Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(46)

“I’m glad you like them.” He sits back and sips his coffee, looking at me speculatively, suddenly sober.

“What?”

“Just thinking.” He shakes his head and watches me devour the last two small donuts. “You look beautiful today.”

I look down at my orange v-neck sundress and brown cowboy boots. It’s just a typical summer outfit, which seemed to be appropriate for fall in the south.

“Thank you.”

“I love your hair up off your neck like that.”

I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. He’s looking at me like he could eat me alive. Like he’s seeing me for the first time.

Like he loves me.

Holy shit!

He shakes his head, like he’s pulling himself out of a trance and smiles softly at me. “Are you ready to go, or do you want more?”

“I’m done.”

“Let’s go.” He holds a hand out for me and pulls me to my feet, and I follow him back out onto the sidewalk, pulling my sunglasses down onto my face. He’s wearing his own black Oakleys, tight white t-shirt, khaki shorts. He’s just so… big. Tall and muscular and strong.

He does crazy things to my insides.

As we walk up the street, I can hear a saxophone, its sultry notes filling the air. The song is slow and sweet. We turn the corner, and there is a young man, maybe about twenty-two, playing his sax, sitting on a stool, his case open for donations.

The kid is good. Amazingly good. I stop, pulling on Will’s hand so he stops too, and listen. The sax player has dyed black hair, his ears both sporting gauges and his fingernails are black. He’s dressed every inch the rock star.

But the bluesy notes coming out of that sax make him sound like a legend. If he keeps his head on straight, this kid is going places.

Suddenly, Will pulls me against him, curls his arm around the small of my back, pulls our linked fingers up between our chests, and tucks me against him, slowly swaying back and forth, dancing to the sweet song.

I smile up into his blue eyes, surprised. I’m seeing a whole new romantic side to Will this week.

He grins down at me and begins to move more, pushing and pulling us around the wide sidewalk. People are stopping to watch, the old lady from the table next to us at Café Du Monde smiling at us, but we ignore them all and just watch each other.

Damn, he can dance.

Figures.

The kid starts the song over again, not interrupting our dance and I silently thank him. I’m not ready for Will to let go of me; for the look in his eyes to stop.

It’s like it was at the café. His blue eyes are intense on mine, full of happiness. His lips are curved in a soft smile, and I can’t help but lift up on my toes and rest my own on them, breathing him in.

He smells of coffee and sweet, fried dough.

The arm around my back tightens, pulling me closer to him, practically lifting me off the ground, still swaying back and forth in time with the music, kissing me softly, his lips gently sweeping over mine, nibbling the corners of my mouth. He kisses over my cheek and to my ear, and whispers, “I love you, Megan.”

I freeze, and thank the Lord above that he’s not looking me in the face because I know my eyes have bulged and I break out in a light sweat, and it has nothing at all to do with the heat. Every muscle in my body contracts. But Will doesn’t stop moving, he just wraps both arms around my waist and hugs me to him, and I rest my forehead against his chest as I process what he just said to me.

He loves me.

I want so badly to say the words back, but I can’t. Loving means leaving.

Finally, I murmur, “Will…”

“Shh,” he tilts my chin with his fingertips and his eyes are soft and kind and I bite my lip so I don’t make an ass of myself in front of all these people and cry. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know.”

“You do?”

He nods and kisses my forehead. “I do.”

“Okay.”

He pulls back and smiles down at me, pulls out his wallet, throws a twenty into the sax case, links his fingers with mine, and we wave at the crowd as they applaud and we walk down the sidewalk. My heart is still pounding. I feel… awkward, but Will looks completely relaxed and happy, looking around at the people walking by and the shops we’re passing, and I begin to relax too.

I see a sign in a window for ghosts tours and point it out. “We should take a ghost tour!”

“Why?” he asks with a scowl.

“New Orleans is supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in the country.” I don’t really believe in that stuff, but it could be fun.

“I don’t believe in that shit,” he scoffs and leads me across the street toward another street musician, this one with a guitar, as I feel my phone vibrate in my handbag, slung across my body and resting on my hip.

“Well, then, it shouldn’t bother you to go on a tour with me. You can hold me when I get scared.” I laugh and answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“So you snagged a rich one.”

I stop dead in the street and my stomach falls to the ground. Fuck f*ck f*ck!

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“Who is it?” Will is frowning down at me and suddenly horns are honking at us, telling us to clear the street. He pulls on my elbow and leads me to the sidewalk, watching my face. I can’t look away from his eyes.