"So, what? Is it some kinda Goth thing, then?”

"No, it's not a Goth thing. Do you want another Coke?”

"Why wear that damned thing around? It offends people.”

"Leave the waitress alone.”

Her head snapped up. It was Mr. Gorgeous. He hadn't even raised his head from his paper. His deep, resonating voice commanded authority even without his direct attention. "She doesn't want to explain her jewelry preferences. She just wants to know if you want a drink refill.”

Middle Management seemed instantly cowed by the note of aggression in Mr. Gorgeous's voice. That's why he probably wouldn't make it very far up the corporate ladder, Mira thought with satisfaction.

"I'm fine," Middle Management answered her, looking down at his plate. "Sorry.”

"No problem," she said, turning away.

She glanced at Mr. Gorgeous. He looked up from his paper, and their gazes met for a moment. His mouth curved in a little smile before he turned his attention back to the Tribune. She imagined those full lips kissing between her breasts and down her stomach. The image of his dark head working between her thighs as he licked away her deep sexual ache filled her mind.

A baby squalled a couple booths over, breaking her pleasant thoughts. Mira wished she wasn't working and could be home wallowing in her fantasies of this man.

Since she had a little lull, Mira ducked into the break room to remove her necklace and put it in her locker. On her way out, she picked up a pot of coffee and walked back to Mr. Gorgeous's table.

He looked up at her as she approached. "Would you like another cup of coffee?" She held the pot and tipped her head to the side in question.

He shook his head. "The check.”

She put the pot down, dug in her apron pocket for his bill, and laid it on the table. "Thanks," she said quietly. "I mean, for saying what you did.”

"Are you Wiccan?" he asked while he fished his billfold out and extracted a twenty.

She nodded. "I was raised Wiccan, but I don't practice magick or anything crazy like that. Wicca is my religion. I was raised on it." She snapped her mouth shut so she wouldn't babble on. The man made her feel vulnerable and awkward. Not to mention . . . not many people would instantly take her for Wiccan at the sight of her pentagram.

He threw the twenty on the table and stood. The faint scent of his cologne—spicy, a bit woody—assaulted her senses. He glanced at her necklace-free throat. "Too bad you have to hide it because of the ignorance of others.”

Oh. She was in love.

Rendered momentarily speechless, she looked down at his bill. "Uh, let me get your change—”

"No, keep it." He turned and left.

She picked up the twenty and his bill. His coffee with free refills had only been a buck twenty-five.