Her Secret Texas Valentine. Helen LaceyЧитать онлайн книгу.
February night, but he felt the connection between them instantly. She wore a long coat, and her beautiful hair was down and framed her face. She was, he thought, as lovely as he remembered. Attraction skittered down his spine, and he experienced an unusual shortness of breath. It had been a long time since he had been so aware of a woman. Too long. And he liked the sensation that being around her evoked. It made him feel as though he was alive, and not the version of himself he’d allowed to take the lead since Patrice had left.
“Hello, Jake, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Likewise, Valene.”
She smiled and withdrew her hand. “You can call me Val.”
“I kinda like Valene,” he admitted and waited until she’d moved onto the sidewalk before discreetly placing a hand beneath her elbow and ushering her toward the restaurant. “Is that okay?”
She smiled. “Only my dad calls me Valene. And Glammy.”
“Glammy?”
She nodded and suddenly looked a little sad. “She was my grandmother. When we were kids, my sister Schuyler had a lisp and couldn’t say Grammy...so the word Glammy sort of stuck. She died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. She was a wonderful woman. One of a kind. I miss her a lot. How did you manage to get a table?” she asked as they reached the door, changing the subject. “Did you bribe the maître d’?”
He smiled and led her inside, speaking close to her ear. “Something like that.”
Once they were inside, she took off her coat to reveal a stunning black-and-white dress that was modest but enhanced her lovely curves. It took about ten seconds for them to be seated and for Serge to seek Jake out. The owner, a Sicilian in his late sixties, greeted him with a friendly handshake.
“So good to see you again, Jake. It’s been too long. I saved the best table for you.”
Jake could only agree and figured the restaurateur had probably shuffled reservations around to give them the table situated between the small front window and the bar that was away from other diners and offered plenty of privacy.
“Thank you, Serge,” he said and then introduced Valene.
The rakish Sicilian grasped Valene’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “A pleasure, lovely lady. I have seen you here before, yes?”
She nodded and briefly met Jake’s gaze. “Yes, mostly for business lunches. However,” she said and smiled warmly, “I have never sat at the best table before.”
The older man gave a flirtatious laugh. “Ha...nothing is too good for my friend Jake. I shall leave you the wine list and come back soon.”
Once Serge left, Valene stared at Jake, brows up questioningly. “So...how?”
“How what?”
“How did you get to be on a first-name basis with the owner of one of the most popular restaurants in the city?”
Jake perused the wine list for a second and then met her inquiring gaze. “I told you I work on a ranch. It supplies the beef for the restaurant. Serge is simply a satisfied customer. Good beef equals the good table.”
Her mouth curled at the edges. “You’re full of surprises.”
Yeah, he thought, to a woman like Valene Fortunado, it would seem like that.
And then he wondered how she’d react if he told her that the beef the Double Rock Ranch supplied to the restaurant actually belonged to him. Because everything on the ranch—the house, the stables, the cattle, the horses—was his, and had been since he’d bought the place eight years earlier.
Yes...he is as gorgeous as I remember.
Valene couldn’t think of anything else as she watched him look over the wine list. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen eyes his color before. They were an old movie-star blue—deep and glittering and framed by the most unfairly long lashes she’d ever seen on a man. And he smelled so good—not some fancy and expensively overpowering and cloying cologne, but a woodsy, totally masculine scent that was wreaking havoc on her dormant libido.
Sex...
How long had it been since she’d thought about sex in any real terms? A long time. Even when she was with Hugh, their relationship had been so lukewarm she rarely gave intimacy a thought. But right now, sitting opposite Jake, admiring his broad shoulders and bedroom eyes, she was suddenly thinking about it. Big-time.
“Do you have a wine preference?” he asked, looking at her over the list.
She shrugged lightly. “I prefer white.”
He nodded, and within seconds Serge returned and Jake ordered a vintage from the Mendoza Winery. She wondered if he knew of her connection with the family and then figured it didn’t matter. He could easily find out her background by going online. She had several social media accounts and often posted frivolous things about food and clothes and the latest pair of must-have shoes she’d purchased. It certainly wouldn’t be difficult to trace her family tree and figure out she came from the Fortune family. A very rich family. Maddie’s warning suddenly pealed inside her head. Don’t go too fast. Don’t trust too easily.
A waitress arrived and handed them a couple of menus. Valene was looking over the selection when he spoke.
“Everything okay, Valene?”
She looked up and nodded. “Fine. So, what’s good here?”
“The beef,” he replied and grinned. “Although I may be a little biased.”
Valene chose the ravioli and pursed her lips. “I shall take you to task if it’s inferior to my palate.”
He chuckled at her playful banter. “I look forward to it.”
The waitress returned with the wine and to take their order, and once they were alone, Valene spoke again. “So, Jake, have you ever had your heart broken?”
His gaze narrowed fractionally. “Yes. You?”
“Sort of.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Sort of?”
She shrugged. “Not broken...just cracked a little. It turned out my first boyfriend, Diego, was more interested in courting my father than me.”
He sat back. “Well, I can assure you that your father isn’t my type.”
Valene laughed. He had a lovely sense of humor and she was discovering that she liked that quality very much. “I’ll have you know that my dad is very charming.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“And he’s a good judge of character,” she added and sipped her wine. “He saw through Diego long before I did.”
“It’s good he’s there to watch out for you.”
“Or smother me,” she said and sighed. “My parents can be a little...overprotective.”
“You’re their youngest child, correct?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Natural then,” he said quietly, “that they would want to protect you from jerks and gold diggers.”
“I suppose,” she said and sighed. “And I shouldn’t complain about being loved so much, I know. Tell me about your parents.”
He shrugged loosely. “Not much to tell. My parents had a happy marriage. My mom never found anyone else after my father died.”
“He was the love of her