Page 221 of Love Bites

CHAPTER11

The Wild Pasque was not only South Dakota’s official state flower; it was also the name of Deadwood’s sole hoity-toity, five-star watering hole. The menus came without prices, the wine included a corking fee, and the linens probably cost more than my fancy green dress, which now lay wadded up in the corner of my bedroom.

In spite of the rollercoaster start to my date, and my replacement dress being a decade out of style and a tad snug in the tummy, I made it through dinner without incident. White wine and Wolfgang’s magnetism had my head buzzing by the time the waiter brought our tiramisu and espressos. Out on the dance floor, couples old and young swayed to a slow, jazzy, version of “Java Jive.”

“You look beautiful in red.” Wolfgang handed me one of the two dessert forks the waiter left behind. “In this light, your hair looks like strands of 14-carat gold, and your skin looks smooth as a pool of milk.”

I grinned like a halfwit. How could I not? Across from me sat the hottest guy in the joint. “Thanks.”

Natalie had been right. Wolfgang looked good—cotton candy, melt-in-my-mouth good. The flickering candle in the middle of the table painted his face in warm tones. His indigo shirt darkened his blue eyes while highlighting his blond locks.

I’d forgotten how intoxicating lust could be, especially when blended with alcohol, cologne, and unbridled charm. I found myself spinning thoughts about naked male flesh yet again.

“How long will you be in San Francisco?” I forked off a piece of tiramisu. I hadn’t told Wolfgang the bad news about his house yet. I kept waiting for the right moment, and it kept not coming.

“A few days.”

The taste of chocolate, mocha, and liquor all floating in a light cream dragged a moan from my throat. “This is heavenly.”

His eyes held mine. “I’m glad you like it.”

I took another bite, fumbling with my fork as I courted Natalie’s idea of paying a visit to Wolfgang’s hotel room tonight. “What time does your plane leave tomorrow?”

“Way too early.”

A buxom sixty-something woman in a flower dress and rhinestone glasses paused on her way by our table. “Wolfgang Hessler. I’m so glad I noticed you sitting over here.”

Wolfgang looked up at our visitor, a broad smile spilling onto his lips. “Hello, Mrs. Stine. You look lovely as usual. How are you this evening?”

She tittered under his charm. “Much better after finding out how bighearted you’ve been lately. The Deadwood Children’s Shelterhouse can’t thank you enough for your generous donation. Will you come over and say hello to my husband and let him thank you as well? We were great admirers of your grandfather.”

“Well, I’m kind of busy.” He glanced my way.

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” I dipped my fork into the tiramisu, my attraction to Wolfgang warming my body temperature several degrees after learning of his open-handedness when it came to a local kids’ charity.

Dropping his napkin on the table, he pushed back his chair and followed Mrs. Stine. I couldn’t help but admire his long legs, broad shoulders, and everything in between as he crossed the room.

“Hello, Blondie,” a familiar voice said from behind me.

My shoulders tightened. I closed my eyes and hoped Ray was just an evil, hallucinatory side effect of too much booze.

“First Old Man Harvey, now Hessler. I see you’re not above using your feminine wiles to lure clients.”

Nope, Ray was the real thing. I opened my eyes and nailed him with a glare. “Go away, Ray.”

His snicker made my jaw clench. He leaned in close, drowning me in a sinus-burning wave of Stetson cologne, lowering his voice. “Too bad sleeping with Hessler isn’t going to get his house on the market any quicker.”

“I’m not sleeping with him.” Yet.

“You know, honey.” The smell of liquor on Ray’s breath made me shudder in revulsion. “I happen to be pretty good friends with a guy on the Deadwood Historical Committee. I might be able to pull some strings for you, get you a green light to start remodeling within a week instead of a month.”

Tempting, but I knew better than to wag my tail and start panting. “What’s your price?”

With his index finger, he drew a line up my bare arm. “Come over to my place after dinner and I’ll show you.”

I should have known. “I have plans.”

“If you want to keep your job, you’ll change them. I don’t like sloppy seconds.”

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