26. Will
26
Will
“ W ill can make it happen,” I say on the way out to our car. But I can’t stop smiling. There’s no chance of Alice thinking I’m actually annoyed with her. I’m not. I’m over the moon. She reached Jet in ways I never would have thought to.
We climb into the Beemer, and we’re off. I’m still reeling, still thinking, still smiling.
“You can make that happen, can’t you?”
“Um, no.” I laugh. “But you got him thinking. You got him to agree to a visit. You’re brilliant, Alice.” I glance over at her to find her beaming right back at me.
She is beautiful. Everything about her—from her Lake Tesoro eyes to her short, rockstar legs. She is the most real person I’ve ever met. Ever .
And I’d be lying through my teeth right now if I didn’t admit to liking her. I mean, of course I like her. We’ve become friends over the past several weeks. But this… this is more than that.
I push on the gas the entire way back to our hotel. I’m in speed mode. Every nerve ending inside of me is energized. I park, and I’m around the car before Alice has her door all the way open. I reach for her hand and help her out.
“Come on, I’ve got champagne upstairs.”
“You do?” she says through a laugh, her fingers slipping between mine.
“I do. I knew you were going to be lucky. But I had no idea how brilliant you’d be with Jet.”
A quiet squeal escapes her as I pull her into the empty elevator. I release her hand and wrap both arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. Her floral scent fills my nostrils, and I hold her close, relishing the feel of her body next to mine. Her heart beats rapidly and excited, the thumps seeping through from her chest to mine.
Pulling back, I cup her cheek, peering into her eyes. She smiles up at me, and I trail my thumb over the apple of her cheek.
My eyes drop to her lips, and Alice Taylor—the girl incapable of lying—lifts her chin in my hold.
“I really shouldn’t do this,” I say, blinking from her lips to her eyes.
“Oh, you absolutely should,” she says, lifting up on her toes.
Her warm breath mingles with mine just before her soft lips press against me. I tighten my arms around her back. Alice’s arms weave over my shoulders and tangle around my neck, clutching me closer. Her lips are sweet, like strawberries, and open with ease at my coaxing.
My body is flush with Alice’s. My heart beats with hers. My hips press close against her. Our mouths move as if in sync—like those rubbery green pants on my body, we are cemented together. One.
It’s only when the elevator door opens and a small gasp filters past my ears that I pause the best kiss of my thirty years.
Opening my eyes, my eighty-year-old friend stares at me, her daughter beside her.
“Is that my secret admirer?” the birthday girl asks her daughter.
“I think it is, Mom,” the other woman says.
My elderly friend huffs in irritation, and Alice drops from her toes to her heels, separating our mouths by inches.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I say as I pull Alice from the elevator out onto the third floor once more. I drag her into the stairwell. I’m halfway up the lone flight of stairs when I pause, turn, and dip my head to kiss her again.
Alice’s hands lift to my face, her head tilted back as I’m already inches taller than her, and standing on the stair above her makes her a little less accessible. Still, she holds my head in her hands and moves her lips with mine.
I breathe her in and peck her swollen lips once more. “Come on,” I say—we can do better than this.
I lead her into my suite and over to the small couch. I sit her down but press my lips to hers once more before grabbing the bottle of champagne the hotel manager sent up from the mini-fridge. A thank-you for our two-night stay in his best suites.
“We’re celebrating? He hasn’t given an answer,” she says, watching as I pop the lid off the top of this bottle.
I grin over at her before filling two flutes with the bubbly gold liquid. With my hands full, I walk our drinks over to the couch where she sits.
“And it’s two in the afternoon,” she says, taking a glass from my hand.
“It is.” I sip from my cup and wrap one arm around her. My entire body itches to touch her. I’m not sure when I became so dramatic—apparently eight minutes ago—but any section of my body not touching hers is certain that it might be in agony.
I don’t like being in agony—so I set my glass on the table in front of us and lean in to kiss her lips once more. I feel like a man coming up for air after not even knowing I needed to breathe. Not until I had. I need Alice. She is my air. She is my breath. And everything in me craves her touch.
Her eyes close and a hum escapes her lips.
All good signs.
I kiss the corner of her mouth and trail down from her lips to her jaw to just behind her ear.
“This is against the rules,” she says, but her returning kiss tells me that she might not care.
Besides—is it really against the rules? The only reason Zoe’s even pushing it is because she knows I don’t want anyone knowing who I am. I’ve gone to great lengths and a whole lot of trouble to make certain no one knows that I’m actually William Henley Baxter—aka Billy.
But at this moment, I don’t care about Billy’s rules. Or even if Alice knows who I am—she might be the only person on my staff, Zoe included, who hasn’t judged or condemned Billy at one point or another.
But then—this is Alice. While I might find peace in her knowing, she’d struggle to keep my secret. No doubt. And even as a man experiencing air for the very first time, I’m not sure I’m willing to risk that.
I’m also unsure if I’m willing to stop kissing her. Is that something I want to risk?
I press kisses back up her neck and over to her lips. She threads her fingers through the back of my hair, her lips giving in to mine.
“We probably shouldn’t do this,” she says between kisses.
“You might be right,” I tell her—though I’m not sure I believe it for a second. Has anything in my life ever felt as right as kissing Alice Taylor?
“You think?” she says, her eyes still closed, her lips still puckered.
“What do you think? You’re always right.”
She sighs as if I’ve written her the sweetest sonnet. “I think you’ve given me this flute of alcohol.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, pecking her lips once more.
“And alcohol,” she says, pecking me back and then continuing, “will alter my ability to make a good decision.”
“Have you taken a drink yet?”
With our heads together, her eyes fall to my glass atop the coffee table, then back to her flute—still in her left hand. “Well, no.”
“You don’t think kissing me is a good decision?” I say, pulling back from her just a centimeter or two. Her nose brushes mine and her warm breath tickles my skin.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes rove over my face. “You?”
“Kissing you might be the wisest decision of my life, Alice.”
Her lips pull up in a grin, and she hugs me close—just as the glass of champagne in Alice’s hand spills its entirety down my back.