The Wealthy Man's Waitress

Now she knew how those French aristocrats must have felt on their way to the guillotine. Her legs almost buckling beneath her, Emma took her time negotiating her way past tables, a smile fixed on her face that felt more like a mask. When she reached Piers’s table, she held out the menu and lost the smile altogether.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice barely above a strangled whisper. Completely unfazed, Piers took the menu without a word and opened it. Pretending interest, he idly flipped through the beautifully bound pages and smiled. It was the smile of a big cat that had just cornered his prey and was now toying with it before the inevitable took place.

‘I heard this was a good place to eat. What would you recommend this evening?’

‘You haven’t really come here to eat at all, have you?’ Her anxious glance suddenly trapped by his remarkable blue eyes, Emma’s stomach clenched painfully. Soundlessly closing the menu then placing it carefully down on the table, Piers linked his hands together and considered her with all the serious deliberation of a judge about to pronounce sentence.

‘Astute as well as daring. You’re a constant surprise, Miss Robards.’

‘What’s this all about? Why have you come here? Did Lawrence send you?’

‘Now, why would he do that?’

To punish me…to make me suffer because I didn’t get him what he wanted… Emma put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from pleading with him to go away and leave her alone. Already Lorenzo was looking over at her from the bar, a suspicious frown between his smooth black brows. ‘I don’t know. Why would a Redfield do anything?’

‘Is that an insult I hear in your voice, Emma? You don’t mind if I call you Emma?’

‘Please.’ Nervously running her hand across her hair, she leant closer, her words intended for his ears only. ‘If you’re angry with me for coming to see you on Lawrence’s behalf, I’m very sorry. If you want to know the truth, I regret every second and I swear to you it will never happen again. Now, will you please go before my manager gets even more suspicious?’

‘You’re right. I didn’t come here to eat.’ Before she realised his intention, Piers had snagged her hand and held it, a glimmer in the seductive depths of those deeply crystalline blue eyes that sent Emma’s heart racing in a futile search for somewhere to hide. His touch made her hot all over and the faint musky tang of his aftershave enveloped her in a sudden paroxysm of fear and anticipation. ‘I went to see Lawrence. He told me you worked here. You and I have to talk.’

‘Why did he tell you where I work? What do you want from me, Mr Redfield? Please tell me quickly so that I can get back to work.’ She snatched her hand away and rubbed it as if to erase his touch.

Piers frowned. He wasn’t used to women responding to him in such a negative way and, frankly, it irked him. Did she still nurse hopes for herself and Lawrence? Was that the way of it? If so, she was on a hiding to nothing because when Lawrence had answered the door to him earlier, his errant son had clearly had company. Company of the bedroom kind—a cute little blonde with an impish smile and breasts to write eulogies to if that tight red dress she’d been wearing was any true indication of the facts. After he’d agreed to furnish Lawrence with twice the amount he needed to set up in Cornwall, his son would have told Piers anything he cared to know. It had been easy to get him to reveal the name and location of the bistro where his pretty neighbour worked. Lawrence himself had mentioned it during the course of their conversation—no doubt to lessen Emma’s appeal by revealing that she was a waitress and not in a league his father would be interested in. ‘Why would a Redfield do anything?’ Emma had suspiciously asked… Why indeed? Perhaps ruthlessness ran in the blood after all?

Now, as he sat staring up at the beautiful girl his son had thought to use to further his own ends, Piers felt that same blood in his veins heat and slow with all the excitement and anticipation of fierce desire. All the aces were on his side if he played his cards right, and if she was sweet to him Piers would reward her with anything her little heart desired…

‘What time do you finish?’

Emma reluctantly told him.

‘I’ll wait and take you home. It’ll have to be a cab; my driver’s gone home for the night.’

‘Your driver?’

‘Chauffeur, then. Anyway, as I said, I’ll wait and take you home, then we can talk.’

‘No!’

‘No?’

‘I mean, I don’t want you to wait and take me home and I definitely don’t want to talk to you, Mr Redfield! What can you possibly have to say to me that would be of interest? I’ve already apologised for sneaking into your office; what more do you want?’

His blue eyes went so dark that Emma stepped back from the table as though a hot lick of flame had suddenly scorched her tender skin. Her blush was so deep she felt sure everyone in the room must notice it. In fact Lorenzo was headed her way right this second—no doubt angry that she seemed to be antagonising his customer—because it was plain to see that Piers wasn’t smiling.

‘Is everything all right?’ He specifically addressed Piers, but his suspicious gaze broke away for all of a couple of seconds to silently rebuke Emma.

‘Everything is fine. Grazie.’ To her amazement, Piers started to converse with Lorenzo in what sounded like flawless Italian and the younger man, obviously delighted and surprised, responded enthusiastically in his native tongue as though they were long-lost buddies. Relieved that Lorenzo wasn’t about to berate her in front of Piers, Emma moved to make herself scarce, and was shocked when Lorenzo waved her commandingly into the seat opposite Piers and all but pushed her down into it.

‘I am cross with you, Emma, that you didn’t tell me that this man was your fiancé! Even if you had a fight you must not keep such secrets from me, huh? I am your friend as well as your manager.’

‘But he’s not my—’

Beneath the table Piers gave her ankle a sharp kick. Glaring at him with pointed little daggers of pure dislike, Emma wondered what the hell he thought he was playing at. Of all the things he could have said, what on earth had possessed him to tell Lorenzo that they were engaged to be married?

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