Blair felt completely reenergized when she returned to her flat at midday on Wednesday. Reenergized and refocused. A call to Gustav had confirmed her father’s prediction that the e-zine article would see an upswing in business. Traditionally quieter nights, Monday and Tuesday had produced far higher receipts than usual and the restaurant had operated at near capacity each night.
She hummed to herself as she skipped downstairs and checked that preparations were well underway for the evening’s menu. In the tiny office off the kitchen, where she made calls to suppliers and drafted menu plans, she came to a shuddering halt. There on her seat was a dry-cleaning package. On top of it a sheet of paper with a large question mark next to the words “not yours, I presume—G.”
Damn, she’d forgotten about Draco’s clothes the minute she’d dispatched them to the laundry. Would he have missed them? She doubted it. What worried her most was that sending them back to him would only rouse his interest in her again.
She picked up the packet from her chair and shot back upstairs to her rooms. She’d shove it in the cupboard and deal with it another day. She wasn’t up to facing Draco again.
The evening started with the usual hustle and bustle, and Blair was glad to be back in her own kitchen. As capable as she was, her father was proprietary about his space—worse so, now that his space was so limited at the beachfront bach. She swung into the ebb and flow of cooking and plating up dishes with the years of experience and pleasure she took in her work.
By the time the front door was closed to patrons and the last diner had been seen off into a taxi at the curb, Blair was ready to put her feet up. The cleanup done in the kitchen and the last of her staff off on their way home, she took a moment to sit at one of the tables and relish the silence that now reigned supreme.
A sharp hammering at the front door had her catapulting out of her chair in shock.
Who the—
She swiveled the slim-line blind that screened the glass front door to peer out into the evening gloom.
Draco. Her heart skittered in her chest.
“Let me in, Blair. We need to talk.”
“We said all we have to say, Draco. One night. Remember?”
“Vividly. Do you remember too, cara mia? Would you like me to repeat just which were my favorite parts—I’m sure the reporter sitting in the car just behind me would be keen for all the details.”
Reporter? Blair peered past Draco’s dark form. There was a car pulled right up to the curb. She caught a brief glimpse of the reporter’s camera through the open window. The thought of the headlines in tomorrow’s gossip pages was enough to get her to open the door and usher Draco inside immediately, not quickly enough to completely avoid the sudden flash of white light as the reporter took their picture.
“Why on earth did you bring that reporter here?” Blair demanded, her hands fisted on her hips to avoid using them for any other purpose.
“You’re mistaken. I did not bring him. He was already waiting here, much as there have been reporters stationed outside my apartment and following my driver from pillar to post since early Monday morning.”
Draco stepped closer to her and lifted his hand to trace a finger along her cheekbone.
“You’ve caught some sun. Where have you been hiding the past two days?”
Blair bristled instantly. Hiding?
“For your information, Draco Sandrelli, I wasn’t hiding. I went to visit my father. I do that sometimes on my days off.”
“I’m impressed that you take days off,” Draco said, whistling softly. “According to your staff, that doesn’t happen often. Some coincidence, don’t you think, that you should slip out of my apartment without saying good-bye and then go incommunicado immediately after that? Looks like hiding to me.”
“What you think isn’t important to me. What do you want, anyway? The restaurant, as you can see, is closed.”
“Hmm, what do I want? A leading question, no?”
He closed the remaining distance between them, his arms wrapping around Blair with the familiarity of lovers, his head bending to her ear. A shiver of anticipation danced down her spine as she felt his breath against her skin.
“I’ll show you what I want,” he growled, before his tongue licked out to tease her earlobe.
Her hands moved to his shoulders as her knees went weak, then common sense prevailed. They were in her restaurant with reporters outside. This was totally crazy.
“No, Draco. Stop, please.”
The words wrung past her lips as Blair drew on every ounce of self-control she possessed to push him away.
“We can’t,” she continued. “Not with—”