who thought she was beautiful. A man whose appreciative gaze made her feel beautiful—something she hadn’t felt in a while.
What was the harm in living out the fantasy for one hour of dinner conversation? She wouldn’t lie to him. But he was a stranger. He didn’t need her full biography. She’d give him the annotated version instead.
Maya cleared her throat. “I work for a small nonprofit organization. The community need is greater than our available resources, so we’re seriously understaffed. Keeps me busy. Between that and everything else in my life, there’s not much time for dating.”
There. Question answered.
“Everything else, like what?”
“I volunteer for a variety of organizations.” Also true. The PTA, the local girls’ club and the girls’ soccer league.
The server arrived with their salads before he could pose his next question. Glad for the distraction, Maya returned the conversation to him. “How long have you been in Pleasure Cove?”
His knowing grin indicated her maneuver hadn’t gone unnoticed. “A few months.”
“And how long will you stay?”
“For the next year, maybe two.” He didn’t look happy about it.
Maya wanted to ask why, but it felt too personal. She opted for safer topics like the weather and restaurants around town she’d recommend.
“So, how many birthday licks shall I administer this evening?”
So much for safe topics.
“Most women would consider that question rude.” She picked up her wineglass. “But I don’t mind telling you. I turned twenty-nine today. Too old for birthday licks.”
His eyes danced. “Spanking not your style, then?”
Maya nearly choked on her wine. She set the glass down roughly. He was teasing her to see how she’d react. Still, it was better to be clear about where the night was going, or rather where it wasn’t. “Let’s just file that under Things You’ll Never Need to Know.” His hearty chuckle made her laugh, too. She shook her head. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were trouble.”
He shrugged. “Some might agree. Though it’s often a case of being misunderstood, despite my clearly stated intentions. How can I possibly be to blame for such a thing?”
Maya took a piece of French bread from the basket and dipped it into the plate of herb-infused olive oil. She raised her eyes to his. “So the brokenhearted women you’ve probably left in your wake...they were all to blame?”
His eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed as he watched her eat her bread. “I’m not one for long-drawn-out relationships,” he stated without apology. “I don’t see how I could possibly be any clearer about it.”
Maya laughed. “The thing is, we don’t believe you when you say that. We’re convinced you just haven’t found the right woman. That we’ll be the one to make an honest man out of you. So, unless you find a woman who has zero interest in a long-term relationship, you’re going to break her heart, whether you intend to or not.”
Liam looked thoughtful, almost sad for a moment, as he sipped his wine. He shifted in his seat, back pressed against the chair. “Wish I’d had that bit of wisdom a few years ago. I appreciate your honesty. Isn’t there a rule against cluing the dafter sex in on the secrets of dealing 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
