Jamie Denton - Valentine Fantasy

He scanned the list of items, but his mind continued to drift to the first woman in a very long time who’d managed to intrigue him to the point of distraction. He was by no means a monk, but right now, he had difficulty recalling his last serious relationship with a woman. He knew he’d become a workaholic the past few years, and because of his professional ambitions, he’d never taken the time necessary to cultivate a lasting relationship. Most of his contact with the opposite sex had stemmed from one of a multitude of professional acquaintances, but none of the women he’d dated were “the one.”

Cait was different. She intrigued him, and he wanted to learn more about her. He found no other plausible explanation for his wanting to extend their evening together.

He glanced in her direction and watched as she surveyed the menu. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she attempted to decide on her meal. Looking up at him, she smiled, then returned her attention to the menu. A slight blush covered her cheeks. She was a contradiction in a variety of ways. Shy, yet temptingly seductive. He didn’t think he’d ever know her completely, but he decided that he’d sure like to try once he completed his contractual obligation for Fantasy for Hire.

Tonight he’d seen nary a glimpse of a bored socialite, and he found himself enjoying the company of a fun, carefree woman who grasped life with both hands and enjoyed every moment to the fullest. She’d laughed at the antics of a street mime who’d chosen her as a target for his comedy routine, tossed raw fish off the wharf to the baby sea lions playing on the rocks below, and told him that although she’d lived in San Francisco her entire life, she’d never visited Alcatraz because she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being stripped of their freedom. When they strolled past a New Age shop, she’d explained the various crystals and the power she believed they held, then balked at the overpriced gifts in the window display of a collectibles shop. She was intelligent and witty, but it was not the biting sarcastic wit of someone raised among the privileged, with no conscience about the feelings of others.

Cait cared, a quality he found endearing.

She made him laugh. Something not many were able to achieve.

She was sinfully sexy.

And he wanted her.

“Ready to order?” he asked, closing his menu.

She peeked at him over the top of the menu. “I can’t decide between the seafood salad or the giant mushrooms stuffed with shrimp and lobster.”

“Order the salad and I’ll share my mushrooms with you.”

“Deal,” she said, then snapped the menu closed. Her smile filled with mischief. “But don’t expect me to part with my salad.”

He chuckled and signaled for the waiter. “You’re a selfish woman, Cait.”

She reached for her water glass and took a sip. “You’ve discovered my weakness.”

“Selfishness or seafood?”

She set the glass down, then trailed a short, tapered fingernail along the rim of the crystal goblet. He followed the movement with his eyes and imagined her fingers trailing a path over his chest. He reached for his own water and took a deep drink.

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for seafood,” she admitted.

He set his glass aside, braced his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “Is that your only weakness?”

A teasing smile canted her lips and filled her eyes with laughter. “Chocolate,” she whispered, lowering her gaze as if embarrassed by the reminder of last night’s sensual game.

His blood heated at the memory, and at her display of shyness. He was beginning to think her role of seductress was merely an act, but she’d been just as affected last night as he’d been—another aspect of her personality he found fascinating.

The waiter arrived, and Jordan placed their order, adding a bottle of private-label Chardonnay.

“Make it the house brand,” Cait told the waiter, then grinned sheepishly at Jordan. “I’m sorry, I don’t like to waste money on an expensive bottle that we won’t even finish.”

At the waiter’s pointed look, Jordan gave a slight nod of agreement. He watched her as she looked out at the ocean lost in thought, more than a little surprised by her frugality, but he figured this was just one of those odd little eccentricities that made up her intriguing personality.

By the time the waiter returned with their wine and poured them each a glass, Jordan surprised himself with the realization he could easily sit and watch the moonlight streaming through the window with her for hours. Only the fact that he wanted to get to know her better prompted him into conversation. “So what do you do for a living, Cait?”

Cait turned to look at him, the truth almost escaping from her lips. “People with trust funds don’t work,” she managed with a laugh, but the sound held more of a nervous edge than the dismissive tone she’d attempted to achieve. “What about you? Does Fantasy for Hire keep you very busy?”

“I’m an architect.”

“An architect?” She might have pictured him as a high-powered executive, but she was still unprepared for his answer. He was part of an agency that allegedly swindled money out of rich women in exchange for sex. He wasn’t supposed to be a respectable professional.

“You sound surprised. Don’t I look like an architect?” he asked in a low voice that rumbled along her nerve endings.

“It’s not that. It’s just that…I thought you worked exclusively for your brother.”

He laughed. “Fantasy for Hire is Austin’s brainchild. I’m merely the reluctant hired help for about a week.”

Reluctant because he didn’t like how his brother earned his living, perhaps? The thought made her uncomfortable.

The waiter delivered a basket filled with warm sourdough rolls and whipped butter, giving her a moment to regain her composure. She was letting her attraction to Jordan cloud her judgment, and it had to stop. After spending a few hours in his company, she discovered that not only was she attracted to him sexually, she actually liked him and found herself trying to justify his association with the agency. She’d never become the great investigative journalist she dreamed of if she didn’t maintain her focus on the purpose of their association. He was a story. A means to an end. Nothing more. Sexual attraction be damned.

“Do you work for an architectural firm here in the city?” she asked, unwrapping the linen napkin covering the rolls and offering him one.

“Until a couple of months ago, I’d spent eight years with a firm in Los Angeles.”

She sliced her roll and slathered it with butter. “What happened?”

A furrow of irritation crossed his face. “It’s a long, boring story.” He picked up his wineglass and took a sip, then turned his attention to the moonbeams reflecting on the ocean.

“Sounds interesting to me,” she prompted, hoping he’d give her a glimpse into his past. For the sake of her story and not because she was interested in Jordan.

The low-toned conversation of the other patrons surrounded them, along with nondescript instrumental music flowing softly from the speakers. She looked at his hands, at his long, tapered fingers wrapped around the wineglass and imagined him sketching a high-rise, or maybe a child-care center. Her mother had always told her that long fingers were a sign of creativity. In this case, Mom was right again, she thought.

If he was truly an architect, she firmly reminded herself. This could be part of the role he was playing to swindle her out of money he believed she had. She couldn’t afford to be swept away by the fantasy Jordan was creating. A fantasy she’d paid him to create.

He turned his attention back to her just as the waiter delivered their meal. As he’d promised, Jordan shared his order of giant stuffed mushroom caps by setting one on her bread plate.