King's Passion by Adrianne Byrd Page A

player gets knocked on their ass every once in a while.”
    â€œAhh.” He bobbed his head. “Mr. Henderson.”
    Victoria nodded while she absently crossed her arms and told herself to prepare for anything.
    â€œYou know, I’m truly sorry for what happened,” he said with a genuine note of sincerity. “But you don’t truly believe that I or even my club really had anything to do with Mr. Henderson’s sudden case of cold feet, do you? Not to be tactless, but…these sorts of things do happen all the time.”
    She let that ridiculous statement hang in the air until he started to squirm. “Happens all the time?”
    His expression changed as if he’d finally heard what the hell he’d just said.
    â€œMarcus didn’t get cold feet. He got married. Remember?”
    He bobbed his head. “Yes. Sorry. Let me try again.”
    She held up her hands. “No. Please don’t. I haven’t even eaten anything and I’m already ready to throw up.”
    Eamon drew in a deep breath and eased back against his chair as if he’d realized that he’d just blown their tenuous truce to high hell and back.
    Benito returned with a small, hot loaf of bread and a larger saucer of olive oil. Neither Victoria nor Eamon spoke while the older gentleman recited the night’s specials as he ground fresh pepper into the olive oil.
    Eamon asked, “Could you give us a few—?”
    â€œI’m ready to order,” Victoria announced.
    â€œAhh.” Benito lit up. “Not only are you beautiful but you’re a woman who is quick and decisive.” He winked and then elbowed Eamon. “You might want to hang on to this one. I have a good feeling about her. And peoplearound here will tell you that I’m never wrong about these things.”
    â€œAre these the same people who are on payroll?”
    â€œOne and the same,” Benito boasted.
    â€œThen I’ll just pass.”
    â€œWhat can I get for you, signorina? ”
    â€œI’d like to start off with the frietella di granchio —I’m crazy about crab cakes.”
    â€œAh. It’s a weakness for myself, as well.”
    â€œFor the main dish, I’d like the branzino con finocchi e rughetta. Please make sure that the sea bass is cooked all the way through. And for the dolci —”
    â€œYou already know what you want for dessert?” Eamon asked.
    Victoria’s laser green eyes shot up over the menu. “Is that a problem?”
    â€œNo. No. Not at all.” He smiled awkwardly over at Benito. “Quick and decisive.”
    Benito gave his thumbs-up and gave her another wink.
    â€œI’ll have the tiramisu.”
    â€œExcellent.” Benito took her menu and then turned toward Eamon. “And for you?”
    Eamon just handed over his menu. “I’ll just have what she’s having.”
    â€œExcellent. Excellent. I’ll leave you two alone.” There was more winking and thumbs jutting up before the exuberant manager escaped their small room.
    â€œWell. You’ve gone from not being hungry to being able to eat enough for a small minor-league team in less than an hour.”
    She smiled before she had a chance to stop herself. “Yes. I’m not what men would call a salad date. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”
    â€œWhy would it be a problem? I tend to have a healthy appetite myself.” He locked on to her stare while he sipped his wine.
    Victoria tried to pass off the weird fluttering in her stomach as mere hunger pangs, but it wasn’t working. The way the flickering candlelight danced in Eamon’s eyes put her on edge. How on earth was she going to be able to deflect a whole evening of sexual innuendos from the man when she was fighting not to sweep everything off their table and beg him to do her right then and there?
    â€œI have a question,” he announced. “It’s something that