Bryce had laid out clothes on the bed for me like he’d done so many times before, and it now dawned on me that he had chosen my dark denim skinny jeans, Louboutin boots and my Dolce & Gabbana blouse and blazer for a very good reason.
I hugged him tightly, clenching my thighs around his hips and shouting through the helmet. “It’s not the Harley, but it’s a start,” I gave him another squeeze as he took off, my initial squeal being left at the curb.
We pulled up to Ristorante Di Tony, a cute little Italian restaurant in a quiet part of the city. It was not the type of restaurant he would normally choose as this one seemed far from fancy. Don’t get me wrong, it was lovely, quaint and from the sidewalk appeared homely. It was just very different from Bryce’s usual extravagant taste.
I waited for him to dismount and remove his helmet before I headed to the front door of the building.
“This way, Hunny. I have my own private entrance,” he said casually as he took hold of my hand and led me toward the alleyway next to the restaurant. There was something in the way he had said it, or the strikingly handsome smirk on his face, that triggered a sense of déja vu.
I giggled as he pulled me along. “Do you know the owner?”
He smiled at me. “Yeah, I just bought the place.”
“What? Why on earth would you buy—”As we rounded the corner, the sounds of “Bella Notte” filtered into my ears, once again triggering my sense of déja vu. The music, I soon discovered, was being played by a duet who were seated off to the side of a lone round table, topped with a red and white tablecloth, a candle and a single red rose.
Surrounding the table were several potted plants, shielding not only the musical duet, but also the rest of the area behind the restaurant and creating a back drop to what I assumed was our dining spot. Many candles in jars were lit and placed along the ground, romantically paving a walkway to our seats. It was in the moment that I realised my déja vu was because I was standing in the middle of a scene from Lady & the Tramp.
“Oh! My! God!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Bryce! Oh my God, when did you—”
“Never mind about the when, Hunny, come and take a seat.” He placed his hand at the small of my back and ushered me toward the table.
I couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh. “You are amazing. This is amazing.”
“It’s what I do, Ms. Summers,” he said with a smirk, while pulling out my chair for me to sit in.
As he sat down opposite me, I was struck by just how handsome he looked in the candlelight. His dirty blonde hair was styled back and away from his face, as if he had just run his hands through it and it had obeyed. He was wearing a charcoal coloured shirt with the top two buttons open, a black suit jacket and his sexy light-wash jeans.
“Does your mind ever take a break?” I asked, as he wiped his palms on his pants while he settled into his seat.
“No. A mind functions simply by functioning. If it takes a break, it ceases to exist.”
“Have I ever told you that I find your intelligence a major turn on?”
“No. I thought you wanted me for my body.”
“Well, yeah, that and your cooking.”
A waiter stepped out from behind the screened potted plants. “Buona sera, Signor Clark e la Signora Summers.”
“Buona sera.” Bryce replied, his accent rolling off his tongue like liquid sex.
Not being able to speak Italian, I just nodded and smiled in response.
“Can I get you both a drink?” he asked, switching to English but with a heavy accent that was adorable.
Bryce raised his eyebrows at me in question.
Feeling a little daring, I thought I’d try my luck and ask for something a little unorthodox. “I don’t suppose they serve a Cock ‘n Balls do they?”
Closing his eyes slowly, Bryce twitched his head ever so slightly, clearly fighting a battle not to laugh. He opened them again and looked our waiter dead in the eyes. “Is it possible to get my girlfriend a Cock ‘n Balls?”
The waiter flushed bright red. “I’m so sorry, Signor, we do not serve such a drink.”
“Never mind,” I said sweetly “How about Salty Balls or Big Balls?”
The table started shaking, and I soon realised it was from Bryce chuckling. “Hunny, I don’t think they serve any form of balls here.”
“Ha, I bet they serve meat-balls.”
“Yes, Signora, we serve meatballs,” he replied happily, being able to serve me some form of balls.
I started laughing and touched the waiter apologetically on the arm. “Thank you, but I’ll have a glass of Chianti Classico, please. And, Signor Clark will have a Scotch on the rocks.”