with womankind?”
She absently stroked her nearly empty wineglass as she admired his handsome features. “It’ll be our little secret.”
Liam studied Maya as she spoke, her lips shiny with olive oil, her hands gesturing wildly. There was something about her he found intriguing. Her smile was adorable, like a mischievous imp who’d pulled a naughty prank and expected to be discovered at any moment. Her laugh was genuine, infectious. It lit her entire face, like the candle inside of the paper lantern on the table between them. Every time she laughed his chest filled with a deep but inexplicable sense of gratification at being the source of it.
The light danced off her glossy tresses gathered in a messy updo. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown, like a decadent torte, streaked with warm caramel highlights. How would her hair look grazing the smooth brown skin of her bare shoulders? How would her soft curves feel pressed against the hard planes of his body? If he played his cards right, he’d find out by the end of the night.
Maya was beautiful, but a direct contrast to the tall, thin blondes to whom he’d gravitated during this five-year binge of serial dating and one-night stands. His interest in them didn’t extend beyond his bedroom walls. Theirs didn’t extend any further than his family name—and the nine figures in the Westbrook family bank account.
It was a side effect of being the son of a well-known businessman. Women heard his last name and imagined themselves as members of the Westbrook family—with all that it entailed. But that ship sank five years ago, taking any chance of him entertaining thoughts of matrimony along with it. He was satisfied to paint the town with women who looked good on his arm and whose bodies offered a few hours of warmth and comfort. He desired nothing more.
Maya caught his eye because she was stunning. Yet, she was so self-conscious in that sexy little red dress that hugged her body and highlighted her curvy frame. Flirting with her came second nature. He hardly realized he was doing it. However, he had no real designs on her. He was simply being polite.
When he invited her to dine with him, his intentions had been innocent, pure. Two words he’d rarely attribute to himself. Despite rumors that stated otherwise, he did possess a bloody heart. There she was, disappointed and alone on her birthday with some old codger staring down her dress, so he’d asked her to join him for dinner. Partly because he felt sorry for her. Partly because he was afraid she might actually take the dodgy old bastard up on his offer. It was to be his good deed for the day. Perhaps the week.
They’d have dinner. Then he’d walk away. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But she was feisty and charming. Then there was the way she filled out that dress with those scrumptious curves. Still, he had every intention of being a very good boy—until she insisted she had no intention of sleeping with him.
He never could resist a good challenge.
As he sat opposite her, his resolve to keep their dinner date strictly platonic began to dissolve. He was mesmerized by her luscious lips and the teasing pink tongue that kept darting out to lick them. His body tensed, excited by the sensation of how they’d both feel sliding along his member.
So much for being a very good boy.
He adjusted in his seat, nodding as she spoke. Only she wasn’t speaking anymore. She stared at him expectantly. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“What do you do at the resort?” She sliced into the land portion of her surf and turf.
He cleared his throat. This was where their casual evening could quickly go off the rails. The Westbrook name obviously meant nothing to her, for which he was grateful. However, revealing that his family owned the resort and dozens of other luxury hotels in ten countries could have much the same result, which would be unfortunate. He was enjoying their easy banter.
“I’m on the management team,” he said. “And you? You said you work for an NGO?”
She nodded. “I’m the program coordinator at the Leila Arts Foundation. We’re a small organization, so everyone does a little of everything.”
“You must enjoy your work. You’re practically glowing.” He took a bite of his lobster.
“I do. We help underserved members of the community get a fresh start. It’s something I can relate to.” She looked uneasy. Her gaze dropped to her plate, as if she’d do anything to reel those words back in before she’d spoken them.
He wouldn’t press. No point in ruining the mood. They were having such a lovely time. Besides, there was a topic he’d much rather discuss. “No more talk about work. It’s your birthday, after all. Let’s discuss how we plan to spend the rest of the evening.”
“Liam, this—” she indicated the plates on the table between them with her open palm “—is the extent of our evening. I appreciate the dinner invitation, and it’s been fun—”
“Then why not continue it? Unless, of course, you doubt you’d be able to resist my charms, since you’ve declared we won’t be sleeping together, and all.”
She narrowed her gaze and sat taller. “It would be rude to impose on you any further.” Her response was an open invitation for him to overcome her objection.
He grinned inwardly. “I asked you, so you wouldn’t be imposing. Consider it a favor.”
Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed, and she scrunched her adorable nose. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “What do you have in mind?”
“An unforgettable evening.”
“Modest, aren’t you?” The corner of her mouth curved, almost imperceptibly. “And what is it that will make this night so memorable?”
“You’ve taken my most surefire weapon off the table.” He smirked, watching for her reaction.
Maya averted her eyes. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to smile.
His grin widened. “Fortunately, I have an impressive backup plan. A night of dance.”
“You don’t strike me as the dancing type.” She raised an eyebrow and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Did she know how enticing a move it was?
“I was referring to the ballet. A friend held two seats for me. Have you ever seen Swan Lake?”
“Never been to a professional ballet. We don’t get much of that here. But I’ve always wanted to go.” Her eyes danced with excitement.
The town’s expansion of cultural offerings had been one of the requirements he’d negotiated in the deal to bring their resort to Pleasure Cove. “Then this is your chance. If you don’t go, that ticket will go to waste.”
Maya twirled a strand of her curly hair around her finger as she carefully assessed him. “I should call it a night.”
He kept his countenance neutral. The trick with reeling in catch was not to jerk the line too soon. One of the few worthwhile lessons he’d learned from his older brother, who was otherwise an untrustworthy cretin. Maya wanted to go to the ballet with him. He was sure of it. She just needed a bit of convincing. He could help with that. Liam opened his palm and extended it to her. “Take out your phone.”
She stared at him, puzzled. Still, she reached into her purse and produced her phone, clutching it to her chest.
“Excuse me, miss,” he called to their server as she walked by. “Would you take a picture of my friend and me?”
A syrupy smile, typically reserved for toothless babies in prams, spread across the woman’s face. “Sure.”
Liam nodded toward the server, indicating that Maya should give the woman her phone to take the picture.
Maya opened the camera, then handed the phone to her. The woman took their photo and then returned