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“Shamrock,” he said. “Is there something else in it?”
“You’ll feel it in a minute.” I crossed one leg over the other.
Oh boy, how dodgy did that sound?
William’s calm expression, however, remained intact. Not that he had much choice, considering what I’d spiked his drink with.
“Well, it’s either a roofie or a calming potion,” he said, but took another gulp even so.
“Do I look like a girl that would go around drugging men I’ve only just met?” I asked.
Did I even want to know the answer?
William shifted in his seat. “I don’t even know what you really look like, so I have no idea. Although, I’d like to know.”
I eyed his mask, longing rising from the pit of my stomach.
Finding out who each other was would be as simple as slipping our masks off our faces. The need burned me and not in a way I found pleasant.
“Not yet,” the bartender said. “Follow the rules, remember? Now, it’s your turn to order a drink for the lady, sir.”
A wicked grin split William’s face and he got off the bar stool to press his hands over my ears.
“I want to surprise you, too,” he said, before cupping his palms in place.
Heat burst across my cheeks at his touch, but I still pressed my hands over his. I wanted a surprise as much as he did.
When he had finished telling the bartender my order, William’s hands dropped just an inch from my ears to my cheeks.
My breath evaporated in my chest; the sound of my heart thrummed in my ears.
Our eyes met, our fingers manoeuvering to each other’s hands. The world seemed to freeze with us in our moment, all sound evaporating as if we were in a vacuum.
There was something so addicting about his touch. I wanted more of it, everywhere. How crazy was I to have felt that way after just one meeting?
I felt like I knew him better than I should have. The familiarity of his touch went beyond déjà vu.
“For the lady.” The bartender slid a turquoise cocktail glass toward me and William’s hands dropped from mine.
He picked up the glass and handed it to me. “M’lady.”
“My thanks, kind sir.” I took a generous swig.
I didn’t want him to think I wouldn’t dare drink his concoction when he had so bravely drank mine.
The liquor tasted of peach and pomegranate, and I gave the glass a swirl as I waited for the potion to kick in.
After another swig, a prickling of power rippled up my forearms and biceps.
“Is that some kind of strengthening potion?” I asked.
“Bingo.” William sat down in his seat again and drained the last of his glass.
“And why would I need that?” I knew people, my uncle Keith included, who took strengthening potions frequently. Usually, they were the kind who looked for a fistfight.
“I want to make sure you get home safe,” William said.
A fondness shimmered in his eyes, igniting a burst of the same in my belly. Could he be any sweeter?
