Blackwolf's Redemption
“Evening, sir. Madam.”
At least the doorman was willing to acknowledge her presence. Not that she cared. The only man whose acknowledgment mattered was Jesse.
Had she ruined an important business relationship for him? She’d certainly ruined his meeting. She hadn’t meant to do either; she’d intended to do as he’d asked. Not interfere, not speak out, not intrude…
An elevator whisked them to the top floor of the hotel. They stepped out into a dazzling restaurant crowded with patrons. Was her boss going to feed her before he fired her?
Sienna tried again.
“Jesse. I’m sorry if—”
He put his hand on the small of her back. His touch was cool. Impersonal. Why did she want to lean back into it, turn that casual touch into a caress?
A smiling maître d’hôtel greeted them. “Good evening…Ah, Mr. Blackwolf. Welcome back, sir.”
“Good evening, John. I’m afraid we don’t have a reservation.”
“No problem at all, sir. If you’d follow me, please…?”
The maître d’snapped his fingers. A busboy whisked a discreet “reserved” sign from a window table with an expansive view of the city. As soon as they were seated, the sommelier appeared and handed Jesse a drinks list.
He waved it away.
“A bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée.”
The sommelier beamed with approval. Sienna didn’t. Who cared about champagne right now?
Although, it would have been nice if Jesse had thought to ask her if she liked champagne… And what a petty thought at a time like this! She was lucky he hadn’t ordered champagne for himself and hemlock for her.
“Look, Jesse, I know I was out of line, but I couldn’t let that man talk you into making a huge mist—”
The champagne arrived. Sienna waited through the ceremony of Jesse examining the bottle, the sommelier expertly popping the cork, the presentation of the cork, the pouring of the sparkling wine so Jesse could taste it, then the pouring of it into two glasses.
She could feel her patience fraying. Such nonsense. Such an expression of male vanity. Men still did it in her time and it was just plain silly….
Damn it, so what? Explaining why she’d done what she’d done was what mattered.
She tried as soon as they were alone again.
“Jesse,” she said urgently, “will you at least look at me? I can explain—”
“Thank you,” Jesse said politely as the waiter handed them menus. Jesse looked his over. Sienna didn’t bother. Reading a menu wasn’t important right now, either. If only Jesse would say something…
“Sienna?”
At last! She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes! Thank you for—”
“What would you like for dinner?”
Okay. It was mundane, but it was a complete sentence and he’d directed it at her. That had to be a good sign.
“The prime rib? Rack of lamb?”
She glanced at her menu, frowned and took a better look. Something about it wasn’t…
“Hey.” She looked up. “There’s something wrong with this menu. It doesn’t have prices.”
Jesse gave her the kind of officious smile that had been a specialty of her third-grade teacher.
“Of course not. This is an expensive restaurant. They don’t give women menus that show prices.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said. Why don’t they?”
“Well, because that’s the way it is. A woman doesn’t need to worry over trivialities. Now, what would you like?”
Sienna thought of a dozen different answers. Not one had to do with food…but, okay. She wasn’t going to make a scene.
“The lamb. And a salad.” The waiter appeared and she turned her attention to him. “Um, I’ll have—”
“The lady,” Jesse said, “will have the lamb. And a salad.”
“How would madam like the lamb, sir?”
“Sienna?”
Maybe she really was invisible. “Madam,” she said carefully, “would like the lamb done medium rare.”
“Medium rare,” Jesse repeated without missing a beat.
Sienna’s eyes flashed. Good, Jesse thought, biting back a grin. She’d been the epitome of contrition ever since she’d shown up Henley as the jerk he was. It was nice to see some fire in her again.
“And how would madam like her salad dressed, sir?”
Jesse looked across the table. “How would you like your salad dressed?” he said politely.
Some fire? She was breathing fire. Jesse fought back the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.
“Sienna? Your salad—”