Page 6 of Café Diablo

Only right now, that strait-laced no-thread-out-of-place servant-to-The-Man I met twenty minutes agois notthe same man currently sitting on my Vespa. Oh no, welcome to Hurricane Olivia!

The man panting in front of me is a mess: his blue suit is wrinkled and covered in rain-splash, his ankles are covered in grease, his hair is strewn, and his eyes are wide open and gaping. I have to admit, all that mess looksgoodon him, likereal good. Like so good, I might just have to keep Mr. Handsome cuffed to my wrist for the rest of the night to make sure he stays this flustered and doesn’t have any inklings to disappear to the back room to do extra work.

Nope, Edwin Voss needs to spend his birthday liquored up and keeping that I-just-got-hit-by-a-ten-ton-truck look on his face. Especially when that look is pointed at me.

You’re welcome, Mr. Voss!

That’s right, I pulled that look of awe and anticipation out of him and it feels freaking amazing.

I walk up to Edwin and run my uncuffed hand through his hair roughly. I’m actually surprised he lets me do it, but then again, after that Vespa ride with his hand clutching my abdomen and his body arched over my back, me running a hand through his hair doesn’t seem nearly as intimate. I soften my strokes and smooth out the wind and mayhem, letting the silence of this moment simmer between us.

“That,” I say, when I’m done fussing, tilting my head to the side to indicate the ride we just took, “was far more exciting than working all night on your birthday, don’t you think?”

I look down at him and his blue eyes are gleaming hot. He doesn’t have to answer because his gaze is steaming with a heat that’s more rakish brute than stubborn lawyer. I deliberately muss up his hair again in response, laughing to help shrug off his disarming look.

“I thought so!” I say, adding a tinge of a gloat to my tone, trying to mask the heat that’s tingling up my legs. I should’ve expected Connor’s brother to be hot, considering the fact that Connor is a GQ’s bad-boy version of Captain America. Edwin, on the other hand, is taller and more lean, but he still fills out that suit like he’s in his majesty’s secret service in honor of the Queen. James Bond or Marine, I’ll be happy to rumple up that suit and challenge the “intellectual one” to a game of strip-scrabble in the sand.

I reach over him casually, snapping open my storage compartment and plucking out my heels. I use his shoulder to steady myself as I kick off my pink Chucks and toss them in the box, then I slip my feet into my sleek black pumps like Cinderella. He watches me the whole time, his lip quirked into a stoic frown. It’s steely and hot as his eyes follow me, the black pumps giving me three new inches of height—which with Edwin giving me those baby-blue, bedroom eyes, I’m gonna need all the vertical extension I can get to show him I can rumble with the giants.

“So,” I say, distracting myself from the pulse of warmth blossoming in my chest. “Are you ready to walk into Flambéand pretend to be surprised?”

He gives me a steely glower, as if mentioning the party has reminded him that his default disposition is frowning cave troll. The heat cuts from his gaze, replaced with that original annoyance at having to indulge his brother in an evening of frivolity. I reach out and run my thumb across his lower lip, selfishly, just to see if I can get Mr. Boulder of Frowning Lawyer to flinch.

He doesn’t.

Damn!

He’s turned into a wall of bricks, cold and impenetrable, but I toss him a flirty smile anyway. The night is still young!

“Perfect!” I mock. “You look absolutely thrilled! Nailed it! Everyone’s going to be—surprise! And you’re going to be—” I scrunch up my face all frowny and disgruntled. “You know, I bet you were a happy child.” I continue to mock. “The kind that’s overly giddy on Christmas morning—all rainbows and butterflies and glitter!”

“Glitter is the spawn of the devil,” Edwin says dryly, and I gasp.

“Oh good-god!” I square off with him, slapping both of my hands down on each of his shoulders as I bear down. “Edwin Voss, I’m sorry.Thislooked really promising—” I lift up our handcuffed wrists and jiggle them. “Kinky handcuffs and all. But I draw the line with men who hate glitter. If all you can see is the mess, then life is going to be one big disappointment. We—” I motion between us dramatically. “Are destined for heartbreak.” I scoff. “Hates glitter!”

Edwin waves our cuffed wrists back at me. “I draw the line at illegally detaining someone against their will,” he says darkly, and I give him a wicked smile.

“Oh, nowthat’sa lie!” I bop him on the nose. “I saw your face when I hooked these on you! Terrified, confused…intrigued!” I narrow my eyes at him seductively, but he doesn’t give an inch. “But don’t worry,” I continue. “We can pretend you’renotinto it so you can save face. I’ll keep your little secret! Now—” I step back and yank him up from his seat on my Vespa. “Party time! You know, confetti, and glitter—” I make a mock-horrified face. “And ice cream, and cake, and pom-poms, and unicorns, and people who want you to have a good time—those bitches!” I drop the sarcasm and look dead into his eyes. “Only, it’s Flambé, which is super fucking classy, asshole! If you think Arie Noel is going to let a sparkly unicorn within ten feet of her establishment, you’ve got another thing coming. People pay stupid amounts of money to have their birthday at Flambé. So, put on a fresh pair of panties and stop acting like an ungrateful chump!”

I spin on my heels and head for the side entrance, dragging Edwin behind me by my wrist. Connor’s going to tell me I can unlock his brother when we arrive, but the truth is, I’m not going to give him the pleasure. It will be waaaaay too much fun to spend the evening making him squirm.

4

Ned

Everyone jumps out from behind a flaming tower of champagne glasses when we walk into Flambé. They all yell, “Surprise!” in the middle of the dark and elegant dining room, the moonlit bay glittering through the picture window behind them. I have to give Olivia credit. Itisa lot classier than a stripper jumping out of a cake (I wouldn’t put Connor past a stunt like that) or fluffy bunnies and unicorns. Olivia pinches me in the side—hard, I might add—at the exact moment I’m about to roll my eyes at everyone.

The glare I give her is livid.

“Get with the program, Scrooge!” she snips, plastering on a faker-than-fake smile and pinching me again. I can’t confirm that I smiled, only that Ididn’tglare at everyone, which was really an attempt to make it through the evening without my flesh bruised and blistered from her bone-crushing finger assaults to my ribs.

“Can we take the handcuffs off now?” I ask under my breath as I wave to my brother Connor, who’s bounding up to us wearing classic black-on-black Flambé attire and donning a shit-eating grin.

“Not a chance,” Olivia says, wrapping her handcuffed hand in mine like we’re together. “I don’t trust you to not slip out the back door the second you smell your freedom.” She squeezes my hand and I lift up our interlaced fingers.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask. “Pretend we’re a couple all night?”

She shrugs, batting her petite lashes at me from behind those sultry eyes. “You’re the lawyer,” she says arrantly. “You make up a story that all these people will buy.”

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