Page 37 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
He laughs. “And now the woman who gives extemporaneous speeches to thousands of people is speechless. I love it. You’re really good for my ego, you know that?”
I say drily, “As far as I can tell, your ego is doing just fine on its own, Mr. Maxwell.”
He takes my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I canceled all those reservations, Ms. Price?”
“Let me guess. You didn’t want an audience in case I decided to slap you again?”
He shakes his head. “No. Because I didn’t want any distractions while I was getting to know you better, like I told you I wanted to.”
The heat in his gaze makes me want to squirm in my seat. “We could have just ordered in if you were interested in my scintillating conversation.”
“But then I wouldn’t have been able to cook for you.”
My brows shoot up. “Cook for me? Are you being literal? You’re actually going to make our meal?”
He pretends to be offended. “What makes you think I can’t cook?”
I almost say Because you didn’t even know how to boil water when we were together, but catch myself in time. I smile sweetly at him and extricate my hand from his. “Oh, nothing. I’m sure the can of SpaghettiOs will be delicious.”
He chuckles. A valet opens my door and helps me from the car. He also politely averts his gaze from my crotch area, which I try to cover with my handbag, which is approximately the size of a postcard, and therefore pretty useless at crotch-covering. But then Parker is beside me, leading me into the restaurant with his hand on the small of my back, and I forget all about my overexposed hoo-ha because I’m too busy gaping in shock.
“Well,” I say after a moment. “Your florist must really be happy to know you.”
The entire restaurant is filled with bouquets of white roses. Dozens and dozens spray from vases placed on every table, the hostess stand, the bar—every flat surface available. White rose petals are also scattered all over the carpet, a fine drizzle, like the floor has been dusted with snow. The only light comes from the hundreds of candles flickering on tabletops and in niches on the walls.
It’s over-the-top romantic.
It’s not at all what I was expecting.
The son of a bitch has really outdone himself.
He moves slowly around me, watching my face. He murmurs, “Totally worth it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re quite the handful, aren’t you?”
Smiling, he moves closer. “Are we talking about my churro again? You’re really obsessed with it, aren’t you, Ms. Price?”
“Not as obsessed as you are with my legs, Mr. Maxwell. I thought we were going to be involved in a traffic accident on the way over.”
He’s standing so close I feel the heat of his body.
“It’s actually not your legs I’m obsessed with.”
“No?”
“No. It’s your skin. Your skin is so beautiful, it makes me want to cry.”
“Oh dear God. I know that’s from a song. C’mon, you’ve got to have better material than that. I thought you were supposed to be this big playboy womanizer, and you hit me up with that? For shame.”
His smile is amused. “You’re inconveniently intelligent, Ms. Price.”
I lift my chin and saunter past him, headed for the bar. “You’d better up your game, hotshot, or I’ll send you back to your beauty school bimbos from the Muscular Dystrophy Association’s party. Now make me a drink.”
I try not to smile at the sound of his laughter, which I like far too much.
I take a seat at the long, polished oak bar. Parker strolls around to the other side. Without a word, he takes a bottle of Grey Goose from one of the shelves on the wall behind the bar, scoops ice into a stainless steel mixer, pours some vodka into the mixer, puts the cap on, and shakes the hell out of it. He then takes a bottle of vermouth and a martini glass, swirls the vermouth in the glass, and then dumps it out into the sink, adds the chilled vodka, and presents it to me.
“Oh,” he says, holding up a finger. “Wait.” He retrieves a bottle from a refrigerator under the counter, opens it, spears three olives with a wooden cocktail skewer, and sets the garnish in my drink. Then he pours some of the juice in and stirs it with the skewer.
