‘What’s going on?’ Izzy asked.
‘Palmtrees has lost its generator,’ the head waiter said, referring to one of the island’s fully catered lodges, ‘and their fridges are out. They’re sending all their guests here.’
Izzy aproned up and started work. She’d been on the island long enough to work out that with their fridges out, it meant an extra hundred or so hungry people out looking for a meal. No wonder it was so busy.
For two hours she worked solidly, darting between tables, the kitchen and the bar, taking orders and fetching meals and drinks. She’d barely clear a table and it would be full again, and the whole process would start over. She was never more grateful for her earlier shifts.
‘Can you get table thirty?’ the manager called, backing through the kitchen door, her arms full of plates.
‘On my way,’ she said, picking up a couple of menus and threading her way through the bustling restaurant. She knew where table thirty was. A table for two, tucked right up the back. She smiled as she approached. A dark-haired man, sitting alone.
He looked up, as she neared, his dark eyes scowling, his gaze as combative as the hard lines of his jaw. Unnerving. Clearly not impressed at having to wait for service, but who could blame him? ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,’ she started, wanting to head off any cause for aggravation. ‘We’re very busy tonight.’ She placed a menu in front of him, and then one at the empty chair opposite.
‘I’m eating alone,’ he said, his words terse, and Izzy pulled the menu back and hugged it against her chest. Why she felt like she needed protection, she wasn’t sure, but there was something in the deep timbre of his voice that sounded like it was being kept on a tight leash. Had he been stood up or had he argued with his partner and decided to eat alone? Was that the reason for his anger? Although he didn’t look like any tourist, more like one of the consultants from the mainland who visited the island for a day or two to call upon their clients.
‘A drink then, on the house,’ she said, attempting another smile, hoping to appease, ‘for keeping you waiting so long.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but it was his eyes that unnerved her. The way he looked at her, almost like he was looking inside her. And then he leaned sideways in his chair, crossed his long legs and smiled, and Izzy was taken aback by the transformation. It could just have been the play of light as he moved, the light and shadow moving, but it appeared that his jawline had relaxed, the hard line of his mouth softening, his lips suddenly sensual, and dark-lashed eyes creasing at the corners. All of it framed with thick dark hair. A disarmingly good-looking man when he smiled, and Izzy’s heart lurched and found herself thinking, what a waste he was alone.
‘Tell me,’ he said, giving the menu a cursory glance before looking back at her. ‘What would you recommend?’
She blinked, feeling off balance with the change in his mood. She reeled off the list of specials, the kingfish, the fillet steak and the lobster medallions, trying and failing not to notice how well his fine knit sweater skimmed his broad chest when he sat back like that.
‘What would you order?’ he asked, when she had finished.
‘The kingfish is very popular. It’s a local speciality. But my personal favourite would be the paella.’
He cocked an eyebrow, sitting forward now, like he was genuinely interested. ‘Why so?’
She smiled, her mind going back to the tiny fishing villages that dotted the short Mediterranean coastline of Rubanestein, and of the street cafés far below the palace with their braziers alight, topped with vast pans filled with seafood and rice, the warm night air filled with the scent of salt and saffron, the sizzle and smoke of the burners, and the warm-hearted conviviality of the people. ‘It reminds me of my home,’ she said, feeling an unexpected pang of something approximating homesickness. Not that she had been free to roam the streets of the villages or enjoy the bonhomie of the villagers by herself, always accompanied by her bodyguards and minders. Always. Never free. Not like here. And the homesickness was suddenly snuffed out on a familiar tide of resentment.
‘Where is home?’
His words interrupted her thoughts. She’d been miles away. Continents. An entire hemisphere. She shook her head to clear it. ‘A little place in Europe,’ she said, screwing up her nose. ‘You wouldn’t have heard of it. Would you like to order now?’
‘I’ll have the paella,’ he said, taking her recommendation, ordering a glass of Tasmanian pinot noir to go with it. He handed her back the menu. ‘Thank you for helping me decide,’ he said, turning up the warmth in his smile so that it zinged all the way to her toes.
Not just good-looking, she told herself as she weaved her way back through the bustling tables to the kitchen. Seriously good-looking. Even drop-dead gorgeous when he smiled like that.
She returned from the bar with the bottle, pouring the ruby-coloured liquid into his glass, so conscious he was watching her that her skin tingled and her cheeks burned, and it was all she could do to stop the hand holding the bottle from shaking.
‘Will that be all?’ she asked, her task completed, relieved she hadn’t spilled a drop given the intensity of his scrutiny.
‘For now,’ he said, and there was that zing again.
Millie winked when they crossed paths in the kitchen. ‘You took your time out there,’ she said, nodding in the direction of table thirty. ‘Who’s the hunk? Someone you know?’
‘No. He just wanted my advice on what to order.’
‘Then I think he fancies you,’ she said. ‘He can’t take his eyes off you.’
‘Rubbish,’ she said, but Millie was already away with her next order, and Izzy similarly loaded her arms up with her next delivery, discounting Millie’s comment. But as she worked the tables, she wasn’t so sure. Every time she happened to glance over in that direction, her eyes were snagged by his and he would smile, sending warmth rippling down her spine that persisted, even when she’d turned away. She didn’t have to look up to know he was still watching her. She could feel his eyes in the tingling of her skin and the fizz of her blood. And she sensed with a woman’s intuition that he wasn’t just staring at her because he was impatient for his meal to be served.
For a woman who’d never before experienced this zing of attraction, an attraction not based on her title and how that might work for him, but an attraction between a man and a woman, it was as unexpected as it was intoxicating.
‘Enjoy your meal,’ Izzy said, placing a plate in front of him and the steaming pan in the centre of the table. And yet instead of the fragrant spiced paella, all she seemed to be able to smell was this man, and the warm, clean scent of him. It was unnerving being so aware of a man. Not only because it was an unfamiliar experience, but because it seemed too personal. Too intimate. She backed away as soon as the pan was down, aiming to get away and back to the kitchen as quickly as possible, but not before he could ask, ‘What’s your name?’
She paused in her retreat, laced the fingers of her hands together in front of her. ‘Izzy.’
