“You know I work crazy hours, but I’ll happily squeeze in some sightseeing with you if that makes you happy.”
“It would. But tell me, why do you work so much?”
Will took a bite of bread to consider his answer. “When I took over for my father, Junior, after his retirement, it took a lot of hours to really get a feel for running the paper. Then things at home got strained and it was easier to bury myself in work. Then it just became a way of life.”
“Isn’t there someone else that can handle a lot of that stuff for you?”
He had a staff of hundreds of capable people, so he sincerely hoped so. “Probably, if I let them. But I like being involved. I don’t want to be one of those disconnected CEOs in the ivory tower.”
“There’s got to be a happy medium. A line you can draw in the sand that says when you’re working and when you’re not. I mean, what would you say if I told you it was rude to constantly check your phone during our date?”
Will paused, his hand literally reaching out to compulsively check his phone when she spoke the words. His gaze narrowed at her and then he conceded with a nod. “I’d say you were probably right and offer to put it on silent.” He held it up and flipped a switch, putting an end to the constant symphony of beeps, chirps and ringtone melodies. He wasn’t comfortable turning it completely off in case there was a serious emergency.
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction, I suppose. When was the last time you went on a vacation?”
“I took leave the Monday after your accident.”
Cynthia frowned. “That’s not a vacation. I’m talking sand between your toes and a frosty drink in your hand.”
He thought back to his last trip and calculated how long it had been. “Sadly, it was after we graduated from Yale. Junior paid for both of us to spend a week in Antigua as a present.”
“That was a long time ago. Do you have anything planned in the future?”
“Just our honeymoon. Two weeks in Bali,” he said. “We reserved one of those little private huts over the water.”
Will’s mind instantly flashed to being on the beach with her. He knew she wasn’t pleased with whatever weight she’d put on since the accident, but he didn’t mind in the least. It gave a new fullness to her breasts and a roundness to her hips that would fill out a bikini quite nicely. He imagined rubbing thick, creamy sunscreen over every inch of her pale, delicate skin to protect it from burning. The undeniable desire to pull her into the water and taste the saltiness of her skin and the ocean mingling together washed over him. It was a fantasy worth indulging, even if not for a honeymoon. Two weeks in paradise, indeed.
“That sounds heavenly,” she said, echoing his thoughts without realizing it. “Maybe we should plan something. Not necessarily two weeks in Bali, but something to get you away from work and me out of the apartment.”
“Definitely,” he said. Wherever it was, it had to have a beach, and he would buy her a pink bikini to wear. He’d already decided as much.
Just then, the waiter returned with their meals. “Wow,” Cynthia remarked as she took in her large platter of pasta and immediately dug in. It provided him the luxury of watching her for a moment without her noticing.
Everything about Cynthia fascinated him. He supposed that having a brush with death could make you appreciate the smallest things, even fettuccine with clam sauce. It made him want to expose her to new things and shower her with gifts—not only because she deserved them but because she would genuinely appreciate them. He would take her on a tour of the city she would love, and as soon as the doctor cleared her to travel, they would be off to the nearest tropical locale. If she was too afraid to fly, he’d charter a yacht to take them there. But that would all come later.
First, he intended to expose her to another new experience. Once they got home, he was going to coax every type of pleasure he could from her body.
Seven
C ynthia could feel a change in the energy between them while they ate. At one point, she’d looked up from her food to find Will watching her intently. He’d barely touched his own meal, but the desire in his eyes made it obvious he was hungry for more than just pasta. She’d have to try tiramisu another night, because they were heading straight home after this course.
That was fine by her.
But as the elevator of their apartment building carried them up, Cynthia felt her nerves getting the best of her. She wasn’t a virgin, but she felt as inexperienced as one. What was she supposed to do? She knew she was in capable hands with Will, but she wanted to please him, too. Hopefully he would understand and not think she was just bad in bed.