Rich Man, Poor Bride

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make a scene,” she said firmly. “Everything here is under control.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.” He speared the surfer boy with a challenging glare. “Hands off. Now.”

The man let go of her arm and scraped his chair back. He was at least six feet tall but looked as soft as an old pillow.

The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gentlemen, please sit down before the manager is alerted and we disturb other guests. This is a restaurant, not a barroom.”

“That’s right, Vargas. If Ruthie here wants to spend some extra time with me, that’s our business. Right, Ruthie?”

“Mr. Peterson, if you’ll take your seat, we’ll talk again after your meal. Okay?”

The surfer considered her suggestion for a moment, posturing a bit for Diego’s benefit, then he shrugged. “Sure, baby. Why not? Later works better, anyway—if you get my drift.”

Fire still burned inside Diego. He really wanted to punch the insulting little twerp, but Ruthie seemed bent on making peace.

“Dr. Vargas, let me escort you to your table and pour you another glass of wine.”

Reluctantly, Diego turned back toward his table but couldn’t resist a final glare at the other man. Ruthie was at his elbow.

“Please, sir,” she hissed, green eyes wide and anxious. “You’re going to get me fired.”

Incredulous, he stopped and stared at her. “I was trying to help you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Didn’t sound that way from where I was sitting.”

“Keeping guests happy is part of my job. If one of them has a few too many cocktails and misbehaves, that’s my problem. I cannot afford to offend a guest.”

Diego couldn’t believe this woman. “You’re making me the heavy?”

“I’m just asking you to please stay out of my business. First you insult me in your suite and now you’re jeopardizing my livelihood.”

“I didn’t order those towels.” The denial sounded petulant, childish.

“Well, somebody did.”

“Then I owe you an apology.”

“Apology accepted. Would you care for an appetizer before dinner?”

Smooth as silk she brushed him off and left him feeling like an idiot for offering his help. Sharmaine was right. Ruthie could take care of herself.

Tension knotted in his neck, he settled back into his chair.

Ruthie topped off his wineglass as if nothing had occurred, but her hand shook the tiniest bit.

When she moved away, Sharmaine pouted. “Really, Diego, you’ve paid more attention to that waitress tonight than you have to me.”

He couldn’t deny the truth. He had been far more attuned to Ruthie than he had to his lovely date. And he could offer no logical explanation for his behavior.

“That, sweet lady, is because the waitress served the prime rib.” Tilting his head, he gave her his most charming and disarming grin. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had prime rib?”

Sharmaine found that amusing. “So,” she said, “the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach?”

Diego struggled to keep his mind on the conversation and off the most disturbing urge to follow Ruthie into the kitchen and apologize again. Considering Ruthie’s reaction to his offer of help, he was not on her list of all-time favorite males.

“That’s what they say.”

“Oh, pooh. Now I’ll have to learn to cook.”

“Or hire one.”

Sharmaine responded with a throaty chuckle, and Diego knew he’d been forgiven for being less than the perfect dinner partner. To tell the truth, he was hard-pressed to understand himself tonight. He was sitting with a beautiful woman who fit into his social world. A woman who obviously enjoyed men and who would lead him on a merry chase if he would let her. Her game was clear. There was no subterfuge, and his heart was in no danger.

But he couldn’t take his mind, or his eyes, off a certain green-eyed waitress.

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