Valentine Fantasy. Jamie Denton
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mime who’d chosen her as a target for his comedy routine, tossed raw fish off the wharf to the baby sea lions playing on the rocks below, and told him that although she’d lived in San Francisco her entire life, she’d never visited Alcatraz because she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being stripped of their freedom. When they strolled past a New Age shop, she’d explained the various crystals and the power she believed they held, then balked at the overpriced gifts in the window display of a collectibles shop. She was intelligent and witty, but it was not the biting sarcastic wit of someone raised among the privileged, with no conscience about the feelings of others.
Cait cared, a quality he found endearing.
She made him laugh. Something not many were able to achieve.
She was sinfully sexy.
And he wanted her.
“Ready to order?” he asked, closing his menu.
She peeked at him over the top of the menu. “I can’t decide between the seafood salad or the giant mushrooms stuffed with shrimp and lobster.”
“Order the salad and I’ll share my mushrooms with you.”
“Deal,” she said, then snapped the menu closed. Her smile filled with mischief. “But don’t expect me to part with my salad.”
He chuckled and signaled for the waiter. “You’re a selfish woman, Cait.”
She reached for her water glass and took a sip. “You’ve discovered my weakness.”
“Selfishness or seafood?”
She set the glass down, then trailed a short, tapered fingernail along the rim of the crystal goblet. He followed the movement with his eyes and imagined her fingers trailing a path over his chest. He reached for his own water and took a deep drink.
“I’d go to the ends of the earth for seafood,” she admitted.
He set his glass aside, braced his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “Is that your only weakness?”
A teasing smile canted her lips and filled her eyes with laughter. “Chocolate,” she whispered, lowering her gaze as if embarrassed by the reminder of last night’s sensual game.
His blood heated at the memory, and at her display of shyness. He was beginning to think her role of seductress was merely an act, but she’d been just as affected last night as he’d been—another aspect of her personality he found fascinating.
The waiter arrived, and Jordan placed their order, adding a bottle of private-label Chardonnay.
“Make it the house brand,” Cait told the waiter, then grinned sheepishly at Jordan. “I’m sorry, I don’t like to waste money on an expensive bottle that we won’t even finish.”
At the waiter’s pointed look, Jordan gave a slight nod of agreement. He watched her as she looked out at the ocean lost in thought, more than a little surprised by her frugality, but he figured this was just one of those odd little eccentricities that made up her intriguing personality.
By the time the waiter returned with their wine and poured them each a glass, Jordan surprised himself with the realization he could easily sit and watch the moonlight streaming through the window with her for hours. Only the fact that he wanted to get to know her better prompted him into conversation. “So what do you do for a living, Cait?”
Cait turned to look at him, the truth almost escaping from her lips. “People with trust funds don’t work,” she managed with a laugh, but the sound held more of a nervous edge than the dismissive tone she’d attempted to achieve. “What about you? Does Fantasy for Hire keep you very busy?”
“I’m an architect.”
“An architect?” She might have pictured him as a high-powered executive, but she was still unprepared for his answer. He was part of an agency that allegedly swindled money out of rich women in exchange for sex. He wasn’t supposed to be a respectable professional.
“You sound surprised. Don’t I look like an architect?” he asked in a low voice that rumbled along her nerve endings.
“It’s not that. It’s just that…I thought you worked exclusively for your brother.”
He laughed. “Fantasy for Hire is Austin’s brainchild. I’m merely the reluctant hired help for about a week.”
Reluctant because he didn’t like how his brother earned his living, perhaps? The thought made her uncomfortable.
The waiter delivered a basket filled with warm sourdough rolls and whipped butter, giving her a moment to regain her composure. She was letting her attraction to Jordan cloud her judgment, and it had to stop. After spending a few hours in his company, she discovered that not only was she attracted to him sexually, she actually liked him and found herself trying to justify his association with the agency. She’d never become the great investigative journalist she dreamed of if she didn’t maintain her focus on the purpose of their association. He was a story. A means to an end. Nothing more. Sexual attraction be damned.
“Do you work for an architectural firm here in the city?” she asked, unwrapping the linen napkin covering the rolls and offering him one.
“Until a couple of months ago, I’d spent eight years with a firm in Los Angeles.”
She sliced her roll and slathered it with butter. “What happened?”
A furrow of irritation crossed his face. “It’s a long, boring story.” He picked up his wineglass and took a sip, then turned his attention to the moonbeams reflecting on the ocean.
“Sounds interesting to me,” she prompted, hoping he’d give her a glimpse into his past. For the sake of her story and not because she was interested in Jordan.
The low-toned conversation of the other patrons surrounded them, along with nondescript instrumental music flowing softly from the speakers. She looked at his hands, at his long, tapered fingers wrapped around the wineglass and imagined him sketching a high-rise, or maybe a child-care center. Her mother had always told her that long fingers were a sign of creativity. In this case, Mom was right again, she thought.
If he was truly an architect, she firmly reminded herself. This could be part of the role he was playing to swindle her out of money he believed she had. She couldn’t afford to be swept away by the fantasy Jordan was creating. A fantasy she’d paid him to create.
He turned his attention back to her just as the waiter delivered their meal. As he’d promised, Jordan shared his order of giant stuffed mushroom caps by setting one on her bread plate.
She smiled her thanks and dug into the delectable seafood. “What happened in L.A.?” she asked.
“I started out at Lawrence and Brooks shortly after college,” he began while adding salt and pepper to his dinner. “I worked during the day, and went to grad school at night. It took me a while to finally finish my education, but I’d been told that once I had my master’s I’d be placed on the fast track.”
She added dressing to her salad, then worked on cutting the larger lettuce into smaller pieces. “Sounds like you had a promising career ahead of you.”
“I thought so,” he said between bites of stuffed mushroom. “Once I finished my education and they promoted me to vice president, the partners talked about a senior vice presidency in my future. After a couple of years and my next promotion, they dangled a partnership carrot in front of me.” He kept his voice well modulated, conveying a lack of emotion his eyes denied.
She paused over her salad. “I take it no partnership was forthcoming.”
He shook his head, and reached for his wine. “No partnership,” he said, the hardness of his eyes creeping into his voice.
“You’re bitter,” she said without thinking.
He set his fork aside and looked at her intently. “I suppose I am. How would you feel?