Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s yanked something from under the counter. It looks like a piece of black folded fabric. It must be an apron, or maybe it’s a kitchen towel. For all I know, he has his own chef’s jacket that he wears when he cooks.
“You claimed it was a killer pepperoni pie,” I remind him. “If I recall correctly, you made it seem as though your pizza is better than Franzini’s pizza.”
“Is that so?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
“That’s because it is.”
The statement is bold and delivered with such conviction that I can’t help but grin. “Your confidence game is strong, William.”
“So is my pizza game,” he claims. “Not to mention my T-shirt game.”
Confused, I shake my head. “You lost me there. You’re not wearing a T-shirt.”
He glances at the sweater he’s wearing before his gaze shifts to my dress. “You will be. You’ll be wearing one of my T-shirts before the night ends.”
It’s a bold assertion, even though we just finished a roundabout discussion about having sex tonight. I dart my hands into the air. “I’m still lost.”
He looks down at what he’s holding in his hand. “This is part of my pizza experience. As I said, I expect to see it on you.”
With a few quick flips of the fabric in his hands, he unfolds the item revealing what it is.
My hand jumps to my mouth as I let out a laugh. “You’re not serious?”
“Dead serious,” he says with a slight grin playing on his lips.
I stare at the black T-shirt he’s holding. Printed clearly across the front of it is one word: Knight’s.
The font is purple and closely resembles the style of the logo that Franzini’s uses on their merchandise, including the T-shirt Posey gave me.
He pushes it toward me. “It’s yours, Opal. Consider it a gift to thank you for the gift of your presence here tonight.”
I take it from him, all while keeping my gaze pinned to his eyes. “Thank you. How will I ever repay you for this?”
He leans closer. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“I know I will,” I whisper.
“It’s time for me to feed you.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “I’ll pour you a glass of the wine you brought, and you can watch me work my magic.”
I’m more than willing to skip food for a tour of his bedroom that ends with us in his bed, but this is his home, and he gets to set the pace, so I nod. “Lead the way.”
William takes the pepperoni pizza he masterfully made out of the oven. “Looks good, don’t you think?”
I nod as his gaze catches mine. “It smells divine.”
“That’s because it is.” The corners of his lips rise into a half smile. “You’re going to tell me it’s the best you’ve ever had after you’ve eaten your half.”
I steal a glance at the pizza. “I can’t eat half of that.”
“You’ll eat some now,” he says, pausing to step closer to where I’m sitting on a stool next to his kitchen island. “You’ll finish your half later tonight.”
The inference that I’ll be working up an appetite after dinner is there, but still, I press for clarification because I want to hear him tell me what awaits me down the hallway where his bedroom must be. “Why later tonight?”
He steps even closer so he’s within touching distance. “I’ve wanted you for weeks, Opal. That’s a hell of a lot of pent-up need, so be prepared to be worn out when I’m done with you.”
“When you’re done with me?” I repeat the last words in a whisper because they hold as much disappointment as hope.
I’ve only had one-night stands since my last relationship ended. That wasn’t by chance. I wanted it that way because they provided me with no strings-attached-fun and the ability to forget the man within days of the encounter.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forget William, especially after what he just said to me.
“Done fucking you tonight,” he clarifies. “I’ll eventually let you leave, but that won’t happen for hours.”
This is the point where I should tell him that I need this to be a one time thing, but before I can get the words in order in my mind to say them to him, his fingers stroke my forearm. “I’ll top up your wine and get you a slice.”
I inch forward a touch on the stool as a silent signal that I want more than wine and pizza right now.
He reads my mind.
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “I’m glad you’re here, Opal.”
“Me too,” I whisper just as he pulls away. “Me too.”
33
Opal
I quickly ate two slices of the delicious pepperoni pizza that William made for us. After watching him craft the dough from scratch right before he made his own tomato sauce, I told him that I thought there was a chance his pizza might rank a close second behind Franzini’s offerings. I was wrong. I’ve sampled both, and I can declare, without an ounce of hesitation, that William should launch his own pizza enterprise. The pizza he made me is the best I’ve ever tasted.