Secret Attraction

“Did they get seated?” He continued walking.

“Yes. Dominique got her table.”

He gave a short nod of his head. He checked his apron. “I’ll go out and say hello.”

Before Michelle could say another word, Spence had pushed through the swinging kitchen doors and stepped out into the main lounge. As she stood there, she wondered for the countless time what Dominique Lawson had that she didn’t. In her heart she knew the answer but refused to accept it. One day she would have him back, once and for all, and she’d never have to think about Dominique Lawson with Spence ever again.

Michelle was right, Spence thought as he took in the capacity crowd. Every table was taken, the couches were full, the bar was lined from end to end and the waiters and waitresses were doing double time to keep up.

After a bit of maneuvering, he eased around the mezzanine floor and worked his way toward Dominique’s table.

Desiree had her back to him, but he’d know that slender neck, the curve of her bare shoulders and those wild spiral cotton candy curls anywhere. Dominique, as usual, was busy charming the waiter, encased in a body hugging minidress that looked as if it was painted on. Spence smiled to himself as he approached.

“Ladies, ladies.” He looked from one to the other.

Dominique beamed. Spence slipped his arm around her waist and she did the same as she kissed his rugged cheek.

Desiree watched the exchange, thankful for the muted light that hid the longing in her eyes. Looking at the two of them together, one could easily conclude from their body language that they were lovers. Her stomach tensed. She glanced away and concentrated on her apple martini while her sister teased and cooed with Spence. He towered over her sister. His slender but hard body slid along the lines of her sister’s and she wished it was her. The deep chocolate of his smooth skin always made her hungry for what she knew would be sweetness, if she only got a chance to taste it.

“Desiree.” The deep ripple of his voice vibrated down to her pedicured toes.

She casually glanced up and tumbled into the depths of his onyx eyes. “How are you, Spence?” The lighting played with the deep, dark waves of his closely cut hair.

“I can’t complain. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit tonight?”

Desiree felt all fluttery inside. “You have Dominique to thank. She convinced me to come out tonight. And when she said Harry would be here …” She lifted one shoulder and smiled. Her deep dimples flashed.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.”

She refused to read more into what he said. “I’m looking forward to the show.”

Spence took a step back. He was thankful that his face was hidden in the shadows that played around the room. It was silly of him to think that Desiree might have wanted to see him. In all the years that he’d known the sisters, Desiree had not once given him reason to think that they were anything more than acquaintances.

“Well, you ladies enjoy your evening. Whatever you need is yours.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Dominique said. “If I don’t see you later tonight, I’ll give you a call during the week.”

He nodded and walked off.

Dominique turned to her sister. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

Desiree blinked and brought the room and her attention back into focus. “Yeah, just taking it all in.”

“Spence has done an incredible job with this place, hasn’t he?” She reached for her drink.

“Wonderful,” Desiree said absently and wondered if she would see Spence again before the night was over. But what was the point, anyway? He had no interest in her, and for her to continue to daydream about the two of them together was a waste of valuable brain cells. Spence Hampton was off-limits and that was the end of it. She only wished that her heart was as reasonable as her head.

Spence continued to keep his focus on the menu and ensuring that his guests were all taken care of. Although that part of running Bottoms Up was Michelle’s job, he always wanted to keep his hand in. He didn’t want to be one of those owners that had no idea of what went on in their establishment.

Once Harry took the stage and the majority of the dinner guests had been served, he took a moment to relax. The tough part of the evening was over. He made his rounds of the tables and checked on his guests, seeing many familiar faces and plenty of new ones.

When he opened Bottoms Up, he had no idea that it would take off the way that it did, but his business was one of the premier locations in Baton Rogue and all the surrounding areas. He had much to be proud of.

The enthusiastic crowd kept Harry and his band onstage long after his set was supposed to be finished. But being the consummate entertainer, he had no intention of disappointing his fans, who clamored for “more, more.”

By 2:00 a.m., the crowd was down to a few die-hard stragglers who were finishing up drinks or collecting numbers for potential rendezvous.

Spence took a look around, hoping to get a last glimpse of Desiree. Their table was empty.

“Thanks for coming, sis.” Dominique yawned as she unlocked the door to their home.

“I’m glad I did. I had a great time.” She pulled off her shoes and walked barefoot up the stairs.

“It’s so different without Lee Ann around. Just a few months ago she would have been sitting in the living room, pretending to be reading but really waiting up for one of us to come home.”

Desiree laughed. Their older sister, Lee Ann, was definitely the nurturing one of the family. She’d taken over the care of the family and the running of the household after their mother passed. But now that she was married to Preston, she finally had a life of her own. She was sorely missed.

“I’m actually tired,” Dominique said, opening the door to her bedroom. “I must be getting old.”

“You! I doubt that.”

Dominique turned beneath the threshold of her door. She wagged a finger at her sister. “We still have a deal, right?”

Desiree drew in a breath and sighed. “Yes, we still have a deal.”

“Great. Tomorrow is going to be the first day of your brand-new life. Just leave it to me.”

“Night.”

Dominique blew a kiss and closed her door.

Desiree continued down the hallway to her bedroom. Slowly getting undressed, she thought about her evening and how she had felt when she saw Spence. She’d made it a point to steer clear of him as much as possible. There was no point in window-shopping—seeing what you want in the window and knowing that you can’t have it. Yet every time she saw him, the desire that she felt never lessened. If anything, her longing for him had only increased over the years. But truth be told, she didn’t want to be one of many. Spence Hampton had a line of women whom he’d either dated or who were waiting in line to do so. As far as she knew, there had never been anyone serious in his life and not even Dominique had managed to slow him down.

She didn’t fully understand their relationship, she mused as she slipped under the sheets and turned off the bedside lamp. There was no doubt in her mind that there was an intimacy between them. But she dared not ask. She didn’t think she could stand to hear what she already knew.

Desiree lay on her back. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Tomorrow is the first day of your brand-new life. She flipped onto her side and shut her eyes.

It was nearly 4:00 a.m. and Spence still couldn’t sleep, so he found himself in his garage with the overhead lights glaring and the shining insides of a 1978 Ford Mustang open for view. Had his passion for cooking not been stronger than his love of working on and restoring cars, he would have been in a completely different business.

His father was a mechanic, and when he was a kid growing up in Memphis, Spence spent many afternoons after school and during the summer watching his father work on cars in his small automotive shop. “If you have a trade, you’ll never be without food on the table,” his father used to always say. And growing up, he always assumed that he would be a mechanic like his father.

He’d been working on the Mustang for about two months. Every night, after closing the restaurant, he would come out to his garage and work on it. It was bright red, with a white leather interior. The body was fully restored and the engine purred like a satisfied kitten. But the soft sounds of the engine belied its truth. The Mustang could reach 120 miles per hour without a shudder.

The restored beauty would fetch a pretty penny if he ever decided to put it on the market, something that his best friend and film producer Dexter Beaumont tried to convince him to do.

Working on a car, to Spence, was akin to unlocking the mysteries of women, their fine lines, sleek and smooth bodies and the power that they possessed beneath their exterior.

He turned off the overhead lights. There wasn’t anything else that he could do with her besides taking her out for a spin and opening her up. It was late, his mind said, but his body needed to release some of his pent up energy. He closed the hood and opened the driver’s side door, got in behind the wheel and inserted the key. A touch of a button and the roof eased back; the engine purred softly beneath him. He put the car in gear and eased out of his garage and into the early morning.