Page 39 of Wicked Takeover
He stopped two buildings down. The sign over the front door read Castillo’s Cuban Cuisine, an attractive dining area set up outside. White linen tablecloths and the bright red awning fluttered in the breeze. Most couples here were close in age to her and Dante. A sound system played a Cuban song. Accompanied by a piano, the soprano cried out her lyrics.
A young waiter stationed at the door grinned at Dante. He let go of Lauren’s hand and grasped the guy’s in a handshake. They hugged and patted each other’s backs as good friends would.
Age-wise, a decade or more separated them. Maybe Dante once taught high school, possibly gym given his superb physical condition, and this guy had been his student.
“Ricardo, this is Lauren.” Dante gestured to her.
“Welcome to Castillo’s.” Ricardo shook her hand, his gaze zipping over her.
“Lauren’s my boss.” Dante bumped her arm. “She owns Wicked Brand and everything in it, including me.”
“He’s kidding about the last part.” She shot Dante a look.
He winked.
Sounds faded. The scant breeze stilled. Enchanted, she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.
Ricardo wiggled his heavy eyebrows and led them to a table.
“Uh-uh.” Dante gestured to a table in the back, decidedly private, downright romantic. “We want that one over there.”
God, she was going to die when this ended and would probably spend her remaining life wanting it back.
Dante helped Lauren with her chair, sank into his own, and spoke to Ricardo in Spanish.
The young man pulled out a small notepad and wrote quickly. Once he stopped, he said something in return.
“Don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Dante played with her fingers. “You like beer? Rum? Wine?”
She loved him touching her. Drink and food didn’t matter any longer. She could live on his desire alone. “I’m driving. Better stick with water.”
Dante pointed at Ricardo. “One of your designer kinds. The best, in fact. I’ll have a Skol.”
“You got it. Back in a few minutes.”
When they were alone, Lauren took in the place. Definitely not a fast-food joint. “This is really nice. I hate to ask, but given the situation at the parlor, can you afford this?”
“Don’t worry.” Dante shook out his napkin. “I always get a discount.”
“Wow. That’s great. Did you ink Ricardo and the other people who work here?”
“I wish. That’d be good for business.” He smiled broadly. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Ricardo’s my cousin. My uncle owns this place.”
Their hug made sense now. Lauren folded her arms on the table, hungry for information. “You’re from West Palm Beach?”
“God no. Little Havana. My parents, five brothers, and two sisters still live there.”
“Wow. Seven siblings?” That was hard to imagine since she’d been an only child. “Where did you fall in the pecking order?”
“I’m the oldest.” He leaned back and rested his hands on his hard belly. “That made me the boss.”
She laughed. “You’re never going to let me forget what I said that first day.”
“I told you there’d be punishment.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t been that bad.”
“Hey, you’ve been downright docile. Staying out of things. Hiding in the office.” His smile hung on for a moment, then faded. He wasn’t playful any longer or open, masking whatever was going on inside him.
