Her Favorite Temptation (4 page)

“He’s going to make himself popular with the public.”

“Exactly what I told him. But perhaps not using those exact words.”

“Here’s a deal for you—you handle my mum for me, and I’ll pay your jaywalking fine.”

“No way. Your mum sounds scary.”

“She is.” Leah’s smile faltered.

“That was a joke, by the way, not a genuine comment on your mother,” Will said quickly.

“I know. It just hit me that I
am
actually scared of her. Pretty sad, huh?” She felt exposed the moment the words were out of her mouth.
Oversharing
,
Mathews.
Ever heard of the concept?

Will settled into the corner of the couch, his expression thoughtful. “I think it’s pretty sad for her, definitely. If I ever have kids, I’d hate to think they’d be scared of me.”

“I don’t think she does it on purpose. I think she has incredibly high standards and she wants the world to measure up to them.”

“She must live in a state of perpetual disappointment, then.”

“It’s definitely a case of please-me-or-else, that’s for sure.” Guilt bit at her the moment the words were out of her mouth. She loved her parents and it felt...disloyal to discuss her mother’s faults with someone she’d just met.

“Relax. I can almost guarantee the room is not bugged, and my lips are sealed.”

She stared at him, a little thrown by how easily he’d read her.

“You have a very expressive face.” He shrugged apologetically.

“This is the problem with being a good girl all your life,” she said helplessly. “Guilt, an overactive worry gland and a face that can apparently be read like a book.”

He tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes a little as he considered her.

“What?” she felt compelled to ask.

“I’m thinking you’re not
that
much of a good girl. I’m betting you know how to be bad when you need to be.”

It was such an outrageously flirtatious thing to say, for a moment she could only gape at him. Then she laughed, letting her head fall back, one hand pressing against her chest in a vain attempt to contain her mirth. Will grinned, clearly enjoying watching her.

“That’s definitely a bad-girl laugh,” he said.

She dismissed his comment with a self-conscious wave of her hand.

“Take it from someone who’s met more than his fair share of bad girls,” he said. “There’s one inside you, waiting to get out.”

She could feel the heat radiating from her body, and she was almost certain it was because Will was flirting with her and not because there was a problem with the central heating.

“Wow. You are good at that,” she said without thinking.

“Good at what?”

“Being charming.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Well, that’s put me in my place.”

She frowned. She hadn’t meant to insult or critique him. Really, she’d been reminding herself not to take him too seriously.

He reached out and rested his hand on her leg for the briefest moment. “Another joke. Relax.”

His hand was gone almost before she’d registered the warm, heavy weight of it, but the sense of it lingered, a phantom pressure that made her acutely conscious of the few feet that separated them.

She lifted her gaze from her thigh to his face. Their eyes locked. For what felt like a long time she forgot to breathe.

He was heart-stoppingly good-looking, with his sun-streaked hair and scruffy jaw and killer blue eyes. The whole time they’d been talking, a part of her had been aware of his body, of how he was sprawled on the couch, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tautly across the strong muscles of his thighs. Now, she felt the pull of his appeal like a physical thing, like a gravitational field that was dragging her in, luring her to lean forward, to move closer and—

What?
Kiss him?

She straightened so abruptly she almost gave herself whiplash.

“Um. I assume the bathroom is in the same place as next door...?” she asked, standing.

“Down the hall, to your left.”

“Thanks.” She strode from the room, not relaxing until she was safely in the bathroom.

Wow. She’d been a little too close to doing something really embarrassing then. Like launching herself at Will like a cat in heat. Fanning her shirt, she turned to check her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes ridiculously shiny, her hair verging on crazy-professor-ish.

“You need to calm down,” she told her reflection.

And to stop running her hands through her hair.

Will was flirting with her because that was what adult men and women did to kill time. It didn’t mean anything beyond that. It certainly didn’t mean that he wanted to sleep with her. He was only doing what charming, attractive men did—working the room. Greasing the wheels of social discourse.

She needed to stop being so jumpy and edgy and desperate. She needed to start pretending that she had gorgeous musicians with sexy bare feet and amazing eyes telling her she had a dirty laugh all the time. Most important, she needed to get better at hiding her thoughts and feelings from the world in general. Frankly, there were plenty of times when what was going on in her head was not fit for human consumption—the last thing she needed was to be telegraphing her particular brand of crazy to all and sundry.

She used the facilities, then spent a few minutes taming her crazy hair. The color had started to fade from her cheeks, and the eager, excited glint had vanished from her eyes by the time she deemed herself presentable. She was once again smart, practical, determined Leah Mathews.

Taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom and went to rejoin Will.

CHAPTER THREE

W
ILL
SPLIT
THE
last of the wine between his and Leah’s glasses while he waited for her to return.

She’d been a little flushed and flustered when she’d left. He hadn’t been lying when he told her that she was incredibly easy to read. It was that pale, clear skin of hers—it betrayed so much of what was going on inside her head. That, and her eyes. He’d never met a woman who conveyed so much with a look or the flick of an eyelid or the downward sweep of her lashes.

She was...intriguing. Unconsciously sexy, with her slim, strong body and graceful movements. But also arrestingly beautiful. In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more aware he was of how stunning she was. That untamable hair. Those huge golden eyes. A mouth made for long, hot nights.

She was smart, too. He could see her thinking, could practically hear her considering all the possibilities before she opened her mouth to speak. It was probably one of the reasons she was so hard on herself, something that had become abundantly clear as she told him about her mother and her recent career decisions. Leah was used to assessing the world critically, intelligently, and she wasn’t above turning those powers of critical observation on herself. Far from it.

He glanced toward the hallway, wondering what it would take to get her to stop thinking. A kiss might do it. He grinned, sitting back and resting his left foot on his knee. He was almost certain he could get Leah to stop thinking if he got her naked. He’d keep her so busy
feeling
, she wouldn’t have time to calculate all the angles.

The smile froze on his face as he registered his thoughts. He let his foot drop to the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

He wasn’t going to kiss Leah, and he absolutely wasn’t going to get her naked. Only an asshole would start up something he didn’t intend to finish, and he’d had his fill of being an asshole early on in his career. He wasn’t so hard up that he couldn’t control himself, even if she was an incredibly appealing combination of smart and sexy.

He was here to get well. Or not. Period. There was no room in that equation for a fling with the sensitive, shy, funny, beautiful woman next door.

Time to pull your head in
,
mate.

It was. No more flirting with Leah, even though she responded so fantastically to every lure he threw out. No more thinking about getting her naked, even though the mystery of what was beneath all that rumpled linen would probably haunt him till his dying day.

The sound of a door opening had him lifting his head. A few seconds later, Leah appeared. She’d done something to her hair—subdued it somehow—and her gaze was calm and steady when it met his.

They were on the same page, then. This was not moving beyond friendly conversation, pizza and a bottle of wine.

He told himself he was relieved. He had more than enough going on in his life right now; he didn’t need to pile more on his plate. Even if Leah made the prospect of being overwhelmed incredibly enticing.

“I should probably head home. I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” she said.

“You don’t want to finish your wine?”

She glanced at her glass, clearly torn. He bit his tongue to stop himself from urging her to stay longer. It would be the height of hypocrisy—and stupidity—to encourage her to linger when he’d just acknowledged that this could go nowhere.

“I’ll probably sleep better without it,” she said.

“Okay. But you have to take some of the leftover pizza for breakfast tomorrow. Even I can’t eat this much.”

She looked a little startled. “Pizza for breakfast?”

“Hell, yeah. The flavors develop overnight. It’s even better. You’ll see.”

He handed Leah “her” pizza so she could take it home.

“I don’t know. I think maybe pizza for breakfast is a rock-and-roll kind of thing, not a heart surgeon thing.”

“It’s a human being kind of thing. Trust me on this.”

She accepted the box, a skeptical expression on her face.

“You’ll be on my doorstop thanking me tomorrow morning,” he assured her.

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

He led the way to the front door.

“Thanks for dinner. And breakfast,” Leah said as she stepped into the hallway.

“Thanks for the company and the wine. I had a good time.”

She blushed, soft pink blooming in her cheeks. “So did I.”

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He wanted to kiss her so badly it almost hurt. What a messed-up situation.

If this was a month ago...

But it wasn’t. And it was probably just as well, because he might not have known what was happening inside his own body a month ago. Yet it still would have been happening, and he still would have wound up at the same place.

“Good night.” She offered him a small, sweet smile before turning away.

“Don’t let the bastards get you down, okay?” he said suddenly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised in query.

“Every time I’ve swum against the tide in my life—every time—there’s been someone shouting at me to turn back, to go the other way,” Will said. “Every time I kept going, and things worked out fine.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. Then she gave that same smile that had knocked his socks off the night they’d first met. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.”

She opened the door to her place and slipped inside. Will closed his eyes for a long beat after she’d gone.

“Damn,” he said quietly.

Maybe, once this health deal was all over, they could do dinner again, with bonus extras.

He opened his eyes and stepped inside, letting the door shut with a thud. He wasn’t in a position to be making plans or promises right now, even to himself.

Two more weeks. Just two more weeks...

* * *

L
EAH
WOKE
EARLY
the next morning. Gripped by a fever of virtue, she pulled on her running gear and took the elevator to the ground level. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, she’d enjoyed running. It had been well over a year since she’d hit the pavement, but there had been an odd, swelling sensation inside her this morning. A sort of rising, undeniable sense of possibility. The same sort of feeling she got when she saw the first buds of green on the trees at the end of winter.

Maybe it was residual buzz from last night’s wine. Maybe it was all the nitrates and sodium in the pizza. Or maybe it was the way Will had looked at her and the things he’d said to her. Especially his parting comment.

She was taking his advice—she wasn’t letting the bastards get her down. She’d taken steps to take control of her own life, and she would continue doing so. And part of that control was reclaiming her private time. Making room in her life for things like exercise and...other stuff. Shopping for some new clothes, maybe. And perhaps she could do something about her lackluster love life.

Not with Will, obviously. He was too temporary for her to even consider as a serious prospect. But his advent in her life had certainly gotten her thinking. She’d mustered the courage to introduce herself to him, and they’d shared dinner. Sure, it had been not-so-great at first, but they’d gotten there in the end. There was no reason why she couldn’t replicate that success with another man, someone who was available and geographically suitable.

The warm spell they’d been enjoying had slipped away and the pavement was dark from overnight rain. The wind was bitingly cold, numbing her cheeks and making her eyes stream. It was easy to remember why she’d given this up in favor of enjoying a few more minutes of being cozy in her bed, but she forced herself to do some warm-up stretches before starting out at a slow jog. Her body protested at first, but after a while she found the old rhythm, her stride stretching, her breathing evening out. After twenty minutes she’d covered a very respectable distance and she gave herself permission to slow to a brisk walk on the return journey.

She was damp with sweat when she let herself into her place, and she made a beeline for the kitchen, where she drank down two glasses of water in short order. She caught sight of the clock then and nearly leaped out of her skin—she had fifteen minutes to shower, dress and get to work.

“Good one, Brainstein,” she told herself.

She would have to skip breakfast and forgo washing her hair. She shed her clothes in seconds, had the shortest shower in the history of humans, then dragged on the nearest clean clothes. Her stomach was hollow with hunger by the time she’d finished, and when she grabbed her keys and handbag she did a quick check in the fridge to see if she had an apple or yogurt she could eat on the way to the hospital.

Predictably, there was nothing even remotely suitable—except last night’s pizza. She eyed it dubiously. She’d accepted it out of politeness, having no real intention of starting her day with congealed takeout. Yet Will had been very convincing when he’d praised the virtues of day-old pizza....

She made an impatient noise, jerked out the box and grabbed herself a slice. Bag on her shoulder, keys in her other hand, she rushed out of her apartment. She took her first bite while she waited for the elevator, making a surprised, approving sound when she registered how tomatoey, cheesy and oniony it was. Will was right, the flavors had developed overnight. Ridiculous as it seemed, considering how very basic those flavors were.

She stepped inside the elevator as she took her second bite. When the doors closed, she caught sight of her reflection in the polished steel doors. She was grinning like an idiot, and there was a smear of tomato sauce on her cheek. Next time she saw Will, she would be gracious and admit she’d been wrong—apparently morning-after pizza
was
a human being kind of thing, and not merely a rock-and-roll thing, after all.

She sobered a little as she reminded herself that it was unlikely that she would see Will in the near future. He still had two of her wineglasses, but she didn’t kid herself that he would be on her doorstep to return them tonight. There had been a definite sense of “this, but no more than this” last night. As though they’d both dipped their toes in, found the water fine, but decided not to go for a swim, after all. For their own reasons.

She knew what hers were but she couldn’t help wondering about his. Maybe she’d put him off with her nervousness. Or maybe he’d picked up on the decision she’d made while in the bathroom. Or maybe he had something else going on in his life. He hadn’t said a word about why he was staying in Melbourne for the next few weeks and she hadn’t asked. For all she knew, he could have a wife or girlfriend back home in Barwon Heads.

Professor Stenlake had surgeries scheduled both morning and afternoon, and she spent all day in the operating room, stopping only for an hour to eat lunch. She was scrubbing up for the last procedure of the day, humming quietly to herself, when one of the nurses, Robbie, joined her at the sink.

“I love that song. Galahad Jones can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned,” Robbie said. She hummed a few bars of Will’s song, harmonizing with Leah.

“Galahad Jones?” Leah asked, concentrating on giving her hands and forearms one final scrub.

“Yeah.” Robbie glanced at her. “You
were
singing ‘Waking Up Lonely,’ weren’t you?”

Leah was so thrown by Robbie’s words she made the rookie’s mistake of flicking off the tap with her hands, contaminating herself and rendering the last five minutes of scrubbing pointless.

“Damn,” she said the moment she realized her mistake.

Robbie gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. Put you off your game.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Leah said.

But she wanted to clear something up. The other night, she’d heard Will singing a song that included lyrics about waking up in an empty bed. It was the song that had stayed with her, worming its way into her subconscious. It was also a song that Will said he’d written himself—yet Robbie knew it; she even knew its title.

“That song—’Waking Up Lonely’—where did you hear it?”

“What do you mean, where did I hear it? The same place everyone else heard it—
everywhere.
I mean, we’re talking Galahad Jones, baby.”

Leah forced a smile, nodding as though she understood exactly what Robbie meant. “Yeah, you’re right. Stupid question.”

“I tell you, if I wasn’t a happily married woman, that Will Jones could park his slippers under my bed any day. Any. Day. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about a man with a bit of scruff and hair that needs a good trim. Yeah, Mark Galahad is hot, but Will...he’s da biz.” She sighed, getting a distant look in her eye as she gazed at the wall.

Leah pursed her lips and turned on the tap, reaching for a fresh sponge pack.

Robbie had to be referring to Will. Whose last name was, apparently, Jones. A thousand questions buzzed in her mind, urging her to find the nearest computer and call up a search engine. She couldn’t, though. She had to assist Professor Stenlake while he fitted a pacemaker, something that was far more important than confirming that she was the biggest idiot under the sun.

The procedure took nearly three hours, at the end of which both her feet and her back ached. She was starting to feel the effects of her impulsive morning run, too, and her gait was more than a little stiff when she made her way to the staff room. There was a computer in the corner, supposedly for the collecting of lab results and other reports, but mostly used to check private emails and internet shop during breaks. No one was using it when she entered, and she grabbed it while she could, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder before typing the words
Will Jones
into a search engine. The last thing she wanted was for Robbie to catch her boning up on who Galahad Jones was, since she’d given Leah the distinct impression that not knowing was akin to not knowing that grass was green and the sky blue.

The screen filled with search results the moment she hit return. Seventeen million, two hundred thousand of them, to be exact. Holy hell. Frowning, she clicked on the first link and found herself staring at a moody, beautifully lit photograph of Will sitting on a stool, his guitar on one knee, his arm resting casually along its top. A tall, athletically-built, dark-haired guy stood behind him, a pair of drumsticks poking out of the front pocket of his jeans. They were both wearing grungy jeans and worn T-shirts, the icing on the too-cool-for-school cake.