Lucky In Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

not to dislodge his war paint.
    Weakly, he patted my shoulder. “I can’t decide whether I like you or I want to kill you.”
    “I have that effect on people.”
    “Those two kids like to cook. The restaurants would be a good place to start.” He turned to go. “Find them. Now.”
    As he walked away I thought I heard a very faint, “Please.”
    That was... unsettling. Okay, restaurants. There was only one in the bazaar, the Burger Palais.
    My father, the owner of the Babylon, had recently acquired a run-down local property. Before the remodeling plans had even been finalized, he hired a very well known French chef, Jean-Charles Bouclet, to conceptualize, develop, and manage an eponymous restaurant at this new property. A wee bit precipitous, in my opinion, but my father dangled the chance of opening a gourmet burger restaurant in the Bazaar at the Babylon to lure his gastronomic coups de grâce . Hence, the Burger Palais. To be honest, it was a great use of a space vacated by a forceibly evicted Italian joint that hadn’t been up to snuff.
    It was early yet for dinner, and there wasn’t much of a crowd when I charged through the doors. Blinking my eyes in an attempt to force them to adjust to the relative darkness, I paused just inside the restaurant. I didn’t see Paxton Dane until he spoke.
    “You’re not at the taping?” His smooth voice held the honeyed tones of Texas and made me smile. Dane and I, well, I didn’t know what we were. There was an attraction... or something, but I wasn’t going there. Despite my awe-inspiring skills, I could handle only one man at a time.
    “Watching those shows is like sitting at a dangerous intersection waiting for a crash.”
    “I’ve been told that’s their charm.”
    Finally my eyes adjusted, and I could see the smile in his emerald eyes. He had me by a few inches, and it was nice to be able to look someone in the eye without looking down. I never figured out how to look down at someone without seeming to look down on them.
    Dane worked in security, so I assumed he might be wise to my mission. “You looking for our two runaways, too?”
    “Yeah.” Dane moved me further inside with a slight touch to the middle of my back.
    I could feel the warmth of his skin through my shirt. A shiver chased down my spine.
    “They don’t seem to be in here,” he said as he scanned the eating area, “but let’s look in the kitchen just to be sure.”
    Jean-Charles had a habit of inviting folks into his inner sanctum. Once I had been so blessed, and I’d never been the same. There was something about that Frenchman... sizzle and burn and an odd connection. He made me nervous in a way I’d never felt before.
    As I peered into the kitchen through the wall of glass separating it from the dining area, I saw him bending over the stove. Trim, handsome, his brown hair curling over his collar, he glanced up and caught me staring. I reddened. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew they were a robin’s egg blue that went all dark and stormy when he became serious. Flashing a smile that had probably melted more hearts than I cared to think about, he motioned us inside.
    Dane threw me a look as he stepped around me. “Our runaways are right where we thought they’d be.” He motioned with his head toward the prep table on the other side of the stove.
    Rocco, his head bent and face scrunched in concentration, worked on some vegetables with a knife large enough to cut out someone’s heart. His strokes quick, his movements precise, he created a mound of chopped greenery in a few seconds—apparently without shedding blood or sacrificing body parts. I was in awe.
    Gail stood between Jean-Charles and Rocco, so slight and still I’d missed her on my first visual reconnoiter. Engrossed, she listened as Jean-Charles continued a running commentary punctuated by his pointing from pan to pot to oven.
    Focusing on the youngsters, I strode into the kitchen, trying my best to override that