Rosie looked as if she minded quite a bit, but she got over it remarkably quickly and smiled graciously. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, presumably so confident that she’d have Will all to herself later that she could afford to be generous, Bella thought tartly.
‘Fine by me,’ said Sam, getting to his feet and summoning a waiter before Bella could shoot him a pleading look.
And then introductions were being made and a couple of waiters were hurrying over to whip off tablecloths and rearrange cutlery and crockery, and Bella felt any kind of control she might have had over events slip through her fingers like sand through an hourglass.
How was she going to get through this evening now? Enjoy supper, Sam had said. Ha. There was absolutely no chance of that. With Will in this weirdly prickly mood, and Bella feeling more than a little on edge herself, it was going to be agony.
But what could she do, apart from drum up some of that coolness and aloofness she’d hauled into action the first time she’d met Will, and count the minutes until the bill arrived?
That was it, she decided, clutching onto that idea for dear life. That was what she’d do. She’d be polite and charming, chatty when the conversation called for it, and above all she would not think about how the last time she’d seen Will he’d been beneath her, trapped between her thighs, clamping her against him and pounding into her.
Because he clearly wasn’t, she thought darkly as he smiled down at something Rosie said with far more warmth than he’d so far offered her this evening.
That Will had moved on far more effectively and efficiently than she had rankled. Big time. Training her gaze on what the waiters were doing and keeping it off the couple the other side of the action, Bella made a snap decision.
Was she really going to primly sit there with Sam equally primly at her side while Will and Rosie flirted and no doubt played footsie all evening?
Was she hell.
Polite and charming be damned. If she was going to have to suffer the agonies of the next couple of hours at least she could do it on something approaching an equal basis.
‘Sam?’ she muttered.
‘Yes?’ He glanced round and bent his head towards her.
‘Would you mind doing me a favour?’
If Sam touched Bella once more, thought Will grimly, he’d leap across the table, haul him up by the lapels of his very expensive-looking jacket, drag him outside and set about wiping the smile from his face. Permanently.
Ever since they’d all sat down Sam had barely been able to keep his hands off her. He’d pulled a chair out for her and planted a lingering kiss on her cheek. He’d handed her a menu, and then leaned forwards, his head touching hers as he completely needlessly pointed out the various dishes. When he’d murmured something into Bella’s ear, making her laugh softly, it had taken every ounce of Will’s self-control not to yank them apart and snap at them to stop acting like besotted teenagers.
‘Well, isn’t this a coincidence?’ he said, fixing a smile to his face and looking at no one in particular.
Bella arched an eyebrow. ‘Is it?’ she said.
‘What else would it be?’
‘I read about this place in a magazine,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve been dying to try it out.’
‘So have I,’ Bella muttered, sounding as if she deeply regretted it.
‘And how many strings did you have to pull to get a table tonight?’ said Sam, shooting Will an irritatingly conspiratorial grin.
‘A few,’ he said.
‘Me too. But I thought, what the hell, whatever my Bella wants.’
His Bella? Bella winced a little, as well she might, and Will ground his teeth. How long had this been going on?
‘So how have you been?’ he said coolly, looking across the table at her.
‘Absolutely marvellous,’ she said, meeting his gaze equally steadily.
She looked it, he thought, running his gaze over her deliberately slowly. She looked glowing. Her hair was loose and tumbling round her shoulders and her eyes were sparkling. She was wearing a white shirt, undone just enough to provide a hint of cleavage, and caramel-coloured suede trousers that sat low on her hips and called out to be stroked.
Will curled his fingers into fists to stop them from reaching out beneath the tablecloth and doing exactly that. ‘I’m so glad,’ he said smoothly, thinking he was anything but.
‘You?’