Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(18)

He looks good.

Way too good.

Will’s in a sky-blue button-down and jeans, his hair damp from the shower and that delicious jaw-line cleanly-shaven for the first time in a week. His eyes crinkle with a smile when he sees me, and my heart lets out an answering thump. Damn, the man’s a walking temptation—and I’m a girl with zero self-control.

Except tonight, I remind myself firmly, holding the door wider. “Hey,” I greet him, “you’re right on time.”

“Always,” Will smiles, then pulls one hand from behind his back, and presents me with a small bouquet of flowers: roses and hydrangeas tied up with brown string. “For you.”

I pause, shocked. I don’t think a guy has ever bought me flowers before, but Will must mistake my surprise for something else, because he adds, “They’re not fancy or anything, I know, but the yard at my place is overflowing, so I figured . . .”

Wait, he picked them himself?

I feel a little light-headed as I take the flowers and beckon him in. “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” I say. “I’ll, umm, find a vase. I won’t be a second.”

I quickly hurry down the hall to the kitchen, my cheeks feeling strangely hot. I grab a vase and fill it with cool water. The flowers really are beautiful, the roses wild and perfumed with a sweet, floral scent that wraps around my senses. I set them on the countertop, and pause a moment, trying to pull myself together.

The guy ran a comb through his hair and picked a couple of flowers, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist.

But it’s not my panties I’m worried about. It’s the quicksilver beat of my heart, and the flutters of nervous anticipation in my stomach that spell danger tonight. I sneak a look down the hallway. Will is waiting casually in my living room, checking out my bookshelves, and all the framed photos I have perched on the mantel. He glances up and smiles. I duck back, my heart racing now.

This is a date.

A date date. Not a late-night hook-up, or casual get-together, or meeting a guy in a bar and then winding up at his place after four drinks and a shadowed make-out session. Will showed up on time, and is wearing a shirt, and will probably walk me back to my door when he drops me off later. It should be no big deal; I’ve been clear with him that I’m not interested in anything real, so why am I freaking out?

You’ve got this.

I grab a jacket and my purse, then meet him back by the door. “I don’t know if you planned anything,” I say, “but I thought we could go to this seafood place I know. It’s a great spot, right on the water.”

“Sounds perfect.” Will holds the door for me.

“Great!” I exclaim, then immediately feel like an idiot. Anyone would think I’ve never been on a date before. I have, tons.

But not with a man like this.

That’s the problem, I realize, following Will to his truck. Why he’s got me off-balance, when I’m so used to calling all the shots. He’s a grown man, not some guy sending non-committal texts at two a.m., or taking time out of his busy schedule of beer and video games. Those guys I can run rings around, but Will is something different. He’s so sure and confident in everything he does, and that certainty is intoxicating, sexy as hell. And that’s even before he opens the passenger door of his ancient truck to chivalrously help me inside.

He circles around and climbs in too. I give him directions, and we hit the road, driving out through town and onto the coastal road. I keep my gaze fixed on the scenery outside the windows, trying to ignore just how good he looks in the driver’s seat, one arm resting out the open window, the sinking sun tinting his tanned skin gold against the ocean light.

“Are you OK?” Will asks after a few moments of silence.

“Sure!” I blurt. “Yup. Why?”

“Just . . . you don’t seem like yourself.”

I swallow. I’m not—but Will shouldn’t know that yet. He barely knows me at all. “I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea about tonight,” I answer instead.

“You’ve said that.” Will sounds amused. “A few times.”

“And you don’t seem to be listening,” I shoot back.

The truck comes to a stop. I look over, surprised, but we’re at a set of red lights. Will turns to me, catching my eye with a direct, open stare.

“I think you’re amazing.”

What?

“You’re beautiful, smart, sweet, and sexy as hell,” Will continues, sounding so matter-of-fact, I can’t believe it. “I want to get to know you better, that’s all. No pressure, no expectations. You said yes to dinner, so here I am. Is that a problem?”

“Um, no . . .” I stammer, my head still spinning from his simple honesty. “But, sweet? Have you met me?”

He chuckles. “We’ll agree to disagree. And if it makes you feel any better,” he adds casually, “I promise not to make out with you tonight. OK?”

Not OK. Telling me something is off-limits is like waving a red flag. Right away, I’m seized with the sudden impulse to clamber over the gearstick and kiss him until I forget my own name, but I manage to murmur a garbled, “Uhuh.”

The lights turn green. Will puts the truck in drive, and settles back in his seat again, totally at ease, but I don’t know what the hell to think now.