Her Every Fantasy. Zara Cox
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to deny my crisp assessment. Something stopped her response, something apprehensive that raised my hackles. ‘Fine. Let’s eat,’ she replied abruptly, heading across the room before I could respond, but she paused when she reached the table.
The table was set at perpendicular angles, one place at the head and the other at ninety degrees. I dragged my gaze from the tight, plump globes of her arse and the waist I knew I could span with my hands, and pulled her seat out. After casting another furtive glance at me, she set her suede clutch on the table and sat down.
I took the other seat, aware that neither of us had taken a sip of our wine. Again she latched on to my thoughts, reminding me of her uncanny ability to do so from our youth. ‘Is it worth making a toast to a reunion or am I wasting my breath?’
I snapped out my pristine napkin with unnecessary force before draping it across my lap. ‘Sure, I’ll drink to something. Go ahead and make a toast.’
She stared at me a taut few seconds. ‘To old friends and acquaintances?’
‘Is that a toast or a question?’
My chef’s arrival in that moment from the kitchen with the first course stalled her answer. My brief to the chef had been simple—my guest loved everything except string beans and had no allergies. The rest I’d left to his culinary expertise. He must have done his own homework because he’d pulled out the stops. The seafood starter smelled incredible even before he’d placed it on the table.
‘Oh, lobster thermidor! My favourite,’ Savvie gushed when the dish was uncovered, eliciting a wide, slavishly happy smile from my usually pompous Michelin-starred chef.
‘Bon appétit, mademoiselle. And if you wish for anything else, don’t hesitate to let me know.’
I swallowed an irritated snort. Jacques was only half French and grew up in Michigan but he loved to emphasise his accent in the presence of a beautiful woman. I uncovered my own dish as Savvie picked up her fork. ‘I suppose we can drink to good wine and great food?’
‘Why the hell not?’
She tensed, her eyes flashing at me. ‘Bryce…’
I reached forward with my glass, clinked hers and took a large gulp. ‘Let’s not invite indigestion to a great meal, shall we? Jacques seems taken with you. You don’t want to upset him, do you?’
‘I don’t want to upset you. You’re more important to me.’
The unexpected response disarmed me for all of two seconds before I rallied. ‘Am I? If I’m so important why have you done such a bang-up job of avoiding me for the last three years? Tell me, if it hadn’t been for that prime piece of real estate you currently covet, would I have heard from you at all?’ I asked with every scrap of bitterness broiling in my gut.
And watched all the warmth leave her face. ‘You think I reconnected with you because of the lease?’ she asked through stiff lips.
‘Didn’t you? Perhaps you should go back and read your email. See how many lines referred to me and how many stated what you need from me.’
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. ‘I was wrong. You haven’t just become cold, Bryce. You’ve also turned nasty.’
The barbs bounced off me. ‘I state things as they are. Sugar-coating is for little boys and girls. If that’s too much for you to handle, we can end this right now.’
Eyes one shade darker with an emotion I didn’t feel like examining stared back at me for several taut seconds. Then she picked up her fork. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m going to eat this starter, Bryce, because you’re right, I don’t want to upset your chef. And because for whatever reason he’s known to prepare one of my favourite dishes even without having met me before. After I do it justice, we’re going to settle whatever it is that’s bugging you—’
‘Are you really going to sit there and plead ignorance, Savannah?’
She flinched. ‘I’m not going to accept blame for anything until the charges are spelt out. But if you think I don’t have a few bones to pick with you too, think again, Bryce James Mortimer.’
For some absurd reason, hearing her say my full name made my stomach flip. Followed swiftly by a twitch in my trousers.
I took another sip of wine, watched as she tackled a bite of succulent lobster before washing it down with a mouthful of wine. Watched her swallow with a little hum of pleasure, a habit she seemingly hadn’t curbed.
‘Is that so?’
‘Hmm, very much so. Now, shut up for a minute and let me enjoy my food.’
She forked another bite of juicy lobster, brought it to her mouth and wrapped her plump lips around it.
Then closed her eyes and moaned with zero shame.
I cursed that thick heft of lust that dropped into my groin and wrapped itself sinuously around my cock. With a disgruntled shift in my seat, I set my glass down and picked up my own cutlery. In silence we polished off the starter, and I watched her charm the chef with effusive thanks as he cleared away and hurried off to fetch the main course.
The main course of creamy chicken risotto with shaved truffles went down a treat with her too, while my appetite dwindled in contrast, and I was staring at Savvie’s lips when she opened them after the last bite and said the one word that knocked dread into my stomach. ‘Truth.’
Savvie
THE MAN I’D called my best friend until a dizzying series of events dissolved the title like sugar in hot water stared at me dispassionately. It was a good thing I’d finished my meal or I’d have lost my appetite. The look wasn’t just in his eyes. It seeped through every shrug, every curl of lips I’d once thought were the most perfectly created set of lips on earth. Every indifferent sip of excellent wine.
I looked deeper, pathetically desperate to find something else. Something more. A reminder of those semi-carefree years when we’d talk on the phone for hours, sleep for an hour and resume conversations the moment we saw one another in person.
But the man I knew had been replaced by a harder, edgier version of a Bryce Mortimer who’d been hard and edgy and cynical to start off with. I’d only fooled myself into thinking our friendship had softened those hard edges, that being around me and my eclectic family he’d believed was perfect had smoothed a few jagged spikes embedded by his family and his emotionally stunted upbringing.
More fool me.
For the longest time, I’d hoped and prayed, hinted and whispered, while silently screaming, See me. Me. Choose me.
Bryce had seen. And concluded I wasn’t enough.
Nothing and no one would ever be enough. It’d taken me far too long to accept that. Even longer to get over it. All he’d ever wanted was low-maintenance friendship, something to take the edge off his hectic social and dysfunctional family life. And stupidly, I’d forced myself to fit the mould, to be whatever I needed to be to stay in his life. Unfortunately by doing that, I’d almost lost myself. And yes, a part of me hated Bryce for it.
Well, he’d made it clear he was all about settling scores.
I had a few of my own to put to bed.
‘Truth,’ I repeated after I refused dessert and the chef had departed.
He sipped his drink, then gave a wry smile as he lowered it. ‘You’ve always been terrible at this game. You’re supposed to give me two options, remember?’
I remembered. Truth or Dare had always been our game. I’d loved it a little too much because it’d skated close to secret desires I’d tried to suppress for a long time. ‘What’s