All right, Will definitely wasn’t oblivious. But Harper stopped caring as her pulse raced and she couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t do anything but wish they were somewhere private so that he could strip her clothes off and make love to her. And she could make love to him, too.
“Cal, isn’t that the mayor I see over there?” Monette’s voice grated Harper right out of the spell Will had cast over her. “Didn’t you say you wanted to speak with him?”
Over Monette’s head, Cal raised a brow at Will, before saying, “Of course. It was lovely to meet you, Harper.” He let himself be led away.
“Franconi, it’s good to see you.”
Another tall, well-dressed man, with an older woman wearing fuchsia taffeta, slid so quickly into the vacated spot that Harper didn’t have a chance to ask Will about Monette. Which was a good thing. Because she shouldn’t ask about Monette. It wasn’t her business whom he’d been with before they started spending time together, and the very mention could come across as jealousy.
Except that when one conversation ended and another began as yet a different society couple poured into the empty space, she couldn’t help but consider what Monette had been to him. Had he called the other woman sweetheart? Had he looked smitten as he’d introduced Monette to all of these people at similar events? Had he invited her to meet the other Mavericks?
Or was there any possibility that Harper was the only one he was always touching—her back, the nape of her neck, her cheek, her hair?
And was there any chance at all that Harper was the only one he’d taken for those fast and wild rides?
When the bell rang signaling the end of the intermission, Will finally led her back to their box, pulling her close as soon as the door sealed them in. “If I’d known it was going to be like that, I’d have brought the champagne in here and kept the door locked.” He nuzzled her hair. “Sorry about Monette. She can be catty.”
Harper couldn’t think while he was touching her. Which meant she also couldn’t remember to hold back the words, “You used to date her?”
“A couple of times.” He shrugged. “She likes men with money.”
Harper had enough experience with fortune hunters after Jeremy’s trust to understand. But even though she still couldn’t quite shake the jealous vision of Will sleeping with a woman like Monette, she needed him to know something. “She was a fool.”
He turned to her with a surprised look that she was able to catch just as the lights went down. But when he kissed her—a kiss that was not only full of passion, but something more, something that seemed even bigger than desire—she didn’t need to see his face to know how much he’d liked hearing those words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Their limousine could have seated ten. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket on the center console, and a pot of Will’s special caviar teased her senses as the limo maneuvered through the San Francisco streets, heading to Will’s penthouse flat. The flutes were filled with raspberries, already half drenched in champagne.
This was the opulence she’d expected from him that first night—an exclusive restaurant, a private box at the show, a stretch limo. And yet, while it was still more than a little overwhelming, it didn’t scare her away the way it would have back then. Because she knew Will. Knew the man behind the money and the power. Knew how kind he could be, how sweet. Sexy, too, but that had been obvious from the outset with nothing more than one look.
He filled the glass and handed it to her before doing the same with his, then tapped his glass to hers in a ting! of crystal. Flush against him on the seat, his exquisitely male scent went to her head like the champagne bubbles.
“Did you like the show?”
“It was wonderful. Thank you so much for taking me.” The plot was a little fuzzy, though, since she’d been so taken over by him that she couldn’t remember much of it. But what she did remember—all of his incredible kisses, the way he’d teased her with barely-there caresses—made her tingle all over.
“It was my pleasure. Being with you always is.” He tipped the stem of her glass, and murmured, “Drink.”
It was ambrosia, with a hint of almonds and the sweetness of the fruit at the bottom.
“Now try a caviar chaser.” He unscrewed the lid of the caviar and dipped his finger into the pot.
No spoon, no cracker. Just him. His lids half-closed, he fixated on her lips as they parted, and she took his finger into her mouth.
He was a burst of flavor—the rich, buttery taste of the caviar and the saltiness of his skin. An ache blossoming deep in her core, she licked him clean, every last morsel. The sensory overload was already close to sending her over the edge, but when he trailed a kiss along the low neck of her dress, over the swell of her breast, she was sure she would die of wanting him.
Slowly, he pulled away, raining more kisses over her skin before saying, “Your turn.”