Stay (Dunham series #2) (30 page)

“Oh, it’s okay. I manage.”

Eric opened his mouth to argue, but got distracted
when a waiter approached bearing six candles. He placed them on the
table and lit them, then took the dishes away. At that moment,
another waiter appeared with a silver tray upon which sat a glass
with a shot of a pale green liqueur, an elaborate slotted spoon, a
bowl of sugar cubes, and a carafe of ice water.

She smiled as he put it on the table. “Thank you,
James. Go ahead and clock out.”

“Thanks, Vanessa.”

The lights in the dining room dimmed and Vanessa
leaned toward Eric to kiss him lightly on the lips. He would have
deepened it, but she drew away slowly. “I want to share something
with you,” she whispered.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Absinthe.”

“Isn’t that poisonous?”

Vanessa laughed then and placed the spoon on top of
the glass, then a couple of sugar cubes in the spoon. She picked up
the carafe and carefully dripped water over the sugar, drop by
drop.

“Poisonous, no,” she murmured. “Illegal to import,
yes, if it has wormwood in it. But I won’t serve the fake
stuff.”

“How do you get it?” he asked, now more curious than
shocked. It was taking a very long time for the sugar to
dissolve.

She glanced up at him. “Be patient. This can’t be
rushed.” They sat silent for a moment, and Eric tried to be
patient. “My . . . supplier . . . gets it on overseas trips. Here,”
she murmured after all the water had dripped through, giving the
glass of now-cloudy white liquid to Eric. “Taste it.”

“Oh, wow,” he said reverently after he’d taken a
sip. “That’s delicious.”

She put it down again and slowly poured water in
until it had filled the glass, then waited until all traces of
green were gone. Then she stirred it slowly with the spoon.

“This,” she whispered, her lips almost to his, “is
the green fairy.”

They drank from it slowly, taking turns sipping from
the same spot on the glass, kissing in between, sharing the
slightly bitter licorice taste.

“How did you find this?” Eric murmured against her
lips once they’d finished the glass.

Vanessa paused, said nothing for a moment, then
murmured, “Do you really want to know?”

He stared at her, hints of jealousy seeping back
into him because he knew one of
them
had introduced her to
it and he had a pretty good idea which one.

“Sebastian.”

She shrugged, just a bit.

“I’m still jealous,” he admitted quietly.

“Please don’t be,” she whispered, leaning toward
him, those fabulous turquoise eyes earnest, as if to make him
understand. “This is about me and you. No history. No other
lovers.”

Eric watched her warily. “Vanessa, I know I have no
right to feel that way, but I do and I can’t help it. Can you bear
with me?”

Vanessa smiled and rose slowly; Eric would have
risen too, but she put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened
when she began to pull her pink skirt up until the tops of her
stockings, then her garters, could be seen.

“What about guests walking through the lobby?”

“I can be a bit of an exhibitionist,” she whispered.
“Do you mind?”

“And Vachel won’t come back unexpectedly?”

“No. When he sets out for deer, he tries not to come
back without one. Or he may come back with a couple of coyote.”

Eric grinned slyly when she straddled his thighs and
rested her arms on his shoulders. She caught his mouth in a kiss
that seared him to his soul. He didn’t know how it could be
possible to have a deeper, more meaningful kiss than this one they
shared—each shift of their mouths, each slide of tongue on tongue,
each pull and nip of teeth and lips.

Tasting of absinthe.

Her breasts pressed into him and his cock strained
at his fly. “Vanessa,” he whispered, “take me to bed.”

She did—but Eric’s slow lovemaking was a little too
slow. He took so long to get Vanessa thoroughly relaxed that she
fell asleep. Eric sucked a nipple into his mouth to awaken her, but
she giggled and sighed, then turned over.

“Shit,” Eric muttered, then stripped and climbed in
bed with her. He figured there were worse things than being naked
in bed with a naked Vanessa Whittaker, holding her while she
slept.

* * * * *

26: Success Gets to Be a Habit

Vanessa was exhausted by the time seating began
Saturday evening, which was normal. She’d awakened Eric at 5:30
after her phone rang with an emergency and put him to work
immediately extinguishing the everyday fires of Whittaker House
with Knox’s guidance.

She ended up quibbling over a dish with Alain,
searching through the humidor for a rare Cuban cigar the waiter
couldn’t find, and having an impromptu meeting with the mayor of
Mansfield out in the orchard about the next county zoning meeting.
She also baked the night’s requirement of her famous chocolate chip
cookies, only available after Saturday’s dinner.

When at one o’clock Vachel came in with an entire
evening’s worth of trout, she said, “Go find Eric and teach him how
to clean and fillet them.” That annoyed both of them for different
reasons, but the chore would put Vachel in a power position over
Eric, which the boy desperately needed right about then. Eric
understood, although he curled his lip at the thought of gutting
fish.

Eric had been in the shower when she came in to
dress for dinner and, as they had the day before, they washed each
other. It was the only physical contact they’d had all day. Eric,
unused to dawn-to-midnight physical labor, looked ready to fall
asleep against the shower wall. She told him he could go to bed,
but he’d have none of it unless she meant for them to go there
together and make love all night long.

She chuckled. “Unfortunately, no, that’s not what I
meant.”

He dressed her the way he had the day before, soft,
slow, languid and she thought she would die. She didn’t know how
much she had hoped he would do so until the moment he set her on
the edge of the bed to put her shoes on.

He spread her legs wide to drink from her again. She
arched her back, her fingers threaded through his hair to keep his
mouth right
there
, his lips and his tongue doing marvelous
things to her. His big hands grasped her hips, his fingers splayed
out over the skin of her buttocks, and brought her forward, a
little bit over the edge of the bed.

Then Vanessa went over the edge, coming with a gasp,
whispering, “Eric. Oh,
Eric
.” She couldn’t think, could
barely speak. Her legs were weak.

“I could do that all night, Vanessa,” he murmured as
he released her and rose tall on his knees so that he was nearly
eye to eye with her sitting on the edge of the bed.

And, like the day before, he kissed her deeply,
lazily, sweeping her mouth with his tongue so that she tasted
herself. And she sighed.

“Much as I love that,” she whispered, “I want to
feel you inside me again. That I could do all night. I’ll close the
windows and lock the doors this time so Knox can’t pull any more
pranks.”

She caught a glance of her clock and sighed. “Time
to go to work.” Eric still knelt between her legs, as dark and
naked as he had been the day before, his arousal between them. He
stared at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher and she
watched him back, his black eyes glimmering like onyx and his
short, short hair almost dry.

“Bad boy Eric Cipriani turned
GQ
,” she
murmured, and he grinned. He stood and pulled her up to him, then
finished dressing her without further ado.

Vanessa was knee deep in guests, greeting and
seating, when she realized that Eric had begun to greet and seat
guests too. Suddenly, she panicked.
Why
was he doing that?
When she tried to catch him to ask him what the hell he thought he
was doing, he ignored her.

The guests were as confused as she, and she wondered
what he told them that made their faces clear, then look at her
pityingly and nod with great concern.

Deeply troubled, she went into the kitchen to get an
order. She didn’t like what he was doing
at all
, and it took
several deep breaths to calm herself. Then she marched herself
right back out to the dining room, served the couple whose order
she’d brought out to them, and went about schmoozing and seating
guests when she needed to. She served a few more dinners herself
and stopped to talk to the regulars and ask them about their
week.

Eric, following her lead, serving food, talking to
people, getting to know them. Vanessa wished he’d stop doing that,
as it upset her routine greatly and finally she figured out why she
didn’t like it.

It made her want things . . . Things that had
nothing to do with Eric making love to her.

Almanzo and Laura, working together to build a more
grand Whittaker House, building a life and maybe a family together.
It could never happen. Her wants had nothing in common with
Eric’s.

Attorney general. Then governor. Then the White
House.

Then something else occurred to her. Was he
campaigning
? Here? On
her
turf?

Knox and Justice cast Vanessa questioning glances
occasionally as they ate, but she could only shrug helplessly.
Vachel slumped down in his chair, glared at his plate, picked at
his food.

One elderly couple, faithful diners every Friday and
Saturday night since she had opened the dining room to the public,
caught her attention. Eric stood talking to them, and they waved
her over, Eric watching her with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow. Did
he have no clue how distressed she was?

“Vanessa!” Mrs. Parks gushed. “This young man is
simply amazing. Did you know he teaches karate for a living?”

Hi. My name’s Eric Cipriani. I teach karate.

Not
campaigning.

“Ah, no, I didn’t. He was an itinerant I found under
a bridge. I brought him in, cleaned him up, and put him to
work.”

Eric barked a laugh and Mr. and Mrs. Parks snickered
madly. Mr. Parks put his hand to his mouth and Vanessa bent to
listen to him.

“I think he’s sweet on you, Vanessa.”

Unfortunately, he was nearly deaf, so his whisper
sounded more like a trumpet in her ear and was loud enough so that
several surrounding tables heard and chuckled. She didn’t dare look
at Eric.

Now embarrassed beyond belief, yet
warmed—sad—because it was so wonderful to hear a third party say
that Eric was “sweet” on her, she smiled and patted Mr. Parks on
the shoulder.

“That’s good, because I think I might be sweet on
him, too, maybe.”

For the rest of the evening, she and Eric went
around together and spoke to people. It wasn’t as if she had a
choice since Eric decided to attach himself to her. She was about
to jump out of her skin.

She started when another regular said, “So, Vanessa,
are you planning on going somewhere again?”

“No, why?”

“Eric here says he’s your trainee in case you need
to take a break from Whittaker House. I had no idea you haven’t had
a vacation or a day off in years.”

The concern in his voice was echoed by several other
diners and she teared up a little bit. Eric offered his
handkerchief and she smiled.

“Just to go to my family’s funerals.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Ah, well, I s’pose we can stand to have a fill-in
now and again so you can get away.”

All evening, Whittaker House guests received Eric
with an exceptional enthusiasm. He knew how to talk to people, to
make them feel at ease. He could charm at a glance with his quiet
charisma and warm smile—

—which was what had gotten him in so much trouble
when he was a teenager.

Eric would win every election he ran.

With the grief of impending loss, Vanessa watched
him work the room. Like precious water running through the fingers
of a person dying of thirst before she could drink her fill, Eric
would be gone, off to fulfill his potential for greatness.

The only other way to keep Eric Cipriani was to give
up Whittaker House and go with him if he asked, which Vanessa
wouldn’t even consider. She would never leave what she’d built. Not
for anything, even love.

Even Eric.

By the time the dining room closed and everyone had
cleared out, she had wound herself up into a tizzy, about to cry
because she wanted something that was just not possible. How could
she allow herself to get any deeper with him when it wouldn’t lead
anywhere but a dead end?

“Go ahead and eat with the kitchen staff, Eric. I
need to go out to one of the cottages to check on something.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, that’s all right. It’s an easy check.”

She brushed past him and he caught her arm
unexpectedly, pulling her around to him. She looked away.

“Vanessa,” he whispered, looking around at her face,
the pads of his thumbs working to clear her cheeks of tears. “Why
are you crying?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered and
broke away from him to go out into the cool Ozark mountain air. She
clicked down the stairs and walked as fast as she could into the
night. She stopped and hopped to take off her heels, then ran as
fast as she could toward the playground. He wouldn’t find her
there.

Vanessa collapsed onto a swing, dropped her head and
she sobbed.

It had been a mistake not to leave him in Chouteau
City, to let him come here, to put him to work and see him in her
world. To see him fit in as if he belonged, as if he had always
been here, with her, and know that it couldn’t be.

He owned a karate studio that depended on his
knowledge, just like Whittaker House depended on hers. He would
have to give that up anyway to move to Jefferson City if he were
elected attorney general, but that wasn’t for another two
years.