splashed with accents of burgundy and chocolate. The open space held an
expectant air, as if waiting for guests. Chairs and crisply draped tables
abounded, a few outfitted with china, linen napkins, and crystal so she
could see the effect. The understated lettering on the foyer wall read
BONHEUR, and the sight filled her with anxious pride every time she came
here.
Out of the corner of her eye, she cast a glance Luc‟s way. Arms
crossed over his chest, he scanned the restaurant, his gaze assessing. Her
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Shayla Black
heart beat faster as she waited for his response. It made no sense, wanting
his approval so badly . . . but that didn‟t stop her anxiety.
“Well?” she breathed.
“Bonheur,” he murmured. “That‟s French for „happiness.‟ ”
“I thought it was fitting. Patrons should be happy here.”
And I pray
owning makes
me
happy, too
.
“I like it. Fine dining for large parties? Couples?”
“Either. Both.”
He glanced out across the tables again. “If you‟re hoping to be a hot
spot for romantic dining, you have too many tables for parties of four to
eight, particularly in your cozy corners. The partition between the bar and
the dining room . . .” He pointed halfway across the room to the half wall
that separated the eating patrons from the merely drinking ones. “It‟s too
short and too close to the bar. It will be hard to get any ambiance if people
laughing, smoking, and drinking a lot are visible from the dining room.
Raise that to the ceiling. Do you have vents to push the smoke back to the
bar?”
She‟d debated that, hating to close off the room. But he was right.
“There‟s no smoking at all.”
He hesitated. “Even in the bar? That will cost you money.”
“It‟s worth it. I want to make my money from the bar because people
are ordering drinks with their food or while waiting for their table, not
because they‟re skipping dinner and loitering over a scotch, hoping to find a
date for the night. I‟ve got one bar; I don‟t need another.”
Luc nodded, but didn‟t react otherwise. She made a mental note to
drag more of the smaller tables out of storage and call her contractor to fix
the wall in the morning.
“Where‟s the kitchen?” he asked.
Biting her lip, she led the way around a corner, flipping on more lights.
Teasing and seduction, she understood. The restaurant business . . . That
was his area of expertise, and now he was all button-down assurance.
Alyssa was grateful for it. She‟d tried hard to make Bonheur‟s kitchen
optimal, a place a chef of Luc‟s caliber would be proud to cook in.
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Shayla Black
Winding down the hall, she was conscious of Luc‟s eyes on her. His
gaze brushed her shoulders, hugged the curve of her waist, lingered on her
ass. She could feel the burn.
“The kitchen isn‟t visible from the dining room. Good layout.”
When they reached the large, mostly stainless steel room, she flipped
on the lights. “I‟ve heard people don‟t like seeing the kitchen when they
eat.”
Again, Luc crossed his arms over his chest, looking from one end of
the room to the other, nodding slowly. “Very nice. Butcher-block prep area
is well placed and large. Twelve-burner stove. Gas?”
“Of course.”
His approval showed on his face, warming her. “A fair number of
industrial ovens. Four sinks. Good placement of utensils along the walls.
Warmers?”
Alyssa pointed to shelved space under the counters and another at the
pass, where plates would be assembled.
“Good. You‟ve got plenty of refrigeration space.” He glanced around
another corner and opened the door. “Great freezer. Ample storage.”
“You can never have too much.” She smiled.
“Hmm.” He looked as if he was fighting the urge to smile back. “What
sort of flooring is this?” He stomped a boot on the surface.
“Cork. Never slippery, easy to sweep or replace, and provides natural
cushion for everyone‟s feet.”
He finally turned to stare at her, the fact that he was impressed
warming his features. “You planned all this by yourself ?”
“Mostly. A bit of help from my contractor. Sexy Sirens has a few
customers in the restaurant business, and I asked their advice. The rest . . .
I did my homework. I wanted everything to be right.”
Something on his face changed, closed. His body tensed as his dark
gaze skittered away. “You succeeded.”
Damn!
What had caused the warmth on his face to chill? The mention
of Sexy Sirens? Deke had told her once that she wasn‟t Luc‟s type because
he was looking for a
lady
. Did his avoidance mean he saw her as one small
step up from a whore?
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Shayla Black
She raised her chin. Alyssa knew men. Even if Luc was loath to admit
that she was his type, she knew she made his dick twitch. It was a start.
Now he was all business again. “What time can you have the staff
here tomorrow?”
“Noon work for you?”
“Perfect.” He turned away.
“You‟ve already approved the menus. Anything else you need to see
tonight?” She gripped the keys in her hand, wondering how to recover the
mood they‟d shared just minutes ago.
Patience,
she warned herself.
Stick to the plan
. The night was still young.
LUC followed Alyssa to the restaurant‟s empty parking lot. The ample
lighting would make patrons feel secure. However, the illumination pissed
him off because he could see every sway of her enticing hips as she
sashayed to her car. It made him hard. Again.
He‟d driven his SUV from the strip club, mostly so he didn‟t have to
shut himself in a confined space with her, even for three blocks. He didn‟t
think he could be responsible for his actions for even that long. In
Bonheur‟s kitchen, the thought of laying her across one of those gleaming
stainless steel counters and fucking her senseless gripped him by the
throat. He should thank her for bringing up Sexy Sirens and the favors
she‟d likely had to give her loyal customers to obtain their advice. The
thought made him grit his teeth and his dinner churn. His temper soar.
Alyssa was a stripper, for fuck‟s sake. Not the sort of woman who went
without sex for two years. He‟d been an idiot to believe that when she‟d
whispered the trembling lie as he‟d tumbled her into bed three months ago.
She was in the business of leading men around by their dicks. And she was
good at it. He couldn‟t be angry with her for being herself; she‟d never
pretended to be anything different. But he could—and should—be furious
with himself for caring.
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Shayla Black
Despite the lot being completely empty, he‟d parked three spots from
her. As he pressed his key fob to unlock the driver‟s door, he watched her
do the same with her black sports car. Luc fisted his hands. She‟d go home
now, lose that little black skirt, white tank, red bra, and fuck-me shoes.
Even though she played no part in the future he craved, he itched to follow
her home . . . help her out of every garment, sink down into that perfect,
tight body.
He swallowed.
Keep your dick in your pants. Cook, shut up, and get
the hell out of Lafayette. Seven days. Think you can find some self-control?
A feminine shriek zipped across the lot, shattering his thoughts.
Alyssa.
Luc‟s heart stuttered, and he nearly leapt over his car as he rushed
across the asphalt. She backed away—right into his chest. He steadied
her, palms cupping her bare shoulders.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Alyssa drew in a shuddering breath. “Bastards!”
Before he could ask her who or what she meant, she reached into the
interior and yanked on something. A moment later, she produced a long,
serrated knife with a piece of paper attached. Under the streetlamps, it
gleamed the word WHORE in bright red lipstick.
Shock crested, then quickly morphed into molten fury. It was ironic;
he‟d been thinking something similar only moments ago. But he would
never have said it aloud, much less stabbed it to the front seat of her
convertible.
“Who would do this to you?” His voice vibrated with rage.
She tossed the knife into her front seat and cast him a wary stare over
her shoulder. “Who knows?”
Luc turned her to face him and clenched his jaw. “Who. Did. This. To.
You?”
His tone took her aback. “Look, it‟s not new. Shit happens all the time.”
All the time?
That only infuriated him more. Luc drew her closer as a
thunderous frown stole across his face. She wasn‟t afraid, and he was
scared as hell for her. “What have the police said in the past?”
“Police?” She shook her head. “This is just . . . a prank or a pissed-off
customer who thought I didn‟t pay enough attention to him, most likely.”
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Shayla Black
And whoever did this could also be dead serious. That blade was no
laughing matter. “What if someone really sick wants to hurt you? How long
has it been going on?”
“Like I said, it happens. It‟s been a while but—”
“Get in my car.” He was done allowing her to stand like a convenient
target in a shadowy parking lot. He didn‟t provide personal security detail
like his cousin Deke, but he‟d spent enough time with the man and his
business partner, Jack Cole, to know that remaining out in the open could
be deadly.
“What?” She looked incredulous. “I‟m not leaving my car here.”
“I‟m driving you home. You‟re calling the police and reporting the crime
so they can investigate.”
Alyssa hesitated, then softened. “Luc. Your concern is really sweet,
but—”
“Get in the fucking car.”
She blanched, and he cursed under his breath. He needed to get
control of his temper. But the soaring sexual frustration, coupled with his
alarm, had him on edge. Who thought they had the right to malign and
scare her? Fists curled, Luc craved a chance to pound the asshole.
Alyssa sighed, and Luc readied his next argument, but she strolled
toward his SUV. “Fine.”
He opened the door for her and watched her slide inside, the strands
of her platinum hair settling over her shoulders. She looked somewhere
between placid and reserved, despite the fact that she‟d just been
threatened. Was she out of her mind?
Shaking his head, he dashed around to the driver‟s seat. When he slid
inside, she was already on the phone.
“Sorry it‟s late, Remy. I thought maybe I should call y‟all. Someone
messed with my car . . .”
Quickly and unemotionally, she relayed their location and the event.
Luc heard murmurs of the other man‟s conversation, his tone more goodol‟-boy than concerned, and he frowned. Didn‟t anyone take this seriously?
He grabbed the phone from her and spit out an introduction. “Dust for
prints. She touched the weapon, but you may find other sets on the handle.
Whoever did this
broke
into her car.”
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Shayla Black
“Doubt it was much more than a prank. Boys down here get a little
rowdy from time to time—”
“And stab the word „whore‟ into her seat? That‟s funny how?” Remy
cleared his throat. “It‟s not. But I don‟t think no one meant no harm.”
Luc gritted his teeth together. “Do you usually solve all your cases
before you visit the crime scene?”
Finally, Remy got serious. “I‟ll investigate.”
“Thoroughly.”
Alyssa grabbed the phone. “Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.”
When he ended the call, Luc could barely unclench his jaw as he sped
away from the parking lot. “Honey? The man didn‟t even want to
investigate, and you call him „honey‟?”
She shrugged. “It‟s a Louisiana thing. You‟ll catch more flies with
honey than vinegar.”
“Yeah?” he challenged. “Or is it a „he‟s-my-customer‟ thing. Did he
watch you strip tonight?”
She swallowed. “I asked all the local enforcement to come, including
the sheriff. Keeps down the possibility of rowdies getting out of control and
trashing the club.”
Luc gripped the wheel tighter as he peeled out of the parking lot. “So
that‟s a yes.”
Fighting the urge to hit something in an unusual show of temper, he