Page 33 of The Charmer's Gambit
The last time I tried to stand up to him had not ended well. My sprained ankle had nothing on that experience. I rubbed my healed ribs as the memory assaulted me.No. Never again. Shoving it away, I pushed off the couch and grabbed the ice pack. The scents wafting in from the hallway were far more appealing than the recesses of my mind. I hobbled toward what I assumed to be the kitchen and found myself staring at a wall of windows overlooking the wooden deck outside. Mountains littered with trees sprawled beyond it, causing me to pause. I was a city girl at heart, but I couldn’t deny the tranquility in this view.
“Wow,” I breathed.
A chuckle had me glancing left to find Will leaning against a marble counter, arms crossed. He glanced at his watch and tsked. “Fourteen minutes of rest is not going to help your ankle.”
“That was only fourteen minutes?” Shit. It felt like closer to an hour. I did not do idle well.
“Thirteen and some change, to be precise.” He pushed away from the mahogany cabinets and crooked a finger at me. “You can sit at the table while I finish dinner.”
“I’d rather sit outside,” I admitted, surprising myself. Bugs and nature were not my thing, but the lounge chair on his deck appealed to me, as did the small pool beyond it. I didn’t wait for him to agree, just ambled over to a set of glass doors and slipped outside with the ice still in my hand.
“Oh yeah,” I murmured as I folded myself into the cushioned chaise outside. I placed the ice on my ankle and sighed in contentment, only to jolt upright when warm fingers wrapped around my calf. “What are . . . ?” He lifted it with ease and settled a pillow he’d procured from God knew where beneath myheel. The reproach in his gaze did not go unnoticed, but he said nothing as he returned to the house.
Our dynamic seemed to be shifting to a new phase that combined flirtation, professionalism, and somethingother. He wasn’t admitting his attraction, but he wasn’t necessarily hiding it either. Instead, he left it out there like an open door inviting me to enter at my own risk. I sensed myself faltering just outside, lingering and waiting for the inevitable desire to run in the opposite direction, but it never came. On the contrary, the only pull I felt was the one drawing me closer, enticing me to take a chance and see what Will had to offer. Which was ludicrous because I knew what to expect—fantastic sex, followed by awkwardness as we continued to work together on the merger.
Or maybe the sexual affair could last for the duration of the project . . .
My hormones piqued at the thought. Pleasure without remorse, and since it would happen away from Chicago, Ryan would never know.
“Do you want to eat out there?” Will called from inside the house. He’d left the door open, something I noticed was also the case upstairs on the balcony. The air in the mountains was cooler than I expected for North Carolina but was still warm enough to warrant the abundance of fans decorating each room of his home. There were also a few built into the ceiling covering his deck, including the one directly over my head.
“I definitely want to stay outside,” I replied. Eyeing the glistening water a few yards away made me regret not packing a swimsuit. Stones decorated the edges, giving it a lagoon-style appeal that seemed to invite sunbathing. I would float in the center with a book and a margarita and wish to never leave.
“Bon appétit,” Will murmured as he sauntered outside with a tray.
I eyed the offerings with trepidation, but I needn’t have worried. “Stir-fry. Nice.” I accepted the food with a grin. “Thank you.” He even gave me chopsticks and paired it with a glass of wine. This was much better than a motel down the street.
He joined me a minute later with his own tray and kicked back in the opposite chaise under his own fan. We ate in companionable silence, my foot resting on the pillow and my stomach rolling in contentment.
“You know, I think this is the first Mershano white I’ve tried.” I savored the fruity notes on my tongue and licked my lips. “Which one is this?”
“It’s a Pinot Grigio with apple notes from one of the South Carolina vineyards.” He deftly plucked a piece of chicken from his plate and popped it into his mouth—such a subtle thing that he somehow managed to sexualize. Or maybe that was just my hormones talking.
I focused on my plate and enjoyed the sautéed zucchini. “So you can cook,” I finally conceded after several more delicious bites. “Like, you canreallycook.” Because this meal was restaurant quality, maybe even better.
“I considered opening a wine bar and restaurant about a decade ago but decided preparing food for customers wasn’t really my passion. I much prefer dividing my time between the vineyards and business tasks. But I still enjoy cooking for myself.”
At first, I thought he was joking. But nothing about his expression or tone suggested humor, just fact. “Well, my stomach thanks you for the experience.”
He raised his glass in a mock salute. “Cheers.”
I lifted mine in response and took another savory sip. “I’m almost glad I lost earlier, Mershano. Not so much about the ankle, but I could get used to living like this for a week.”
An emotion teased the edge of his lips, but it disappeared too quickly for me to catch. He stood a few minutes later and glanced at my tray. “Done?”
“Yeah, but I can—”
“Your only job right now is to rest that ankle,” he stated, effectively cutting my offer to help clean the dishes.
“Bossy,” I accused with a roll of my eyes.
“You have no idea.” Wickedness touched his gaze as he tugged the tray away from me. “I’d tell you to stay put, but we both know how you’ll respond to that.”
I grinned. “You’re learning.”
“Oh, we’re just gettin’ started, darlin’,” he drawled. “I’ll be back in a minute to take you to bed.”
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