Just One Taste. Victoria DahlЧитать онлайн книгу.
princess and carbon copy of both her and Vanessa’s younger sister. But Vanessa wasn’t holding her breath.
“I guess I’m a sap for bailing her out,” Vanessa continued.
“Since she’s done so much to help us.”
“She thinks she’s doing what’s best for me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re twenty-seven. I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out what’s best for you on your own.”
“Hear, hear.”
“And we did a classy job. I bet fifty bucks your mother didn’t sleep a wink last night, wondering if we’d show up with boob-shaped suckers and a cock-shaped champagne fountain.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened, and she temporarily shoved aside her vow for peace. She exchanged a knowing look with Mia. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“For that bachelorette party this weekend.”
“We could have champagne spurting out the top.”
“Crude, but fun.”
“My mother really would faint.”
Mia flicked her hand in dismissal. “Well, she’s not going to be there, is she? And let’s quit talking about her. It’s too frustrating.” She craned her neck to try to see around and over the crowd. “This place is a crush. Somehow the staid and boring really have found their own place in the world. Imagine that. Still, there’s got to be at least one scrumptious, eligible man—oh, my God. What’s he doing here? Hide me.”
Vanessa looked around and quickly spotted the problem—Colin Leavy was heading their way. He’d been in love with Mia ever since he’d come into their bakery and catering shop to order a cake for his mother’s birthday two years ago. Unfortunately, he was an accountant and the epitome of staid, so Mia wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
Vanessa thought he was cute, and his devotion to Mia adorable. She might even reveal her chocolate-cheese-cake recipe to have a man look at her with the devotion Colin showed Mia.
Somehow, in her relationships, Vanessa always managed to be the pursuer, not the pursuee. Because she knew what she wanted? Because she knew how to get what she wanted? Or because she impulsively jumped in with both feet without bothering to ask too many questions?
She highly suspected it was the latter, especially after the last guy she’d gone out with that turned out to have a fiancée.
“Good grief,” she said to her partner. “There are worse things in life than having a bright, successful man grovel at your feet.”
“Depends on the man.”
As Colin approached, and Mia realized she didn’t have anywhere to hide, she simply crossed her arms over her chest.
“Hi, Mia. Would you like to dance?”
“I’m work—”
Vanessa pushed her friend forward. “She’d love to.”
Mia glared at her over her shoulder. “But, I—”
“Come on, Mia,” Colin said. “Please.”
Who could resist those sweet, puppy-dog-brown eyes?
Apparently not even Mia, who sighed, but held out her hand to take Colin’s. Vanessa hoped she let him lead.
While her partner was dancing, Vanessa roamed the perimeter of the room, making sure the platters of appetizers and pastries were filled, and the waitstaff kept the drinks flowing. The party doubled as a fund-raiser for a local children’s hospital, so once her mother presented the check to the chairperson at 10:00 p.m., the crowd would probably disperse and Vanessa and Mia would be free to clean up and go. Still, it would be midnight before they got home, as they had to pack everything, then run it all through the industrial-quality dishwasher at the shop.
Dessert First had started on a whim, had quickly become a challenge, but it fulfilled Vanessa as nothing else ever had before.
She’d met Mia in culinary school, where her friend had excelled at organizing and managing much more than she had at cookies and pastries. They’d become close buds, then business partners and roommates. Vanessa knew she could count on Mia like no one else in the world, and that safety net allowed her to handle the tension between her and her family with much more confidence and panache.
Maybe, with Mia’s business savvy and Vanessa’s sugary concoctions, they wouldn’t have to struggle so much someday. Maybe this party could be the beginning of healing and understanding with her family.
Oh, yeah, and maybe the man of her dreams was going to pop out from behind the fruit bowl and whisk her to his castle in the sky.
EXCEPT FOR HER, THE PARTY was a dead bore.
Lucas Broussard prowled the edges of the room, knowing he’d have to endure many more of these things if he was going to be accepted in this city. Networking in his profession was a necessity. A sacrifice, like so many others, he’d just have to buckle down and endure.
Were they all genetically programmed for this stuff? Small talk, gossip, bragging. Trophy wives and pedigreed family trees.
At least, though his mistakes and faux pas were many, he’d never been accused of boring his audience to death.
As expected, and like everyone else, he’d flashed his Rolex. He wore a custom-made designer suit. He’d made plenty of money as a respected attorney, even if the money was a little too new to be decent and his tactics were sneered at by some. He held his champagne glass by the stem. He could even tell the brand was that old reliable Dom Pérignon and not the now hipper Cristal.
And still the boy from Cypress Bayou Trailer Park of Lafayette, Louisiana, lurked inside him. Inescapable. Maybe even necessary.
All in all, he’d much rather snag that hot blonde in the red dress, a bottle of whiskey and head home.
Even as he managed not to choke over yet another story about hunting lodges and the advantages of buying a personal Learjet, he watched her. He smiled internally as she accepted a breath mint from her dark-haired friend. His body tightened as she snitched a chocolate truffle from a tray of sweets and slid it into her mouth with a sigh of pleasure, her tongue peeking out to skim the last drop of chocolate from her bottom lip. He noticed as she slipped into the kitchen, then return moments later with a large silver platter of strawberries.
At first glance, he’d pegged her as a guest. With her sparkling dress; tall, trim body; and sleek curtain of hair falling just past her shoulders, she had class written all over her. But when he’d maneuvered himself closer, he saw her nails were painted bloodred, and she had a small butterfly tattoo on the back of her left shoulder.
And he’d smiled genuinely for the first time all night.
Now, while a local cardiologist—whom his company was panting over as a client to represent in nuisance malpractice suits—explained the advantages of jetting to Brussels in the spring, he watched the chocolate-loving blonde rearrange strawberries on the fruit platters and considered how she’d feel about comparing body decorations.
Even as the arousing picture of that played through his mind, he strangled his libido and remembered his career. His life. His future. And the future of those who depended on him.
He’d come to Atlanta to change direction. To amend for the past. To remind himself why he’d started down the road of law in the first place.
Beautiful, butterfly-tattooed blondes would just have to wait.
He tuned into the European-vacation discussion. He smiled at appropriate times. He didn’t talk too much. Or too little. And when the esteemed doctor excused himself to dance with his wife, Lucas’s business card was in his jacket pocket.
With a smile, he turned to find the next conquest. But as he continued to schmooze, she was there. He felt her. Her smile and her grace. Her