Free Werewolf in Las Vegas by Vicki Lewis Thompson Page B

sir.” Mr. Thatcher finished arranging everything on the table and took a lighter out of his pocket. “But he was pleased to get this order tonight.” He lit the white tapers sitting in heavy silver candlesticks.
    Luke winked at Giselle. “Guess I’ll have to make him happy more often. I’d hate to lose the guy because he was sick of making pizza.”
    â€œAfter this meal, sir, you’ll give up on pizza for good.” With the kind of flourish that he’d probably perfected after years of service, Mr. Thatcher whisked the silver domes away, revealing two carefully arranged plates, each bearing a filet, grilled asparagus, and an artfully spooned serving of mashed root vegetables. A basket of bread, two pieces of chocolate mousse cake, and two glasses of ruby-colored wine completed the meal.
    Giselle stifled a moan of pleasure. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It was all she could do not to yank out a chair and sit down so they could get started.
    â€œWill there be anything else, sir?” Mr. Thatcher stood poised beside the cart, prepared to roll it out the door.
    Luke glanced at her. “Giselle? Anything more you need to go with the meal?”
    â€œNot a thing.” Except she’d love to know why a Were had served it to them, but she couldn’t very well ask
that.
“This is a feast.”
    â€œThen I guess we’re all set, Mr. Thatcher. Thank you.”
    â€œHave a great evening, sir. Just call when you’re finished and want me to clear.” With another slight bow, he rolled the cart into the foyer and let himself out.
    â€œHe’s fabulous,” Giselle said after he’d left. “So he’s been with your family for almost twenty years?”
    â€œGuess so. I’ve lost track of it, but I’m sure my dad knew. Twenty years ago he was finally doing well enough to start hiring live-in servants. According to my dad, Harrison Cartwright recommended Mr. Thatcher for the job.”
    â€œNow, that’s fascinating.” She had to say something to keep her jaw from dropping in amazement. Had Harrison Cartwright installed a spy in Angus Dalton’s household?
    That made no sense, because twenty years ago Harrison and Angus had been the best of friends. Yet she could think of no other explanation. Normally werewolf live-in servants preferred to work for Weres. Working for humans didn’t give them enough privacy when they wanted to shift and get some wolf-style exercise.
    She wondered if Mr. Thatcher had made do with trips to Howlin’ at the Moon and its underground forest. Now that would be closed to him, too. “Does he have a first name?”
    Luke laughed and moved over to the table. “It’s Melvin. But I honestly didn’t know that until I started signing his paychecks in January. He’s always been Mr. Thatcher. Incredibly proper, but incredibly loyal. I was afraid my mother would ask him to go to France with her, but she didn’t, thank God. Ready to eat?”
    â€œYou know it.” Deciding to think about the werewolf/butler/spy thing later, she sat down and sighed in appreciation. “This really is terrific, Luke.I hope I won’t embarrass myself by attacking this food.”
    â€œPlease do.” He picked up his wineglass. “But first let’s toast.”
    â€œWhat are we toasting?”
    â€œI haven’t figured that out. My family is big into toasting, though, so it’s a habit with me.” His blue gaze warmed as he smiled at her. “I suppose a toast between the two of us could get complicated.”
    â€œIt could. Your toast might be something I can’t agree with.”
    â€œThen . . . here’s to success.”
    She chuckled. “That’s ambiguous enough, I guess. To success.” She touched her glass to his and drank. The wine was pleasantly dry, the perfect complement to a steak dinner. “Nice.”
    â€œGlad it