Currently I should be finishing the bouquet James called in earlier that he’ll be picking up soon; instead, I’m busy with Very Important Work. (Sneaking in a chapter of the latest pirate romance I can’t put down.)
Coraline’s breasts were heaving above the tight bodice of her gown in a manner that drove Allistair mad with desire. Unable to keep himself away any longer, he snaked his arm around Coraline’s waist and pulled her tightly to him. “Coraline,” he whispered, his mouth only a breath above her own. “Please. I beg you. Allow me to—”
The bell above my shop door chimes, and I barely manage to not audibly groan from how annoyed I am at being interrupted right as Allistair was begging Coraline to let him…what? Kiss her? Make love to her? I need to know!
I look up, gasp, and throw my book over my shoulder, somewhere into the abyss of my storage room.
There is a man standing in my shop with a roguish smile and a sleeve of tattoos.
“Hi,” says Will Griffin looking far too amused. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” I answer too quickly.
He smiles curiously. “But you did just throw a book behind you, right?”
“No.” Again, too quick. I swallow and tell my skin to stop boiling. “But if I did—hypothetically speaking—it would be because I don’t want you to know what book I’m reading. So please don’t ask any more questions.”
His smile widens as he advances into the shop to stand right in front of my worktable. “I see. The illusive if-I-tell-you-I’ll-have-to-kill-you book. But you should know, it’s torture in and of itself not knowing what book it is.”
Gosh. Speaking of torture. It’s nearly unbearable to look right into Will’s eyes. It’s like staring at the sun. Too powerful for mere mortals.
I purposely change the subject. “What can I help you with, Will? Are you here for flowers or are you on bodyguard duty?”
“Executive protection agent.”
I frown and he sees my confusion.
“We prefer to be called executive protection agents. But currently I think I fall more under the title of errand boy.” He extends a small envelope across the table to me, and my brain momentarily blanks when my gaze connects with the black ink of his butterfly tattoo so close to me. Something about it feels illegal. Like it’s so sexy that this man’s hand should be on a list of Most Dangerous Males hidden in a top secret filing cabinet of the FBI.
“I have no idea what’s in it,” he admits when I finally take the letter from him—careful to make sure our hands don’t brush in the process because I have no desire to spontaneously combust right here in my flower shop. “Amelia just asked me to bring it to you and for you to open it while I’m here.”
“Seems kind of odd,” I say, and Will just shrugs his shoulders—white T-shirt straining against his muscles as he does.
His eyes wander from me to the buckets of flowers against the wall before he tucks his hands easily into the front pockets of his jeans, turning away to explore the shop. I realize this is the first time he’s ever been in here. When he was in town last, he always hovered outside whichever establishment Amelia was in, only entering if there was a large crowd. But this is Rome, and there is never more than one or two people in an establishment at a time.
Even though I’m curious why Amelia would send me a letter via her bodyguard, it takes me a minute to peel my eyes away from Will and the way he’s taking in every detail of my shop. He touches petals and stems. He looks up, exposing the long column of his throat to look at the thick crown molding around the top perimeter of the shop. Taps his foot against the wide plank floors. I could watch him do this all day.
Instead of being creepy, however, I force myself to crack open the seal of the envelope and read Amelia’s handwriting. After quickly scanning her words, I promptly fold the letter and consider putting it in my mouth and swallowing so it’s never seen again.
“What’s it say?” Will asks, having turned around and, apparently, watched me read it.
“Nothing.” My voice is suspiciously prim. I walk to the shop door and fling it open. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got lots of things to do today. Don’t let me keep you. Thanks for bringing this by!”
“I don’t think so.” He takes hold of its handle and slowly closes the door. He turns his eyes to me. “What was in that letter?”
I give him a nonchalant smile. “Oh, you know, nothing important. Girl stuff.”
He steps closer, and I take one instinctive step away. Not because I feel threatened, but because I feel…the opposite of threatened.
“I know that letter had something to do with me.”
I talk out of the side of my mouth like a ventriloquist. “Someone’s a bit of a narcissist.”
“Annie. Show me the letter.” Will’s tone is calculatingly easy and his smile is dripping with seduction. He’s baiting me.
I don’t know what comes over me, but before I can stop myself, the words, “You can’t make me,” fly out of my mouth.
His smile melts into something roguish and challenging. “Wanna bet?” He steps closer, and an excitement I’ve never known twirls through my veins.
There is absolutely no way I’m letting Will Griffin get ahold of this letter. What was Amelia thinking? It’s embarrassing! It’s a terrible idea! Which makes the letter Terribly Embarrassing.
Will steps closer—slowly—and with every step he takes, my skin sizzles happily. Which is confusing because this is not the time to think of happy sizzles.
I pinch the letter fiercely between my fingers using every muscle my poor little under-toned fingers will provide, and then tuck it behind my back. “This letter isn’t for you, sir.”
“But it’s about me, right?”
“No.” I hold my chin higher.
He grins. “You’re lying.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I’ve watched you. I know your tell.”
The floor swoops under my feet. “You’ve…watched me?”
He doesn’t look embarrassed or like he’s just admitted something creepy. He states it like a fact. “It’s my job to watch and listen to everyone Amelia interacts with. And that includes you. Which is how I know that when you’re not telling the whole truth, you always lift your chin slightly. Like you have to muster up the courage to tell a lie. It’s cute.”
Ugh, I wish he wouldn’t say “cute.” It’s disorienting. Compliments from him make me dizzy. Ah, but that’s his motive, isn’t it?! He’s like the snake in The Jungle Book, growing closer with swirly hypnotizing eyes.
“We both know I’m going to get that letter, Annie, so how about you hand it over and save us both some time.” His voice is so charming and playful that I could melt. And with him this close, I can smell him. A mix of body wash and deodorant—but not cologne. A subtle masculine and clean scent that’s so good it hurts.
“You’ll have to try to steal it from me if you want it. Because there’s no way I’m giving you this letter.”
He chuckles soft and low—like I’m adorable for even considering going against him. “I’m not trying to steal anything. I am succeeding in stealing it. Your first mistake was ever letting me get this close.”
“Oh? Then how is the letter still in my hand?”
“It’s not. You dropped it a minute ago.”
I gasp and break eye contact to verify that the paper is in fact still pinched between my fingers, and when I do, Will uses my momentary disorientation to lurch forward fast as lightning and slip the paper from my grasp.
“And that’s how you lie without a tell, Annie Walker,” he says with a gleeful smile. “Now let’s see what Amelia wrote about me in here, shall we?”
He barely gets his last word out before I launch myself at him, intent on ripping that paper from his hand, and then tearing it into a million little unreadable slivers. But I forget that I’m five foot three, and he’s at least six feet or more and easily holds the letter above his head to begin reading as I jump like a child trying to pluck an apple from a tree.
He clears his throat dramatically. “Dear Annie! Remember when I said I had a solution to your dating problems?”
“Give me that letter!”