Stirring Up Trouble(31)

He huffed. “Alexander obviously thought so too or he wouldn’t have made it a condition of the inheritance.”



How had she ever thought she could fall for this man? She shook her head. “You’re wrong, by the way. This isn’t foreplay. This is a boxing match, and I’m tired of being beaten. I’ll work with you because I have no choice, but keep your hands and your lips to yourself.”





She held her head high as she pushed the doors open to walk out of the kitchen, Braden’s heated assertion ringing in her ears.



“Fine. See you tonight in our dreams, agapi mou.”





CHAPTER 11



Why, this is very midsummer madness.



William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 3, scene 4



Braden reclined in his office chair, his feet up on the desk and a pencil in his hand. Nothing could take his mind off Lola, not even work. By giving her the time to accept this chemistry between them, he’d screwed up all the progress he’d made with her in the last couple of weeks.



After she’d stormed out of the kitchen, Christopher had returned, keeping his opinions to himself, but occasionally glancing at Braden with a shake of his head. Then, in his typical fashion, he barked orders at the junior chefs, who listened without complaint and prepared for the afternoon dinner rush. When the chaos died down, Braden retreated to his office for a few hours to return phone calls and catch up on paperwork he’d neglected this past week, but the dreams and questions about why Lola feared his bed continuously plagued him.



Each night his dreams offered him another clue into the mystery. Braden might not believe in Muses, but his subconscious obviously did, and every morning, Demetrius’s need to protect and care for Euterpe bled into Braden’s modern-day reality, shaking him to the core.



He’d given Lola space to examine her feelings toward him so she could see that she wanted this thing between them as strongly as he did, never thinking for a second she’d change her mind and pull away from him. How could she not feel the same magnetic tug? At the same time, he’d tried to distance himself, but found it impossible. Her passion for life lit up the room the instant she entered it. She made him laugh. She made him think. She made him feel. And in the dark hours of the night when he denied himself the pleasures her body could bring, he filled endless pages of his notebook with lyrics about her. Words about wants and desires.





She wanted him as much as he wanted her, that much was clear, but something had frightened her. How could he convince her to abandon her fear when he himself shared it?



After reviewing the same spreadsheet for an hour without comprehending it, he finally gave up on the tedious office work and stretched his legs in the dining room with the excuse of inventorying the bar.



True to her word, Lola had avoided him, practicing with her band then spending the rest of her afternoon nose-deep in a book.



“Here,” he motioned to Christopher with a wave of his hand. “Serve Lola’s moussaka for the next batch of orders.” As one of the restaurant’s most popular dishes due to its authentic Greek flavor, they sold more pieces of the dish than any other on their expansive menu.



“Sure, boss. No problem,” his chef answered with a twinkle in his eye and a knowing grin as he accepted the tray and cut the moussaka into large square pieces.



Hearing his personal phone ringing in his office, he left the kitchen to answer it.



He spent the next hour with his dairy supplier arguing about the increasing prices which would force him to switch companies. After negotiating an extension of their contract and an additional thirty days credit, both parties ended the call satisfied. Another disaster averted.



A knock pounded on his door. “Hey, Braden, we have an emergency in the dining room. The customers are going crazy out there,” called Jenny, his head waitress.



Were they stripping again?





He stormed out of his office and followed her to the dining room. Lola and her band were playing their first set. He stifled a grin as he recognized the song as Heart’s “These Dreams.” As he headed to the front, he was completely mesmerized by her low, sultry voice. Were the words she sang about living another life in her dreams directed at him? She appeared tense, tugging at her skirt and glancing at her band members every few seconds.



Suddenly, a multitude of other voices shattered the spell Lola had unknowingly weaved on him. Angry voices. Couples around the restaurant argued with one another, fists slamming their tables, hands waving in the air.



“Wow, this is better than an MMA event. You should sell tickets,” Ryan said from behind him.