Moonlit Embrace Read Online Free PDF Page B

restaurant wasn’t very far, less than six blocks. One might consider that convenient if they were dating.
    Which they weren’t.
    Must not forget that.
    She remembered the site as a Mexican joint, but Baron had a different vision if the smells wafting out from the newspapered windows were an indication. “You didn’t have to do this.”
    “Actually, I did. I wanted to get a feel for the equipment. Might as well have some fun while I do it. This was a turnkey operation, but you’ve gotta test stuff out, ya know? So, look, picture a 1920s speakeasy. That’s what I’m shooting for. The interior brick walls will still work. I won’t have to change anything but the paint trim and the menus.”
    “And the décor and the furniture.” She tried wobbling the wooden table. “These are fine I guess, but you need new tablecloths, or at least refinish them with a wash of gloss. Your project manager’s handling that I guess.”
    “Stop.” He popped open a bottle in a chiller on the next table and poured her a glass. “Take seven and a half minutes to write down everything you think needs changing. I’ll finish cooking and be right back.”
    Five minutes in and she had a list sixteen points long and growing. She grabbed it, her wine and headed to the kitchen. Baron leaned over an industrial sized stove, flipping over various slabs of chop licking meat.
    Her Baron.
    Mate.
    She shook that nonsense out of her head. He was just a man like any other. One who shared her wolven secret. One who her made her feel like the hottest thing on the planet. One who smelled right.
    And one who looked at her with unabashed pride at what he’d put together here.
    “My nose is loving this, Baron.”
    “Me?”
    “The food! You’re not bad though. I can’t wait to try it.”
    “Me?”
    “Hush.” She waved her list in front of his nose. “Everything in the back of the house looks good, I guess. I don’t know, but the front is another story.”
    “I can agree with that. This equipment’s old, but solid. Makes no sense to change it. But what don’t you like out there?”
    He looked good here. A natural, blending in like a wolf in the woods, as if this was as much his environment as any place else. She had to know more. “Tell me about yourself. How did you get into this?”
    Impossibly, the rascally grin deepened. “I’m the middle of five. Not old enough to be catered to and not young enough to be babied. If I hadn’t learned to cook, I wouldn’t be half the strapping man you see before you.”
    “Five, hmm? Quints?” It wasn’t uncommon among their kind, but he shook this off.
    “Naw. The eldest is forty-two, the youngest is twenty-one. Quite a spread. Daddy’s proud.”
    “I see. So you went to culinary school and here you are. But not directly. You’re a little too old for that.”
    “I’m choosing not to take that as a dig. I’m from Montana. Born there, went to school here in New York, then moved to Wyoming for a bit. I had to leave and make a fresh start.”
    “Getting out from Papa’s wing, or did you break the wrong heart?” Baron’s cheek twitched and she clapped her hands in delight. “Nailed it! You naughty boy. Tell me about her.”
    “She died.”
    “Oh.” She felt about as tall and as important as a pile of chicken poop and wished for a portal to whisk her away. I’m sorry, didn’t sound close to being enough, but she said it anyway, face burning with embarrassment.
    “It’s fine. We weren’t serious and stopped seeing each other weeks before she passed.”
    Johanna sat down her glass and tried to lay a comforting hand across his shoulder, but he stepped back to address some shrimp, then turned to the roasting vegetables, careful to shield his face.
    “According to the police report, the cause of her death was labeled a suicide, but I know better. We broke it off on good terms and went our separate ways. She wasn’t hurting.”
    “Women are good at hiding hurt.”
    “Trust me, she’d