Chapter 9
Their table was waiting. It was a good thing because Shana needed to sit. Her legs shook. She wondered if it was appropriate to have a drink, given their undercover status, but hell, she needed one if she was going to make it through the meal.
It was not that she was worried about Jean Luc or carrying off her rich beach bunny surfer role. It was him. That damn man. Dane Stinking Blaise. The ridiculously legendary nuclear bomb to her nervous system.
He followed closely behind her and she followed Chauncey to their table in a semiprivate nook. Jean Luc stood.
“Remember—we’re together,” Dane whispered closely behind her.
She stumbled a fraction and recovered before anyone noticed. Except Dane, who took her arm and began his role as her love interest in earnest.
Jean Luc beamed at them so that she’d swear he was the happiest man on the planet if she didn’t know he was as fake as a twenty-three-dollar bill.
Introductions were made to Chauncey. She sat squeezed in next to Dane and across from Jean Luc at the small four-person table.
Shana took up her menu and she clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping.
“Don’t worry about the prices, my dear guests.
This is a special night for me where I get to make new friends.
” Jean Luc chuckled and leaned back in his seat with a wave in the waiter’s direction.
Shana gave him her stock haughty look and hoped he hadn’t seen through her.
She was going to need to bolster her spoiled heiress persona if she was going to get through the night without giving herself away.
The waiter appeared at their table and Shana figured that was the first time she’d ever seen a waiter respond to that move in real life. Jean Luc must be a regular. A big-tipping regular. He had a well-financed operation just as their intel had reported.
“Let’s have champagne. Crystal. What years do you have?” Jean Luc asked.
The waiter rattled off his list and Jean Luc ordered the best, if the waiter’s eyebrow raise was any measure.
She felt the heat of Dane’s hard thigh as it gravitated toward hers under the table.
The warmth she felt was much more than his body heat.
She took up the heavy stemmed glass of water in front of her plate, hoping it was the correct one, and took a large swallow.
He touched his leg to hers then, as if in triumph. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as Chauncey engaged Jean Luc in idle conversation about Martha’s Vineyard.
“A decorator. How interesting,” Jean Luc said. He turned to Dane in mock surprise. “You didn’t tell me you had a decorator friend.”
She had no idea if he was onto them and playing games or what he thought of their group at this point.
“I didn’t because he’s Shana’s friend,” Dane said. “Never know who you’ll run into on Martha’s Vineyard.” He didn’t smile.
Shana needed to put Jean Luc at ease. She had to play her part. Dane nudged her thigh with his knee to prompt her act. She leaned forward and, looking straight at Jean Luc, licked her lips.
“Surely your home is as chic as possible—I imagine you’ve no need for a decorator. In fact, I’d love to see it sometime.”
He looked at her with his same smile and paused.
She watched his nostrils flare slightly as if he were a wolf picking up her feminine scent and evaluating.
She ran a hand under the heavy waves of her hair, unsettling the tresses to create a more tousled look and half covering one eye in the process.
The almost imperceptible intake of breath didn’t come from Jean Luc as she’d hoped.
It came from Dane. His thigh disappeared from her space.
The absence of that warmth unsettled her for a flash.
“I would love to show you my temporary home at the beach, but presently I have visitors who keep odd hours and hold their privacy sacred. Maybe soon. In the meantime, perhaps you can show me your temporary home. I’m sure it’s as show-stopping as you are.”
“I’m sure I told you—I’m staying at the Whittiers’ home. Haven’t you visited already?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Well, then, consider yourself invited. We’ll arrange it.” She looked to Chauncey as if for confirmation and he smiled and nodded.
“Not while I’m there you won’t.” Dane startled her with the ardency of his tone.
Chauncey coughed and took up his glass of water.
“How droll,” Jean Luc said. “Possessive in the extreme for a man who just met Ms. George two days ago.”
“I know what I want.”
“Now wait a minute…” Shana knew she had to skate the line for a while before ditching Dane and showing more interest in Jean Luc.
Dane turned to her and reached an arm around her, bringing her close and nuzzling her ear in an electrifying caress. She shuddered. It was no act.
“Not too fast,” he whispered. “Don’t let him have you too soon, ma belle,” he whispered as he nipped at her ear.
The sharp sting sent an exquisite shock through her gut and right through to her pleasure center, spreading heat and goose bumps at the same time and causing a molten reaction.
She remained leaning into him even as he removed his arm from her and settled back.
Looking into his eyes she saw a flash of lust before he sent a warning glare.
Shark eyes. Or maybe they were wolf eyes.
All men seemed to have wolf eyes at some point.
She pulled herself back, shuttered her bedroom-eye stare and reached for her glass of water again.
Dane spoke up. “Don’t you worry about Shana and me, Jean Luc. We’re just fine.”
Jean Luc nodded. The waiter returned. Another man refilled her water.
Dane ordered for her in perfect French. She had no idea what he ordered and refused to be impressed with his French.
Besides, it didn’t matter if it was the most delectable dish ever served in the history of gourmet restaurants, she didn’t see how she could eat a bite of it.
Nerves had her insides twisted uncomfortably.
On the other hand, when the champagne arrived in the next moment, she couldn’t wait for a big gulp.
* * *
The waiter poured Dane’s glass last. The gulp of champagne cooled the impending explosion of his head and his temper, if only momentarily.
Dane didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand the company of Jean Luc before he had to beat the man to a pulp.
Maybe that would cure what ailed him, but he doubted it.
Too much too soon. He turned to his girl and swept a gaze over her.
The most unprofessional thought possible popped into his head about how she could put an end to his misery over Jean Luc. Over this assignment. The world.
She turned to him as she finished half the champagne in her flute and replaced it on the table.
There was no apology in her eyes. He didn’t put his glass down and instead gulped down the remainder as if it were a shot of whiskey.
Not as satisfying except to see her eyebrows go up.
Only a miniscule amount, but he noticed the question in her look, then the empathy.
“How about if we get that waiter back here, Jean Luc? You seem to have a way with him,” Dane said. “I’d like to order a real drink.”
“Certainment. What did you have in mind?”
“Scotch,” Chauncey said before Dane could say anything.
He nodded at the man.
“Tequila. Patron Silver for me.”
Jean Luc smiled patiently at them all and looked to Shana, who maintained a bored, disinterested look. Dane bet it was only half faked.
“And you, ma cherie?”
“I’m happy with the champagne. You know, I love how you speak French. The language—it’s so… so…”
“Chic?” Chauncey said.
That made Jean Luc smile and Shana laughed.
“Like you,” Jean Luc said to her. He waved the waiter back over.
“And like you, Jean Luc. You’re the ultimate in charming chic French elegance,” Shana said, lifting her newly refilled glass to him.
Jean Luc ordered their drinks, remaining cool. Dane would bet his fat uncle that Jean Luc wasn’t sure about Shana, about who she was, if she were for real. He should do something about that. He’d had enough small talk.
“So what business are you in these days, Jean Luc?” Dane asked.
“You mean aside from running the surfing competition? I’m a patron of the arts and all that is beautiful in the world. As I’ve always been.”
Dane sensed Shana stifling a giggle. If she tried drinking any more champagne he’d have to spill it on her to stop her.
“And what about you Dane? It’s been so long. What are you up to these days?”
“The usual, old friend. I surf some. I live. I breathe.”
“Ah.”
“One thing is certain—he doesn’t spend a minute decorating his bungalow,” Chauncey said. He took a sip of his scotch and made a face.
They all laughed.
Dane turned to Shana. “We’ll have to surf tomorrow.
The waves are going to be perfect.” He reached a hand up and cupped the back of her head, sliding it down the heavy waves of her hair and resting it at the base of her neck on her shoulder.
He felt her flinch and tense, felt the shudder under his hand.
She looked away and then found her role.
“I can’t wait. It’s been too long. I hope surfing is like riding a bike.”
“You’ll be perfect.” Dane smiled at her. Her vulnerability pleased him, but then he’d become a sick man when it came to women. He might lust, but there was no way she could make him care. He’d been inoculated by Elena and was emotionally immune to the likes of Shana.
“That I have to see. Where will you surf?” Jean Luc invited himself.
“You’re not invited,” Dane said automatically.
Chauncey choked on his scotch. “Must have gone down the wrong way,” he said and coughed.
“Don’t mind Dane, Jean Luc,” Shana said. “I’m personally inviting you to come and watch me surf. We’ll be at Gay Head. After all, I’ll need some practice for the competition.”
“How perfect. I’ll be there tomorrow. I bet you’ve done a lot of surfing back in Australia.”
“Have you ever been to Australia?”