Her Favorite Temptation Read Online Free PDF

you’re close to work?” Will asked.
    She nodded while chewing madly so she could swallow the bite she’d just taken. “Yes. I’m lazy. Plus the hours can be crazy sometimes and I figure the less time I spend traveling, the better.”
    Her gaze got caught on his forearms as he harvested a piece of olive off the pizza and popped it into his mouth. He had great forearms. Faintly tanned, deliciously muscled, the hairs golden-brown. She’d never considered herself an arm person before, but being with Will was exposing her to a whole new world of appreciation for the male form.
    “So did you always want to be a doctor?”
    She dragged her gaze to his face. “Pretty much. My parents are both G.P.’s, so medicine has always been on my radar.”
    “But you’re a surgeon, not a G.P. How did that go down?”
    “If my mother could hire a marching band and the guys who do the fireworks on Sydney Harbour every New Year’s Eve, she would. Me being a cardiothoracic surgeon is her idea of heaven.” She could hear the dry, almost bitter edge to her words, and wasn’t surprised when Will threw her an assessing look.
    The urge to offer it all up to him—tonight’s confrontation with her mother, her recent decision to change her specialty, the troubled, dysfunctional favoritism at the heart of her family—was so overwhelming it almost felt as though there was a bubble of words pushing its way up her throat. But she couldn’t lay out her life’s concerns at his feet at the drop of a hat. She barely knew him. And he’d invited her over for a quick meal, not counseling.
    She forced a smile. “You know what? My career is duller than dishwater. Tell me about your music.”
    He grabbed a serviette and wiped his hands. “There’s not much to tell. I started playing guitar when I was a kid, wrote my first song at fourteen and haven’t looked back.”
    “So do you have plans for world domination? Selling out stadiums, that kind of thing?”
    He smiled slightly. “Every muso dreams of that kind of success. But I’d settle for people listening to my music. Enough people, anyway.”
    She reached for her wineglass and took a big swallow. She was officially out of small talk. Will grabbed another slice as she set down her glass, the thunk of glass meeting wood overly loud in the silence.
    God, why was she so hopeless at this stuff? How was it possible for a woman to get to nearly thirty and be almost incapable of holding a casual, friendly conversation with a man for more than five minutes? She was so socially challenged it wasn’t funny. It didn’t help that she was painfully aware of him as a man, either. About as aware as was possible for a woman to be, really.
    “Pizza okay?” Will asked.
    “Yes. Thanks.”
    Even her usual verbal diarrhea seemed to have deserted her. She glanced at Will out of the corner of her eyes, trying to gauge how much he regretted inviting her to share his dinner. His expression was unreadable as he polished off his second slice.
    It was possible, of course, that he was one of those Zen, centered people who was totally comfortable with silence. It was also possible that he had an awesome poker face and was looking forward to the moment when she returned to her apartment.
    The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched some more. Her stomach tied itself in knots as she tried and failed to come up with something chatty to say. She took another big gulp of wine. Considered reaching for more pizza. But she couldn’t stand it—her own awkwardness, the tense silence, the sheer discomfort of the situation. Her body felt as taut as a bowstring.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, shooting to her feet. “This is really awkward, and even though I’d like to blame it on the fact that I’ve had a pretty shitty day, the truth is that I’m hopeless at this sort of thing. Always have been, probably always will be. Anyway. I’ll put you out of your misery and go home. Thanks for the pizza. It was heaps better