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His cock stirred underneath his chinos at the thought.
John cursed silently. When was the last time he got so turned on by a woman he’d just met? A whiff of her scent and a glance at this Amazonian beauty made his alter beast frisky.
His tiger wanted her.
Wanted her very, very badly.
“You know, babe,” John mused, “threatening your customers probably isn’t the best way to get a good tip.” He crossed his legs and peered up at her while twirling a lock of his long hair around a finger, a smile playing across his lips. He kept it cool to hide the devastating effect she had on him. It almost put him off balance. Usually, he was the one with the charismatic control over the opposite sex, not the other way around.
This woman… was fucking special.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t make threats,” the waitress coolly replied, putting away her ordering pad and taking a seat across from him. “I simply presented you with an offer that would benefit us both greatly. Well, mostly me.” She had a refined accent that didn’t mesh with the uniform; she even carried herself in a dignified and elegant manner, atypical to the other women milling around.
Is she really a waitress? John wondered.
The little cafe he’d chosen to dine at this morning was rather busy with fellow tourists. It had been a nice weekend in Las Vegas thus far. John occasionally traveled to Vegas for a little unwinding time after the closing of a big Broadway production. He and his partner produced a modern take on Shakespeare’s King Lear, complete with an all-star cast, that was very well received by critics and fans alike. He and Alessandro planned to produce a new show next month, but before that, he thought a relaxing weekend in Sin City might help him unwind.
Things had ended up a little differently.
John studied her expression. “Is that so? Bringing up the entirely false and unsubstantiated claim that I’m having an affair with my own co-producer’s wife sounds very much like a threat, I’m afraid,” John went on, raising his eyebrows and folding his hands on the table.
Unfazed, she produced something from her apron. “Would you call these unsubstantiated?” the woman challenged, and John’s eyes narrowed as she slid a number of photographs across the table.
Each one of them was a picture of John Alexander with Maya DeLucca’s lips pressed against his, her hands clenched on the collar of his oxford shirt, her hips pushing up into his groin. These photos were recent—taken from the after party of the Broadway debut of King Lear. It had been a lovely party, up until the moment in the photographs in front of him. Now it was the waitress’s turn to fold her hands and wait for John’s move.
John knew to play it confident, so he arched an eyebrow and gave a little smile. “So you have a shot of Allessandro Severo’s wife, yet again, trying to seduce me. Do you know how many times she’s tried the exact same thing before that picture?”
“No, but I think photographic evidence would be hard to ignore. The tabloids love this kind of scandal, whether it’s true or not. Sex sells.”
John’s face was unflinching. The woman’s boldness only made him desire her all the more. Here was a woman with both a curvaceous body and a cunning mind. He knew his instincts had been right.
She was interesting. A worthy opponent.
“I’d like to know how you got those photos,” he said, laying a finger on one of them. “Did you follow me from New York? Because I don’t think you’re local. Desert weather doesn’t agree with you.”
She looked a little flushed. Her cheek reddened and perspiration beaded on her forehead. John didn’t think it was because she was nervous.
“How I got them is none of your concern,” the waitress said. “And while you might insist there’s nothing between you and Maya, I gathered that night that Maya herself might tell a very different story if this were to go public.”
Shit, John grumbled silently. She’s got me there.
Maya DeLucca had been hungry for him since they had been introduced. John wasn’t interested in her in the slightest; there just wasn’t anything about her body (or all the work she’d had done to it) that made John desire her. She came from money, was a mediocre actress at best, but most importantly of all, she was married to his partner, Alessandro Severo. It was common knowledge their union was motivated more by business than anything else. Maya was a third of Severo’s age when they tied the knot. She married him for his fame and connections, and Severo married her for her money and to enhance his image with a trophy wife.
John was naturally a flirt, and it got him into trouble more often than not, so it must have driven Maya mad when he didn’t show any interest in her. But truthfully, it was for his co-producer’s sake that he had kept his distance. He had one golden rule: never get involved with a married woman, a creed he obediently practiced since his teenage years.
So, John said nothing, watching the waitress care
fully, and a moment of silence hung between them.
In any other case, he would have dismissed the whole ordeal with the blink of an eye, but two things held him back. First, he and Allessandro had just begun collaborating on what was turning out to be a multi-million dollar project, even larger than the last production had been. If something were to come between he and Severo now, it would mean drastic debts for John to the tune of twenty million dollars.
And second, the woman trying to game him was drop-dead gorgeous, and he wanted her.
“So this isn’t a threat,” John mused, uncrossing his legs and leaning back, putting an arm over the back of his chair. “It’s blackmail. Enough games. Who are you, and what do you want?”
The woman smiled, and the way her lips moved as her eyes glittered with mischief, John wanted to kiss her on the spot.
“My name is Jane Eyre Sinclair, and like I said earlier, I want you to marry me.”
