Sugar & Salt by Pavarti K. Tyler Read Free Book Online

resting one hand on the table—an invitation to a touch.
    “Let’s start with you. I only just learned your name. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”
    “I’m not particularly interesting.” He leans back, his features relaxing.
    Is it possible this man has nothing to hide?
“I don’t think I agree with that. Try me.”
    “All right. I was born in South Africa. My mother came from Australia at twenty-five, and my father was in the Prime Minister’s office.”
    “Government job?”
    “It offers good security.”
    “Great benefits.” She takes a sip of her drink. Spicy wine titillates her tongue, waking up her sleeping taste buds. The full-bodied flavor fills her mouth. This man knows his wine.
    “We traveled a lot growing up, because of what he did, and my mother didn’t really work, but took care of me and my sisters.” He shrugs.
    “How many?”
    “How many what?” He sips his wine and then brings his napkin to his lips. Such dainty behavior for one with such restrained strength.
    “Sisters.”
    “I think that can wait. I’d rather hear more from you. Where did you grow up?”
    “Not South Africa.”
    “I could have guessed that.”
    Did he see through her deflections? What would happen if she disclosed everything here and now, about her father, her business, and the man who’d broken her heart? For once, she could lay it all out, but what would that prove, other than the inevitability of him walking away? No one wants to be tied up with her long-term.
    “So you grew up with money,” she states matter-of-factly.
    “Is that important?”
    “To some.”
    “To you?”
    “No, less so to me. However, it does give one some insight into the man.”
    “Like what?”
    “Men who were raised with money tend to have less concern for those who weren’t.” She shrugs, confident in her analysis.
    “That’s quite a generalization.”
    “Based on significant observational data.”
    “I think your cross sample may have been tainted. Who did you use as a control?”
    “Everyone else.”
    “You’re a touch jaded, aren’t you?” He leans toward her like a confidant.
    “No, just a realist.” She has no desire to confess her sins just yet.
    “So of all these men who have let you down, did one in particular undermine your faith in my gender?” He returns his hand to the table between them.
    She places hers in her lap, despite the tingle of longing in her skin. “Now that’s decidedly more personal than I’m willing to get over dinner.”
    “Perhaps breakfast, then.”
    She ignores his presumption and sips her wine. The restaurant sizzles with life—couples engaged in whispers and friends exchanging stories in exuberant tones. The citrus and black decor should be gauche, but instead sets an intimate atmosphere.
    “I have three sisters.”
    “What are their names?”
    “Hope, Faith, and Chastity.” He rattles the names off as if it were obvious.
    “They are not.”
    “They are.”
    “And you got Devon?”
    “Apparently my father wanted to name me Daemon, but my mother fought back.”
    “Are your parents particularly religious?”
    “No, just particular.”
    As they chat, the crowd at the bar becomes dense, and the hostess maneuvers through the waiting diners until she arrives at their table. “Mr. Salzmann, the chef would like to offer you a complimentary plate of our newest dish, an Asian Fusion rack of lamb. I’m sure you and your date will enjoy it.”
    He raises one eyebrow at Janice, gauging her interest. “Sounds lovely.” He speaks to the hostess, but his eyes never leave Janice.
    “Who are you?” She asks once the hostess leaves.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Come on, Salt. Not everyone gets immediate seating at a place like Tahlia’s. The chef knows you by name? That’s not how things work in the real world.”
    “As opposed to what world?”
    “Whatever world you live in. Give me a straight answer for once—no more fucking around.”
    “You know, there’s