Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set (6 page)

"I borrowed the book from Maya's dad. He has a whole bunch of books on Cuba. I thought that since you wanted to call the restaurant
Havana Nueva
and the architect had tried to recreate that feel. . ."

He trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable with his rambling, but Bianca reassured him by laying a hand on his forearm and urging him to go on.

"What you did looks great."

"It's very very nice, Rey," Eduardo chimed in, and Rey continued with his explanation, finishing with the plans for the bar.

"This area looks a lot like the one in the old
Floridita
bar in Cuba," he said and Eduardo immediately jumped in.

"My uncle had someone try to replicate the bar when he first opened here. That's why they're so similar," he said.

Rey smiled and that boyish dimple transformed his very masculine features and made him look much younger and not as intense as he had been during his explanations.

"I knew it looked familiar yesterday when I first saw it, but it wasn't until I was going through the books a few nights ago that I ran across a photo of the bar," Rey said.

He yanked out the sketch and photo from his portfolio which showed the bar in Old Havana and the minor changes which would be necessary to complete the transformation of this bar area to an updated version in keeping with the rest of the theme of the restaurant.

"That is if you're interested in going ahead with me as the contractor for the project," he said almost uncertainly, his gaze locking with hers.

Bianca would be hard pressed to deny her interest and not just in the plans. She had found him physically attractive the other day and in her lusty dreams. The hidden facets he was showing her with his plans made him even more dangerous. Her mother's voice warned her to run again, but she was just too damned intrigued to listen.

"I'm. . .
we're
interested. Right, Eduardo?"

She looked over at her partner, who had a broad excited smile on his face. She sensed that he knew just how much Rey affected her and was obviously pleased by it as well as the plans.

"I think all of us are going to have a really great time getting this place open," Eduardo said.

Bianca turned her attention back toward Rey and smiled. "Yes, I think we will. When can you start?"

Chapter Four

"The contractor changed the architect's plans? Are you sure that's wise?" David asked as he sat across the table from her in the intimate French bistro, another restaurant run by one of her cooking school friends.

"I'm not an expert, but what he's proposing seems reasonable and the sketches look great," Bianca replied.

The waiter brought over their appetizers at that moment. David had ordered the escargot, as he always did. She had never been a fan of the slimy-looking snails, convinced they had little taste besides that of the sauce they were prepared in. She had chosen a
pate de champagne
for her appetizer
.

She took a bite, enjoying the blended flavors of the liver, chicken, pork, and onions. To make it his own, her friend Robert had folded roughly chopped pistachio nuts into the meat mixture and then layered everything in Canadian bacon. All along the exterior of the
pate
there was a thin glistening layer of aspic flavored with some kind of liquor. Cognac, she suspected.

"This is heavenly. How are your snails?"

David shrugged, popped another slimy sucker into his mouth with the tiny fork the waiter had brought. "Tender and garlicky. Just how I like them," he said and grinned.

"I'm glad you like Robert's cooking."

"Well, it's what I prefer. That
nuevo
whatever stuff leaves me cold."

"
Nuevo Latino
. You know what it is, David. We're both Latinos after all," she reminded.

He grimaced and put down his fork. “I know, Bianca. But I feel as if it’s a far riskier thing than going with something more traditional, like a French restaurant."

It was his argumentative tone and Bianca was in no mood for a disagreement with him. Again. But somehow she couldn't let his comment pass either. "That’s true which is maybe why there are so many of them which would make it tough to stand out. Plus, I’d like to incorporate something of what I am in my food. I’m a cook -- "

"A chef," he corrected, as if that one word made a vast difference in what she did.

"Whatever. I may know all about how to do French and other cuisines, but there's no reason I can't apply my skills to our own food traditions," she said. She knew that he thought her choice for the restaurant was an iffy one, but she was determined to do something different.

He met her gaze and finally seemed to recognize just how set she was with her decision. "I'm just worried that it'll be harder for you, Bianca. That's all. I know how much it means to you."

He held his hand out for her to take, which she did, giving him a smile and a quick squeeze before returning to her plate of
pate
.

When the waiter returned a few minutes later, they had both cleared off their dishes and were busy sampling a fine
Sauvignon blanc
that David had chosen for the meal. She had been a little concerned at first that the milder wine would not be hearty enough for their meal, but the wine was actually quite well-balanced and full-bodied. In retrospect, it would go well with the
cassoulet
she had ordered for her main course, although she might have preferred a merlot.

"This was a good choice, David," she said, held up her glass of wine and swirled the wine around in the glass, watching as fingers formed along the walls of the glass as she stopped. "Did someone recommend it to you?"

David nodded and took a sip. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Anthony did during lunch the other day. Speaking of Anthony, you really should think about having him take a look at what the contractor is proposing."

Anthony the architect, she thought and smiled at the alliteration. Anthony was one of David's nicer friends and clients. He had been very helpful in drawing up the plans for her. It seemed to make sense. "I can give him a call."

"Actually," David began and put down his glass of wine. "I was thinking of having a little get together on Friday night. Just a little dinner for Anthony and his wife. A few others."

Bianca remembered the last little "intimate dinner" in David's apartment. They'd had more than twenty for supper. It had been quite a lot of hard work to shop, cook, prep, serve, and clean up afterward with only David's housekeeper for assistance. She knew how important dinners like this were to David for his business, and if their relationship was going to progress, she had to be supportive. She ignored the little voice in her head shouting that he was taking advantage.

"How many this time?"

"Just ten," he quickly replied. "Maybe you and Anthony can find the time to go over the plans that night."

"That sounds good," she answered and smiled at the waiter as he brought over the terra cotta casserole with her
cassoulet
. It was one of her favorite French bistro style meals, with its robust combination of pork, duck confit, and white beans. Her friend Robert made an exceptionally good
cassoulet
and she asked the waiter to let him know.

The waiter nodded and placed David's plate before him. Veal medallions were seared to perfection and resting on a bed of Madeira sauce with morels. Lightly buttered
haricot vert
complimented the main course, along with some steamed, new red potatoes.

David thanked the young man and immediately dug into his meal as did Bianca. She savored the blend of meats and beans, the kind of comfort food that invariably made her feel better. She and her partners had chosen their menu based on similar considerations. They had selected meals that would trigger some kind of emotional response from their patrons. Foods reminiscent of the holidays, like roast pork. Or a steaming
caldo Gallego
, like her grandmother used to make on cold winter days.

Bianca couldn't wait to try out those recipes on their patrons and see if they brought out the same kind of emotional responses. Like the one she was having to the rich
cassoulet
that stirred memories of a cold December night in Paris and sitting in a small bistro with some friends from cooking school. They had been enjoying the food, warm crusty bread, and a robust house wine.

She wondered if David ever felt the same or if the food before him was just a meal and nothing more. Nothing to be experienced and savored, stored away like a treasured memory. Bianca was convinced good food was like that, which was why people liked to eat. Favorite foods, in her mind, were invariably linked to special times in people's lives. And a bad dish could totally wreck a special moment.

That was why she took her craft so seriously, as did her partners. As did Robert, the chef who was approaching, a broad smile on his face as he realized who was at the table.

"
Cheri
, it is zo good to zee you again," he teased in a fake French accent and winked.

Bianca stood and hugged him, introduced David, and Robert pulled up a chair from an adjacent table and joined them as they continued eating.

Her friend and she entered into a spirited discussion about her new restaurant for a few minutes until she realized they were excluding David with their shop talk. Bianca turned to David and explained how Robert and she knew one another, and got him talking about his job. In no time at all, David was regaling Robert with tales of his latest stock market conquests.

Robert listened intently, but when a waiter motioned to him that he was needed in the kitchen, he appeared only too eager to excuse himself and head to the back.

"He seems like a nice fellow," David said and finished his plate of veal.

Bianca smiled and nodded. "Robert's one of the best. I was hoping he might want to join us, but -- "

"He's not willing to take the risk?" David butted in.

Shrugging, Bianca took a last bite of the duck in her
cassoulet
before answering. "Any new venture is a risk. You know that from the stock market, David. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy."

He grunted and laid down his fork. "I'm not much of a risk taker with anything, Bianca."

Something she knew only too well. David took no risks. Not in business and not with his personal life, except of course for his request of the other night. It had been a risk for him to ask her to become intimate with him, unless of course. . .

She considered everything that had happened that night. The nice dinner, the whole anniversary thing. In the scheme of things, she realized that in most people's lives, a night like that would have probably led to making love.

As she glanced at the dessert menu and once again found her sweet tooth on vacation, it made her wonder why she couldn't take the risk and commit to David.

From across the small width of the table, she examined him. As always he was totally manscaped. His hair was neatly trimmed and not one lock was out of place. Beneath his cashmere sweater, the pristine white of his collar was visible and she knew if she peeked beneath the table, his khakis would have a knife-sharp pleat and not one wrinkle.

The dark blue of his sweater accentuated his light blue eyes and as he smiled at her, she was reminded once more of what an attractive man he was and how lucky she was to be dating him.

But somehow, she didn't feel quite so lucky.

In the back of her mind the thought came again that there had to be more.

* * *

Anthony the architect studied the plans and let out a low whistle. "I'm impressed and that's not easy to do."

Bianca examined his face and his eagerness was obvious. "You think this is the right way to go?"

Anthony flipped the bulky pages of the blueprint back and forth again, reviewed the sketches Rey had done, and nodded emphatically. "I'm embarrassed I didn't think of this for you. I knew you were on a tight budget and everything, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine how to open up the room without having those support girders and columns."

Bianca sat on the edge of the desk in David's study and glanced down at the sketches Anthony continued to hold in his hands. He smiled and ran his hands over one of the drawings almost in a caress.

"So you like what he did?"

He nodded and when he looked up at her, his gaze was brimming with emotion. "Before we came here, my family lived in this little house on the beach in Cuba. It was closer to a shack than a house, but it was home."

Anthony stopped, pointed to the sketch, and ran his finger down the drawing of the shutters Rey had drawn in on the front façade of the building. "When
Los Nortes
-- "

"What's that?" Bianca asked, unsure of the term.

Anthony laughed sharply. "Sorry. I forget that this little
Cubanita
was born and raised here. During certain months of the year in Cuba we would get this really rough weather and winds from the North --
Los Nortes
."