He doesn’t answer straight away, and I wonder if he simply wants to stand in silence and enjoy the view, not my stupid questions. Can’t say I blame him—the view is much more appealing right now, given I’m an incoherent nervous wreck.
“I do. Molly and I visit quite a bit in summer and autumn. She likes the gardens and walking tracks.”
I look up at him. “Molly?”
Will doesn’t look down at me, his eyes still fixated on the view. “Yeah, one of my roommates.” I wait for him to explain further, but he doesn’t, instead taking my hand in his. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“For what?”
“Dinner.” He points to the restaurant atop a small slope behind us, floor-to-ceiling glass windows jutting out around the circular building. “They have the best Parma and chips.”
Excitement travels the length of my body as we walk hand in hand—which I don’t really mind, strangely enough—until I’m guided to a fancy, candlelit table with nothing but a sea of sparkling lights as far as the eye can see.
“Wow!” I pause and stare for a moment before Will pulls my seat out for me, a boyish grin on his face.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he prompts.
“Cool is an understatement. It’s spectacular.” I sit and clasp my hands in my lap. “Thank you so much for thinking to bring me here.”
He winks then sits opposite me, and before we can say a word to one another, a waiter is by our tableside, ready to order us drinks.
“Pot of Carlton Draught,” Will says.
“Ooh. Make that two.”
His eyebrows arch high. “You drink beer?”
“Of course.” I remove my coat and drape it over the back of my chair, the night air cooling my bare shoulders. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because I pegged you for one of those rosé types.”
“And I pegged you for one of those I-take-my-dates-to-McDonald’s types.”
Will leans back in his chair, a laugh rumbling from his chest. “Touché.”
I lean back too. “And he speaks French!”
“Oui.”
My mouth falls open, a smile forming on my face. “Do you really?”
He nods once. “Oui.”
“Je suis tellement surpris. Comment connais-tu le français?” I ask, eagerly asking how he knows the language.
His eyes crinkle just slightly, and I’m excited for his answer, when he casually says, “Oui.”
Thinking he may have misunderstood my question, I ask him when he learned to speak French instead. “Quand avez-vous appris?”
He steeples his hands together and rests his elbows on the table. “Oui.”
I narrow my eyes, suspecting he has no idea what I’m saying. “Oui?” I ask.
He nods again. “Oui.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I decide to have a little fun with him and ask if his penis is small, knowing his answer will, of course, be oui.
“Votre pénis est-il petit?”
“Oui.”
I crack up laughing. “You have no idea what you just said yes to, do you?”
He chokes out another “Oui.”
Giggling, I cover my face with my hand and peek through my spread fingers. “Well, for what it’s worth, I highly doubt it.”
“Doubt what?”
I lift my napkin from underneath my cutlery, flick it loose, lay it over my lap, then lean forward and lower my voice so only Will can hear me. “That your manhood is undesirably small.”
He blinks. “My manhood… undesirably small?”
“I shrug. Well, that is what you said.”
“Well, shit. I can’t have you thinking that, sweetheart.” He pushes his chair back and stands up, his hands on his belt buckle.
“Will!” I whisper-hiss, my eyes as wide as saucers. “What are you doing?”
“Setting the record straight.”
Quickly glancing around, my cheeks turn pink when I spot an older couple watching us. “Sit down! I believe you.”
“Not sure that’s gonna be good enough.”
“Will, please!”
He chuckles and lowers himself back down. “You honestly think I’d just flop it out here, in this restaurant?”
I lower my head to my hand, my heartrate decelerating. “I honestly don’t know what I think when it comes to you.”
He’s silent for a moment, so I look up.
“And that bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes, you’re… you’re unpredictable.”
He smiles, as if he’s figured me out. “You’re a bit of a control freak, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”
“No! I… I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”
Will presses his lips together, as if to say “hm, interesting.” And then he asks, “So you speak French?”
“Yes, but only the little bit I picked up when I backpacked Europe during my gap year.”
He moves his cutlery and napkin to his right in a messy pile so he can rest his elbows on the table. “You backpacked Europe?”
“Sure did”—I pick up my menu—“much to my mother’s reluctance.”
“She wasn’t on board?”
“No.”
He pushes his menu aside.
I stare at it then at him. “You’re not even going to look?”
“No. I know what I’m having.”
“The Parma and chips?”
“The one and only.”
I’m tempted to order the same, given he’s so convicted, but decide to open the leather-bound folder and see what else they have on offer, scrolling my finger down the choices and stopping when I land on the venison eye fillet with truffle mash and steamed greens. Oh my goodness! Yumm. My stomach grumbles, but the fifty-dollar price tag next to it prompts me to keep scrolling.
“So why wasn’t your mum on board with you backpacking?” he probes.
“She didn’t want her eldest daughter roaming Europe on her own.”
“You backpacked on your own?”
“Uh huh. I do a lot of things on my own.”
A devious glint lights his eyes. “Like what… self-care?”
My mouth falls open like a fish, so I close it and keep scrolling. “I don’t know,” I say, my tone deliberately disinterested. “Like sleeping and bathing, going to the toilet, that sort of thing.”
Thankfully, our waiter returns, places two beers on the table, and says, “Are you ready to order?”
I nod but don’t look at Will. “I’ll have the crispy skinned salmon, thanks.”
“I’ll have the Parma and chips.” Will hands the waiter our menus. “And she’ll have the venison, not the salmon.”
“What?” I shake my head, my laugh uneasy. “No, I’ll have the salmon.”
He ignores me. “She wants the venison.”
“I’m sorry, but how do you know what I want?”
“Because your eyes lit up when your finger stopped on it, sweetheart.”
The waiter takes a step backward and smiles. “I’ll come back in a min—”
“No. The lady will have the venison, and I’ll have the Parma.”
“Will!” I shriek.
“Elizabeth!” he shrieks back.
I almost laugh but grit my teeth instead, frustrated with the gall of him when he reaches across the table and places his hand over mine, his squeeze ever so gentle, his eyes ever so sincere.
“Order whatever you want, your choice, my treat. But be honest… you want the venison, don’t you?”
I sigh. “I’m more than happy with the salm—”
He looks at the waiter one final time. “A venison and Parma, thanks. End of story.”
The waiter gingerly nods then flees toward the kitchen.
“Oh my God!” I try to retract my hand. “Are you happy now?”
He holds it firm. “Are you?”
“I was happy with the salmon.”
“But you’re happier with the venison.” Will smiles, all teeth and sparkly eyes.
/> I try to retract my hand again, but again, he holds it firm. “Stop it,” I say, laughing. “And you can’t just say ‘end of story’ like that. It’s rude.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
His smile grows bigger. “You have the cutest nose.”
“What?” Unable to help myself, I wiggle it. “Can I have my hand back now?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you mad at me?” He grazes my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, the small gesture sending a rush of emotion through my body. “Don’t be mad at me. I just want to give you what you want.”
My throat thickens at his sweetness, so I pry my hand loose and reach for my beer, eyeing him over the rim of the glass as I take a sip. “Why? Why do you want to give me what I want?”
“Because it’ll make you feel good.”
“And how do you know that?” I place the glass back down and swallow my mouthful.
Will leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, his grey shirt pulling taut, sleeves down, top button undone. “Because it’ll make me feel good too.”
“I’m not sleeping with you, Will,” I reaffirm, my lips lifting as I tip my glass to him.
The waiter approaches the table once again, hands behind his back, face contorted. It’s almost as if he’s about to break the news of a loved one passing. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but the chef informs me that we’ve run out of venison. He offers his sincerest apologies.”
I burst into laughter. “Salmon it is then.”
Will just huffs.
After a delicious dinner and dessert—a chocolate fondant I thought we could’ve shared but was politely told, “Who the hell shares dessert?”—we huddled in his truck, watched the dancing lights below, and listened to music before heading home.
“So how long have you been playing the drums?” I ask.
Will taps out a beat on the steering wheel while waiting for the traffic light to turn green. “Since I was four.”
“Four!”
“Yeah. Santa got me a drum kit, and I’ve never looked back.”
“You’re very good.”
“I know!” He flicks his eyebrows, and the car accelerates.
I scoff. “You’ve also got a big head.”
“Nothin’ wrong with a big head, sweetheart.”
Probably for the billionth time, I playfully roll my eyes at his inappropriate comment. “So what’s this song?”
He glances my way. “You’ve never heard it?”
“No. But I like it. It’s different.”
“It’s ‘Knights of Cydonia’ by Muse. Great fucking song. One of my favourites to play at gigs. Derek nails the vocals.”
His excitement and passion make me smile. “Carly’s mentioned one or two times that he’s good.”
“Yeah, and he knows it.”
“So how often do you guys play?”
“Once a month at Opals and whenever or wherever we want—Bryce has contacts.”
I glance out the window, rain now streaking the glass. “I bet he does.”
“Perks of being a billionaire.”
“Must be weird being friends with someone like him.”
“Yes and no. Sometimes it’s no different than being friends with someone like you or Carly. Other times, it’s fucking unreal. Like whenever I need to stay in town, I’ve got a room at City Towers. No questions asked.”
I look his way again. “Wow! That’s pretty generous of Bryce.”
“He’s a good bloke.” Will’s misty eyes meet mine. “Been through a lot though; shit ain’t been easy. Deserves everything he’s achieved.”
I rest my hands in my lap. “Carly speaks very highly of him too.”
Will chuckles and focuses on the road again. “It’s the smirk.”
“The smirk?”
“Yeah, the man does this thing with his face that makes all the women drop their panties.”
I laugh. “Sounds… interesting.”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“How?”
“We have a gig soon, and you’re coming.”
“I’m coming?”
He glances my way, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not how I wanted to hear you say that for the first time, but I’ll take it.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I bite back my smile and shake my head as I exhale. “Very funny.”
“Sweetheart”—his voice deepens—“when I make you come for the first time, it’ll be far from funny.”
I legitimately squirm, the muscles between my legs pulling tight. “Okay,” I choke out, “let’s change the subject.” I swallow. “So, your band… none of you play for a living?”
He chuckles. “No. Never have. Bryce is made of money. Derek’s got some coin too, and not to mention is high up in the MFB. Matt’s in the army. And I’m expanding my business. Live Trep is just time with the boys.”
“Live Trep? Is that the name of your band?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Isn’t that woman from Opals in the band too?”
“You mean Lucy?”
“I think so. The one that looks like Belle.”
His eyebrows draw together. “Whose Belle?”
“From Beauty and the Beast.”
When his baffled expression doesn’t change, I offer a different explanation. “The one who likes the Slippery Nipple shots.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s Lucy. She’s one of the boys. Likes chicks not dicks.”
My jaw drops. “Will!”
“What?” He full-on belly laughs. “Man, you offend easily.”
I cross my arms. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do.”
The song changes, and I recognise the new one instantly so lean forward and turn it up, ending our discussion.
“You like The Police?”
I nod. “Sure. ‘Every Breath You Take’ was my parents’ wedding song.”
Will’s eyes stretch, like really stretch, but he doesn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He doesn’t look my way.
I point at him. “That wonky smile of yours is not nothing.”
He finally glances at me, his expression remorseful. “‘Every Breath You Take’ is a fucked-up choice for a wedding song.”
“What? No, it’s not. It’s a love song.” I press my hand to my heart. “Every breath you take… that’s so romantic.”
“Yeah, if you’re a stalker.”
“What?”
“It’s a stalker song, Elizabeth.”
Covering my mouth with my hand, I mumble, “Nooo. Really?”
“Afraid so. Sting wrote it about his ex-wife at the time.”
“Shit! That’s not good.” I try not to laugh. “Every time my parents hear that song, they sing it to each other so lovingly.”
He glances my way again and shrugs. “Songs can be interpreted in different ways. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
I nod. “Good. But whatever you do, don’t tell my parents. It’ll crush them.”
He winks. “I won’t… when I meet them.”
Will focuses on the road again, and it takes me a second or so to realise what I just said. Crap!
“So when will that be?” he asks.
“When will what be?”
“When do I get to meet your parents?”
I laugh, which comes out more like the noise Sasha’s squeaky dog toy makes. “Who said you’re going to meet my parents?”
“You just did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I did not.”
He gives me the ‘end of story’ look. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Sucking on my tooth, a smile creeps onto my face when I realise I kinda like his cockiness. He’s confident in an endearing way, and that speaks a lot about a person.
Deciding not to argue, I concede. “Tonight was nice
, Will,” I say, sincerely. “I haven’t been out like this in a long time, so thank you.”
“My pleasure. Next time will be even nicer.”
Closing my eyes for the smallest of seconds, the screech of windscreen wipers scraping the windscreen even louder than before, I rest my head on the headrest. “Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”
“There’ll be a next time. I nearly died for you. The least you can do is give me two dates.”
I pry an eye open. “You did not nearly die.”
He runs his hand through his hair and flips some of it to the side, revealing a small shaved area with stitches. “I have a battle scar.”
I sit up straight and reach out, barely grazing my fingertip over it. “Ouch! That does look sore.”
“It’s very sore. I’m in agony.”
“You are not.”
I go to retract my hand, but he catches it and brings it to his mouth, his soft lips pressing to my knuckles. Warmth shoots across my body and pools at my chest, the air thick and all of a sudden hard to breathe.
“Will you give me a second date?” he asks.
Not wanting to but knowing I should, I tug my hand free of his grip, and say, “We’ll see.”
He grins, turns the car onto my street, and parks by the curb before cutting the engine. As I’m about to pull on the door handle to get out, he dips his head and looks through the windscreen toward the house.
“All the lights are off.”
“Yeah, Carly’s out with Alexis.”
“It’s dark. I’ll walk you to your door.”
He gets out, jogs to my side of the car, and holds his jacket over my head, sheltering me from the rain as we hurry up the steps to my front door.
Laughing, I turn to face him as I step out from underneath the jacket, droplets of water streaking down the sides of his cheeks and nose. Our eyes meet before his fall to my lips.
My breath hitches, and I stare at his too before taking a step back. “I’m not sleeping with you, Will.”
He steps closer, moonlight illuminating the humour in his eyes as he slides his arm behind my back and pulls me to him. “I know. But I am going to kiss you, Elizabeth. So if you don’t want this, stop me now. Because once my lips meet yours, there’s no going back.”
Tilting my chin up, he dips his head, slow enough for me to stop what he’s about to do, but I don’t. Because I want this kiss.
I deserve it.
Connection (Temptation Series Standalones Book 2) Page 11
