“You’re Too Hard To Resist.”

With a wolfish smile, Tyler reeled her in close and she knew he was going to kiss her in front of the entire bar.

And because she wanted him so badly, could feel herself rising up on to her toes to lean in to his kiss, she panicked.

Next time, hit him with this.

Susannah’s words raced through her head, along with the fleeting thought that later on she’d regret this, before she reached out blindly with one hand. She had only a moment to realize that she’d grabbed the dirty spoon Tyler had been using to stuff olives with blue cheese and then she was rapping it sharply against his skull.

Tyler rubbed his head and grimaced as he smushed the blue cheese in his hair.

The crowd of onlookers had doubled in number. She threw her hands in the air. “His mother told me to do it,” she announced, and marched out from behind the bar with whatever dignity remained intact.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another compelling month of powerful, passionate and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire. You asked for it…you got it…more Dynasties! Our newest continuity, DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS, launches this month with Barbara McCauley’s The Cinderella Scandal. Set in Savannah, Georgia, and filled with plenty of family drama and sensuality, this new twelve-book series will thrill you for the entire year.

There is one sexy air force pilot to be found between the pages of the incomparable Merline Lovelace’s Full Throttle, part of her TO PROTECT AND DEFEND series. And the fabulous Justine Davis is back in Silhouette Desire with Midnight Seduction, a fiery tale in her REDSTONE, INCORPORATED series.

If it’s a whirlwind Vegas wedding you’re looking for (and who isn’t?) then be sure to pick up the third title in Katherine Garbera’s KING OF HEARTS miniseries, Let It Ride. The fabulous TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY series continues this month with Kathie DeNosky’s tale of unforgettable passion, Remembering One Wild Night. And finally, welcome new author Amy Jo Cousins to the Desire lineup with her superhot contribution, At Your Service.

I hope all of the Silhouette Desire titles this month will fulfill your every fantasy.

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor,

Silhouette Desire

At Your Service
Amy Jo Cousins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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AMY JO COUSINS

loves words of all kinds, and her love of reading naturally led to a love of writing. Amy also has a passion for languages and there’s nothing she likes better than learning a new language and using it to explore the history of a foreign country, whether standing on the beaches of D Day in Normandy or outside the Olympic Stadium in Munich.

Her collection of books is slowly crowding her out of her home, although her cat seems more than willing to fall asleep upon the various piles. Other than that, Amy loves learning how to do anything that takes her outdoors and away from her computer, including kayaking, sculling, rock climbing and landscape water painting.

For all the women in my life, but most of all for the number-one diva-queen-goddess, my mother.

Not many people would know that in her heart of hearts, what an eleven-year-old girl dreamed of was an electric typewriter, new or used. Thank you for always managing to give me everything I needed to pursue everything I wanted.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

One

“Trust me, buddy. You want me. You need me. I know it, and you know it. Just give in to the inevitable.”

Grace crossed the fingers of one hand behind her back and stuck her other hand across the bar to shake on it. The man behind the recently varnished oak counter, with the hooded, skeptical eyes and the sculpted mouth pressed closed, just stared at her. She hoped he didn’t notice that her hand was shaking.

The man—Tyler, she assumed, since the banners outside read Tyler’s Bar & Grill, Grand Opening Tonight—kept his unreadable, unnerving eyes on her. She was certain that a less welcoming face had never frowned on a more desperate, out-of-work woman in the world. She tugged on her newly blond hair and considered walking back out the front door before she made a complete fool of herself.

Then she remembered her original reason for walking in the bar. She’d needed change for the bus, because the only thing filling out her wallet was a single twenty-dollar bill. A job started to sound pretty good when a girl was down to her last twenty.

She kept her hand hanging out there over the bar and prepared to outwait this Tyler. After two weeks in hiding, she was out of options. When she heard her grandmother’s voice echoing in her head, Grace wasn’t surprised. She blinked back the reflexive tears and stretched her smile a little wider.

You’re a Haley, girl, and do not forget that. You have a genetic history of ancestors who defined the word tenacious.

Grace knew that in all likelihood she still wouldn’t have had the nerve to face off against the ridiculously handsome man behind the bar, except for one thing. As she’d entered the bar, she’d had to squeeze past what looked like an entire Mexican family, all ripping off long white aprons and shouting in gleeful excitement. If her Spanish was good enough, she thought they were calling out apologies to Señor Tyler because they were leaving for Acapulco immediately, their cousin having won the state lottery.

Tough break for this Tyler on his opening night.

She’d feel sympathetic after she talked herself into a job, thank you very much. The muscles in her shoulder were starting to tremble from the effort of keeping her hand hanging in midair, but she’d be damned if she’d let Mr. “I’m So Sexy” behind the bar see that.

Not even 10:00 a.m., Tyler thought to himself, and his day had already been flushed down the toilet. He was happy for the Garcias—it wasn’t often that good people got such a lucky break—but having no staff did put a bit of a crimp in his Grand Opening plans.

He’d work it out, make some phone calls, call in some favors. But all that would take time, something he was rapidly running out of. Meanwhile, he had enough to do without dealing with the runaway teen staring determinedly across the bar at him.

She practically had desperate tattooed across her forehead. The shadows under her lake-blue eyes gave her an almost painful look of fragility. And although her hair was gloriously, deeply blond, with just enough of a hint of wave to make it slide around her cheekbones and chin and shoulders like a caress, he’d seen her tug on the ends sharply after making her ridiculous proposition. This girl was nervous enough for three ex-cons on the lam.

He felt bad about it, and took that as some consolation that he wasn’t an irredeemable jerk on the sliding scale of morality, but he just didn’t have time for that much trouble today. He’d been working toward this day for almost ten years, and if he wanted it to go smoothly, he didn’t have time to baby-sit.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he said gently, and waited to see her face fall into tears from the bold front she was putting on now. Maybe he could make it seem less personal. “You have to be over twenty-one to serve drinks in Chicago.”

To his complete surprise, she laughed. Out loud and with real humor, the laughs rolling up from her belly and out past her lips in a ringing music that made him wonder what it would take to see her laugh again.

“Thank you, darlin’,” she said, still smiling. And damned if he could stop himself from smiling back. “But if you’re trying to make my day better, I’d rather have the job than the compliment.”

“The compliment?” he asked.

“Tyler—you are Tyler, aren’t you?” At his nod, she continued, still grinning sassily. “Well, Tyler, I could hit thirty with a short stick. So if you were trying to be tender with my feminine sensibilities, don’t bother. I can’t afford ’em.”

It was as if she’d flipped a switch. Tyler wasn’t sure what had happened, but suddenly his runaway teenager had transformed herself into the image of the smart-aleck, funny, tough woman that was his favorite kind of waitress. When she’d walked in the door of the tavern as the Garcias walked out and told him that he was going to hire her because he needed her, she was rolling on bravado alone. He’d read it in bold print across her face.

But now the confidence was real, the humor was genuine. This blond angel was still just as easy to read, only now her face said, I’ve been there, done that, and you can’t even imagine what you’ll be missing if you let me get away from you now.

Still, maybe confidence that appeared so quickly would disappear just as fast. So he watched her, again, as he spoke.

“I was trying to find a nice way to tell you to get lost. I don’t have a job for you.”

“Nice try, buddy.” She retracted the arm she’d held out over the bar, waiting for a handshake, and shook out her muscles. Her eyes pierced him like a pin through a bug on a collector’s mat. “Since you’re being stubborn…you just let me know when you’re ready to shake on it.”

She pulled out one of the narrow-backed bar stools, turned it around and stepped up to straddle it in a move that had him choking on his tongue, so suddenly did the image flow into his head of her naked and swinging a leg over him in the same arrogant way.

Get a grip, Tyler, she’s looking for a job, not a bedmate, he thought. Then he watched her brace her elbows on the seatback, lace her fingers together and rest her chin on them. She licked her lips slowly, slowly enough that he could imagine what it would feel like to have her tongue gently tracing his own mouth before opening to him. The gleam in her eyes should have warned him.

“I want two bucks over minimum wage.”

“What?” The outrage was genuine enough to take his mind off of her mouth. “Waitstaff get two bucks less than minimum, with tips to make up the difference, and you’re crazy if you think you’re getting any different.”

“Yeah, well it looks to me like you got a problem here, Tyler. You got no staff, period. And since I’m the only one banging down your door looking for a job…”

She stared across the bar at him. He stared back. Somehow he’d gone from shooing her out the door to negotiating her hourly wage, and he hadn’t even said he’d hire her yet.

Damn, she was good.

“Look, it’s really a bargain, if you think about it. I’ll be playing host, waiter, busboy and most likely dishwasher, too. At least at first. You’re getting four employees for the price of one.”

“Sounds like I’m getting four employees for two bucks over minimum. That’s a lot higher than one measly server.”

“Like I said, darlin’—” She shook back her hair and sat up straight. “You need me. You want me. You know it and I know it.”

The trouble was, she was right. He did need her, and he did want her. And if he needed and wanted for two different reasons, then that was his problem. The boss sleeping with the help was the fastest way to lose good workers. And he’d already learned how quickly a woman tired of a man who spent more time with his business than he did with her. He wouldn’t be walking down that road again.

He listened to his own thoughts and gave up the battle. He’d already decided to hire her, assuming her references panned out. He didn’t really have much of a choice.

“Just give in to the inevitable, hmm?”

“You got it,” she said, and winked at him. And Tyler was sold. She was perfect.

“Where have you worked before here?”

The question was a casual one, meant more to be social than as a background check. Anyone who’d waited tables for a month or two would be able to handle his straightforward menu and small seating area. So he was a little curious when she paused before answering him.

“At a diner.” He watched her tug nervously on her hair again before shrugging at him from across the bar. “We were open twenty-four-seven. Heavy late-night and breakfast crowds. But you could do your nails and the New York Times’s crossword between noon and midnight.”

Something indefinable, something suddenly not quite right, kept him asking questions.

“What was the name of the place?”

Again the hesitation. And when she answered him, he knew he had her.

“Mel’s Diner.”

Grace saw Tyler’s eyes widen, in disbelief, she assumed, and cursed herself for a fool. She should never have walked in here without laying out her story beforehand. When he’d asked her that stupid question, her mind had blanked and she’d blurted out the first thing that had popped into her head.

If she didn’t think fast, she’d lose this job before she had a chance to tie on an apron.

“Mel’s Diner? Oh, darlin’, that’s rich.” For the first time since she walked in the door, he turned his back on her and went back to stocking glasses on the shelves behind the bar. “You had me believing you, too. But watching a bunch of wise-talking, butt-shaking waitresses on a 70’s TV sitcom does not make you one. Nice try, sweets, but no cigar.”

Grace rolled her eyes in frustration and tried to think fast, something that was definitely easier without his eyes on her. Did the man have to be gorgeous enough to make it difficult for her to think straight? She knew that in her old life she would have handled someone like Tyler without flinching, secure in her job, her family, her position in the world.

But now she had no job and no family to help her define herself. And she couldn’t very well tell the man that up until two weeks ago she’d been in charge of eleven of the top-grossing restaurants in Chicago. She was stuck with lying, and knowing she wasn’t very good at it made her nervous. Looking at Tyler made her even more nervous.

Get a grip, girl, she told herself. You have no backup here, no money and no choice. She’d managed to talk herself most of the way into a job by imagining what her grandmother would have said if she were stuck in this bizarre situation and pretending to be her. So she’d just keep doing that until she convinced this Tyler to hire her.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” She made her voice sound loud and confident and just a little bit annoyed. “It’s not so amusing when the guy who hires you hands you a pink dress and a frilly white apron as a uniform and tells you that you get a bonus if you say ‘Kiss my grits!’ once an hour.”

After a moment Tyler turned slowly back around to face her and she saw him fight to keep the smile under wraps. She’d really put her heart into the imitation of the TV waitress, Alice, and knew the voice sounded funny coming out of her mouth.

“Did you chew gum?”

She drew a cross over her heart with one finger. “It was part of my job description.” She paused. “My manager had a cardboard cutout of Alice standing by the front door. He kissed it every night when he left. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.”

And then he did laugh, and she knew she was safe. She’d pulled it off. The relief was strong enough to make her glad she was sitting down.

“What’s your name?”

“Grace,” she said. The feeling of having escaped from danger was overwhelming, but she still remembered to use her mother’s maiden name. “Grace Desmond.”

The danger returned with Tyler’s next words.

“Okay, Grace Desmond. Consider yourself hired. Grand Opening is at 5:00 p.m. tonight, so show up back here at three and we’ll fill out your paperwork. Bring your license and some other kind of ID, and an apron if you have one. If not, I’ll give you one.”

Grace was shaking her head yes, in agreement, even as her mind started to panic. There was no way she could show this man her driver’s license. Even if he didn’t recognize her family name as one of the most prominent in Chicago, the address on her identification was not one a diner waitress could possibly have. Not unless she had a wealthy benefactor.

Tyler stretched a hand across the bar, ready to shake on it at last. For a moment Grace just stared at his hand, wide-palmed and strong, showing scars around the knuckles that spoke of hard work and harder play. Then she reached out and fit her own, smaller hand into his and shook on her new job.

When she tried to pull her hand away, he didn’t let go. She glanced up sharply at him, concerned. His dark eyes seemed to swallow all the light in the room as he leaned forward, gaze locked on her face, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She could feel the shape of his mouth on her fingers, the dampness of the inner edge of his lips catching on her skin. All over her body, muscles froze tightly in place to keep from shivering as Tyler slowly dragged his lips from side to side just once.

“And I’ll need a reference. Before you leave.”

She waited until she turned the corner and was sure he couldn’t see her from the bar windows before breaking into a run. She’d gone at least two blocks without seeing a pay phone anywhere when she remembered the cellular phone in her purse.

Surely they couldn’t be tracing her cell phone. Wasn’t that impossible? Grace decided to keep the conversation short.

She dug the phone out, flipped it open and dialed the number from heart. While she listened to the electronic rings chirping in her ear and prayed that Paul would be home, she remembered the look in Tyler’s eyes as he’d folded up the napkin on which she’d written the name and telephone number of her reference. She didn’t know if he was trying to intimidate her into the truth or to seduce her, but she was afraid that he might do both.

“Hello?” a grumpy, hoarse voice finally answered.

“Paul? Thank God, you’re home.”

“Where the damn else would I be at this ridiculous hour of the morning? And who is this calling me?”

“It’s going on eleven in the morning, Paul. Are you sure Louis can handle the lunch crowd at Nîce without you?” she teased. The little stab of pain at the thought of her favorite restaurant was ignored.

“Gracie?” She could hear him coming out of sleep, her mentor, her good friend, and today, hopefully, her savior. “Is this my little Gracie?

“Bien sûr, Paul,” she reassured him in his native French. “Have you missed me?”

“Missed you? You little brat, I am crazy with worry about you. I can’t cook. Where are you? Are you well?”

Grace felt her breath catch and the tears start to collect at the corner of her eyes. For the first time in weeks she was talking to someone who really cared about her, and the warmth in Paul’s voice was nearly enough to break her. As she took a deep breath, trying for control, she realized that Paul was still speaking to her.

“—absolument crazy around here without you. Your family talk of hiring an investigator. And your fiancé, that crétin, trying to take over my restaurant. Listen, chérie, tell me where you are and I send a taxi to get you and bring you here. And then we straighten this whole mess out.”

Investigator.

That one word was enough to snap her back to reality, which was that she was standing on a street corner in full view of the world, talking on her cell phone, and meanwhile her family, not to mention Charles, might have already hired someone to try to track her down. To bring her back.

“Paul,” she broke into his stream of words. “Paul, listen to me. First of all, Charles and I are not engaged, no matter what the family says. I never said yes. And I’ll discuss everything else with you later, but right now I need you to do me a favor. Please.”

“You know you have only to ask,” he answered immediately, the solid strength of his voice reassurance in itself.

“This is going to sound crazy, Paul, but I need you to be a reference for me so I can get a job waiting tables.” She repeated the description of the diner that she’d given to Tyler, although since Paul wasn’t familiar with the 70’s sitcom she’d based her story on, there was some confusion as to why he would ever let one of his employees chew gum. Not to mention the famous quote.

“I have eaten these grits, yes? And that was bad enough. But why would anyone want to kiss them, chérie?”

By the time she explained to Paul what he would need to say, and described what might show up on his caller ID to alert him to answer the phone “Mel’s Diner,” she was frantic to get off the phone.

“Thank you, Paul. You are saving my life.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to wait tables when you should be running all of your family’s restaurants. You know that’s what your grandmother wanted. But if it will help you, and if you promise to call me soon…”

“I will, Paul. I promise.”

After a sweaty walk during which she seriously mourned not having her personal driver still available to her, Grace made it back to the kitchenette room she was renting at the Sherradin Hotel. She watched the cockroaches scatter as she opened the door and let in the light from the hall. The bright September sunshine outside couldn’t penetrate the grime covering the small windows.

“Olly, olly, oxen-free,” she murmured, reminded of games she’d played as a child where everyone scattered into hiding places and waited for whoever was It to come and find them. She wondered how long it would take her to make enough money for a deposit on a better room.

And how are you going to rent an apartment, Ms. Grace Desmond, without any identification to show a landlord? she asked herself. Not to mention convince Tyler to keep you on.

“I don’t know,” she answered out loud, “but I have to get out of this pathetic excuse for a hotel. I don’t care how they spell it. I am never going to think I’m staying at a Sheraton.”

The single room had a bright overhead light and a sturdy lock on the door, and that was about all that could be said about it of a positive nature. On this hot, late summer day, the air was positively stifling since air-conditioning was a luxury definitely not found here. Never in her life had she lived without climate control. The discomfort of it was a revelation she’d not been thrilled to have.

Grace had bought a cheap set of blue-striped sheets and some brightly colored plastic glasses and plates, so she knew those were clean. But rusty water stains spread menacingly on the ceiling above her bed and the short pile of the beige carpet showed a dozen stains of its own. She didn’t know what had made those irremovable marks, but she was unfortunately sure that, unlike the ceiling, they weren’t water.

She yanked open the folding door of the one skinny closet and then cursed as the door came off its track again. Her battle with the closet door had become a daily ritual, one that Grace never seemed to win. She tugged various items off their hangers and laid them out on her bed, planning for the evening ahead of her.

She knew from experience that opening night of a new restaurant was insanity personified in a space bounded by four walls, a ceiling and a floor. And that was true even if the staff was well-trained and comfortable with the menu and ordering system. Grace knew she would pick up Tyler’s system quickly. In fact, she’d be surprised if he had much of a system at all set up yet.

But she hadn’t stuck around to ask him if he would be able to find fill-in staff for tonight’s shift, and if so, how many people he might be able to dig up.

Worst case scenario, she imagined, would have her greeting people at the door, seating them, taking orders, serving drinks and food, clearing tables and washing dishes in the kitchen. As long as he didn’t expect her to cook, they might actually stumble their way through the evening intact.

Just in case, though, she selected clothes that looked quietly chic, yet were sturdy enough to stand being splashed by or soaked in various liquids and solids. Black, straight-cut pants that wouldn’t show spills. A white blouse made from a fabric absolutely not found in nature, but that miraculously refused to stain—even red wine rinsed out of it with a splash of club soda. The shoes she dragged out from the bottom of the closet were black lace-ups that looked contemporary, with a short stacked heel, and had the most expensive arch support inserts on the market hidden in them.

She hadn’t thought to bring any aprons with her from the restaurant on the day she’d fled her family and their demands. She hadn’t thought much at all that day, Grace admitted to herself. She’d simply left work, packed a bag at her condo and decided to disappear.

And disappear she had, for the past two weeks, using the time to sit in diners and coffee bars and trying to think of a solution to her problems. But now she was running out of cash, and she knew that withdrawing money from her bank account or using checks or credit cards would leave an easily followed trail.

She’d thought it would be easy enough for her to get a job, at least a low-paying one. And here Grace laughed at herself. She’d conveniently blinded herself to the reality of life, which was that without ID or personal references, the average person on the street wasn’t going to trust her with a dime, much less a job or an apartment.

Tyler certainly isn’t likely to allow me to stick around for long as a mystery lady, she thought.

The stress of the day swept over her in a slowly crashing wave and she felt herself on the edge of tears for the second time that day.

I need a nap. Just an hour nap, and then I can figure out a way to make him keep me on. He wouldn’t be the first restaurant owner to pay staff under the table.

She stretched out across the top sheet on her bed and snagged her travel alarm clock off of the nightstand. Just an hour, she thought hazily, and then I’ll figure it all out. She pressed the buttons and flipped the switch that would wake her up at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Her eyes were already closed as she fumbled the alarm back onto the nightstand. And as her brain slowly shut down, she was left with a single image floating in the last, dreamy layers of thought. The image of Tyler, the widening pools of his dark, almost-midnight eyes staring at her over her own hand as he moved his lips over her skin.

She dreamed, as she drifted off, and in her dreams Tyler’s mouth slid from her hand to glide up her arm. His lips grazed across her shoulder and trailed slowly up to her mouth, leaving starflower kisses glowing faintly against her skin as she dreamed of them in the night. And when he left her, in her dream, the skin of her body was flushed and glowing with the light of the stars, absolutely everywhere.

Three hours later, when she pushed open the restaurant door and stepped inside to coolness, only to stop short at the sight of Tyler, she knew she was in trouble. The incredibly sensual dreams of her afternoon nap were one thing—and a pleasure she figured she was allowed to indulge in, since it was only a dream. But here she was, damn near drooling at the sight of him, and the man had his back to her while he spoke on the phone, for crying out loud.

“You’re staring at the back of his head, Grace. No big deal,” she muttered to herself.

But there was something in the way he ran his fingers through his hair that made her want to take over the job herself. Run her own fingers through the thick, dark hair that was overly due for a cut, and smooth it back to order for him.

“Thanks a million, angel. You’re redeeming my faith in women. See you in an hour.”

She heard him chuckle and say goodbye to the woman on the other end of the phone line, and repressed the urge to find out who the woman was and to scratch her eyes out. Sheesh, her hormones must be on overdrive.

Think bossman, not boyfriend, she repeated to herself silently.

“Your reference checked out fine. Great, even. Although you should tell that guy to cut out the fake French accent.”

She didn’t think he’d noticed her come in. His back to the door still, redialing the phone, Tyler reached behind him and placed some papers and a pen on the bar.

“Just fill these out, you can skip the references part, and we’ll get you set up.”

For five minutes he chatted up what sounded like yet another woman on the phone, his voice coaxing seductively, promising anything. Meanwhile, Grace filled out her fake name, and hotel address, and then stared blankly at the lines requesting her driver’s license and social security numbers. She hadn’t figured out a way to wriggle out of this part yet.

When Tyler hung up the phone and finally turned toward her, she flinched involuntarily and started digging through her purse, looking for inspiration.

“Not done yet?” he asked, looking at the half-completed form.

“Um, no,” she mumbled as she shoved her wallet to the bottom of her purse. Then she put on her most innocent, worried look and tilted the purse so that he could look in to see the tangle of makeup and scrap paper. “I think I left my wallet back in my room.”

With any luck, her new boss would just think she was a little flighty, and not a little con artist.

Her luck held.

“Bring it tomorrow,” he said shortly. Punching a button on the register, he popped the cash drawer open and tugged out two twenties. He handed them across the bar to Grace. “Somehow, we didn’t get any limes or lemons with our produce delivery this morning. Not a good thing for a bar. I want you to get as many of each as you can.”

The request was made as casually as if she’d worked for him for years, but Grace still felt as though she was being tested. She wondered what odds he was putting on her returning with the fruit and banished her irritation at being under suspicion. Hopefully, the idea that she’d run off with his cash was the long shot in his mind.

“I don’t really know the neighborhood. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She’d apologized automatically, somehow feeling the need to atone for the theft she knew he imagined.

“There’s a store two blocks north on Linden,” he continued. “Make it fast. We’ve got a lot of work to do still.”

She slid off the stool and flew out the front door of the bar. Feeling as though she’d just received a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card in a Monopoly game, she was halfway to the store before she realized that she hadn’t really escaped anything. She would still have to figure out how she could get around showing him an ID.

Tyler might not worry about filling out her paperwork for a day or two, but Grace knew that wouldn’t last. Sooner or later he’d remember that he had yet to see any form of identification from her. She would count on making herself invaluable to the man before that point.

Even if she only had tonight, she’d do it. She’d make Tyler think he couldn’t live without her.

Strange lady, Tyler thought as he continued making the necessary calls to come up with at least a skeleton staff for the night. She’d practically begged him for this job, but she’d rushed out the door on his errand as though she’d just been let out of prison.

The ever-present nervousness in her vivid blue eyes contrasted sharply with the delicate grace of her features. She looked as if she constantly expected him to snap at her. And she had definitely been aware of his spontaneous honesty test. He’d seen the flare of anger she quickly suppressed when she realized he thought she might take his money and run.

He was actually fairly certain she’d return, produce in hand, if for no other reason than to prove his suspicions wrong. What disturbed him was the feeling that he’d be far more than a little disappointed if she didn’t come back. Tyler told himself that it was just that he needed her for the job, but knew that his concern ran deeper than that, even after only a few hours.

Shrugging off his uneasy thoughts, he dialed the next number and waited for the female voice that eventually answered.

“Hi, sweetheart. Tell me you’re not doing anything exciting tonight. I need you badly.”

Two

Right up until the moment when the three-year-old at table six nailed her on the chin with a maraschino cherry, Grace thought the night was going fairly well.

Even as the little demon’s parents apologized frantically for his assault with a flying garnish, Grace just shook her head and marched straight to the rear of the restaurant. She pushed the swinging doors to the kitchen hard enough to set them flapping on their hinges and threw her tray on a stainless-steel counter.

“I quit,” she announced to the room in general. “It is a complete madhouse out there and I’d rather shovel manure for a living than bring another Shirley Temple to that little monster at table six.”

The faces that turned toward her from the grill and the dishwasher were female and smiling widely at her threat.

It was the fourth time she’d quit since the doors had opened at 5:00 p.m. She supposed her threats didn’t carry much weight anymore.

“C’mon, Grace,” Sarah called cheerfully from where she stood at the sink, up to her elbows in soapy water and dirty plates. “You’re the only one of us who knows what she’s doing. You were certainly right that I’d help out most by scrubbing pots.”

Grace flushed with guilt as she remembered how she’d banished Sarah to the kitchen to wash dishes after the second time Sarah had dropped a trayful of drinks in one hour. The man Sarah had drenched with Merlot and beer had only settled down after she’d comp’ed his meal.

“I shouldn’t have told you what to do, Sarah. After all, you’re doing Tyler a favor just by helping out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m clearly not cut out for waiting tables, and if somebody didn’t wash these dishes, we’d run out of plates to serve dinner on fast enough.” Sarah grinned at her and blew sweaty bangs off her forehead with a puff of breath. The ponytail she’d pulled her hair into was wilting rapidly in the steamy heat of the dish room.

“Besides, if a sister won’t scrub pots for her brother, then who will?” Sarah asked and shook her butt to the music spilling out of the boom box on the dishrack behind her.

Sarah’s easy acquiescence to Grace’s taking charge was only the latest in a string of surprises.

Grace’s first surprise had come when she’d returned to the restaurant, after getting just a tiny bit lost on her errand, to find the tables set, the soup of the day simmering and the makings of a restaurant staff ready to pitch in for the evening. By the time she’d been introduced to Addy, Sarah and Max, Tyler’s older and two younger sisters, respectively, and Susannah, his mother, Grace was spinning in a whirlwind of names and unfairly beautiful dark-haired women.

“Mom, bless her beautiful heart, is going to cook.” A snort of laughter from his mother made them all laugh. “You’ll be fine, Mom. The Garcias did most of the prep work before they left. It’s just like cooking dinner for six, only I hope you’ll have to do that twenty or thirty times. Max, you’ve got a year to go before you’re old enough to serve drinks, so you probably ought to help out in the kitchen. Sarah and Addy, one of you helps Grace wait tables, the other can bus them and set ’em up. Gracie’s done this all a million times, so she’ll tell you what to do.”

And with that, he’d walked away to answer the phone, leaving her with a stack of aprons and order pads and four women looking to her for direction.

“Great, Tyler. That’s just great,” she muttered, and thought furiously about what to do next. She’d seen at once as Tyler passed out assignments that Sarah was terrified about waiting tables and that Max was annoyed to be stuck in the kitchen with her mother.

But I’m not in charge here, and according to what I’ve told Tyler, all I’ve ever done is wait tables in a diner. I don’t want to look too comfortable with authority here, if I’m going to convince everyone that I’m just another waitress.

Her first question was for Susannah, Tyler’s mother.

“Do you think you’ll be able to make everything on the menu? If you have any problems, we can always say that we didn’t receive a delivery of something crucial and apologize for the dish not being available.”

The older woman raised one eyebrow archly and smiled. “Tyler came to me for help in designing the menu, because he likes my cooking. If I have problems with anything on that list, he’ll laugh me out of kitchen.” She turned and walked off to the kitchen.

“Terrific. Two minutes and I’ve already pissed off the boss’s mom.” She kept her voice low enough that she hoped no one heard her. Then she caught Sarah grinning at her.

“Okay, everyone grab an order pad. We’re going to make cheat sheets, so you don’t have to keep looking at the menu for prices. You, too, Max, just in case,” she said, trying to include the girl who had her arms crossed over her chest and a shuttered stare.

She kitted them all out with a three-pocket apron, order book and pad, and a tray for serving drinks. When she wrapped the apron strings twice around her waist, tied them in front of her and stuffed her book in the center apron pocket, she was surprised at how at home she felt. It had been years since she’d worked as a server at a restaurant, but apparently waiting tables was like riding a bike.

Once you did it, you never forgot how.

“Okay, ladies. Lesson number one. The customer is always right.” Grace waited a beat. “Except when they are obnoxious, crazy or just plain wrong.”

They laughed and then listened as Grace gave them a crash course in how to wait tables. From greeting the customers and taking orders, to serving food and cashing out a check. When the three sisters were temporarily occupied with an argument over the most efficient way to abbreviate garnishes and side orders, Grace took a moment to search out Tyler.

She found him in a tiny office, hidden behind a door off the kitchen. When she turned the knob, the door opened and she carefully peeked her head into the room.

Tyler sat at a desk overflowing with paperwork. Grace saw stacks of invoices teetering precariously on one edge and a hastily assembled pile of applications at Tyler’s other elbow. The man himself was on the phone and as she listened to the conversation, she understood that he was trying to find more permanent help than his sisters and mother for the restaurant.

“No, thanks, Jorge. I’m covered for the weekend. But if you could start on Monday, you’d be a lifesaver, man.”

He noticed her waiting and waved her into the office with a flick of his hand. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms to wait. He was off the phone in short order, after thanks and goodbyes.

“How are things on the floor with my crazy sisters?”

“Everything’s in order, bossman.” She snapped him a two-finger salute that was lacking enough in respect to have her doing two hundred push-ups if she’d been at boot camp. But she couldn’t hide her fondness for the women arguing loudly in the front of the house as she kept speaking, her voice forceful. “And your sisters aren’t crazy. They’re wonderful. You should be proud to have them for family.”

“I am.”

His simple answer stopped her and made her flush. She couldn’t keep on overreacting and being this easily flustered around him. She’d managed herself well enough around the rest of his family. Well, except for his mother.

The fact that she was basically comfortable around everyone except the only man in the restaurant did not escape her.

I’ll get over it, Grace told herself.

I’ll have to.

“Sorry.” Her apology was awkward. “I just came in to ask if you had a price list for drinks.”

“Of course.” Tyler stood and reached out to a shelf above her head, abutting the door frame. He deliberately crowded her as he searched for the price list in the stack of papers piled haphazardly on the shelf. He waited for her to back up, and smiled to himself when she just glared up at him, those lake-blue eyes flashing with waves of irritation.

He’d left his door open a crack after walking off and leaving Grace to whip his sisters into shape as a waitstaff. He heard her unintentionally insult his mother and flinched in sympathy. And then, after a moment of silence during which he could somehow feel her take a deep breath and take charge, he heard his fragile, blond smart-ass launch into an entertaining and informative lecture on how to wait tables like a pro. After five minutes, he’d shut his office door and tackled the phone.

Now he listened to her making huffy little noises of irritation as he pretended to continue his search for a price list and he wanted to laugh out loud at what a bundle of nerves and brashness she was. Making a noise of sudden, pleased discovery, he exaggerated his relief at finding the laminated sheet of paper and sat again, handing it to her in the process.

“Thanks.” She started to glance over the list as she turned to go, then stopped short in the doorway.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“What isn’t going to work?” he asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended. He’d put a lot of thought into the pricing of his drinks, after all, searching for that delicate balance between maximizing profit and convincing the customer that he was getting a good deal. Ten years of serving drinks in someone else’s bar had taught him what worked and he knew his price list was exactly right for the house.

He saw Grace turn and glance guiltily at him, and wondered what misdeed she thought she’d performed now. When she brushed off his question with a shrug and an apology, he realized that she was afraid to point out to him something she didn’t agree with. He gentled his voice. Another of his goals was to be the kind of boss that employees felt comfortable talking to.

“It’s okay, Grace. I’m not going to be mad at you. If you’ve got a suggestion, let me have it. It’s our opening night, you know. I probably don’t have everything perfect yet.” He smiled to encourage her.

Grace fumed and kept the timid smile plastered across her face. Not until Tyler had snapped at her had she realized that she’d slipped and started talking to him as a restaurant manager would. That level of confidence and analysis would certainly be out of character for her cover story.

“No, you do. Have things perfect, I mean. The prices seem right-on for the neighborhood and the crowd you’re likely to get.” She kept her voice soft and on the nervous side. “I was just thinking that this list might be a little complicated for your sisters. Seeing as it’s their first time waiting tables.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Well, if we could maybe group the drinks into just a few price categories? You know, domestic and import beers, well drinks, call drinks and premiums.” She reeled off the standard ordering procedure of her restaurants without a hitch. “That way they wouldn’t have so much to remember.”

Tyler knew immediately that she was correct and was irritated for not thinking of it himself. He might have the time and inclination to memorize fifty or sixty different drink prices, but his servers deserved a price list they could learn without studying as if they were prepping for a college exam. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and scribbled out a new list that was five lines long.

“For tonight, use this. We’ll expand it later.”

“Thank you, Tyler. This will help out a lot.”

It was like a punch to the gut, grabbing him and dragging him to his feet to stand over her. Just hearing her say his name in that soft, almost-apologetic voice, as though she was afraid even to speak to him. It made him want to kiss her until she pushed him away—he had no doubt that she would—and told him off again in that sassy, take-no-grief attitude.

He snagged her elbow as she headed out the door and pulled her back around to face him. Her eyes were wide and blinking with nervousness as he laid a hand alongside her face and brushed his fingers from her hairline to the edge of her mouth.

“In the future, don’t hesitate to talk to me, Grace.”

He leaned forward, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his face.

“You don’t have to hide your intelligence from me. Let me into that clever little mind.”

His lips hovered over hers for one never-ending moment.

“I want to know what you’re thinking.”

When he touched his mouth to hers, she gave a little sigh and sank the smallest bit further into his kiss. Her mouth eased open under his gentle assault, his teeth nipping softly at her full, lower lip. He traced his fingertips along the edge of her upswept hair, around to the back of her neck and then skated them down her spine. Her back arched sharply beneath his hand. She might have been avoiding the pressure of his hand, but her escape had the pleasant side effect of pressing her breasts into his chest.

Tyler felt light-headed from the effort of restraining himself from moving any faster and scaring her off. Well, if he passed out, surely someone would throw some water on him to wake him up.

When she pulled back after a time that was not nearly long enough, Tyler figured that that was to be expected.

Her next words, however, were not.

“I’m thinking Addy and Sarah aren’t going to be able to handle more than two tables each, which leaves me with eight four-tops and hostess duties.”

“What?”

“You asked me what I was thinking.” She looked up at him with calm eyes. “That’s it.”

For a moment Tyler was offended. He’d kissed her and she’d practically knocked him out, and she felt nothing? She could just continue a conversation as if nothing had happened between them? Fine, then. If she could ignore it, so could he.

But as he opened his mouth to say something that would probably have turned out to be irredeemably callous, he saw Grace raise her hand.

She dropped it down again by her side a second later, but he’d caught the nervous gesture. She’d been reaching to tug on her hair, but couldn’t because she’d pinned her hair up in a loose twist. Taking a second look, he noticed the faint flush on her cheekbones that hadn’t been there before and the barely visible flutter of an elevated pulse at the base of her throat. She’d been as affected by the brief kiss as he was, he realized.

Tyler knew the satisfaction he felt at these signs was a ridiculous display of his male ego, but what the hell. He could afford to indulge himself. He’d made Grace blush.

The smile he shot her was pure lord-of-the-manor.

“Sounds like you’ve got it covered then, darlin’. Good thing, ’cause we open the door in fifteen minutes, and soon after, all hell breaks loose. I hope.”

Grace nodded, muttered something incoherent and walked off through the kitchen, heading back to the floor of the house. And Tyler sat in his swivel chair, kicked his feet up on the desk and started counting all the reasons that it was a bad idea for him to be feeling this attracted to his waitress, the only non-family staff member he had at the moment.

But he grinned as he counted.

As Grace fled through the kitchen, she kept her head down. The sound of a pot banging loudly on a steel counter made her flinch and then groan out loud. Oh, Lord. She hadn’t even thought about Tyler’s mother being right outside his office, prepping food for the night.

She wondered if there was any possible recovery from insulting the woman and then kissing her son, who was supposed to be her boss, in front of her.

Maybe she would just tell all her customers that there would be no food served tonight and stay out of the kitchen completely. Hey, they could still drink.

Just not eat.

But damn the man, did he have to just go and kiss her?

She was already having trouble enough, concentrating around him, trying not to trip over her own tongue or her false stories. She just couldn’t seem to catch her balance when she was in the same room as Tyler, and she wasn’t quite sure why.

Okay, sure, the man was movie-star handsome. The kind of movie star that was inevitably referred to as having “rugged, good looks.” Which in Tyler’s case meant a heavy, sensuous mouth, cheekbones to die for and straight, dark brows over midnight eyes. Eyes whose favorite activity seemed to be taking long, sweeping looks over her body with half-lidded lazy indulgence. And it wasn’t fair that although she was tall enough at five foot nine to look most men in the eyes, she had to crane her neck to look up at Tyler when she spoke to him. But after all, the man was just a bartender.

A gorgeous, hardworking, restaurant-opening bartender, whose family obviously adored him.

But still, Grace argued with herself. She’d arranged cocktail parties for industry magnates, hosted political fund-raisers for senators and congresswomen and arranged for film and music celebrities to dine in her restaurants in privacy.

The vice president of the United States had given a speech at one of her restaurants during the Democratic National Convention, for crying out loud.

In all those different situations, Grace had kept her cool. She’d refrained from acting star-struck by actors who, when she was a girl, had shaped her idea of what handsome was, or intimidated by the men and women she met who had the power to alter the course of her country’s destiny.

But Tyler didn’t even have to touch her to make her lose her train of thought.

And when he did touch her…

Be honest, Grace, you lost your mind. Completely.

She decided that a bathroom visit was in order, if only to make sure that she didn’t look as disheveled as she felt. She hadn’t been in the ladies’ room yet, but it was easy enough to find. She’d just straighten herself up a bit. Perhaps reapply a little of the lipstick Tyler had kissed off her mouth.

Ten seconds later she was back in the dining room, grabbing a protesting Addy and Sarah by the hands and dragging them into the bathroom.

She flung open the door and waved ta-da with one hand.

“Have you seen this bathroom?”

Sarah and Addy looked at each other and then back at Grace, before Sarah said cautiously, “Yes. Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Like it?” Grace stared dreamily at the charming little room in front of her. The walls were painted in blue-on-blue sponge paint and were hung with dried floral wreaths. Instead of a harsh overhead light, small shaded lamps were scattered around the room. A basket of potpourri, along with other baskets containing complimentary sample-size toiletries, sat alongside the marble sink. Even the floor was unique with a jigsaw puzzle pattern of flagstones in several muted colors. “I’d come to eat here just for the pleasure of visiting the ladies’ room.”

“I know what you mean,” Addy murmured as the three women stood in the doorway and experienced a moment of pure, feminine pleasure.

“Which one of you is responsible for this? Or was it your mother?”

“Neither,” answered Sarah with a smug grin on her face.

“Then who—not Tyler?”

“None other,” Addy chipped in helpfully while pulling back her masses of wildly curly hair and attempting to impose some kind of order on the tangles. “He said that after a lifetime of listening to us complain about how awful women’s bathrooms usually were, he wanted to make sure we’d have nothing bad to say about his.”

Just what I need, Grace thought. Gorgeous, hardworking and he listens to his sisters.

She didn’t realize that she’d spoken out loud until both Sarah and Addy erupted with laughter.

“Sounds like Grace has the hots for our brother dearest, doesn’t it, Addy?”

“Sure does. We’ll have to check her out, you know. Make sure she’s good enough for him,” Addy teased. “Spill it, Gracie. Where’d you grow up? Go to school? Does insanity generally run in your family?”

“Good question, sis,” Sarah quipped back. “Because you knew she’s got to be a little bit crazy to go for our brother. Even if he is gorgeous.”

“But pushy. Don’t forget that. He can be a real pain in the—”

“Listen.” The word came out sharper than she intended. “I don’t have the hots for Tyler.” She regretted the words already as she watched herself kill the laughter in the air. She knew they were joking about checking out her background, but she couldn’t stop the fear that rushed through her at the words. And she couldn’t begin to answer their teasing questions without making up even more lies. “I don’t have the hots for anyone, and I certainly wouldn’t be dumb enough to get involved with my boss, in any case. That would be completely inappropriate.”

Sarah’s face froze, then drained of color. She crossed her hands over her chest and rubbed her arms tightly. Grace wondered if she’d just delivered yet another unintentional but deadly insult and hoped she was wrong.

“I’m sorry.” Grace looked Sarah in the eyes as she spoke. “But maybe we should get ready. We’ll be opening the doors in a minute.”

“Sure,” the other woman said and walked away.

Grace turned to Addy, wanting to apologize further, and saw that the older woman was watching her sister leave and looking concerned. As if she felt the weight of Grace’s gaze, Addy shrugged and lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.

“I was afraid she was dating that jerk of a boss she has. You just confirmed it for me.”

“Addy, I’m sorry.” It felt as though she was doing nothing but saying she was sorry to these women, who were being so nice to her, for what must look like hypersensitivity and a brusqueness that bordered on rudeness. “I didn’t mean to make Sarah feel bad. I wasn’t even thinking about her.” She shook her head in frustration. Maybe she would be better off if these women didn’t like her. She really shouldn’t get involved here.

Somehow, that didn’t seem possible though. And she did feel bad. “I didn’t even know she had a boss.”

Addy reached out with a strong and graceful hand and squeezed Grace’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. You couldn’t have known, and we’re all a little nervous tonight.” She smiled gently. “What do you say we get ready for the ravenous hordes?”

Grace decided that there was one last thing she needed to do first.

Palms sweating like a teenager’s in the principal’s office, she marched straight back to the kitchen and, after a brief hesitation, slipped quietly through the swinging doors.

Tyler’s mother was separated from her by the prep counter, over which she’d hand the dishes to the servers, and a stainless steel-top island that served both as chopping block and counter space. As Grace watched, Susannah wielded a large knife on a head of broccoli, slicing up florets as though the tough, fibrous stalks were made of butter.

Don’t slouch, girl. She could hear her grandmother’s voice admonishing her. What do you think she’s going to do? Bite you?

You never know, Grace retorted, and then gave in.

“Mrs., um,” she began, and then realized that she had no idea what Susannah’s surname was. “Susannah? Excuse me?”

“Yes? And it’s Mrs. Tyler, but that makes me feel old, so don’t call me that.” Susannah looked up from her chopping.

“Okay,” Grace said, confused. “Then Tyler is his last name?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his first name?”

Susannah scowled. “That boy. I gave him a perfectly good name and he won’t let anyone use it. His name is Christopher.”

“I don’t understand. Christopher is a very ordinary—” she saw the frown deepen “—I mean, a very lovely name. Why doesn’t he like it?”

Tyler’s mother blushed faintly. “Because of his middle name. I keep telling him I was delirious, after eighteen hours of labor with his fat head. His father and I had already decided on Christopher for a first name, but we hadn’t picked a middle name yet.”

“So what did you decide on?”

“Robin.” Grace choked on a giggle. Susannah grimaced. “I told you I was delirious. I thought it was charming.”

“Christopher Robin?”

“As in Winnie the Pooh, yes. You see why he hates me. He’s refused to answer to anything but Tyler ever since first grade.”

Grace couldn’t think of anything to say. Moments ticked by in silence until she remembered her original reason for coming into the kitchen. She noticed that Susannah hadn’t put the knife down. No time like the present, she thought.

“I just wanted to apologize if I offended you earlier. I assure you I meant no disrespect when I questioned your cooking abilities.” She was proud to hear that her voice sounded steady and sincere. Since she hadn’t been thrown out of the kitchen yet, she thought it time to try a little charm. “My mother only goes in the kitchen to use the phone to order take-out. I’ve learned not to make any assumptions about mothers and cooking. But I’m glad you’ll be in charge here.”

“In charge?” Susannah laughed and the smile carved well-worn tracks in her still lovely face. “You don’t know my son very well if you think anyone but himself is in charge at this restaurant. This is his baby.”

“I don’t know your son at all, ma’am,” Grace said, letting her frustration show. She caught herself reaching to tug on her hair again and tried to force herself to stay still. But the frustration was pushing at her self-control and she couldn’t quite hide the irritation in her voice. “I don’t know him. I don’t have the hots for him. And I certainly don’t want to get involved with him!”

She punctuated each sentence with a pointed finger at Tyler’s mother and before she even finished the last words was already horrified by her outburst.

“So was that someone else I saw kissing him in the office doorway?”

“Oh, God, I was afraid you saw that.”

“Of course I saw it. You’re in my kitchen, aren’t you?” Susannah came around the kitchen island and walked up to the prep counter, detouring to pull a heavy steel ladle from a hook on the wall. “I saw you, too, trying to pretend that the kiss was nothing. Was it?”

Grace chewed on her lower lip for a minute, until she realized that that made her think of Tyler. She wanted to say that it had been nothing, a momentary weakness that had left her untouched when it was over. But I can’t lie about everything, not if I want to be able to look these people in the eye.

“He knocked my socks off,” she admitted. The blush that raced over her face, as Susannah laughed in delight, threatened to catch her hair on fire. “If your son runs a bar as well as he kisses, he’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“But you don’t want to kiss him again.”

Grace didn’t want to anger Susannah, but stuck with the truth—about her intentions, at least.

“No, I don’t.”

But because the part of her brain that said to hell with the consequences wouldn’t shut up, she crossed her fingers behind her back.

“Next time,” Susannah began, and Grace jumped as the forgotten ladle clanged against the steel countertop, “hit him with this.”

Grace gaped at her.

Susannah smiled.

“My boy can be pretty pushy.”

And with that, Grace knew she could relax a little bit around these women. Tyler still made her tense whenever they were in the same room together, but any mother who’d hand a girl a ladle and advise her to knock her son upside the head with it clearly had a sense of humor.

A little bit later she spotted Sarah stocking extra napkins up at the bar and took the opportunity to apologize there, too. With the kindness that she was coming to expect from this family, Sarah refused the apology on the grounds that there was no way Grace could have known.

One last pep talk for everyone, a brief panic because no one could find the chalk for the daily specials board and an argument over who’d been stupid enough to leave the chalk box in the beer cooler, and they were ready for anything.

At 5:00 p.m., Tyler’s Bar & Grill officially opened for business.

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