Her Valentine Fantasy Page 8

  As she headed back to her car, she passed a lingerie store display window decked out, naturally, in red hearts and featuring some of the most exquisitely sexy underwear she’d ever seen.

  She stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, imagining.

  * * *

  Sam stowed his skis in the front hall closet where he kept his exercise stuff. He stripped his outerwear off and walked into his apartment. He should head straight for the shower, but he knew he was going to check his email first.

  He downloaded his new messages. Felt his already good mood lift. She’d sent him a message.

  If you were here was the heading.

  He clicked it open, ignoring messages from a supplier and from a big-time politician wanting to take over the restaurant for a fund-raiser.

  If you were here, I would put on a private fashion show for you. I went shopping today on my lunch hour. I don’t know why I did it. I was coming back from a meeting with a client, and I saw a window display. Of course, it was a Valentine’s display. There was this one outfit that I fell for. I walked on, told myself it was ridiculously expensive and impractical.

  I got maybe half a block and then I turned around and went in.

  I thought, if I don’t love it when I get it on, then that’s it. I’m not trying on anything else.

  I put it on. Honestly, the change room in that place is like a movie star’s boudoir. There was an extra chair in there. I imagined you were sitting in it. I slipped into the outfit and I didn’t see my body the critical way I usually see it. I imagined it through your eyes. And you know what?

  He shook his head as though answering her rhetorical question. What he knew was, he was hard from sitting there reading a stupid email and imagining he was sitting in a plush chair in a lingerie boutique, probably somewhere on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, and watching Jessica parade in front of him in something sinfully sexy and barely there.

  I hope you bought it, he thought to himself.

  I loved the way you were looking at me in my imagination. I bought it.

  Thinking of you,

  Jessica.

  Sam sat there at his desk in front of his computer, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, now tented, thanks to Jessica’s email. No woman should own lingerie like that and keep it in her drawer. Or, and here he thought of Lars’s Astrid, even think about dating some other guy who happened to be geographically closer. Wasn’t going to happen.

  He didn’t think he had any Viking blood in him, but he absolutely understood the surge of bloodlust he’d seen in Lars’s usually mild blue eyes when he’d said Astrid was contemplating dating another man.

  Jessica’s lingerie-shopping story was obviously meant to arouse him, which it had. For all he knew, she’d invented the whole story for fun. He kind of doubted it though.

  He felt that he needed to see this for himself.

  When he got to the restaurant he dealt with a minor tantrum in the kitchen. Maurice, one of the sous chefs had been hitting on a young and gorgeous server’s assistant. Sam had been keeping an eye on things and was thinking of taking the sous chef aside, except that Francine seemed to be handling him fine.

  He had no idea what Maurice, whom they called Mo, had said, but when he walked into the kitchen Francine was tearing a thick and bloody strip off the man, half in English, half in French and some of it in Italian, he thought. But it was so rapid it could have been Spanish. Mo was going four shades of red in the face and backing up until he was pressed against the kitchen counter, while the SA ripped him a new one.

  When she saw him standing there, she finally stopped. And glared.

  “You got something to say?” she challenged him.

  He glanced at Mo, who looked as though he wished he could bolt into the walk-in refrigerator and lock himself in. Possibly forever. Sam caught the gaze of every man in the kitchen, including Patrick, who raised one eyebrow as if saying, Go ahead and handle this.

  Then Sam turned back to Francine. “Not a thing,” he said.

  She’d taken care of the situation in her own way and pretty thoroughly at that. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  Everybody scrambled to their stations and Francine headed back out front with the salt she’d come into the kitchen to fetch.

  He waited until he got into his office to let the grin out. He’d learned some expressions he’d never heard before. In any language.

  He couldn’t wait to tell Jessica all about it.

  And he realized he was starting to do that. To view incidents that happened to him and think about how he’d word it when he wrote to Jessica.

  And damn, he needed to see that lingerie.

  If she had made the whole story up, no problem.

  He’d drag her into that lingerie boutique and pick out one of everything in her size. Then he’d sit in that big chair and watch as she tried on everything. He might not only look, either.

  He might have to touch.

  When the food prep was mostly done, Patrick brought in two plates of tonight’s special. Fresh, local lamb, early asparagus, and potatoes Dauphinoise. He’d put his own spin on everything. Sam tasted, as he was meant to, approved of all of it, as he was also meant to and nearly always did. They used the time to talk about suppliers, what was fresh, ideas for coming menus, staffing issues. Patrick was his right hand and fast becoming a bit of a local celebrity chef. Sam suspected other restaurants had tried to steal him. He worked very hard to make sure his chef was far too happy to think of leaving.

  He was also a close friend.

  “You spend the day at the beach?” Chef asked.

  He shook his head. “I was skiing.” He felt the tiredness in his muscles, the relaxation and contentment that a day in the backcountry brought him. “It was amazing.” Knowing Chef didn’t share his passion for getting outside and sweating, he left it at that.

  Patrick shook his head. “Me, I slept in. Made breakfast for Martha and we read the papers until noon.” He grinned. “Then we went back to bed.”

  Martha was a TV reporter for the evening news. Their relationship worked partly because she also worked nights.

  “We all relax in our own ways.”

  Sam said, “I guess. Listen, when things calm down later in the month I’m thinking of going away for a few days. Can you handle things when I’m gone?”

  “Maybe you should put Francine in charge.”

  They shared a moment of quiet amusement, then he said, “Yeah. Of course. Be good for you to get away. You’ve been working too hard.”

  “I love what I do. It doesn’t feel like work.”

  “But—?”

  “There’s a woman.”

  “Cherchez la femme.”

  “Exactly.” Oh, he’d be searching out the woman all right. And he hoped, when he found her, that she’d be wearing the exquisite lingerie he now couldn’t get out of his mind.

  “I’ve never been the kind of man who goes goofy over a woman.”

  “You never had the right woman before.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Chicago.”

  Patrick tilted his head one way and then the other. “Could be closer, but could be farther.”

  He thought of Lars and Astrid and thought that at least Jessica didn’t live in Sweden. That clearly belonged in the plus column.

  A lot of things belonged in the plus column, he thought as he composed an email to her much later, after he’d closed the restaurant and gone home.

  His apartment seemed quiet; he was still wired from work as he often was, so this was a nice time to settle in bed with his laptop and talk to Jessica.

  If I were there…

  I have a million ideas of what I’d do if I were there with you. I want to see you in your new lingerie, and take it off you slowly. I was thinking how much I want to be with you. And then I thought, why the hell not?

  Okay, he was going out on a limb here, he realized. Maybe it was the combination of Lars wor
rying about losing Astrid to another guy, and the relentless hearts-and-flowers mood of most of his customers as they crammed in before-the-big-day dates with spouses, lovers and dates.

  Didn’t matter. He needed to know if she was as into him as he was into her.

  I am desperate to spend more time with you.

  Nothing like putting it all on the line.

  But desperate?

  He deleted that.

  I long to spend more time with you.

  Better.

  I wish I could spend February 14 with you, but obviously it’s impossible since it’s one of the busiest days and nights at Benedict.

  But I am thinking of taking a few days off later in the month and coming to see you in Chicago.

  What do you think?

  Sam.

  He read over what he’d written, realized he was pushing her a little bit, but then if she didn’t want to see him again, he’d be better to know now than to keep getting deeper and deeper into an online love affair.

  Besides, in his opinion, love affairs should always be conducted in the flesh.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jessica walked into the bar where she was meeting the girls for an after-work drink followed by sushi. It was a regular date and whoever could make it, made it. There were usually four or six women, and sometimes a couple of guys tagged along.

  Morgan spotted her the second she walked in and rushed up to her. She started to say, “I have a surpri—” And then stopped. Stared closer. “What have you been doing to yourself? You look like you just got back from a week at the spa and I know you’ve been at work all day because we texted.”

  She felt the excitement that had been bubbling inside her start to spill over. She hadn’t even told Morgan, because she’d wanted to share the email in person. “Look,” she squealed, pulling Sam’s latest message up onto her screen.

  “Read it!”

  Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Will it make me blush?”

  “Do you even know how to blush?”

  “Good point.” Morgan began to read. At the end, she yelled, “Yes!” and grabbed Jessica in a quick hug. “Omigod, he is so into you. He’s coming to Chicago. And you don’t even live in Chicago.”

  “I know. I was worried I’d been too personal telling him about the sexy lingerie I bought, but it was exactly the right thing to do. Now he wants to fly down to see me.”

  “So, what are you going to do now? Move back home?”

  “No. Definitely not.” She shrugged. “I’ll think of something. It’s not like I lied or anything. I didn’t correct his mistaken belief, which is different.”

  “And not really something he can call you on since he let you continue thinking he was a mere waiter and not the Benedict who owns Benedict.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, you’ll email him the truth?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Well, work on it fast, before the poor guy ends up in the Windy City all alone.”

  She shook her hair back, feeling in love with the world and every single person in it. “Who’s all here tonight?”

  “The regulars. Plus a couple of plus-ones.”

  “Oh, yeah? Anybody interesting?” Something about Morgan’s too casual tone suggested she might have come tonight with her own surprise.

  And had she ever.

  When they got to the round table around which half-a-dozen of her girlfriends sat were two men. The first, Josh, she knew was on and off with Diane their stockbroker friend. Looked like they were on again. And the other guy was familiar but she couldn’t place him. He sort of looked like somebody famous. When he saw her he gave her a half wave, as if he sort of knew her, too. Then it hit her. He was the Seth Rogen look-alike from the coffee shop. He’d obviously abandoned Ulysses for Morgan.

  “I don’t think you were introduced the other day,” Morgan said, looking pretty pleased with herself, “but this is Phil. Phil, this is Jessica.”

  “Hi, Phil.”

  “Hi Jessica.”

  When a waitress arrived with a huge plate of nachos, she ordered a beer and then, under cover of the flurry of napkins and general chatter, said to Morgan, “I can’t believe you picked up the guy from the coffee shop.”

  “Please. He did the asking.”

  “Does he know how old you are?”

  “Shut up! He’s only a couple of years younger.”

  “I thought he was a grad student.”

  “Nope. He’s teaching. Already has his PhD.” She sighed. “He’s so intellectual and yet kind of adorably clumsy, you know?”

  “Not your usual type.”

  “Exactly. Which has to be a good thing, right?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “He reads me poetry,” she said in a low voice.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe how sexy poetry can be.”

  Everybody was in a good mood, it seemed. By unspoken agreement they never complained about men when there were guys in the group, so the conversation stayed on work, bands, new movies and what everybody was doing for the weekend. With Valentine’s Day being Friday night it was a slightly touchy subject, but then Diane announced she was having a party Friday and everybody was invited.

  She glanced under her lashes at Josh as she said it, so Jessica figured it meant he was still on probation but if he showed up at her place Friday it signaled he was interested, and if she let him stay, it meant they were back on. At least, that’s what she thought was going on.

  Phil and Morgan were flirty and adorable.

  And Jessica had a man who wanted to fly hundreds of miles just to see her.

  Life was good.

  * * *

  She wasn’t too late home, so she waited until she was curled up in bed to pull out her laptop.

  If you were here…

  Jessica reread Sam’s email for about the fortieth time and felt almost as warm a glow as she’d experienced the first time she read it.

  She replied,

  I long to see you again, too.

  It was so true. She ached with wanting.

  Get your big day out of the way and we can talk about travel plans next week.

  She hoped that didn’t sound too casual, but she didn’t want him booking anything, obviously.

  She typed:

  When I see you, I will be wearing my brand-new lingerie.

  Love, Jessica

  She pushed Send.

  He must have been checking email at that moment for an almost instant response came back.

  Not for long.

  A wave of intense arousal hit her. She got out of bed, went to her closet and pulled the lingerie bag off the top shelf. The lilac tissue, imprinted with the boutique’s name, rustled like the sound of birthday and Christmas mornings. She eased out the gorgeous, sexy silk and satin. It was the palest of pinks, with hints of lace. And there wasn’t much of it. She’d never owned a garter belt before, but the clerk had assured her that with her long legs the French stockings would be fabulous.

  She gave in and tried the whole outfit on and had loved how she looked. The best part was that she could wear a perfectly respectable dress on top and when he unwrapped her—well, hopefully he’d feel like he got his birthday and Christmas mornings all rolled into one.

  Knowing that he wanted to see her again, enough to take time off from a busy restaurant and fly hundreds of miles made her brave. Brave enough to accept her own insecurities and face the truth. This was more than a fun one-night fantasy.

  How much more she had no idea, but she was certain of one thing. There was no way she wanted to go through the rest of her life wondering how much more there could have been if she hadn’t been too chicken to take the plunge. To put herself out there.

  By Thursday night she hadn’t heard anything from Morgan but one quick text earlier in the day that said simply: Love poetry. This was followed by three smiley faces.

  That was good, of course, but really, Phil must be all the way
through Leaves of Grass and working his way through Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley and the rest of the romantic poets by now. He’d be hoarse from reading!

  Or more likely, knowing Morgan, worn-out from sex.

  Morgan should give the man a break and call her friend, who could use her advice right about now.

  Maybe not advice. What she really needed was a bit of Go Girl! Get your man! Jump his bones! And a whole bunch more slogans ending in exclamation points, which Morgan was so good at giving her.

  Jessica had to accept that she could really use a little nudging in the man-hunting, “go bold or go home” department.

  But her prime nudger seemed to be otherwise engaged. Or, at least, what Morgan was nudging was an intellectual, poetry-reciting cutie pie.

  Jessica was on her own.

  Okay, she thought, I can do this.

  She reminded herself that she was a professional event planner.

  She was very good at planning ahead.

  When she got nervous, she reread the emails she and Sam had exchanged during the past week. She loved how they flowed from the I-miss-your-hot-body-type messages at the start of the week to really opening up and getting to know each other as the week progressed. Maybe it was the fact that she was alone with her keyboard that she felt so free to tell him things.

  And, of course, his honesty and openness coming back to her only increased the intimacy.

  She had a couple of calls to make, a few things to organize.

  She picked up her phone, started to chicken out, then she stormed to her bathroom, put the lights on full and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She tried to put Morgan’s cocky expression on her face and she yelled at herself.

  “You can do this!”

  “What have you got to lose?”

  “You go, girl!”

  Then, still glaring at her own reflection, she punched numbers into her cell phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sam woke to the sound of a dog barking like crazy somewhere outside. Or maybe inside his building. Hard to tell. All he knew was that he hadn’t had nearly enough sleep. He’d worked long past closing last night, making sure everything they could possibly do ahead for Valentine’s Day, one of the biggest days in the restaurant calendar, was done.