Page 11 of Heart of The Night

Earlier, I had insisted he should start so I could watch what he did wrong or right and apply it to my own swings. It hadn’t helped. He was far, far better than me.

He raised his putter with a slow, deliberate motion. Then, with a well-calibrated swing, he struck the ball with masterful precision. It jetted off the head of the club, mounting the hillock prop at the heart of the course, sailing over its two crests with smooth elegance. Making its way toward the hole, it skimmed the very lip of it, falling just shy of the revered hole-in-one.

‘Play fair, Will,’ I moaned and took a swig of the mojito.

He flashed me a grin, and it held no trace of mercy whatsoever. ‘I’m treating you like an equal. Isn’t that what you want?’

Witty prick. I pursed my lips.

He strode over to the ball, smirking. I narrowed my eyes at him. The insufferable bastard was too good at this – so good that I grew increasingly aroused. I had never doubted he was a capable man, but seeing him prove it in all areas of life made him painfully irresistible.

As he raised his putter again, an idea formed in my mind. Just as he was about to swing, I gasped, ‘Careful there!’

But he wasn’t fazed; the ball trailed straight into the hole.

He looked at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘Play fair, said the hypocrite. That was dirty.’

A mischievous smile curved my lips. ‘I thought you preferred me dirty,’ I said, my voice low and sultry.

His eyes flickered over my body, and like the wind breathing life into cinders, his gaze fanned the embers of my desire into delicious, raging flames only his touch could tame.

‘Oh, I definitely do,’ he said. Lifting his club, he let it rest over his shoulder as he closed the distance between us. He stopped a few inches away, his gaze fixed on my lips. We stood there for a moment, the tension between us crackling.

He broke the spell with a low murmur, ‘Your turn. But don’t worry, I won’t be playing dirty like you.’ His sensuous mouth twisted into a crooked smile, his body language radiating a superior air. ‘I’m not one for cheap tricks.’

Smiling, I stepped closer and stretched up on my toes, inviting him to kiss me. But just when he leaned down, I backed away, grinning. ‘Nothing I do comes cheap,’ I said, running my fingers across his chest.

‘Oh, I know exactly how you come.’ His low, rough voice sent a shiver of excitement down my spine. As the words washed over me, I grew soaking wet, craving the feel of his naked body pressed against mine, forceful and demanding. But I knew the power of the tease, so I turned toward the course despite how hard it was to resist him.

When I reached the starting point, I took a quick sip of my drink and placed it on a nearby table.

‘You may win this battle, Will,’ I said, facing him again. ‘But I’ll win the war.’ I gave him a cheeky smile.

‘Petite coquine,’ he muttered, in what sounded like perfect French.

I frowned at him, unsure if I had just been insulted. He had obviously chosen to say it in French for a reason; I wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘What does that mean?’ I asked defensively.

He grinned devilishly. ‘You’ll never know.’

‘Well, fuck you too.’

‘No, that would be va te faire voir,’ he said, still grinning.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Jason’s told me he did an exchange year in Paris growing up, so I assume the same applies to you… judging by your seemingly perfect accent.’

‘Yeah, during secondary school.’

‘Did you live with your grandparents, too?’ I asked, remembering Jason had done so. Their grandparents were French, having emigrated to England shortly before Daphné, William and Jason’s mother, was born. After retiring from their work at the restaurant in London, they had moved back to Paris.

William nodded. ‘I did. It was a wonderful experience. My grandparents showed me all the hidden gems of France. We travelled all over the country, from Bordeaux’s vineyards to Provence’s lavender fields.’

I pictured a young William, wide-eyed and eager, exploring the rich culture of France with his grandparents. The thought of him as a child, taking in the sights and sounds of a foreign country, was incredibly endearing.

‘That must have been amazing,’ I said.

‘It was. They’ve got a place in Cannes, too, and in Bretagne, so we used to spend summers there. Fond memories.’

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