Loving The Temperamental Adonis
Chapter 265 - 3

Chapter 265: Chapter 3

"Yes!" the kid exclaimed excitedly, looking at the waiter. It was no secret that Liam Thompson was an expert with women and his work, and whatever he said, the boys took it as a good way to court a woman, especially that beautiful snow white with red hair and green eyes.

The waiter looked questioningly at the boys’ bodyguards, who were seated at the table with them and trying to read a newspaper. The boys looked hopefully at one of the bodyguards as he was an adult who could make the waiter give them the Vodka. "Give us a hand here, Peter," one of them implored. The bodyguard sighed, hesitated, then nodded at the waiter and said, "Only one."

The boys cheered and exchanged high fives.

The man at the table on his left laughingly confided to Liam, who was taken aback that the boys took his words for it. "You can’t blame them for trying. Hell, if I were single, I’d make a play for her. She is hot. The most beautiful woman I’ve seen in ages."

In disgust, Liam gave up trying to concentrate on the list of estimates and looked around for a waiter to bring him his check. The waiter wasn’t in sight. He’d gone into the restaurant. All he wanted was to leave this place, he wouldn’t be able to stand another second in the presence of such little boys trying to hit on a woman much older than them. Though he’d done worst when he was their age, he wasn’t interested in witnessing the play.

Oblivious of the commotion on the patio, Rayne looked at the tasks she’d written down to do about her late father’s estates, and the ache inside her grew and grew. She needed to donate his clothes. Her father’s suits... His favorite green sweater that made his eyes look even greener. He had such wonderful eyes... warm, laughing, eyes. She was never going to see those eyes again.

She was going to cry, Rayne realized in horror! She had to get out of there. She closed the notebook and got off the barstool, just as the waiter put a Michelada in front of her and a man strolled in from the patio, heading in her direction. "A drink from the gentlemen," the waiter explained.

"Tomato juice was cute," she told him eyeing the drink. "A Michelada isn’t cute. It’s—inappropriate and offensive for kids to do something like this."

"It wasn’t their idea, miss," he said quickly in defense of the boys.

"Then whose idea was it?" Rayne demanded, not caring that everyone in the restaurant—and probably on the patio, too—was watching to see what she’d do about the Michelada.

"Mine," the newcomer said from right beside her.

Rayne could tell from his deep voice that he was old enough to know better, and she refused to give him the courtesy of a glance and kept her face adverted from him.

"It’s irresponsible to help those adolescents buy alcohol." With her left hand, she grabbed her notebook and Coping with Grief from behind her plate; then she slid her right arm through the long straps of the black canvas bag and picked up the Michelada, intending to give it back to him.

"I don’t want this—" The straps of her canvas bag snagged on the back of the chair, and she gave the straps an impatient jerk while she mistakingly thrust the drink at him.

Red liquid erupted from the glass and drenched the front of his white shirt.

"Oh, no—" Rayne exclaimed, drowning out his startled expletive and the gasps from onlookers.

"I am so sorry!" Dropping everything but the Michelada, she put the half-empty glass on the bar, swiftly exchanging it for her glass of ice water and a cloth napkin. "The tomato juice will stain if we don’t clean it off immediately," she babbled, unable to look him in the face as she took the ice water.

When she doused his silk shirt with freezing-cold water, Liam’s skin flinched, and when she began dabbing madly at the mess with her cloth napkin, and apologizing frantically, his annoyance switched to reluctant amusement, but when she told the hovering waiter to bring her some club soda, Liam drew the line.

"Do not give her anything else to pour on me," he warned. "Bring us a towel instead."

She’d spilled the drink on him before his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, and she hadn’t lifted her gaze above his chest since then, so he had no idea what she actually looked like except that she was about five feet six inches tall, and she had long, dark red hair that was very thick, damp, and curly. Her red hair reminded him of a certain someone.

Beyond that, all he could tell from his current vantage point was that her eyelashes and eyebrows were the same color as her hair. He tucked his chin down and addressed her eyelashes. "Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to say, ’Thank you kindly, but no’ instead of dousing the drink on people?"

Rayne finally realized he wasn’t furious, but her relief was offset by shame. "I’m afraid your shirt is ruined," she said as she reached for the waiter’s towel with her right hand and shoved the fingers of her left hand between the buttons of his shirt and his bare skin. "I’ll try to clean as much of this off as I can."

"That seems like a better plan than trying to drown it."

"I couldn’t feel any more miserable about this," she stated with a muffled voice.

"Yes, you could," Liam replied, but his focus was on the title of the book she had accidentally dropped, and he was attempting to read it upside down.

"How so?"

"I didn’t mean for the guys to have sent you that Michelada," he responded just before he noticed the title of the book was Coping with Grief.

Stricken, she finally lifted her face to his, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was something about his gaze that always made her heart skip a beat whenever she met him. "It’s you..." she gasped in surprise.

She’d completely forgotten about his existence since their last encounter at Mia’s wedding ceremony until now. Nor had she heard anything about him in ages; it was like he’d left the country and disappeared after that wedding. And he looked so different she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. His striking features looked tenfold sharper and more beautiful than the last time she’d seen him, and he had an air of confidence that was hard to ignore.

They stood in shock, staring at each other. And in a flash of blinding clarity, Liam realized exactly why three teenage boys had been making fools of themselves over her.

If it was possible, Rayne Wallace looked more beautiful than she had before. Framed by a mass of curling titian hair, and without a trace of makeup, her face was striking, with ivory skin, high cheekbones, and a small square chin with an intriguing cleft in the center. Her nose was straight, her mouth soft and generously wide, but it was her eyes that momentarily mesmerized him: Beneath gracefully winged dark red brows and a thick fringe of long russet lashes, she had large green eyes the startling color of wet leaves.

Belatedly, Liam realized those eyes were shimmering with tears, and he felt a sharp, idiotic pang of regret for his part in causing them.

"I will pay for your shirt," she said, snapping out of her momentarily shocked state, stepping back and turning away.

"I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone with your high principles," Liam replied casually, observing as she placed the towel on the bar and reached for her canvas bag. He noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring on her left hand, which meant she wasn’t married yet.

Rayne caught on to his playful tone and was surprised by how kind he was being to her, especially considering they hadn’t been on friendly terms in the past. If she remembered correctly, the last time they spoke was when she’d approached him about his niece, and they had parted on a bad note. However, holding on to such a grudge would be childish and stupid of her.

She also couldn’t help but notice how incredibly attractive he was with his new hairstyle—a low taper fade that made him look younger. With her back turned to him, she retrieved her checkbook from her bag and searched for a pen. "How much should I write the check for?"

Liam hesitated, absorbed in his quick observations and evaluations of her: The Island Club was an exceedingly pricey, exclusive hotel, and he had heard rumors that the Wallace had fallen from grace a few months ago.

Looking at her now, he was starting to believe the rumors. Her wristwatch and the ring on her right hand seemed ordinary and inexpensive, and her canvas bag bore the name of a bookstore, not a designer logo. If it was indeed true that the Wallace had fallen from grace, it would be impossible for her to afford a club like Maranta...

This implied that she was likely accompanied by someone covering all her expenses. With her striking beauty, she would undoubtedly have wealthy men eager to take her to the finest places and show her a good time. However, the bathing suit top she wore was more modest for someone seeking a good time with some man. Additionally, there was a soft and vulnerable quality about her, even a hint of primness.

When he didn’t respond, Rayne turned around and glanced at him questioningly.

"This is an extremely expensive shirt," he stated solemnly, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "If I were you, I’d suggest taking me out to dinner instead."

Rayne was taken aback by his audacity and couldn’t help but burst into laughter, momentarily pushing aside the lingering sorrow she had been carrying for nearly two weeks. "Bold move, Mr. Thompson. Your shirt is that expensive?"

He nodded insincerely. "I regret to say that it would be most advantageous for you financially to take me out to dinner, trust me."

"After everything that’s happened between us, you actually want to go out to dinner with me?" Rayne questioned, finding it hard to believe as they had never been friends before, only strangers who clashed at every opportunity.

"Yes, but only solid food allowed. No liquids within your arm’s reach."

Rayne couldn’t contain her amusement, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle her laughter at his serious tone.

"Does this mean you’re ready to settle your debt - say at eight o’clock tonight?" Liam smoothly proposed, wishing he could see her reaction.

After a brief pause, Rayne nodded and lifted her gaze to meet his. Liam couldn’t help but be captivated by her smile, his heart missed a beat. When she smiled, she had the most inviting, romantic mouth he’d ever seen. God-damnit! What was wrong with him?!

"It’s good to see you again, Mr. Thompson," she greeted with a friendly smile, extending her hand for a handshake.

She had a nice handshake, Liam decided as her long fingers slid across his palm and grasped his hand. "It’s nice to meet you again, too, Miss Wallace," he replied.

Rayne’s mind switched to practicalities. Max had made advance reservations for the two of them to dine tonight at Isolara, the hotel’s beautiful all-glass restaurant at the water’s edge. "Let’s meet at Isolara at eight o’clock," she said.

"Let’s meet in front of the hotel, instead. I have another restaurant in mind." He said.

Vague uneasiness crept over Rayne, but she was preoccupied with his ruined shirt; his handsome, tanned face; and a sudden awareness that everyone inside the restaurant was either watching them or listening to them.

"All right," she said, and gathered up her belongings. Rather than leave via the patio and walk past the teenagers’ table, Rayne turned toward the exit behind her, which also enabled her to cut diagonally across the sand to the villa where she was staying.

Halfway there, she glanced over her shoulder, and when she didn’t see a tall man behind her with a large red splotch on his shirt, she realized he’d left the restaurant via the front entrance.

Guiltily she wondered what sort of hilarity he’d had to endure from the teenagers on the patio when he passed by them, but then she cursed at herself for being so smitten by Liam that she’d momentarily forgotten he was Liam Thompson the Casanova.

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