious, carefully laid-out plans and goals would wind up taking a backseat to his libido, something that had never happened before. And he couldn’t afford for that to happen now.

  He’d probably be better off if he fired her, Marcos thought, arming the security system and locking the front door.

  Or at the very least, he should have allowed her to quit when she’d threatened to do that just now. But instead of letting her storm out, he’d grabbed her and kissed her. He laughed shortly to himself. That didn’t exactly send her the right message, did it? It certainly didn’t say very much for his survival instincts, Marcos thought darkly.

  He’d done it for Red.

  Not kissing her—that had been purely for him. But he hadn’t let her quit, because her desserts were attracting more customers than the restaurant had ever had before. It was for the ultimate good of the restaurant that he had turned down her resignation. Wendy Fortune was a complete enigma: a food server who couldn’t carry trays properly, but still patrons asked for her and wanted to sit at her station. And, despite having no training, formal or otherwise, she created fantastic desserts though she didn’t know the names of half the ingredients.

  And yet when she was finished, there was no denying that each creation was even better than the last one. Even though, at the time, it hadn’t seemed remotely possible.

  The woman made miracles happen.

  Marcos sighed.

  He was stuck with her and he was just going to have to make the most of it—and the least of her, he silently added. He was just going to have to police himself and make sure he walked the straight and narrow line when it came to Wendy.

  Marcos wondered, as he walked back to his vehicle in the now-deserted parking lot, where he could get his hands on a good supply of saltpeter.

  And then, as he got into his car, Marcos shook his head. With his luck, it probably wouldn’t work. Somehow, she’d wind up having some kind of a natural repellent to the libido suppressant and, more than likely, her immunity would transfer to him whenever he found himself around her.

  Okay, he was babbling now and making absolutely no sense.

  Marcos turned the key in the ignition and peeled out of the lot. Time to head for home and try to get some sleep. Maybe he’d feel more up to tackling this problem in the morning.

  But somehow, he doubted it.

  This couldn’t go on indefinitely, Wendy told herself two days later. Rather than being less aware of Marcos, the way she’d promised herself she would be after that fiasco in his office, now she was even more aware of him, of his comings and goings, than ever.

  For whatever reason, he’d decided to revert back to his old habits, remaining at the restaurant, working, instead of clocking out early, only to return with his latest fling draped like Velcro on his arm.

  At least she didn’t have to deal with that, Wendy thought.

  But she did have to deal with knowing that at any second she could run into him. That was when everything would turn awkward. He made her feel awkward, something that normally didn’t happen.

  This just couldn’t continue, she thought again as she rummaged around in the storeroom, looking for a sack of powdered sugar.

  And there it was, she saw, right in front of her. This “thing” with Marcos was making her blind as well as crazy. First chance she got, she promised herself as she hefted the huge bag, she was going to talk to Marcos and have it out with him.

  She suppressed a grunt as she shifted the load, trying to find a comfortable way to transport it back to the kitchen. Struggling, she made the best of it, tottering slightly as she emerged from the depths of the storeroom and turned a corner.

  The next second, she was swallowing a shriek of surprise—and dropping the sack to the floor. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of colliding with Marcos.

  “I’m not that scary,” he protested gruffly, squatting down to pick up the sugar.

  Unfortunately, Wendy had automatically done the same thing, with predictable results. Their heads met and bumped—hard.

  The impact caused her to lose her balance. The next thing she knew, she was falling backward.

  Biting off a curse, Marcos made a grab for her arm, missed and wound up smack on top of the woman he’d been doing his damnedest to avoid.

  Had this occurred with any other employee, he would have instantly jumped to his feet as if his legs were made of steel springs.

  But he wasn’t on top of Antonio, the busboy. He was on top of Wendy, the dangerously desirable pas try goddess. On top of her in a semidark storeroom. With no one else anywhere in the immediate vicinity and no indication that anyone would be sharing the space with them anytime soon.

  His body instantly sizzled and he could literally feel the heat radiating from her—or was that his body heating up like some out-of-control furnace?

  Either way, there was heat, a great deal of over whelming heat. And such an urgent pull in the center of his core that he found it impossible to ignore and almost as impossible to resist. Especially since she wasn’t offering a word of protest.

  Heaven help him, he felt her breath along his neck, melting away what shreds of resistance he was vainly attempting to gather.

  With his last ounce of self-control, Marcos put his hands down flat on either side of Wendy. He had every intention of pushing himself up off her and to his feet. But the look in her eyes froze him in place just long enough to hear her utter a single, soft word.

  “Don’t,” Wendy whispered.

  He didn’t.

  Instead of pushing himself up, he remained exactly where he was and found himself gathering her to him. The very hands that were going to save him had betrayed him instead.

  His mouth came down on hers.

  The sound of intense pleasure that escaped her lips made his blood rush and sealed his fate at the very same time.

  He kissed her over and over again, his lips traveling over her face, her throat, moving down to her collarbone. Breathing hard, Wendy arched into him. An urgency prompted her to begin working his shirt buttons free.

  A desperation seized him and he could feel that it was mutual. They both wanted to capture this momen
t before it was gone or something caused it to shatter.

  The same urgency that prompted her vibrated through him. Marcos tugged the edges of her blouse out of her waistband. He slipped his hands beneath the fabric, touching her, caressing her. Wanting to possess her and make her his in every way possible.

  The sound of the door closing in the distance, followed by footfalls, had both of them jerking apart and then freezing in place.

  Listening.

  The sound grew closer.

  As if sharing one single thought, they instantly reversed their actions. Clothes about to be torn away were immediately tucked and smoothed back into place.

  Gaining his feet, Marcos grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

  They had time for one deep breath before their duo became a trio.

  Enrique came around the corner, then stopped dead.

  The chef looked less surprised to see them than they were to see him.

  “Am I interrupting something?” he asked casually, then added a single word as amusement curved his mouth. “Again?”

  Wendy found her tongue first. “I was having trouble carrying this huge sack of powdered sugar,” she told the chef, gesturing at the bag that was on its side on the floor where she had dropped it. “I asked Marcos if he’d help carry it into the kitchen for me.”

  Enrique looked impressed. “How kind of you, Marcos. I would have expected you to tell the busboy to do something so menial.”

  “There are no menial tasks, Enrique,” Marcos replied, bending down to lift up the fallen sack. “Only menial people. We’re all in Red together,” he added.

  Enrique, the corners of his mouth still curved in amusement, nodded his head in agreement. “Which is why Red is such a success. I am wondering, though, if you are helping her by carrying the sack.” He paused significantly.

  “Yes?” Marcos asked.

  “What is it still doing on the floor?” There was humor in his dark eyes as he waited for an answer.

  Again, it was Wendy who answered. Marcos got the feeling that coming up with instant answers and alibis was second nature to her. Undoubtedly something she’d honed as a teen whenever she was caught sneaking back into the house by a caring parent. He’d heard via the grapevine that wealth had not caused her parents to abdicate their parental authority.

  “You startled us,” she told the chef. “He dropped it.”

  “I see.” Enrique smiled broadly. “Well, I came in to get the first rack of spareribs. Would you like to get those for me?” he asked, waiting for Marcos to answer. “I’m experimenting with a new sauce.”

  “You look strong enough to get your own rack of spareribs, Enrique.” With that, Marcos hoisted the sugar to his shoulder and began walking toward the storeroom’s outer door.

  Wendy followed closely behind him, acutely aware that the chef was watching her every step.

  Had Enrique been just several minutes later, there would have been no way that she and Marcos could have quickly resurrected decorum. Marcos would have been making love with her, and Enrique would have been there to witness it.

  While the thought of an observer to this, the most intimate of acts, brought more than its share of color to her cheeks, the fact was not lost on her that, because of Enrique’s unfortunate, poorly timed entrance, another opportunity had slipped through her fingers and fallen by the wayside.

  It made Wendy ache inside.

  Coming out of the storeroom and into the kitchen, she looked around, trying to find the man who most definitely lit her fire every time she came within tasting range of him.

  The sack of powdered sugar was lying on the stainless-steel table where he had obviously put it down, but Marcos was nowhere to be seen.

  Squaring her shoulders, Wendy went to see if he’d retreated to his office. On the way there, she stayed alert in case Marcos had detoured somewhere or something else had caught his attention.

  But he wasn’t in his office.

  Exhaling a huge sigh, Wendy turned on her heel, determined to find him. They needed to have this out.

  Where the hell was he? she wondered impatiently. Red hadn’t opened for business yet. There was no way that Marcos would have already left for the day.

  As she turned, Wendy came perilously close to walking into the object of her manhunt for the second time today. But this time, just before they collided, Marcos took a pronounced step back away from her.

  She couldn’t have put it into words exactly, but seeing him back away like that, as if she were a poisonous snake, really stung. Still, she forced herself to rally and forged ahead. They needed to clear the air, to get this out in the open and decide on a course of action that was acceptable to both of them.

  She already knew which way she was leaning. Mentally she crossed her fingers that, despite what he was saying, Marcos was leaning that way, as well. She was certain in her heart that the man who had kissed her in the storeroom wanted her, but verbally he was throwing up so many roadblocks that he was completely confusing her.

  Before Marcos could say anything to her, she announced, “We need to talk.”

  He looked at her and every instinct he had for self-preservation lit up like a huge red flare and a single word screamed through his brain: Mayday! The same message rumbled through his system.

  Marcos knew trouble when he saw it and this woman was trouble with a capital T. He had a feeling that she always had been, which was undoubtedly why her family had sent her here to Texas.

  “No,” he told her firmly, “we don’t.” And with that, he circumvented her, walked into his office and closed the door.

  His mistake was in not locking the door once he’d closed it. He hadn’t even reached his desk, located only a few feet away, before the door flew open and she was right there in the office beside him.

  And then, just like that, she was in front of him. In his face.

  “Yes,” she insisted firmly, “we do.”

  His eyes were dark, cautioning her to drop this subject that had no future.

  “What we have to do is get ready to open in half an hour. If you have a special dessert to offer for today’s menu, I suggest you get to it. Now,” he underscored. “Because if you don’t have anything ready—and approved—by the time we’re ready to open our doors, that space on the menu remains empty for the day.” He issued his ultimatum. “The choice is yours.”

  She looked at him, her mouth filled with words begging to be released.

  But arguing with him here and now would lead nowhere and she knew it.

  And besides, he was right, she did have to get something ready for today’s menu. She wasn’t about to shirk her duty or drop the ball, but neither was she going to allow herself to get distracted from having it out with him. She was just going to have to pick another time.

  Pressing her lips tighter to keep from saying something that might lead to yet another dead-end discussion, Wendy nodded.

  “All right, I’ll get right on it,” she promised.

  And silently, she made him another promise, one she intended to keep.

  But we are going to have this out, one way or another. You’re going to have to face me—and yourself. Soon, she added with feeling as she walked out.

  Very, very soon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It wound up being one of those days that felt as if it was never going to end.

  Today Wendy had come up with not just one new dessert but two. She did it not because she was an overachiever, but because she felt that if she did, it would show Marcos that she was dedicated. That she took her job just as seriously as she took the thought of the two of them finally and, in her estimation inevitably, coming together.

  But had Marcos said anything to her when she’d managed to top her lunch creation with the one that she offered for dinner? No, he hadn’t.

  It was like working for a sphinx. Except for the fact that he did talk to the rest of the staff as well as the patrons.

  It was just her he ignored.

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nbsp; Enrique had been generous with his accolades, raving about the new taste sensation she seemed to have uncovered, bringing together ingredients that had heretofore not been thought of in the same context. She’d mixed together a smattering of pomegranate seeds with fresh ginger, lemon curd, cream cheese and drizzled chocolate sprinkles over the mixture as it sat atop tiny phyllo dough shells. The man actually had seconds, something he rarely, if ever, did.

  At any other time, she would have been more than flattered.

  But it wasn’t Enrique’s approval she was interested in, even though she had accepted it politely, forcing a pleased smile to her lips. All the while she had done her best not to let anyone see just how much Marcos Mendoza’s silence bothered her.

  She’d thought, with Enrique having a difficult time keeping the kitchen staff from sneaking off with samples of her dessert, Marcos would have said something that even remotely sounded like a compliment. But when she’d presented him with a serving, he’d barely tasted it, just nodding his head and muttering something that sounded like, “It’ll do,” before walking out of the kitchen to take an incoming call.

  Probably from his newest bimbo of the day—or night, Wendy thought darkly.

  She had been so angry that she could have scratched his eyes out. But that would have shown him that she cared, that he’d affected her, and she’d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction. So when he left without saying an actual, audible word, she’d pretended not to notice and made herself busy with something else.

  That had been right before Eva had suddenly turned very pale and became rather unsteady on her feet. Forcing the senior waitress to sit down, Wendy had offered to take over her tables for the day, or at least until Eva began feeling better.

  For the next hour or so, Wendy had divided herself between taking orders in the dining area, and the kitchen, where she prepared the desserts to fill the incoming orders. Mercifully, her dual life came to an abrupt end when María Mendoza stopped by to get an early lunch. Seeing Eva’s pallor, the woman had whipped up something involving a heavy dose of ginger and bubbles and stood over Eva until she had drunk it down to the very last drop. At which point Eva shivered. A lot.