She Belongs to Me (3 page)

“Just want to see your reaction.” Amy smirked
then
turned to walk away
,
but paused at the doorway. “I’ll be nearby if you need any help,” she called out, finally leaving the kitchen with C.J. staring after her.

“Why would I need help?” she muttered, rolling her eyes at Amy’s retreating backside.

Content she didn’t have to continue rolling silverware, she ventured off to greet her guest. She dug in her apron for a pen, trying not to think about the crumbled letter. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Distracted, she didn’t bother looking at her patron. “Hi, my name is C.J. I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?” she asked, raising her eyes from her ticket book as she awaited an answer.

At that precise moment, the man sitting at her booth looked up from his menu
,
acknowledging her presence.

Wow
! Now she understood Amy’s grin an
d
offer to assist. She gawked in awe. The man at her table was a real looker. Not in a generic, Hollywood way. He was a genuine, all-American, striking male. The man’s face, chiseled and sculpted to perfection, stared back: square chin, high cheekbones and angular nose, all framed by a neatly trimmed beard trailing up his jaw that only added to his rugged look. His hair was a deep brown, almost black and cropped short, military-style. His build also resembled an officer of some sort. His shoulders were broad and held back in perfect posture, and based on their width, she now understood the need for a larger booth.

But his eyes were the best. He had a lightly tanned complexion with dark brows and under thick eyelashes were a set of arresting, steel-blue eyes. They were beautiful, but the shock of electricity that shot through her the moment he looked up was incapacitating
.
S
he
couldn’t think.
“
Wow
” wasn’t quite enough. She saw Amy peer around the corner, her grin wide, apparently
pleased with her reaction. Then she winked and turned away, leaving C.J. to her own devices.

The man’s eyes held contact with hers for a few seconds. “Yes, ma’am, do you have sweet tea?” His accent was strong and southern.

“Call me C.J. please, and yes, we do. I made it myself,” she answered too fast, not contemplating her words. Why did she feel the need to offer that information? As if it mattered who brewed the tea.

“Sounds good, C.J., I’ll take that then.” His cute southern drawl made her initials sound like two words the way he drew them out, and the heartbreaking smile sent a shiver down her spine. When he smiled, she noticed fine tan lines feathering from the corners of his eyes similar to her father. Her dad was the only man who had ever made her laugh. A pang of longing hit her hard.

“I’ll give you a couple minutes and be right back with your tea.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from him to retreat to the safety of the kitchen.

Entering the kitchen, she whooshed out the breath she’d been holding. What the heck was happening? Why was her stomach doing loop-de-loops? Why did this guy stride in here looking all masculine and start her heart pounding? It felt
as if
she was shocked with one of those heart-thingies, and her heart was beating for the first time in years. She gripped the letter in her apron she hadn’t discarded yet. It was a significant reminder not to let a man’s cute smile influence her.

Get a hold of yourself
, she thought.
He’s just a guy. So he was good
looking. What difference did that make?
The men she dated were always attractive. Maybe that was her predicament.

Pulling in a deep, relaxing breath through her nostrils, she held it a couple of seconds and then let it out in a slow exhale. “There,” she said aloud. “That’s better.”

She busied herself with getting his drink. What was she worried about anyway? He looked like a
nice
guy, not at all her variety of man. It wasn’t as if he’d even be interested. Guys like him were never attracted to her. She only managed to be a magnet for trouble, men who looked good on the outside but were horrible inside.

Jordan wilted into his booth disorientated.

He just gaped at the waitress when she requested his drink order. He didn’t understand what
had
happened, but he
’d
felt the electricity ignite. He’d read about it, saw it in movies and heard his grandmother’s accounts, but he had never experienced it. The strike was instantaneous. What had
Na
n
na
called it? The thunderbolt
,
or was it lightning bolt? He may not remember the name, but it had happened. The second his eyes connected with hers, he felt the charge. It was as if his entire being was struck, and everything he wanted or ever desired was wrapped up in this moment, in this girl. He should leave. This couldn’t be happening, not here. She was pretty, but it wasn’t that. There was something about her. He felt drawn to her. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave even if he wanted to escape this emotion. It was too powerful.

C.J. placed his beverage on the coaster and smiled. “Are you ready to order?”

“Um…yes, ma’am, I’ll take the sirloin, medium-well please.” Shoot, he reprimanded himself. She requested he call her C.J., but he couldn’t help it. It was the way a respectful southerner spoke.

“Sir, not to be intrusive but can I recommend either ordering your steak medium or switching to the strip steak? Or, alternatively, we could butterfly it. Our steaks are thick, and sirloin can be tough if overcooked.”

He smiled up at her, unable to contain the pleasure soaring through his body at this simple gesture. As if she wanted to take care of him. Of course, she probably offered this to all her customers. “Butterflying it w
ill be fine, thank you.
”
He
tipped
his head in a respectful manner.

She wrote down his order, and he watched her saunter away. Warmth rushed his veins. He had to make her his.

Never having asked a waitress out before, he wondered how he would go about such an undertaking. Men probably hit on her all the time. She was pretty, a natural beauty
,
even without makeup. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, but a few strands had escaped. He felt the urge to tuck them behind her ear just to touch her hair.

But her eyes were her most incredible feature. They were a deep hazel, like cat’s eyes, standing out in contrast to her olive skin. Her body was also perfect, not like all the bony, thin girls he saw around here. She was small but shapely, about 5’3 he guessed. He liked that too. She was perfect for his six-foot frame.

Where was his imagination going already, perfect for what…dancing? He chastised himself but knew he couldn’t let her escape without at least attempting to see if there was anything under her cover, as his mother had always put it. Was she just a simple-minded waitress? She didn’t sound unintelligent. No matter the looks, he could never deal with ignorance. He needed someone with whom he could relate.

Again, his thoughts were uncontainable. He only just saw this girl and was already sizing up whether she was worthy. No doubt she’d think he was an ignorant hick anyway. Women loved his southern accent but were always surprised when there was more behind his drawl than just a country boy.

She stopped back by the table with a pitcher of tea. He looked up at her and couldn’t have prevented the smile he gave her, even if he’d tried. “What does C.J. stand for?”

“I never tell anyone. It’s a secret,” she whispered, then smiled and walked away.

What did that mean? She smiled sweetly, but also dismissed him.

His eyes followed her as she approached an older couple. She sat down beside the man as if she knew him. A protective, jealous instinct crept up out of nowhere.

Seriously, man
, get a grip. He’s like seventy s
omething.

Jordan wasn’t jealous of the man, he realized. He was envious she wasn’t sitting, talking and laughing with him. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than just that.

C.J. disappeared into the kitchen again, returning a few minutes later with drinks for the couple and a salad, which must be his. He was proficient at reading people. What she did next would determine if he would act on his feelings.

If she delivered the drinks before his salad, she might be interested. If she dropped off his salad first, so she could go back and converse with the couple, then he’d
know
to just forget about trying to approach her and always wonder…
what if
?

Passing right by him, she turned her attention to the couple. He smiled, pleased with this simple outcome. Watching the effortless sway of her walk as she returned to him, he almost let out a woo-
hoo
. But then, she placed his salad and bread down and turned to disappear again.

“Excuse me, C.J.?” he spoke in a rushed panic, a pathetic endeavor to keep her with him.

“Yes?” She turned back, her dazzling eyes bright and beautiful. “Did you need something?”

He stifled a chuckle. How juvenile he felt. He was acting as if he was seventeen not twenty-seven.

“Why is it a secret?” he blurted out the first question that came to mind.

She shook her head slightly and huffed.
“My name?”

“Yes, why won’t you tell me your actual name?”

“Well,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “I just don’t like it. Besides, no one forgets C.J. It’s easy to remember which brings my customers back to me.”

Her eyes narrowed, showing a little crinkle between them. She looked up and flicked a look around the room
as if expecting someone to charge through the door. He’d seen this look before—in victims.

“I can’t imagine anyone forgetting your name even if it was eight syllables,” he offered. What kind of corny line was that? But she smiled again, and this time didn’t dismiss him by walking away.

“Where are you from?” she asked. “You’re not from Florida, are you?”

“Now why would you think that?” he teased, smiling. Maybe he could get her to let down her guard.

“Well, your accent obviously.
Plenty of Floridians have southern accents, just not in Pinellas County. Even so, there is something else I cannot quite place, but I know it’s not a Floridian trait.” She relaxed deeper in the booth, crossing her arms, awaiting his answer.

Wondering what she was getting at but deciding to engage her until he got what he wanted, he offered a compromise. “I’ll make you a deal,” he hedged, staring into her eyes a fraction longer than necessary, watching as her eyes grew wider after a moment. “You tell me your real name and I’ll tell you mine
and
where I’m from.”

She sprung from the table.
Oops
,
guess I lost that standoff,
he thought wryly.

“I have to get their salads,” she stammered, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge something. “I’ll be right back.”

Relief washed over him. He feared for a second he had been too assertive which he tended to be sometimes.

C.J. rushed to the kitchen even though she knew she had plenty of time. The Smiths enjoyed sipping their cocktails before they ate. But she had to escape.

Could he really be interested, or was he just having fun? Thinking about his eyes, she tightened her hand around the envelope concealed in her apron. She couldn’t trust herself. She made disastrous decisions when it came to men. She couldn’t continue flirting with disaster, even if he looked like fun.

She stood in the kitchen, pulled on her bottom lip and took deep breaths. Her pulse slowly returned to normal.

After calming herself down again, she ordered the Smiths’ dinner and waited for their salads. She ambled her way to her regulars’ table
,
brandishing a fresh iced tea for the man who was upsetting her world simply by asking what her initials stood for. And what was with his ridiculous comment about never forgetting her name?

Trading out his drink, she retreated to the Smiths, deciding to chat with them before she’d have to retrieve his dinner. She could allow someone else to deliver his meal. But she wanted to see him again, even for a few seconds.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Would she always be so dense? If she was honest, she’d initiated the flirting. People inquired what C.J. stood for all the time, but for some dim-witted reason, she decided to taunt him by withholding the answer. He
’d
turned her
teasing around on her, however
and now she felt nauseated.

C.J. managed to ignore him, yet continued to perform her job flawlessly.

She permitted him only the time needed to replace his beverage then headed to her other table. Did it mean she wasn’t interested? Did he care?

He watched her laugh with the couple. They looked happy
,
as if they’d been married for fifty years like his grandparents had been. Jordan was seven years older than his grandparents were when they married. He hadn’t been thinking abou
t marriage these last few years;
it hadn’t even been a thought. It was this girl and this blasted thunderbolt his grandmother cursed him with that had him thinking crazy thoughts about a woman who wouldn’t even tell him her name.