Page 10 of Under Daddy's Spell

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JORDAN DROVE HIS SHINYblack F-150 truck, which looked like it was right off the lot. Tessa followed in her ten-year-old,a lot worse for wear due to salt air and city living, Toyota Camry. He’d offered to drive, but to keep things neighborly, she felt it best they each take their own vehicles. In the same vein, when it was time for the check, she intended to ask for two.

Becca and Angie would have called her a fool for taking going home with him after dinner off the table. He was hot, and she was way past due, but she was proceeding with caution. This wasn’t a date. If it were, she had never been the kind of girl who slept with men she’d just met, even ones who looked like Jordan.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she did some quick budget calculations. The Oyster House was renowned throughout more than the city. Written up twice inSouthern Living, the independently owned mom-and-pop restaurant was rated among the best for oysters and seafood in the Gulf Coast region. That encompassed a lot of fish in a whole lot of places. Their prices were why she always passed by but never went in.

Jordan tapped lightly on her window when she didn’t immediately get out after parking. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” she called, grabbing her purse. By the time she popped the locks, her mental calculator had declared she’d better get the least conspicuous, but also the cheapest, item on the menu.

Inside, Jordan asked for a table by the windows. With his hand on her lower back, they followed the hostess to a porch as wide as the building. Through the glass walls, Tessa could see the last fingers of light and color streaking the summer sky reflected in the waters of Lake Pontchartrain. The view lived up to the hype.

With impeccable manners, he held her chair for her to be seated. During what she thought was casual conversation, he asked her preference for wine and if she liked her oysters fried or steamed. When the waitress arrived, he ordered for her. She was stunned, never having had a man do that before, and only found her tongue while the server was collecting their menus to leave.

“I must have misunderstood. While I love oysters, tonight, since it’s late, I’d prefer the shrimp salad.” It was a starter, not an entrée, and a fraction of the price of the oyster platter he’d selected.

Reading her reluctance with laser-sharp accuracy, he assured her gently, “I asked you to dinner, Tessa. This is my treat. Do you really prefer the shrimp salad, or is your mouth watering for oysters?”

She opened her mouth with shrimp on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t lie. “I’ve always wanted to try the oysters here.”

“Then that unfulfilled desire ends tonight.”

It didn’t register until the waitress walked away that Jordan had chosen something different, and healthy—yellow fin tuna, grilled, not fried. She asked, more than a little put out, “I thought oysters were why we came here.”

“I was here last week and had what you’re having. It was delicious, but I shouldn’t make a habit of it. No one wants to come to a gym where the owner has a gut from a steady diet of fried food.”

Her eyes dropped to her place setting, a hand automatically going to her belly that hundreds of thousands of crunches over her lifetime had never flattened.

He reached across the table and covered the hand that had tightened on the stem of her water goblet. “That wasn’t a crack about you, Tessa. You’re beautiful, as are your curves. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. Hips and ass on me, however...” He pulled a face, shaking his head. “It would not be a good look.”

The image of an hourglass-shaped Jordan popped into her head. Not confident enough to laugh it off, she smiled. “Thanks, I guess?”

“It was definitely a compliment.” His fingers tightened ever so slightly when he asked, “Are we good?”

When she met his ice-blue gaze, which seemed to see past the strong, independent persona she showed the world to the quivering mass of insecurity underneath, she nodded. That didn’t mean when their salads arrived and his had egg, cheese, and ranch dressing, too, she wasn’t relieved.

He forked up a bite and washed it down with lemon water before asking, “What do you do other than run a bookstore?”

“I’m open seven days a week. There isn’t time for much else.”

“You must have an outlet to help you deal with the stress of owning a small business.”

She wiped her mouth and took a sip of water before replying, “I run before opening the store six days a week. I should probably do it every day, but a girl has to have one day off.”

His fork stopped hallway to his mouth. “You open at six. Doesn’t that have you running before sunup?”

“Yes, but I don’t go alone. My friend Allison usually joins us.”

“Us.” He’d picked up on that immediately. “Who else tags along?”

“Rufus. My ninety-five-pound German shepherd mix. He never lets me leave home without my keys and pepper spray.”

Jordan sat back, taking a sip of wine. “Or you could come to my gym. It’s safer, has no traffic or crazy drivers to watch out for, is well-lit, and right next door to where you work.”

There was also a hefty monthly membership fee. After the issue with the oysters, she kept finances to herself and shrugged. “I’d still have to take Rufus on his walks. Poor baby spends a lot of time inside with my long hours.”

Jordan set his glass down and leaned in. “Even with your dog along, a woman running alone while it’s dark is not a good idea anywhere in the city.”

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