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  “Gee, um, I’m really looking forward to that.” Darcy rolled her eyes in exaggerated dismay. “Wouldn’t it be easier to stay single?”

  “Easier, yes. Better? No.” Amy jumped off the bar stool and strode over to their hostess, Kelly, to ask her to close up.

  Darcy watched her go. Easier, but not better… She turned resolutely away and pushed her glass to the bartender. “G’night, Jeff.”

  “’Night, chef. You heading out?”

  “Yeah. New place to try tonight.” Darcy had to force the enthusiasm, when she generally loved discovering neighborhood gems. She didn’t mind going out alone, either. In fact, sometimes she preferred the opportunity to concentrate on the food instead of on making conversation.

  But tonight…

  Among the gossip Ken passed along was that Raoul, Darcy’s unlamented ex-employee, had secured new wads of cash for his restaurant after the original investor had indeed backed out. James Thomas, one of Milwaukee’s wealthiest, had turned Darcy down for Gladiolas, saying women had no place in the restaurant business. She’d had to settle for a lesser amount from the bank, which meant shelving plans for a more elegant downtown address and locating Gladiolas where she could afford to lease.

  “Sounds good. Report back.” Jeff, classic stud of few words, acknowledged a patron’s signal and went over to refill his drink.

  Darcy slid off her stool and strode through the dining room and into the gleaming stainless kitchen she was so proud of, inhaling the fragrance of food in its many stages of preparation. She collected her things and called out a good-night to the staff, including Gladiolas’s dishwasher, real name Francis McDonald, but everyone called him Ace. Great kid, reliable, could be pulled onto the line when things got crazy busy in the kitchen, but from what Darcy could tell, he lived most of the time in a chemically enhanced universe.

  She banged out the alley door, got into her car and drove down National Avenue from her own place on Fourteenth Street to Fourth. Short hop, but she’d been on her feet all day, and while she wouldn’t mind walking over, after a drink and some food, she’d want to get home quickly to her tiny house in Washington Heights, which she’d bought five years earlier after saving every cent she could for the downpayment.

  Too bad Amy hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Another wonderful, funny, smart, talented friend wasted on the male population of Milwaukee. Maybe Darcy should introduce Amy to Milwaukeedates.com owner, Marie Hewitt, who’d matched up two of the town’s best and brightest, Candy and Kim. But talking to Marie about matching up Amy would invariably segue into Marie talking about matching up Darcy, and sorry, but Darcy couldn’t be less interested. Though seeing Amy so happy when Colin called…

  Nuh-uh, she wasn’t going there. Some women could find happiness in men. Darcy wasn’t one of them. The guys she fell for were angry, controlling and uninterested in supporting her, especially her ambition. Someone had to break that pattern and protect her, and Darcy had nominated herself for the job. Once in a while she allowed herself the luxury of a one-night stand or a casual series of dates, but she drew the line there. Any longer and it became apparent men wanted women who were home for them every night, not out on the front lines battling for their own success. Recently Darcy had also been denying herself those brief encounters. Even those had become dangerous to her sanity.

  She found the restaurant and parked on a side street, emerged into the too-chilly air and hurried into the small, warm, welcoming space whose dim lighting created nice intimacy. A clean but battered wooden bar, kept on from the Irish pub this place used to be, dominated the room, furnished with booths and a few tables. Nearly every table and booth was taken, the bar three-quarters full. A good sign, though Darcy was attracting more attention than she liked from the mostly male clientele, even wearing an outfit about as revealing as a Girl Scout’s, an outfit which also happened to be pretty ripe from an evening sweating in the kitchen.

  Three stools sat empty at the end of the bar. Darcy chose the nearest to the door, leaving two unoccupied seats next to her, hoping no one would sit in search of a chatting partner.

  “Hi, there.” Nice-looking bartender, big guy, middle-aged, with warm gray eyes. Ten years and thirty pounds ago, he would have been a serious temptation. “What can I get you?”

  “Arak, please.”

  He broke into a smile, bushy eyebrows raised, and responded in Arabic.

  “No, no.” Darcy shook her head regretfully. “Not native. I just know the drink.”

  “Ah, okay. Coming right up.”

  “What didja order? Ah-rack?” The pink-faced guy to her right looked as if he’d been at the bar most of the week.

  “Arak. Anise liquor. Very dry. Very good.”

  He made a face. “Anise, like licorice? Licorice is candy. Sissy drink.”

  Darcy snorted. Said he who was drinking rum and Coke.

  “Enjoy.” The bartender set in front of her a glass of clear liquid, another of ice and a small carafe of water. “Like a menu?”

  “Definitely.” She ignored Mr. Sissy Drink, who was still muttering about alcoholic candy. Darcy would love to see him try to walk straight after a couple of glasses of arak. Strong as well as delicious.

  “Here you go.” The bartender handed her a menu.

  Darcy opened it and fell in love. Burgers, salads, sandwiches and pizzas, but in each category a twist. You could have a burger with ketchup, mustard and pickle, or with parsley, onion, cinnamon and tahini sauce. Pizza with cheese and sausage or with ground lamb, diced red peppers and halloumi cheese. Iceberg salad with shredded cheddar, croutons and ranch dressing or romaine with toasted pita and feta, dressed with olive oil, garlic and mint.

  After a terrible time deciding, she succumbed to the lamb pizza and the romaine salad. The bartender brought her a small bowl of olives, a few tiny round loaves of pita, about the diameter of tangerines, and a dish of a soft creamy white cheese with the tang of yogurt.

  Darcy poured water into her arak, which turned it pearly-white, and added a few cubes of ice. She took a small gulp and sighed in pleasure. The anise flavor was clear and light, beautifully refreshing. A few sips later, she mingled the taste with a mouthful of bread stuffed with cheese and an olive. Heaven.

  As usual, the experience of good food relaxed her, and she felt ready to check out her surroundings. Good crowd for a Wednesday night. A few couples on dates, a few single men at the bar, groups of guys out for a guy-time, one table of women. Most were neat and presentable, not too different from the crowd she attracted to Gladiolas. Neighborhood people out for the night. What crowd would Raoul get with his fancy backer and address? High prices would mean clientele with money to burn and similarly situated friends who had friends, who had friends…

  Movement caught her eye, and she realized she’d been staring at a good-looking guy in a red shirt drinking with friends; he leered and toasted her with his beer.

  Ugh. The last thing she needed was some guy thinking she was out trolling for the same thing he was.

  Her food came, a happy distraction. The aroma made her stomach growl and her hand reach eagerly for a slice of the pizza, which she immediately launched toward her mouth.

  Mmm. The crust was charred appetizingly around the edges, the lamb and peppers fragrant and subtly spiced, the cheese tender, mild and sparingly used so its bland richness didn’t overwhelm the dish.

  Delicious. After a few more ravenous bites, she gathered a forkful of the fresh-looking salad, preparing to dive in.

  “So I was wondering…” A man’s shape entered her peripheral vision. Red shirt. Ugh again. He leaned on the bar next to her, too close, talking too loudly. His too-sweet aftershave intruded on her smell and taste. “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Catherine Zeta-Jones?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at him witheringly. “And they didn’t get anywhere, either.”

  “Hey, now, don’t be like that.” His ingratiating grin didn’t falter, if anything he was talking louder. She became aw
are that they were attracting interest from Pink-Faced Sissy-Drink two stools to her right, and from the guy’s table of friends; she wanted to drop to all fours and growl threateningly. “Give me a break here. I’m a nice guy.”

  “I’m sure you are, but I’m only interested in food tonight.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Help me out here, beautiful. I bet my friends that I could buy you a drink.”

  “Really?” She picked up her arak, sipped it leisurely. “Sorry, you lost that one.”

  “I’m Jay.” He winked. “And I never lose.”

  “First time for everything.”

  He chuckled and leaned in. “Seriously, I’m harmless. Just want to buy you a drink. You won’t regret—”

  “I already do.” She turned deliberately toward him. “Go away.”

  “Wow.” He stared at her for a few seconds, then gave a bitter chuckle. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

  “Yup.” Darcy held his gaze calmly. “But it’s better than being a buttwipe.”

  He left, but not before he called Darcy another of her least favorite words. What a jerk.

  She turned back to her dinner, having to force herself to resume eating, which was the jerk’s worst offense, because the food was damn good. Halfway through the pizza and salad, two-thirds of the way through her arak and undisturbed further, she managed to regain her composure. “I’m outta here.” The pink-faced guy seemed to be talking to no one in particular. He moved off his stool and for a second, Darcy expected him to hit the floor, slumped like a sack of potatoes. Miraculously he managed to stay upright.

  The bartender reached to shake his hand. “See ya, Fred.”

  “See ya tomorrow.” Fred wobbled behind Darcy toward the door. She hoped he wasn’t driving.

  “Another arak?”

  Darcy looked up to decline, but while the bartender was standing in front of her, he was asking the guy who’d been sitting three chairs down, just to the right of Pink-Faced Guy. Darcy turned to see who else was drinking the ambrosia of Lebanon.

  He was dark, but his features looked too Waspy to be Arabic. Handsome, several years younger than she was, she’d guess mid-twenties, dressed in a dark shirt and black jeans that showed his body to be tall, lean and nicely shaped. Well, well. Male candy. Too bad she’d put herself on a diet.

  The bartender put a new glass of arak in front of him. He lifted the carafe of water to pour with very nice hands, strong-looking, fingers long and masculine, nails blunt and clean. Definitely an attractive—

  He turned and met her eyes. Darcy froze with her arak halfway to her mouth. An electric storm sprang to life in her chest, spread to her stomach, down her torso, tingling through her arms and legs. Immediately, she glanced away. Then back, unable to resist. He was still watching her; his impossibly dark and deep eyes made it tough to breathe or think. What the hell was that?

  She forced her attention back to her meal, but could only gaze at it, as if waiting for the food to rise up and eat her instead.

  Instant lust, instant attraction. Sure Darcy had experienced those before, but never like this. She must be feeling particularly vulnerable tonight? Tired? On edge? Ovulating? She wanted to look again, felt almost compelled to, but there was fear she’d be giving something away, something very important she had to keep.

  Like mental stability.

  A deep breath, and she made herself eat salad, fragrant with mint, bold with garlic. The bite of vinegar and the soothing fruit of olive oil grounded her. This was real. This was what she’d come here for. Another bite of pizza, and she managed to finish the slice, finish the salad, finish her drink, feeling the man’s pull throughout, fighting her desire to look again, to see if he was watching her. To see if he’d felt even half of what she had.

  She pulled out her wallet, resisting the urge to order another drink, to linger and taunt herself with what could be possible. It was late. Another long day tomorrow.

  “Leaving?”

  Darcy’s hand stilled in the act of pulling out her credit card. She turned, braced this time for the impact of those eyes. The preparation didn’t help much. She felt as if her body had gone into overdrive. Shaky overdrive. Shaky, helpless overdrive. “Thought I would.”

  “Can I buy you another drink instead?”

  She didn’t move. If he bought her a drink, they’d start talking. She’d get a pretty serious buzz from more arak, dangerous around this powerful chemistry. She’d want to spend the night with him. Inevitably, the sex would be hot, satisfying and for one night her problems could be pushed aside, along with her responsibilities. For one night she’d be part of something bigger than just herself.

  But then she might wake up with that horrible empty longing again, the grief she never admitted to anyone she’d had, the one she didn’t even like to acknowledge to herself. Last time the morning after had been so hard, she’d promised herself no more one-night stands. Sex was lovely, but she wouldn’t die without it. Though now that she’d met this man, she might.

  “No?”

  Darcy blinked, aware she was taking an absurdly long time to respond.

  “Or…yes?” His very sexy lips curved in a small smile. Oh, that mouth.

  One drink. One drink wouldn’t hurt. Nor would another night she didn’t have to spend alone. She put her wallet away, got down from the stool and sauntered toward him, hand held out in anticipation of touching his. Of touching him.

  “Yes.”

  2

  “HOW ABOUT THAT ONE, OVER there? The tall one?” Justin nudged Troy and pointed to a trio of women who’d just walked into Esmee Restaurant, where he and Justin were sitting at the bar. “She’s hot. More than that, she looks nice.”

  Troy turned and gave a cursory look. The female in question was taller than her companions, probably five-eight or nine, blonde and attractive, dressed provocatively. He nodded wearily. Yes, Justin, she was hot. Yes, Justin, she looked nice. No, Justin, Troy wasn’t going to offer to take her out, because for all Troy knew, she was newly released from the cozy facilities at Milwaukee County Mental Health. Plus, Troy already had his eye on a woman at the Milwaukee Athletic Club, though he hadn’t mentioned that to Justin in case he and Candy arranged a double wedding before Troy even got up the nerve to ask Missy for a first date.

  Justin was a good friend, had been since they were in college together at UCLA—in fact, Justin had moved from California to Milwaukee after Troy invited the talented writer to be his coauthor on an interactive computer manual they’d finished last month. Troy couldn’t blame Justin for his…enthusiasm when it came to matchmaking. For one thing, he was over-the-top in love with his fiancée, Candy, and was therefore in that blissful state where he wanted everyone else to be as happy for the same reason. For another, Justin had made the acquaintance of arak tonight, liquor Troy’s half-Lebanese friend Chad had turned Troy on to. The stuff was delicious, but lethal, about fifty-percent alcohol. Not that Justin was in danger of embarrassing himself, but he was definitely feeling no pain. Good thing Candy had an event nearby and was showing up shortly to drive him home.

  “Oh, wait, never mind.” Justin waved away the concept of the blonde with obvious irritation. “She’s too young.”

  “What defines too young?”

  Justin leaned over confidentially. “Jonas Brothers T-shirt.”

  “Ooh, yeah.” Troy hid his amusement. “Way too young.”

  “Don’t worry, man.” Justin sipped arak and thumped his glass down on the bar. “We’ll find you someone. Sooner or later.”

  “We?”

  “We.” Justin pointed to himself. “We’ll find you someone who will light you up the second you lay eyes on her. Who makes every nerve ending in your body come to life in a way you’ve never felt before, ever, not even close. It’s like life-heat, it’s like…the hotness of life. It’s like you’re—”

  “Seriously sloshed. Listen to yourself, buddy.”

  “I know. But it’s true. It happened to me.” He thumped his chest proudl
y. “I looked into Candy’s eyes and thought…whoa. This is it. This is her. I just met the rest of my life.”

  “That’s what you were thinking? Really?”

  Justin frowned. “Okay, maybe not consciously. Consciously I was thinking she had nice eyes and a nice mouth. And legs. Great legs. Even her feet are sexy. And her—”

  “Okay, dude.” Troy socked him in the shoulder. “That’s plenty, thanks.”

  “I love good feet on a woman, too.” The voice came from the guy on the stool to Troy’s left; he looked as if he’d been in the sun all day, though more likely he’d been here in the bar all day. “Good feet and good lips. Good hands and sturdy hips.”

  “Poetry.” Justin beamed at him across Troy. “Lips and hips. I love it.”

  “Thanks.” The guy went abruptly back to staring at his drink as if someone had turned his power off.

  Troy rubbed his hand over his face. When was Justin’s fiancée coming?

  “I may sound over-the-top when I talk about Candy, but I’m telling you, being in love is the greatest. Really in love, not the torture you went through with Drama Queen Debby and that I went through with Attention-Needing Angie—”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Troy was getting impatient with the topic. “And I appreciate your concern.”

  Justin shrugged. “I’m just one of many who wants to see you happy.”

  “Dude, I am happy.” He raised his hand to cut off Justin’s immediate protest. “Yes, someday I’ll meet someone and have my nerve endings incinerate me with their life-heat or whatever you said, and I’ll be more happy. But right now life is good. Our book is in, the publisher is ecstatic, we have some time before we have to start the next one. I’m finally over Debby, have done some dating. This is all good stuff. I’m not in any hurry to change it.”

  “Okay.” Justin nodded solemnly and drained his glass. “I’ll back off. But I warn you, Candy’s been looking out for you, too. And when she gets an idea…”

  Troy laughed. “Uh-huh.”

  “Speaking of.” He held up his wrist, squinting to bring his watch face into focus. “She’ll be here any second. I should wait outside so she doesn’t have to park. You coming?”