The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) Read online

  Yiorgos made pleasantries with the mayor and his wife, even though he was distracted by the watcher. The hair on nape of his neck prickled, but from the way heat pooled deep in his belly, he suspected it was Clare.

  His stomach growled so loudly the mayor chuckled and got into his car. "Sounds like you need to sample some of that magical food yourself, Mr. Michelopoulos. Good night."

  As if I'd dare eat any more of her food knowing what it'll do to me.

  The car pulled away, and he turned slowly. He could barely see something darker than the shadows against the wall, but it was her. None of the other kitchen staff possessed the temptations of such a curvaceous shape.

  Surprised she hadn't taken the opportunity to escape, he stalked toward her, relishing the way her eyes widened. She licked her lips nervously, drawing his gaze to her mouth.

  "Do you understand now, Mr. Michelopoulos?"

  Blood thumped a frantic staccato in his body. "What I understand is that you've addicted every person in this town."

  Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head, cupping her cheeks in her hands. "I was afraid you'd think that."

  She whispered in a broken voice that compelled him closer. His stomach growled again, a ravenous beast slobbering at the rich scents rolling from the kitchen. Or was it her? He caught the vanilla scent of her hair, the brown-sugar sweetness of her skin, dusted with cocoa. He groaned, his mouth watering. Damn it all to hell, she smelled like that cursed cake she'd made last night.

  God help me if it's on the menu tonight.

  "Ms. Remy..."

  Her fist buried in his complaining stomach so hard he doubled over, barely catching himself against the wall. He’d flatten another man who dared punch him, but the idea of a woman hitting him so hard knocked the air out of him as well as her fist. When he could speak again, he growled out, "What the hell was that for?"

  "You don't know? Well, let me explain it to you, Mr. Michelopoulos. I'm tired of your heavy-handed arrogance. Everyone tiptoes around you, too afraid to tell you when you're being an alphahole, but I'm not afraid of you."

  Despite the cramping pain in his stomach muscles, he spluttered out a laugh. "What the hell does alphahole mean?"

  "Because you have more money than God, you think you're top dog. Alpha. You rule, everyone else drools. You come in snarling and snapping at anyone who dares stand up to you, and they crawl away with their tails between their legs." She stabbed him in the chest with her index finger. "But deep down, you're the biggest asshole I've ever met, Mr. Michelopoulos. A real alpha takes care of his people. He doesn't lord it over them and take every opportunity to beat them down with his ridiculous commands."

  Taken aback, he lowered his head toward hers so he could glare into her eyes. "You don't think I take care of my people?"

  "All I've seen are demands and foul temper."

  Eyes narrowed, he watched her expressive face while letting possible plans of action flicker through his mind. He didn't care what she thought of him. Not really. She was certainly justified in thinking the worst of him after he took her father's restaurant and replaced all the employees. He'd sent them off with tidy sums, but she didn't know that, and only after interviewing each of them. He would've hired several of them, but they weren't willing to work for him.

  Again, not that he could blame them.

  Her body vibrated just inches away, her eyes flashing, her hands still balled up, ready to sock him again. Surely she didn't know that such a challenge would attract him more.

  He stilled, his breath stuck in his lungs. His erection throbbed in his pants, emphasizing that realization. "What are you doing to me, witch?"

  "Nothing," she breathed out soft and low, her eyes liquid pools of innocence and sweetness.

  Lies. I can’t possibly want her this much. His stomach rumbled again so loudly that her lips quirked, making him flush.

  "Afraid to eat my cooking, Mr. Michelopoulos?" She taunted softly, those full lush lips curving in invitation. "Surely the big bad wolf isn't afraid of the goodies in Little Red Riding Hood's basket."

  "Wrong fairytale," he growled out. Then he wrapped his hand around the bun at the nape of her neck and crushed her lips beneath his.

  Shock splintered through her. For a man who found her appearance lacking and her magic bordering on criminal, he was certainly enthusiastic in his kiss. Not that she was complaining.

  He must have expected shyness or timid restraint, because when she threaded her hands in his hair and lifted her body tighter to his, he made a low sound of surprise. She might be a virgin from necessity, but kissing had never been off limits. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, she shuddered at the raw power coursing through her. Magic? Or simply the man?

  Her heartbeat ramped higher. His heat and strength engulfed her. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until she had to stretch up and practically climb his body.

  With a low growl, he pushed her back against the wall, pinning her there like a bug. He pulled her hands free of him and locked her hands against the wall beside her head, using his body to hold her high enough that her toes dangled.

  How had he known? He might as well have crept into her bedroom and perused all the erotic novels on her keeper shelf. She’d reluctantly daydreamed about the possibility he’d be willing to seduce her in whatever trap he’d planned out, but she never dared hope he might indulge her darker fantasies too, without her even having to ask.

  His knee slid higher between her legs, and she squirmed against him, riding that powerful muscle. She pulled against his grip, enjoying the force he used to keep her exactly where they both wanted her. Grinding against him, she twined her tongue with his, reveling in the forbidden taste of his mouth. So good, like dark chocolate spiced with cinnamon and ginger and a hint of merlot.

  Breathing hard, he twisted his mouth away and stared down at her, his eyes glittering like chips of black ice. “I thought I was cursed before I met you. Now I’m certain.”

  His arousal thumped against her, a threat and a promise of all he could offer her. If only I were free to indulge… She swallowed hard and forced a wobbly smile. It doesn’t matter. I’d just end up another notch on his bedpost. “You started it.”

  The canyon between his eyes deepened, his incredible mouth twisting into a snarl. “You’re impossible.”

  “Yes, yes, I am. You should kick me out of here to save yourself any more trouble or annoyance, Mr. Michelopoulos. Simply give me the ring and…”

  He jerked away with a low furious sound like ripping cloth, leaving her stumbling to catch herself against the wall. Raking a hand through his hair, he prowled back and forth like a caged tiger. “Everyone loves your food. After talking to several customers, I’m less inclined to believe them seriously addicted to anything harmful. Yet as soon as I start to think I can cut you some slack, you bespell me again and I’m back to doubting.”

  She spluttered, “Bespelled? I’ve done nothing to you since dinner last night. Even then, nothing bad happened.”

  “You tricked me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She lifted her chin and used her prim and proper voice. “You deserved it. Besides, you wouldn’t have felt any lingering effects this morning if you hadn’t eaten so much.”

  “So you’re back to blaming me for having a headache this morning and ravenous hunger I can’t seem to satisfy?”

  The way he said it—all low and growling—made the muscles deep in her belly clench. A thrill shot through her at the sensual implication. He couldn’t hide that impressive erection. Could he really feel an attraction for her? Or was it merely the normal reaction of a healthy, virile man getting the sense kissed out of him?

  “I don’t know what’s up or down right now. You’ve messed up my senses, my tastebuds, my body, everything. Me, calm and cool under any situation, no matter the stakes, and I’m snapping and slavering like a maddened beast. What did you do to me, witch?”

  He practically yelled the last words. Ignoring his ire,
she grabbed his hand and let him back inside Remy’s. Miracle of miracles, he went. He even sat down at the island where they’d chatted earlier.

  When she set a plate of this evening’s special in front of him, he put his foot down. “No.”

  “You let the mayor eat it, but you won’t?”

  “I can’t afford to compromise my intellect and my senses any more at this point.”

  “Oh for goodness sakes!” She planted her hands on her hips. “Your high and mighty intellect was compromised the first moment you challenged Daddy and stole his restaurant! The whole reason you’re so grouchy is that you’re hungry. So shut up and eat!”

  He shot an arctic glare, his lips tightening and his shoulders stiff with reluctance. “I’m not grouchy.”

  “And I’m not chubby either.” Turning her back on him, she went over to the stove and checked on her pies. “I can hear your stomach growling and you’re as mean as an old bear woken up from hibernation too early. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”

  She refused to look at him, choosing instead to plate the apple pie ala mode. Hopefully the last orders had come in—otherwise she was going to run short on dessert tonight. It would’ve broken her father’s heart if he’d sent a guest home without their sweet tooth satisfied.

  “Why do you think you’re chubby?”

  She froze in the middle of dropping a scoop of ice cream onto the warm pie. Her mind locked up like an overheated engine run without a single drop of oil. It has to be a trick question.

  She couldn’t think of a response. She loved food, had always loved food, and her body showed it. She wouldn’t call herself fat, but by no means would she fit into a perfect size 4 portrayed by the media. On a good day, she’d be thrilled to fit into a 14.

  Forcing out a laugh, she shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m no beauty and I never will be. I’m fine with that because I can cook anyone out of the kitchen. Well, except for Helga, and Daddy, of course. It’s a small price to pay for loving good food.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, she heard the sound of cutlery on the plate. The straining tension eased inside her. If he couldn’t bring himself to eat her food, he’d never trust her to run the kitchen and pull Remy’s back from the brink.

  “I admit you’re not my usual type.”

  Thank God her back was to him. She let the ugly sneer twist her face, but she bit back the bitter response. Not what your body said a few minutes ago when you were kissing me.

  “But I wouldn’t say you were chubby either. That’s a word for a chunky adolescent girl.”

  Smoothing the hurt from her face, she managed a civil nod in his direction as she handed off the dessert plates to the wait staff. “How many are left in the dining room?”

  “This is the last,” the young man said with a weary smile. Hopefully he’d made some nice tips for a change.

  “Thanks for a great service. Tell all the servers that I’m grateful for their help tonight.”

  He flashed a smile and disappeared into the other room.

  “Do you know him?”

  She had no idea why Michelopoulos’s voice had gone so icy again. Silly man. His mercurial moods were impossible to keep up with. “No, I don’t. Everyone I knew from my father’s kitchen is no longer here.”

  “I didn’t fire them.” He cleared his throat self-consciously, scowling when she arched a brow at him. “Not that I care what you think, Ms. Remy, but I didn’t come in here and blindly fire all your father’s precious staff. They refused to work for me.”

  Heartache suddenly swamped her, fond tears burning her eyes. Daddy would have been touched to know his staff had been so loyal. Softly, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Michelopoulos eyed his empty plate like he was thinking about licking it clean. When she didn’t answer, he raised his penetrating gaze to her face. His dark eyes flickered over her, head to toe, a fleeting caress that left her trembling in their wake. Yet nothing changed on his face. Not a single hint of attraction, no longing to kiss her again.

  Disappointment warred with relief. The kiss had been a huge mistake. She’d never forget the sultry heat of his mouth nor the strength of his ardor. If he ever set his mind to taking her to bed, she’d be hard pressed to resist. She didn’t want to lose her power, but she feared that his seduction would prove her undoing. I want to explore my passions too badly to allow such a sexually aggressive man into my life.

  She let a teasing smile quirk her lips. “For trusting me.”

  He frowned and cast a glance over her shoulder at the crumbled remains of apple pie. “There had best be enough pie left for me.”

  “I think I can manage a piece.”

  He stared doubtfully down at the tempting pie, warm enough that the ice cream slowly melted into creamy rivulets. His mouth must have been watering at the sweet, spicy scent because the long column of his throat worked on a swallow. “I’m not going to be as high as a kite again, am I?”

  “You’re safe,” she promised, smiling wider when he searched her face. “That’s the last piece.”

  SIX

  Daily prep in the kitchen was one of Clare’s favorite things about working at Remy’s again. She loved losing herself in the steady rock and slice of her knife, chopping up the evening’s vegetables. The roasting chickens in the oven, stuffed with onions, celery, lemons, and apples, smelled like heaven.

  Dmitri stepped inside and took a deep, noisy breath. “Smells great, but it seems such a waste to spend so long on the chicken, only to throw it into soup.”

  “There’s nothing like chicken soup to heal the soul,” she replied. “I’ll use the best parts of the chicken for tonight’s special, too, so it won’t be wasted. Even without magic, there’s no better way to make chicken broth than to slow roast the chicken first and then boil the bones. My magic just makes it all happen faster and better.”

  Carrying a stack of manila folders and spreadsheets, he must have been on his way to Mr. Michelopoulos’s office, yet he lingered. Whether drawn by the homey scents of chicken or something else, she couldn’t tell.

  He met the sous-chef’s gaze and gave a nod toward the dining room. Taking the hint, the man signaled the other assistants and they quickly slipped out.

  Something else, then. She continued to dice the carrots, waiting for whatever he wanted to say.

  “I’ve known Mr. Michelopoulos for a long time. He hired me right out of college and I’ve never worked for anyone else since.”

  She made a low sound of acknowledgement to at least let him know she was listening.

  “He’s a good man, Ms. Remy.”

  She looked up from her work, surprised. Why did the man feel the need to defend his boss to her? Whatever her personal feelings or the past with her father, she’d never come into the kitchen and stir up rumors or trouble. “So he’s not a ruthless, driven businessman willing to do whatever it takes to close the deal?”

  Dmitri flushed and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I didn’t say that. He’s certainly ruthless. I’ve seen him take down his rivals one by one through careful planning months, even years, ahead. If he decides he wants something, nothing will stop him from getting it.”

  Lightly, she said, “Then I’m certainly glad he’s a good man.”

  “He is,” Dmitri insisted. “I know you’ve seen the bad side of him. I’d hate him too after he ruined my father. But I’m trying to say that there’s another side of him. He takes care of his own. He demands the highest standards and successful results, but he also compensates accordingly. I’ll be able to retire in a few years and simply enjoy my kids, instead of working eighty-hour weeks the rest of my adult life. That’s only possible because of him.”

  “Meanwhile your family misses you right now.”

  “They moved out here with me so we could all be together. However, I don’t spend as much time with them as I’d like. Once we get Remy’s turned around, though…” He hesitated, and a look of suspicion flickered across his face that sh
e didn’t like. He glanced about the kitchen, tipping his head, searching for something.

  Irritated, she slammed the knife down on the cutting board. “There aren’t any truth spells cast in this kitchen, Mr. LaRue. I haven’t bespelled you into spilling your secrets. I certainly haven’t bugged the kitchen or poisoned the food with drugs. The only thing I do in here is cook!”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Remy.” He held out his hands beseechingly. “I really have no idea what it is you do. I hadn’t even heard of the Wizard Council until Mr. Michelopoulos admitted he’d contacted them.”

  She clamped the rising irritation down. It wasn’t his fault that Michelopoulos doubted her at every turn. “Why did he contact them?”

  Dmitri turned away and headed toward the dining room, avoiding her gaze. “Because of the troubles here. Thank you, Ms. Remy. What you managed last night was a miracle.” He paused at the swinging door and laughed, shaking his head. “And what you accomplished that first night with the contract… Trust me, Ms. Remy. Mr. Michelopoulos has never met anyone like you. You might think you’re saving the restaurant, but you’re really saving him.”

  But am I? She wondered idly, sliding the diced vegetables into the massive stock pot. And if I am, does he really deserve to be saved?

  Yiorgos looked up from the computer screen as Dmitri came into his office. He’d deliberately left the door open so the man wouldn’t hesitate or turn away. “Well?”

  Dmitri handed him the stack of papers. “Excellent numbers last night.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Dmitri smiled but it didn’t reflect in his eyes. “I know. How do you feel this morning?”

  Yiorgos scowled down at the papers. He felt fine. Better than fine. Perfectly refreshed and energetic as though he’d slept for eight hours. Instead, he’d spent most of the night on the phone with the Athens office and only napped on the couch for an hour or two. I have no right to feel this good. Damned woman. What did she spike my dinner with last night?