Her Favorite Temptation (3 page)

His chest was a masterpiece of lean, muscled perfection, his pecs nicely defined and covered with a neat sprinkling of hair that narrowed to a sexy, enticing little trail as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his well-worn jeans. His belly was flat and hard, the lower left quadrant boasting a stylized treble clef tattoo in various shades of gray-and-black ink. She was pretty sure she’d never seen anything sexier in her entire life. She blinked dazedly, watching as he handed over money to the delivery guy. Abruptly it hit her that they must have been talking the whole time she’d been lost in space, struck dumb by a split-second glimpse of a half-naked man.

She lifted her hand to check, and sure enough, her mouth was slightly agape.

Okay. Time to back the hell up.

“I’ll, um, leave you guys to it, then,” she said very belatedly.

Then she ducked into her apartment and shut the door.

“Oh, boy,” she breathed, closing her eyes and leaning against the door like the very worst of romantic-movie clichés.

Behind her eyelids, she saw it all over again—those shoulders, that chest, that belly...

She’d never been that close to such a sexy guy before. Certainly none of the men she’d slept with had been built like that. Nick had been lean and skinny, Jonathan a little fleshy around the middle, while Tom had sat somewhere in between. None of them had had hard bellies or defined pec muscles or sexy tattoos.

You need to get out more.

She did. She totally did. She needed to find the place where they produced men like Will and set up camp outside the entrance.

She pushed herself away from the door and gave a small, slightly guilty laugh before fanning herself.

Well, that had made her night, for sure.

The loud knock on her door almost made her jump out of her skin. Without thinking, she opened it.

Will stood there, a pizza box in hand. “Hey. Sorry about the mix-up.”

“Not a problem.” It took some serious discipline, but she somehow managed to keep her eyes on his face.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Dinner?” The single word came out on a squeak. Surely he wasn’t asking her to—

“I stuffed up my order. Thought I was getting the special supreme pizza, but apparently I got their special deal, two large pizzas. Even I can’t eat that much, so it’s all yours if you’re up for it.”

He offered her the box.

Right. Not dinner with him, dinner on her own. Courtesy of an unwanted extra pizza.

“Oh. Um, I already have something cooking,” she said.

Right on cue, the ping of the microwave echoed from the kitchen. He grinned.

“Better than pizza?” He cocked an eyebrow roguishly.

Of their own accord, her hands reached for the box. As if she’d say no to anything this beautiful man offered her.

“You’re right. Pizza is much better than what I had planned. Thank you.”

“Thank
you.
It’s reassuring to know the pizza is going to a good home. I would have felt bad abandoning it.”

“Right. Leaving it on someone’s doorstep with a note.
Please look after this pizza.
”

He pointed a finger at her. “A fellow Paddington Bear fan.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He was so gorgeous, she could have stared at him all night, but she’d probably used up her ogling quota for the evening. And then some.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure, Leah.”

He gave her one last smile before turning away. She shut the door, glancing at the pizza box.

Well, it was better than nothing. Technically, she could even testify in a court of law that he’d bought her dinner.

She walked into the kitchen. The delicious smell of onion, peppers and cheese floated to her and she actually smacked her lips in anticipation. All she needed was a nice glass of red wine, and she would be enjoying the best evening she’d had in a long time.

Sad, but true.

She uncorked a bottle of Shiraz and poured herself a glass. She was about to take a sip when it occurred to her that Will might like some to go with his pizza, too.

Come on.
Surely you can do better than that?

Okay, on one hand, it was a flimsy excuse to talk to him again. On the other, it was simply an act of generosity between neighbors. Reciprocation, in fact, for his act of generosity toward her.

In effect, she’d be paying a debt.

She took a big swallow of wine, then poured a second glass before she could chicken out. Taking a deep breath, she exited her apartment and knocked on his door.

The moment he answered, she launched into speech.

“Hi. It occurred to me that you might like some wine with your pizza. And I just opened a new bottle, and there’s no way I’m going to drink it all on my own, so if you’d like some, you’re more than welcome....”

Through a sheer act of will, she bit down on the rest of what she’d been going to say, offering him the glass.

“Hey, thanks. I was just thinking I should have ordered Coke, too. Wine is much more civilized.”

He took the glass, his fingers brushing hers.

“Just knock on the wall or give me a shout from the balcony if you want a refill,” she said, backing away. “You know where to find me.”

“Or you could eat your pizza with me. Bring the bottle with you,” Will said.

She opened her mouth to respond, but she was so surprised nothing came out. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“Okay,” she said.

“Great. You need a hand grabbing your stuff?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

His mouth twitched at the corners and she knew he was doing his best not to laugh at her. And why not, since she was behaving like a woman who’d never had pizza and conversation with a man before.

She swiveled and ducked into her apartment, rolling her eyes at herself.

At least try to act like a woman with an IQ of 140 who has had recreational sex with a man before.
For your pride’s sake.

She tucked the bottle under her arm, then collected her glass and the pizza box. She was about to leave the kitchen when she remembered to snag her keys, too. Locking herself out of her own apartment would not be a good look.

Will waited for her at his door, and he stood to one side and waved for her to enter his place first. It was a mirror image of hers, so she knew to continue down the hallway until she arrived in the living space.

The TV was on, the sound turned down, and the other pizza box was resting on the coffee table, a half-eaten slice on the closed lid.

“Grab a seat. You want some water, as well?” Will asked.

“Sure. That would be good, thanks,” she said.

He disappeared into the kitchen and she took a seat on the sofa. The room was decorated in corporate bland—lots of neutrals, swirly-nothing paintings on the walls, everything nice but not too nice. His guitar leaned against the wall in the corner, while a stack of paperwork occupied on a side table, and a sweater was draped over the back of the armchair that was positioned at right angles to the couch.

“Here we go. The finest tap water that money can’t buy,” Will said.

She accepted the glass he offered her and set it next to her wine. “Thanks.”

He sat at the opposite end of the couch and leaned forward to pick up his pizza slice.She helped herself to a slice, trying to think of something to say.

“Hope you’re not finding it too noisy here at night. The traffic outside takes a bit of getting used to,” she said.

Not exactly sparkling conversation, but it was a start.

“I haven’t really noticed, but I can sleep anywhere. Plane, train, bus. I’ve yet to find the location that can defeat my excellent sleeping skills.”

“I know people who would kill to be able to sleep like that.”

“It’s a gift, what can I say?” The glint in his eye told her his tongue was very firmly in his cheek.

She racked her brain for another conversational gambit. If he was a colleague, they could talk about work. Funding cuts or overcrowding or a good outcome for a patient. But Will wasn’t a colleague, he was a musician. And she’d seen his bare chest and belly less than ten minutes ago.

“I take it you put up with the noise because it means you’re close to work?” Will asked.

She nodded while chewing madly so she could swallow the bite she’d just taken. “Yes. I’m lazy. Plus the hours can be crazy sometimes and I figure the less time I spend traveling, the better.”

Her gaze got caught on his forearms as he harvested a piece of olive off the pizza and popped it into his mouth. He had great forearms. Faintly tanned, deliciously muscled, the hairs golden-brown. She’d never considered herself an arm person before, but being with Will was exposing her to a whole new world of appreciation for the male form.

“So did you always want to be a doctor?”

She dragged her gaze to his face. “Pretty much. My parents are both G.P.’s, so medicine has always been on my radar.”

“But you’re a surgeon, not a G.P. How did that go down?”

“If my mother could hire a marching band and the guys who do the fireworks on Sydney Harbour every New Year’s Eve, she would. Me being a cardiothoracic surgeon is her idea of heaven.” She could hear the dry, almost bitter edge to her words, and wasn’t surprised when Will threw her an assessing look.

The urge to offer it all up to him—tonight’s confrontation with her mother, her recent decision to change her specialty, the troubled, dysfunctional favoritism at the heart of her family—was so overwhelming it almost felt as though there was a bubble of words pushing its way up her throat. But she couldn’t lay out her life’s concerns at his feet at the drop of a hat. She barely knew him. And he’d invited her over for a quick meal, not counseling.

She forced a smile. “You know what? My career is duller than dishwater. Tell me about your music.”

He grabbed a serviette and wiped his hands. “There’s not much to tell. I started playing guitar when I was a kid, wrote my first song at fourteen and haven’t looked back.”

“So do you have plans for world domination? Selling out stadiums, that kind of thing?”

He smiled slightly. “Every muso dreams of that kind of success. But I’d settle for people listening to my music. Enough people, anyway.”

She reached for her wineglass and took a big swallow. She was officially out of small talk. Will grabbed another slice as she set down her glass, the thunk of glass meeting wood overly loud in the silence.

God, why was she so hopeless at this stuff? How was it possible for a woman to get to nearly thirty and be almost incapable of holding a casual, friendly conversation with a man for more than five minutes? She was so socially challenged it wasn’t funny. It didn’t help that she was painfully aware of him as a man, either. About as aware as was possible for a woman to be, really.

“Pizza okay?” Will asked.

“Yes. Thanks.”

Even her usual verbal diarrhea seemed to have deserted her. She glanced at Will out of the corner of her eyes, trying to gauge how much he regretted inviting her to share his dinner. His expression was unreadable as he polished off his second slice.

It was possible, of course, that he was one of those Zen, centered people who was totally comfortable with silence. It was also possible that he had an awesome poker face and was looking forward to the moment when she returned to her apartment.

The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched some more. Her stomach tied itself in knots as she tried and failed to come up with something chatty to say. She took another big gulp of wine. Considered reaching for more pizza. But she couldn’t stand it—her own awkwardness, the tense silence, the sheer discomfort of the situation. Her body felt as taut as a bowstring.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shooting to her feet. “This is really awkward, and even though I’d like to blame it on the fact that I’ve had a pretty shitty day, the truth is that I’m hopeless at this sort of thing. Always have been, probably always will be. Anyway. I’ll put you out of your misery and go home. Thanks for the pizza. It was heaps better than frozen honey-mustard chicken.”

At least she’d resolved one issue—the verbal incontinence was back. She collected her wineglass, ready to beat an ignominious retreat.

“Why was your day shitty?” Will asked.

She froze. He watched her, an interested, amused light in his eyes.

“Seriously?” she said. Because she couldn’t believe that he truly wanted to prolong the awkwardness.

“Sure. Tell me about your shitty day and I’ll tell you about mine.”

“You had a shitty day?”

“Yep. So I’m really hoping you’ll share the rest of your bottle of wine with me.”

He seemed genuine. And she definitely had room for more food. On the other hand, she really didn’t think she could stand more awkwardness. Having a klieg light shone on her inadequacies was a tad too painful tonight.

She bit her lip. Then she sank onto the couch.

“Good decision.” Will grabbed the bottle and topped up their glasses. “Now spill. Share your pain with me.”

She thought about what she should say. Then shrugged. What the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I quit my job a few weeks ago, and this is actually my last week as a surgeon. I’ve finally worked out that I want to specialize in clinical immunology, and my parents are having conniptions....”

Out it all came: her parents’ reaction when she broke the news; the phone calls since; her mother lying in wait for her in the car park.

“Okay, your shitty day officially trumps my shitty day,” Will said when she’d finished.

“Why was your day so bad?”

“I was expecting something in the mail and it didn’t arrive. And I got a ticket for jaywalking when I went out at lunchtime.”

Her mouth curled into a smile, all on its own. Utterly irrepressible. “That’s all you got?”

“And I messed up my pizza order.”

She laughed. “You’re right, my day was definitely worse than yours. Although I can’t believe you got booked for jaywalking. Who does that?”

“Some wet-behind-the-ears officer, fresh out of the academy,” Will said.