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Paul followed his father to the back door of Joe’s Place.
“Lock up behind me.”
“Of course.”
His father strode away, steps short and choppy yet powerful, a blunt-spoken man, not given to deep conversation. Paul wasn’t sure who had been most uncomfortable during the past few minutes.
He threw the bolts and made his way through Paulo’s kitchen to his post at the front desk. Head down, he reviewed the seating chart, double checking each server’s section and making notes for the reservations arriving later.
Fresh air blew in as the front door opened. He quickly finished his notation and looked up, ready to greet the new customers.
The smile stiffened on his face. His wicked fairy stood before him.
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Jemma drank in the sight of Paul, standing behind the desk, immaculate in a crisp white shirt and dark suit. His hair brushed his collar. She remembered how it felt in her fingers, silky and thick. Her mouth was so dry her tongue was pasted to the roof. She cleared her throat, the sound tearing in her ears. “How are you, Paul?”
He simply stared at her. His dark eyes swept over her and his lips tightened. “I-I’ve missed you.”
One shoulder twitched. Otherwise he had no reaction.
She’d known this would be tough. Obviously, she’d underestimated.
The quiet clatter and clink of silverware and crystal emphasized his silence. Over his shoulder she saw Daniel. His eyes widened as he turned from a table full of women and caught sight of her. He took up a position behind Paul. The two of them, so much alike, yet so different, surveyed her.
She swallowed hard.
“I’ve come to tell you something. And to ask you a question.”
“Do you want to use the office?” Daniel offered.
Jemma shook her head. “No. I need to do this here. Right here.” She stepped closer to the reception desk. Three feet of glossy wood separated her from Paul. Three feet of glossy wood and days of denial.
Gritting her teeth, she met his gaze. “I’ve been thinking. A lot, these last few weeks. About everything. About us.”
“Is there an us?”
His voice made her knees weak. “Yes, well, that’s part of why I’m here.” She twisted her fingers together, the pain helping her concentrate.
“How have you been?” The question burst from him, as if out of his control. “How’s Miriam?”
She fell a little deeper in love. Again. “Okay. She’s doing okay.” How could she have refused this man, using Miriam as an excuse? He’d been there, for both of them, through some of their toughest times. He hadn’t run from the difficulty of Miriam’s dementia. She had run from the offer of help, the trap of dependence. “It was tough, for a while, after...after I left the show. But I’m starting a new job Monday. With Benedict. He’s insisting I be his personal production assistant. For the next season of Reservations for Two.”
Relief lightened his face. “I’m so glad. You deserve to be there.” Finally he moved, circling the end of the table to stand before her. She crossed her arms and held her elbows to stop herself from touching him.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night. Jemma, I—”
She held up a palm. “Don’t say anything. It’s my turn. I still haven’t asked you my question.”
“Ask it, then.”
“I have to explain first.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t think of myself as a coward. I’m tough, a smart-ass.” Her mouth quirked. “But you scared me, Paul.” He reached for her and she backed away, not ready to be touched, to touch. She had to do this right. “I wanted you too much. All I could see was my want, my need, ruining whatever security I had for Miriam, for the only family I have.”
He cleared his throat. “You can take care of Miriam and have others in your life.”
“I’m beginning to believe that.” She closed her eyes briefly, gathering her courage. “After I was fired, I thought the world was coming to an end. But you know what? We survived. It wasn’t pretty, but Miriam and I, we made it work. And if I have to, I could do it again.” She stared at him defiantly. “I don’t need anyone’s help. But that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, if someone offers.”
He opened his mouth and she shook her head, stopping him before he made a sound.
“Then you asked me to marry you. On live TV, no less.” She licked her lips, searching for the words she’d practiced over and over. “I panicked. I meant what I said before, about not believing in marriage, in happy endings. I never thought I’d love someone enough to consider being with them forever.”
He stepped forward. “What are you saying, Jemma?”
“I love you, Paul.” She held her breath, waiting for a reaction. His face paled and his eyes flickered, but that was all. She forged on. “I didn’t want to, I really didn’t want to. But I think about you all the time. My life was better with you in it. I miss you so much.” She grasped his hand, held it in both of hers. His warm fingers wrapped around hers. She tugged him forward, into the restaurant proper.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?” Projecting her voice, she called over the crowded room. “If you don’t mind, can I have your attention for a moment?” Dozens of pairs of eyes turned their way. Faces expressed various emotions, from curiosity to censure. Slowly the room quieted. “Thank you. I’ll only be a moment.”
“Jemma! What are you doing?” Paul tried to jerk out of her clasp, but she gripped tighter.
“Jemma?” a woman seated at a nearby table blurted. “Are you Paul’s Jemma? From the show?” A low murmur swept through the diners.
She turned to Paul. His expression was an endearing mixture of embarrassment, horror, and wonder.
“Paul Almeida,” she said clearly, making sure the entire room could hear. “I love you. Will you marry me?”
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Paul’s breath backed up into his throat.
Jemma’s face was pinched and pale and her breasts rose and fell in shallow pants. He’d seen her angry, seen her aroused, seen her agonizing over Miriam’s safety.
Never before had he seen her this terrified.
She licked her lips and a surge of lust blew through him, fierce enough to break up his confusion, his befuddlement. With one part of his brain he knew they were standing amid a room full of strangers, full of his customers. The other part of his brain knew only Jemma.
“Aren’t you going to answer her?” someone called from a far corner.
His eyes remained riveted on Jemma. “Paul?” she whispered.
He stretched out a hand, surprised to see it shaking. Gently he brushed the long bangs from her face, pleased they were once again tipped bright pink. The chains and beads around her slim neck glinted in the candlelight, shuddered with every breath.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Admitting you need someone.”
She nodded.
“Admitting you love someone.”
She nodded again. A pulse beat furiously in her throat.
“Especially in front of other people.”
Her lips curved. “It was the least I could do. It’s not national television, but—”
His hands cupped her delicate shoulders. Her skin was silky under his palms, cool and vibrant. He slid his hands down her arms and brought her fingers to his mouth. Her eyelids fluttered as he kissed the knuckles of one hand and then the other.
“I appreciate the gesture.”
“So, what do you say?” She breathed the words. “Will you marry me?”
He looked into her eyes and saw his future, his fantasy, his faith. “Yes, Jemma Hedge. I’ll marry you.” He laid his lips on hers. She flung her arms around his neck and clung to him.
The room erupted in applause.
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Who knew watching a man cook could be so arousing?
Jemma sat at the table with Miriam as Paul moved easily and efficiently around their kitchen. She felt light-headed, light-hearted—easier within herself than she had in years.
Paul looked up from the chicken he was sautéing and smiled. Her heart twisted and her belly tingled.
Daniel had opened bottles of champagne, offered it to the diners, and toasted Jemma and Paul with a wide grin. Following which he’d kicked them both out. “Go on,” he told Paul. “We’re used to being without you, anyway. Take your woman home.”
They stopped at a grocery store on the way and picked up ingredients for the late dinner Paul insisted on making once he learned Jemma hadn’t eaten.
“I didn’t want to throw up on you,” she’d admitted. “I was so nervous I was afraid I’d hurl if I ate anything.”
Miriam was thrilled to see Paul. Tears came to her eyes when Jemma told her the news. She patted his cheek. “You’ll take care of my Jemma, won’t you?” she said, a quaver in her voice. “I’m not going to get better, you know. She’ll need someone to take care of her.”
Paul wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’ll take care of you both.” Like he was doing now.
Tonight, his cooking skills were wasted on Jemma. She barely tasted the food he dished out, content simply to be near the two people she loved the most.
Miriam went to bed after they finished tidying. Jemma pulled Paul onto the couch, curling her feet under her, and leaning her head on his shoulder. His arm held her snugly to his side.
“I am so glad you came to the restaurant tonight.” His lips brushed her temple.
She smiled. “I’m glad now. I was petrified before.” “If you’d waited a couple more days you wouldn’t have had to. I was ready to track you down and insist you change your mind.”
She shifted onto her back and lay with her head in his lap. “I do have another question.”
“Anything.”
“Did you eliminate Fenella for me?”
His fingers, playing in her hair, faltered. A shamefaced look crossed his strong features.
“You did,” she exclaimed, delighted.
“I still feel guilty about it.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.
She shivered and forced herself to concentrate. “I suppose in the spirit of confession I should tell you something.”
“You’re not already married, are you?”
She laughed out loud at the sheer fun in his face. “No. But you should probably know I’m a saboteur.”
His hand stilled on her cheek. “What?”
“Remember Fenella’s omelette? The salty one?”
“Yes,” he drawled. His brows dipped between his eyes.
“I did it.” She explained what she’d done.
His lips quivered. “I should be horrified. But all I can think is that you were protecting me. Even before you let me into your life, you were looking out for me.”
“The worst part is, I don’t feel guilty, not like you.” She stared into his eyes. “But then I’m much meaner than you are.”
He trailed a finger over her nose, her lips, down her throat to the hollow at the base of her neck. “You’re not mean. You just pretend to be. Besides, I like you prickly and stubborn.”
“I love you.” It was no longer frightening to admit. It was breathtaking, intoxicating. She slipped her hand under his shirt to rub the skin of his abdomen. Firm muscles tightened under her caress. “I love you.”
“God, that sounds so good.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, too. And there’s not one damn thing you can do about it.”
She pulled away, let a gleeful, teasing smile curve her lips. “There isn’t one damn thing,” she said. “There are dozens of damn things I can do about it.” And proceeded to tell him exactly what those things might be.
Until he pinned her to the couch and silenced her laughter with kisses.