Under the Influence by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

NATALIE WALKED into the Driftwood and when she saw Johnny in his usual place behind the bar her stomach did a weird flipping thing. Excitement, the pleasure of seeing him and the kick of sexual promise all combined.

As though he felt her gaze on him, he raised his head and looked right at her. His face lit up and she knew she had the same goofy expression.

Luckily, there was no one sitting at the bar, so when she climbed onto the stool, he said, “I thought about you today.”

“Me, too.”

“Good. You want dinner now or are you ready to work?”

“Reporting for duty, sir.”

“First taste. Tell me what you think.”

He handed her a drink that was turquoise and tasted like mint and some fruit. “It’s good.”

“Good but not great?”

“Right.”

“I know.” He rubbed his hands together. “I need a theme, or a place to start. I was going for a day on the ocean, but it’s not inspiring me.”

“Are you choking under pressure? Because you lost last year—” she held up a finger “—and to a woman, do I detect a certain competitive zeal?”

“Damn right, you do.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Do you have any ideas for a theme?”

“After last night, all I can think of is sex.” She gasped. “Did I say that out loud?”

But from his extremely pleased-with-himself expression, it was clear she had. “All I can think about, too.” He threw up his hands. “Well, it’s settled then. You are my muse and this year’s martini will be inspired by sex.” He leaned closer. She could see where stubble was beginning to appear across his cheeks, and noticed he had light freckles on his skin.

“Well, we can’t work on it here,” she said, shooting a scandalized look around the dining room—half empty, but still!

“Nope. We’re going on a road trip.”

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” she complained. The smells of the restaurant were making her stomach growl.

“We’ll eat on the way. It’s dead in here tonight. They don’t need me.”

“Great.”

He organized one of the waiters to cover the bar and then said, “Give me a minute to get us a ride.”

“Actually, I have one.”

“You do?”

“I rented a car today. Seems I’m doing more driving than I thought I would.”

“Smart lady. Let’s go.”

He directed her to an unimposing little place that was more of a shack than an actual restaurant. She’d never dated anyone for whom money was a real issue before, so she said nothing and wondered how she could pay for dinner in a way that wasn’t threatening to him or his ego.

Once inside, however, it turned out to be a funky little place with modern stained glass panels for room dividers and work by local artists on the walls. The food was divided between fresh seafood, all from sustainable sources, the chalkboard menu assured, and vegetarian and vegan dishes.

The clientele was as eclectic as the menu. Men with ponytails and earrings and sharp looking guys who probably wore suits to work. Women who looked as though they’d never been near

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