Proud to Serve Her (1 Night Stand Series) by Heather Long Page B

and she sat, crossing one leg over the other. She hadn’t expected to be the first to arrive, particularly since she’d run so late.
    “Would you care for a drink?” The man offered no menu or wine list and she pursed her lips. A glass of wine sounded heavenly if not for the small fact that she’d be asleep ten minutes later.
    “Actually, I’d love a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar.” Three sugars and loads of cream sounds way better but would add way too much to the hips. So, black it is .
    “Right away, ma’am.” Her escort gave her a grin and vanished back into the chaos that was Lagniappe’s . Elbow propped on the table, she perused the crowd. It was mix of upper middle class to mildly wealthy, sprinkled liberally with college students and young adults. The bar seemed to be the most popular spot, where the ratio of females exceeded the males. The bartender must be something to see.
    Exhaling, she stared at a tray of piping hot bread bowls filling a waiter’s tray as he ducked through the swinging doors of the kitchen. Her stomach pinched. The carbs alone would kill her diet. Salad would be her best bet, particularly considering her blind date was late. The last thing she needed was to fall on the food like a starving woman.
    Another steaming tray of shellfish and cornbread sailed past and she wanted to weep. She’d pay her soul for the spicy combination of crawfish washed down by cold beer. A third man appeared through the swinging doors, and she forced her attention back to the round table in front of her. The heavy red linens on the white cloth added to the atmosphere of city chic meets down home charm. Crystal wine glasses decorated the place settings along with heavy silverware and three cloth napkins per place setting. The restaurant served delicious, messy meals and the napkins would be used.
    Except she planned to have a cup of coffee and a salad washed down by water and lemon. Her stomach snarled. She pressed a hand firmly under her rib cage and concentrated on the breathing exercise learned in Yoga. It always got her through a difficult deposition. She couldn’t afford to gain any weight. She had a hard enough time getting a date as it was.
    Look at me, sitting in the exclusive, isolated spot, waiting for some man as hard up as I am, all to scratch a primal itch that normal people didn’t need a special service to arrange . It had sounded so much better in theory.
    A cup of coffee appeared in front of her, and she jerked her gaze upward, blinking at the waiter she’d seen exiting the kitchen. Unlike most of the other staff, he actually wore a jacket, the rich black a perfect complement to his dark hair and too-blue eyes.
    “Good evening.” The rich, rolling cadence of the south drifted through his voice. “One cup of coffee, black.”
    “Thank you.” She closed her cool fingers around the hot cup. She’d barely eaten and had forgotten her suit jacket at the office. The combination of low blood sugar and cooler temperatures left her chilled. “I don’t suppose there are menus?”
    The waiter’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, ma’am, typically we offer menus.” His mouth quirked in an amused smile. “But your meal was prepared tonight by the owner, especially for you.”
    “I see.”
    He wasn’t a waiter. The fact that he wore a jacket over a button down white shirt and none of the other waiters did was a clue. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she trusted her instincts. No way was he the waiter. So was her date playing a game with her? As her mind raced over the possibilities, her stomach chose the one moment of silence to gurgle. She lifted the coffee cup to her lips to hide her discomfort.
    “He planned the meal for six-thirty, but he wasn’t sure whether you preferred a white or a red wine and that will tell him a lot about what to serve first.”
    Oh, he didn’t, did he? Well, two can play . She lowered the cup. “My wine selection?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Again with the