London Falling (20 page)

She sipped her wine and clasped her hands together, leaning her chin on them. “Some would say I’m not only a designer but a life coach.”

“How so?”

“When I move in with each client--”

I tried not to stiffen but she noticed my change in body language instantly.

“Relax. I stay with them but that doesn’t mean I sleep with all of them.”

My shoulders sagged.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t either.”

The tension was back.

“You are wound so tight!” She laughed. “I think we’ll have to do something about that, though we could have done something about that before, had someone let go of his gentlemanly side,” she teased.

“Sorry, love. A gentleman doesn’t just take…well, he does, but usually after he’s given his woman a nice meal and an evening.”

She giggled. London Kelley giggling was utterly priceless. I’d strive to make that sound come from those berry-red lips again.

“So finish. Explain how you are a life coach and designer. The two don’t really go together per se.”

“Not conventionally. Basically, I spend a month learning about the person, getting to know their likes, dislikes, the things that make them who they are. We discussed this on our last date.”

I smiled over my glass taking a long pull from the fruity wine.

“Let me put it into real life. For example, the Maxwell reveal you went to.”

I nodded so she’d continue uninterrupted.

“I had to help him open his life to a woman. He was in an endless cycle of one-nighters in between the one woman he wanted, Michele.” Sounded familiar.

“His girlfriend?”

“She wasn’t then. She was the one woman he rotated between his flights of fancy. So I made his apartment something that would open him up to the idea of having a woman stay there.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

Jealousy rippled through me and spun me like a racecar circling round and round an endless track.

“Why?” I choked down the scathing tone, drowning my irritation in several gulps of sweet wine. Her eyes narrowed and she watched me carefully.

“Because I wanted to. Because I could. Because he was willing. I don’t really need a reason.” Her answer was so flat and unfeeling. It tightened my chest like a strait-jacket. “It wasn’t until I got to know him that I realized what he needed. Sometimes part of that process is enjoying a few tumbles in the sack.”

God, she was so callous and flippant about it, about opening up her body. I wondered if that was how she saw me and this thing between us? She took a sip of her wine and the set her glass down. Her eyes bored into mine.

“I made sure he asked Michele out and brought her home. He’d never actually brought her to his home before, preferring the distance. Once he brought her there, worshipped her in a place that was perfect for sharing with someone you care about, we were done.” She shrugged and tilted her head to assess me. The designing was actually her tool to do the higher valued work. The coaching secured the best possible end result. A well-rounded happy client.

I took several deep breaths, trying to contain my jealousy over her admitting to sleeping with Maxwell. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back. I need a moment.” Instead of ranting and raving, I rushed through the restaurant and made my way to the loo. Once inside, I laid my head against the cool wooden door. Fuck.
Get your shite under control Collier.
She’s not with that man anymore. She’s with you. You’ve had many one night stands of your own. Look at things from her perspective. She’s a beautiful, single widow who’s been hurt by love. Who wouldn’t want to bury their sorrows in willing flesh? You’re guilty of the same thing.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Time to start fresh.

Chapter - 13

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My honesty was going to be the end of me. At the very least, the “finale” of whatever this was with Collier.

His body language was off the charts jealous when I admitted to sleeping with some of my clients. Jesus, what if he asked me if I’m sleeping with my current client? With Dylan? It’s not as if I haven’t dropped hints that I’d had sex recently, prior to our first night together. I was honest with him when I said I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else, effectively committing my body to only him. For the time being anyway.

I felt him before I saw him. He was apparently struggling, trying not to go off half-cocked.

I stood to greet him. His eyes were cloudy and tension pumped off his long, muscular form, tugging at my heart. Before he could sit, I clasped his hand. Nervous energy jolted me as I laced our fingers together. The moment our palms touched a wave of heat spilled through every neuron and sizzled, popped and crackled like Rice Krispies. It’s was too much, that single touch. It floored me with its magnetic pull, surprising and disastrous at the same time. Being with Collier, touching him, connecting our bodies was jolting, shocking, abrasive, and eruptive like a volcano, bursting at the seams after years of dormancy.

“You feel it, too?” I whispered as he tugged me close. Our noses touched lightly.

“Anyone within a mile could feel this.” He held me tight as I brought my lips to his. “It’s magical,” he breathed into my mouth as I kissed him.

Sparks flew and that volcano within exploded into a burning ball of fire, consuming everything in its path. My shoulder blades, the sensitive skin of my lower back, even my ass. I felt the ultimate heat. When he bunched my skirt a bit and pressed his erection hard against my center, scalding, white-hot pressure forced a need so strong through me that I practically crawled inside of him. His mouth, his chest, against his manhood. I wanted nothing but to take him into my body.

“Miscusi.” Our Italian friend fumbled in, carrying a tray of dough-filled platters. Collier and I broke apart panting, both unable to pull much needed air into our lungs. Jesus, the man is a freight train, powering through every wall I place around my heart and mind. He seemed determined to make me insane with lust. He was right earlier. I would beg to be taken by the end of the night. Hell, I’ll be begging in about five minutes if our host leaves.

After taking a deep breath and adjusting his brown corduroy blazer, Collier pulled my chair out and I sat. He settled next to me. “Later,” is the only word he issued as we sat in silence, staring, practically undressing one another with our eyes.

“Come here, lovebirds,” Anthony says with a laugh. A big beefy hand motions for us to come to the brick oven. I hadn’t realized it was a functioning brick oven. I thought it was for warmth and decoration. The Italian held a huge wooden spatula with a pizza a foot in diameter on top. “Signora, you place the pizza over to the right under the heat, there. Signore.” He handed Collier his pizza. They were identical. “Place it there.” We shuffled our pizza’s into the oven. My spatula got stuck and Collier put his hands over mine and lightly yanked it free. His touch burned hotter than the heat pouring off the oven. I closed my eyes as he kissed my temple.

“My Beauty,” he whispered into my hair and then pulled away.

“Now, when the smells call to me, I will be back to dish out pieces of eternal amore, for it was made by my wife. She puts all her amore…you say, love…into every pie. It will be fantastico! I am so excited for you!” He said the word “excited” but it sounded like it had a couple more “d’s” than were needed.

His excitement was palpable and the love for his life, the food, our presence, spoke volumes about the type of establishment he ran. I was honored to be here, experiencing it with a man like Collier.

“You are a truly kind soul, Mr. Anthony,” I told him.

“Such sweet words from a belladonna, yes?” He asked Collier.

“Si, she is a very lovely woman, Anthony. Molto bello.” Very beautiful, he added to our server.

“Si, si. I leave you to it. Do not kiss too much. You may not want to stay to eat my food!” He warned and we both laughed and sat back down. “It will be good tomorrow but it will be magnifico tonight! Yes?” We nodded and Collier refilled our wine then set a bruschetta on my plate. Apparently, our host was fast. I hadn’t even seen him bring it. Must have been when Collier and I were fumbling with our pizzas.

“So, what else is there to know about London Kelley?” Collier asked taking a bite of the appetizer.

My face fell. I wasn’t sure what else he could handle. Never in my life had I been sorry for the decisions I’d made until right now, with this man who was far too good for me. “I’m not sure what else to say?”

“Tell me about Tripp?”

Fuck! Not the person I wanted to talk about. Somehow I just knew that if I told him Tripp and I had been together physically, his face would turn bright red and steam might blow out his ears like those old Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam cartoons. I stalled, trying to roll over what I could tell him by taking a bite of the bruschetta. The chopped tomatoes, fresh parsley and garlic were a dream. Thank God, both Collier and I were eating it. We’d be fire breathing together, cancelling out the garlic breath.

“Tripp and I have been best friends since just after James passed. I was in grief counselling. He was in narcotics anonymous. We ran into one another in the hallway and we just clicked. I needed someone who didn’t know me or James to help me get past my grief; he needed someone to care about that would care about him in return.”

Collier’s brown eyes sparkled with compassion and sympathy. “Tripp is a recovering addict then?”

I nodded. “He’s been clean awhile. Now and again, it still crops up. He fights it though. Sometimes I help.”

“Were you two ever an item?” he asked the one question I really didn’t want to answer. Didn’t think he could handle me answering. In the end. This was me. My life. If he wanted to be a part of it, he’d have to understand who I was and who was important to me.

“You could say that,” I answered vaguely. “We suffered through a lot together. There was a natural progression of that relationship, but we’re better as friends. We have a very toxic relationship emotionally when physical aspects are in play.”

Collier’s jaw tightened. He gazed to where the pizzas were cooking. I could feel jealousy like a vile acid, eating away at our good evening once more.

“You’re not together now. At all?” he asked.

I could tell a great deal hinged on how I answered this question.

“Collier, I wouldn’t be with you if I was with Tripp.”

“But you live with him,” he countered. The words were accusatory. It took amazing effort to swallow my pride and answer calmly.

“We do. And we sleep in our own beds in our own rooms. I will say this to you once, and that will have to be the end of it. Tripp and I love each other very much.” Collier stiffened from the tip of his wheat colored hair to the bottom of his leather boots. “Let me finish. We are not in-love with each other, nor have we ever been. We’ve had a mutually enjoyable physical relationship in the past. It ruined our friendship. So we choose to meet our physical needs with other partners. We are friends and will always be friends. Do you understand?”

Collier gritted his teeth and took several deep breaths.

I waited calmly. Slowly I could feel the jealousy in him being capped and the space around him filling with understanding and acceptance.

I smiled. When he opened his eyes, he looked at me and grabbed my hand.

“If you say it’s over between you and Tripp, I believe you. However, the bloke has a huge protective streak when it comes to you, leading a fella to believe he may feel more toward you than he admits.”

“I’m all he has. His family disowned him years ago for being bisexual. Didn’t matter though. His mother was a tyrant who hurt him mentally and physically. He escaped and turned to a life of drugs to bury and numb the pain.”

Collier nodded and rubbed his bottom lip with the tip of his index finger.

”After he ODd, he finally got help. Now he works his ass off to stay clean and has built a healthy life for himself. He does some modeling for Aspen and keeps me straight. Kind of like Ollie, Aspen’s assistant, only I don’t need him full-time.”

“For you, I will work to mend the tiff we had last weekend. If he’s an important part of your life, I’ll make him one in mine.”

I stared at his handsome face and shook my head. “That’s probably one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. And very mature of you.” I grinned.

“I try.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Anthony came back and delivered gooey, cheesy pizza that was everything he claimed and more. The mix of mozzarella, herbs and spices, veggies, fresh roasted garlic and the dollops of ricotta had me stuffing my face in the most unladylike fashion possible. I could not get the food in fast enough.

“Sod all, I love seeing a woman actually eat her food.”

I smiled around a huge bite of cheesy goodness at his compliment.

“It’s so good. I can’t stop! Mmm, taste this bite. It’s the perfect bit of pepperoni, olive, artichoke, spinach and ricotta. Oh God…here taste.” I held out my fingers with the bite. Collier grinned wickedly, grasped my wrist and brought his lips to the morsel. Instead of taking the bite he turned my hand sideways and nipped at the tender skin where my wrist met my hand, then kissed his away up and over my thumb.

His eyes were dark as he finally took the bite into his mouth. He dragged the piece through my fingers licking and sucking the tips of them, sending jolts of pleasure straight to where I wanted the rest of him most.

My breath picked up and he held my hand as he chewed, swallowed and then smiled. “Tastes almost as good as you,” he said boldly.

I closed my eyes as he kissed my palm once more, this time swirling his tongue around the sensitive tissue. Hot tension shot through me, rebuilding the fire he started earlier.

We finished dinner in a haze of lust, torturing each other with small touches and stolen kisses over tiramisu for dessert.

Collier held my hand as he drove through New York City. It was a lovely night, crisp, cold and perfect for snuggling. I was a bit surprised when Collier passed his apartment building and headed out toward my own home.