“Hello?” came her sweet, musical voice.

“I found the petals,” he announced.

In her pause, he could actually feel her smiling that secret little smile that drove him wild. “And? I hope they didn’t embarrass you.”

“Nothing could embarrass me today.”

There was a shy silence. “Um, Duncan? I’m sort of in the middle of the lunch rush, so could we—”

“Do rose petals go bad, like vegetables, or do they dry out?”

“They dry out,” Nell said. “Do you think I would have filled your pockets with something that turns to slime?”

He ignored that, grinning. “I can’t wait for six o’clock.”

“Me neither,” Nell whispered. “Bye.”

She broke the connection, and Duncan laid down the phone.

He tried to concentrate. He really did. But the urgent, pressing, serious business that grimly occupied him on any other normal day seemed so much less important today. So much less interesting. The only things that engaged him were conversations with Gant and his buddy Braxton, another ex-agent from the old days who had a security outfit. He arranged for Nell’s apartment to be bug swept that day.

He called Nell so often, she started to snap at him and hang up, but always with laughter in her voice. He’d never been the type who had any luck making girls laugh before. He finally understood why guys worked so hard at it. It was irresistible. He would do any crazy thing to get that gurgle of laughter out of her.

Meetings, conference calls. Seconds ticked by, heavily, laboriously. His employees were acting strange. Whispering conversations, cut off when he walked by. Smothered bursts of laughter. Bruce had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

At ten to five p.m., he gave in to it. It was an hour early, but he wasn’t getting diddly-shit done here. He might as well go to the Sunset, park his ass, and make damn sure she didn’t leave the place alone.

She was scheduled to work three hours on the game texts with Bruce, from six until nine. Too much, with a long shift of waitressing behind her. She pushed herself too hard. He might insist that she cut out early. They could get dinner before they met her sisters at that pub.

He found a good parking spot not far from the Grill and went in, heart thudding. There she was, swathed in her orange apron, hair twisted up and corkscrewing around her face. She looked tired, harassed.

And freaking drop-dead beautiful.

She glanced over and ran into a table. He was with her in two steps, steadying her tray. She pulled back, spilling half a bowl of French onion soup. “Thanks, I can manage. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a restaurant, right? Don’t I have the right to come in here?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry,” she said, biting her lower lip. “The tables are full. You can wait fifteen minutes, or you can sit at the counter.”

Duncan seated himself at the counter. The place was hopping with late lunchers and early diners. Nell and a redheaded girl were the only waitresses, both running frantically. He watched Nell serve people, gracing them with her luminous smile, carrying trays that looked far too heavy for her. She sneaked an occasional glance at him. Some minutes later she made it back to him with the coffeepot. “Stop staring. It’s making me nervous,” she hissed into his ear, pouring him a cup.

“What’s with you tonight?” he asked. “You’re tense.”

“Oh, nothing. Business as usual. Money problems. Credit card debt. A bugged apartment. Armed kidnappers shoving me into a car. Nights of wild monkey sex with a man who’s practically a stranger to me. Then I get to work and discover that not only does Kendra have one of her weird illnesses, but Lee broke his toe, so we’re short-staffed. And now you’re here, staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Other than that, I’m fine. Let me take your order. Strip steak, I presume.”

“Actually, I ordered out for lunch,” he said.

Her eyebrow lifted. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

She swallowed, a blush warming her cheeks. “We have a three-dollar minimum at night.”

“More coffee,” he said. “And bring my usual dessert.”

She looked disapproving. “You should try something new.” She marched away, chin high.

“So. You’re the one, eh?” a gravelly female voice said.

He looked across the counter, into the clear gray eyes of a strong-jawed, wide-hipped lady of about sixty. “Excuse me?” he said.

The woman smartly dressed a tray of salads and passed it across the counter to the redheaded waitress. The waitress hung over Duncan’s shoulder from behind, popped fragrant strawbery gum in his ear, and studied him as if he were some strange species of mold in a petri dish. “Not bad,” she commented, her voice judicious.

“I’m Norma,” the older woman said, examining him over the lenses of her glasses. “I own this joint. And you’re Strip Steak.”

Being defined and labeled in terms of his lunch choices was a new experience for him. “Duncan Burke, at your service,” he said.

“So you’re the one,” Norma said again, wrapping silverware in napkins and stacking them on a tray with machinelike efficiency.

He sipped his coffee. “What one am I?” he asked guardedly.

“The one who’s taking away my right-hand woman.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there,” he said.

“Don’t I know it,” Norma replied, her gray eyes steely. “In fact, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you what a prize you’ve got in her.”

Duncan’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth.

Norma went on. “I heard about that kerfuffle last night. You, saving her from those guys on the street. That’s good. Bravo. I like it that you can handle yourself in a tight situation. That’s a good quality in a man. Useful. But that’s not enough.”

Duncan blinked. “It’s not?”

“No. Not for Nell. She’s special. Very sensitive, very romantic. She has more to give than you could imagine.”

He started to feel hunted. “How do you know what I can imagine?”

“Any guy who orders the same lunch for six weeks in a row has imagination issues,” Norma informed him, not without sympathy.

The redheaded waitress swooped by and leaned over his shoulder again. “But don’t despair,” she said, popping her gum in his ear again. “You can make up for a lot of that egghead intellectual imagination stuff in bed, if you treat her good. And I mean, like, good, buddy boy.”

“Exactly my point,” Norma agreed. “If you don’t treat her like a goddess, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Duncan forced himself to close his slack, dangling mouth. He coughed to clear his throat. “Just what are you implying, ma’am?”

“That depends on you,” Norma said crisply. “You see, unfortunately, our Nell is an orphan. There aren’t any parents around to judge you and break your balls.” She pointed at her chest. “But here’s me, Strip Steak. Ready and willing to pick up the slack. Worse than the very worst mother-in-law could ever be. Just be aware.”

“There’s me, too. And Monica. And don’t forget her sisters,” the redhead piped in from behind as she swept by. “Mess with Nell, and Nancy and Vivi will rip you open and toss your entrails into the gutter.”

“Ah.” He pondered that memorable image for a moment. “You want me to declare that my intentions are honorable, you mean?”

Norma smiled approvingly. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Nell appeared with a plate. “Here’s your dessert. Carla, table five needs a slice of Black Forest and a Key Lime. They’re in a rush, okay?”

Carla gave her gum a final loud pop, and sashayed away, ass twitching back and forth. Nell set down the dessert. It was not apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was a fluffy confection. Lots of whipped cream.

“I decided you needed a change of pace,” she said, a note of challenge in her voice. “This is a house specialty. Banana cream pie.”