He smiled sheepishly and pulled her over him before pivoting her beneath him. Covering her with his body, his hands paved the way for his lips, and he began his own exploration, mumbling a single word. “Perfection.”
* * * *
They strolled up to
Emy’s Place
at a quarter to ten. Outside the door, he dropped his hand from her waist. “Okay, beautiful Emily, time to transform into foxy boss lady.”
She gave him a sly smile, then pulled on the front door. “As long as you’re aware that your job description includes taking me home each night and bringing me back to the restaurant satisfied each morning.”
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do to earn a living.” He leaned closer to her ear. “We need to stop by a drugstore on the way home.”
Emily smiled at the gentle reminder. She’d been so wrapped up in Jack that the idea of protection had taken a backseat to passion the previous night. Once she’d realized the omission, she’d mentioned it to Jack and they’d agreed to use condoms in the future. No fear of disease. Nothing in the past to haunt them. Stupid? Maybe, but she didn’t doubt him. Although pregnancy, even if highly unlikely for the time of the month, was something that did worry her. She didn’t want to raise a second child without a father.
“Morning, Em and Jack,” Betty called from behind the counter.
“Hi, Betty. How’d everything go this morning?” Emily asked, reaching the older woman and kissing her cheek.
“Fine here. I want to know how things went for you, sweetie,” Betty whispered in her ear.
Emily met her gaze and raised her eyebrows. “Great. Just great.”
Smacking her on her behind, Betty giggled and bobbed her head. “Nice to hear. Now see if you can get the captain to stick around.”
“Captain?”
“That’s what they call the people who fly jets.”
“Mm, interesting. He flies jets for the government.” Emily nodded her head and watched the man who’d colored her night saunter into the kitchen.
“His friend was in awe when he saw his captain busing tables the other day. The other man asked me about Jack’s job and was more than a little amused that Jack was taking orders. Jack this, Jack that, Jack really throws himself into his mission, and so much more. Handsome boy, if I must say. Well mannered, too.”
“That’s right. Kimber brought Lawson in.” Emily couldn’t see how her sister-in-law knew the men. Maybe it was work related. “I have to ask her about them later.”
“Oh, I don’t think she was
with
him. She took off in the car by herself. Jack’s friend headed down the road on foot.”
“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Emily smiled at her good friend.
“Try not to. Especially when it concerns my girls.” Betty tucked a towel in the band of her apron. “Now tell me about Captain Jack. You have a very bright twinkle in your eyes this morning.”
“Amazing.” She shrugged and raised her gaze to the ceiling, wrapping her arms around her middle in a tight hug. “He’s easy to talk to, sexy, smart, sexy, handy and oh sooo sexy. The best part is he doesn’t pretend to be sticking around. They’re probably on a two-week leave or something.”
“And you think he needs to supplement his income in his spare time?” Betty pointed out how peculiar it all sounded.
“I don’t know.” She walked behind the counter. “Okay, so something doesn’t fit. But he’s still amazing. I’m old enough to enjoy a physical relationship and not want anything more.”
“You are, sweetie. However, don’t think you can’t depend on any man. They’re not all like Jen’s dad, Bret, or like Jonathan, Greg and Tony.”
“You’ve just listed the reasons I don’t want a man to
depend
on. Not one, other than Pops, has ever been there for me. I’m not setting myself up for a fall again.”
Betty placed a hand on her hip and sighed. “Okay, sweetie. I just think Jack is different.”
“Whatever it is, it is.” Emily didn’t need to continue the conversation. She wasn’t taking the risk. No matter how much she liked him. “I have to tie up the loose ends for Pops’ party. When the waitresses come in to interview, please send them to the office.”
Using a black elastic tie, Emily pulled her hair back and walked away. She wasn’t about to lean on any man because he was phenomenal in bed. And no, men were not made like her Pops anymore. Today’s man wanted to be taken care of. He didn’t care to look after anyone else.
She stomped into her office and slammed the door.
Men were full of shit. They never stuck around. They never owned their responsibilities. Men had disappointed her every time she’d allowed them to get close.
“Screw it! I don’t need a man to count on.”
Picking up the phone, she dialed the handyman who’d constructed the stage for the party. No answer.
“Typical.”
He’d delivered the half-finished structure last week then vanished. It now sat in the carport behind the restaurant waiting to be finished and installed.
Flipping the Rolodex, she dialed the caterer’s number. He answered on the third ring.
“Pierre here.”
“Hi, Pierre. It’s Emily Mitchell.”
“
Oui, oui, ma chère. Comment t’allez vous?”
He breathed into the phone.
Actually, Pierre’s name was Pedro Ortiz. His family was from Cuba, and he’d been trying to get into her pants since the first day he’d moved to Marathon. He did nothing for her libido, but he served the prettiest and tastiest pâtés in the Keys.
“Just fine. Thanks for asking. I’m calling you to confirm the menu for Saturday’s party.”
“Oh,
chère
Emily. Tsk, tsk. You were supposed to let me know last Saturday, and when I didn’t hear from you, I thought you’d changed your mind. I just agreed to do Mrs. Goldman on the same night.”
“Pierre!”
Typical, just typical.
“How am I going to make enough appetizers to feed half of Marathon?”
“I would do
anything
for you.” He drawled in a bad accent, taking his sweet time.
She could picture him playing with the thin strip he called a moustache and smirking. “It’s kind of late now. I’ll have to figure something out.”
“
Non, non
. I will come to you after you close, and we will work together, side by side, just like a well-oiled machine, into the wee hours of the morning. We’ll create masterpieces together.”
She pictured him panting and sweating, his beady eyes undressing her, and his hands groping any part of her he could reach. Left alone with the horny pseudo French chef, she’d have to use the butcher knife to keep him at a distance. She let out a long breath.
“Thanks, Pierre. But I couldn’t impose.”
“Non, non, ma chère.
I will stop by at ten tonight. No charge. It’ll be my pleasure. Believe me.”
She did believe him, but couldn’t take the chance to piss off the best caterer in the Keys. “Oh, I’m honored. Thanks so much for the offer, but I can’t make it. I’m going out with my boyfriend tonight.”
“Tsk, tsk. It just never seems to be the right time for you and me. Call me if you change your mind.
D’accord?
”
She’d change her mind when pretty pink pigs flew high above her head. “Sure. Talk to you later. Thanks again.”
Returning the receiver to the base, she cradled her head in her hands. How was she going to pull off the party’s menu and still enjoy herself?
Jen was in school for the rest of the week—not that her daughter could boil water without burning the pot. No doubt, Kimber was chasing some scar-faced bad guy to get her jollies off. She was on her own.
Chapter Eighteen
The knock at the door interrupted Emily’s wallow in self-pity. She smoothed her hair and stood. “Come in.”
“Hey, Em.” A young blonde-haired woman entered. “Good to see you.”
“Gemma.” Her heart skipped a beat. Elated to see her cousin’s best friend enter the office, she rushed to her and wrapped her arms around the girl. “Glad to have you back from school. How’d the semester go?”
“Four point oooooo!” Gemma dropped her hands and took a step back, letting her gaze travel over Emily as she asked her to twirl. “And might I add, you look marvelous, darling. Shoot, Em. You’re glowing. Does it have anything to do with the man-candy in the kitchen?”
“Gemma,” she warned, letting an embarrassed laugh overtake her. “Our new dishwasher’s name is Jack. And man-candy or not, he’s leaving in two weeks.”
“Too bad,” the young woman teased, flopping onto the couch. “He’d sure make the slow week around here go by faster.”
Ten minutes of girl talk and getting caught up tamed Emily’s nerves.
“Come on.” She took Gemma’s hand and pulled her toward the planner sprawled on her desk. Pointing to the red markings she’d made in the slots, she shook her head. “I could use your help, if you’re looking to make some spending money. I need you and a friend, if you can persuade one, for Pops’ party on Saturday. And I need you in here as often as you’re willing to stay off the beach.”
“Sounds good.” Gemma rubbed her hands together. “Can I work while
Jack
is here, too?”
“You can start right now.” Emily placed a kiss on the girl’s cheek. “Thanks, honey.”
“No problem. And if you promise to make me some of your delish sugar cookies, I’ll leave Jack for you.”
“Deal!”
They walked out of the office arm in arm. Stepping behind the counter to grab an apron for Gemma, Emily couldn’t resist peeking into the kitchen and flashing the most handsome dishwasher she’d ever had a big smile.
* * * *
Jack opened the walk-in fridge’s door and found Emily hunched over the produce delivery. “I’ll check it in and rotate the product. You go outside.”
She glared at him, refusing to let go of the clipboard. “You know, I did these things before you got here, and I’ll be doing them after you’re gone.”
He ran his knuckles down her cheek and cupped her chin. “You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”
She continued to burn him with her stare, her gaze as hot as lightning, then her lips parted as if to spit another venomous sentence at him. Jack ignored her warning and pulled her into his arms, claiming her mouth as he’d wanted to do all day. Happy she hadn’t protested and even happier she’d arched against him, he allowed the kiss to linger until he sensed a smile form on her lips.
Tracing his thumb over the corner of her eye, he palmed her face and smiled. “That’s better, sweetheart. What’s had you so upset today?”
She stepped back and the serious, but no longer brutal, look returned to her face. “Nothing, Jack. It’s just work.”
“Don’t,” he said, reaching for and taking her hand as she spun on her heels. “Don’t turn away. Let me help.”
She swatted her hand dismissively in the air. “The caterers are no longer available for Pops’ party. The stage isn’t ready for the band. And I’m expecting over one hundred people here on Saturday night.”
“Your grandfather’s birthday dinner is for more than a hundred close friends?” He took the clipboard from her hands and led her past the refrigerator door as he spoke.
“No. Dinner is only for the family. It was supposed to be Pops’ favorite. Lamb shanks with vegetables, in some type of merlot sauce. Appetizers and finger foods were to be served with drinks as we transformed
Emy’s Place
into a forties haven to celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday.”
“Ahem.” Jack cleared his throat. Doing the math in his head, he calculated Pops was born after he’d graduated high school. Damn, he was old enough to be her grandfather. Nope. He was older than her grandfather was.
Shaking her head from side to side, she shrugged, then walked away. “Told you. You can’t help,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Who said I can’t help?” Jack started after her. “Emily. Stop. Listen to me.”
She spun back at him, like a tornado barreling through a field, and stared him straight in the eye. “No. You listen, Jack. I don’t expect you to help. I’m used to doing things on my own and depending only on myself. It’ll work out.”
Disappointed, he watched her leave the kitchen. She whispered something to Betty and stormed out the front door.
What was her problem? Why was she pushing him away as if he meant nothing to her? Whatever her reasons, he wasn’t going anywhere, and too bad. He’d interfere with her doing things on her own.
He checked the clock on the wall and realized the lunch rush was over. It shouldn’t be busy for two more hours. “Hey, Rick. Mind if I take my break now?”
“Go ahead, man. Be back in half an hour.”
Jack opened the screen door in the back of the kitchen and spotted the stage she’d mentioned. Shaking his head, he pushed up his sleeves and started jogging south around the building. He made it to the Flaming Flamingo in minutes. He tapped the bell on the desk and one of the motel owner’s friends came in.
“Hey, Captain,” Alejandro greeted him with a smile. “What can I do you for?”
“Alejandro, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Jack wiped his brow.
Standing upright and puffing out his chest like a papa penguin, the tall Latino beamed. “Thanks for noticing, Cap.”
“Do you know how to operate a computer?”
“Sure do.”
“Would it be possible for you to access the database and retrieve a lamb shank recipe in a merlot sauce?”
“Of course,” Alejandro said. He strutted toward the office, gesturing for Jack to follow. “Whose site do you want me to check? Emeril’s, Martha’s? Or maybe that Brit? What’s his name?” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Brit boy had a great show last week. I tried the duck recipe and loved it.”
Jack had no idea what the other man was talking about. “I just want basic cooking instructions.”
“Let’s try Rachel’s. I find her easier to follow.”
He turned and started punching letters on the typewriter part of the machine. What was it called? Jack had seen it in an ad in the newspaper, but couldn’t remember.
A list popped up in seconds and just by moving a little red ball with his finger, Alejandro pointed an arrow at the proper line. A new screen appeared with a delicious looking plate of lamb shanks and various vegetables. Bingo!