London Falling (7 page)

“I think I’ll go with the filet.” She nodded then snapped the menu shut. She caught me staring at her. “What?”

“Oh love, you break me with your beauty.”

***

I leaned over and whispered into his ear, making sure to trail my lips along the curl of flesh. “You know, I’m a sure thing tonight. You don’t have to keep complimenting me.” Purposely I placed my lips just under his ear and licked the salty skin there.

He sighed and stiffened. Pure lust poured off him like a tsunami ready to hit shore. It soaked into my pores and made wetness pool between my thighs. There was nothing that was going to prevent me from drowning in him tonight. With one last drag of my lips along the tender skin of his neck, I told him what I’d been dying to say to him since we met. “I want you.”

“Shite.” The word slipped from his lips as he adjusted his pants. I looked around and it seemed everyone was in a world of their own. The tables were tall with long drapes that fell over our laps. No one could really see what I was about to do. In a bold move, I placed my hand on his thigh and slid it up to cup and fondle his package. The desire to touch him intimately was overwhelming.

“Christ, Beauty, you’ll be the end of me.” He thrust his hips against my wandering hand. My fingers reached deep between his legs to cup his balls through the texture of his slacks and rub him from root to tip and back down. In this position his cock was thick and long, reaching up to his waistband. My mouth watered, wanting, no
needing
to taste him.

“God, I want to taste you.”

“Shite woman. You’re sex on a stick!” He gritted his teeth then buried his face into the crook of my neck, breathing heavily and nibbling on the skin he found there. I continued to rub him over and over, effectively making him insane with lust. A litany of small groans left his lips as he thrust several times against my palm. I had the Englishman exactly where I wanted him. Too soon the waiter approached with our drinks.

Immediately I backed off and his lust filled eyes cleared. The caramel brown in them swirled. He ran both hands through his wheat colored hair. It landed in sexy layers against his scalp and reminded me of bed hair after a good hard night of fucking.

The waiter took our order and we spent the rest of dinner making small talk, learning more about each other. The sexual tension between us never left, just simmered, steadily bubbling just under the surface.

I learned he was obsessed with rugby and watched it on the ‘telly’ late into the evenings. He preferred live games but they were few and far between in the States.

I shared my affliction for sexy shoes, colorful fabrics and my love of anything handmade and artistic. He seemed to appreciate that most, asking questions about things I mentioned and wondering what museums I preferred.

“Why do you do what you do?” he asked out of the blue.

“What do you mean? Interior design?”

He nodded.

“Well, it seemed to fit. I’ve always had a knack for entering someone’s home and intuitively knowing how the furniture should be re-arranged to maximize space. Colors and textures are fun to play off one another but the real fun…“

His eyes twinkled as he focused intently on me.

“The real fun is learning what it is people need in their life besides the design. If the home needs the new look, usually it’s the man, woman or couple that needs the resurfacing.”

“How so?” He took my hand and made endless infinity doodles on the top and wrist.

God he’s sexy.

“People have an innate inability to not do right by themselves. Sure, there are egotistical people out in the world who are very ‘what’s in it for me,’ but usually they’re hiding their insecurity over something else. Sometimes a person stays at a job for the money, not for the love of the work. It depends on the person.”

“So you move into their flat to learn about them personally along with their likes and dislikes for the design aspect?”

I nodded eagerly. “Exactly. When I move in with them, I have an ‘in the trenches view’ of how they live their life, what makes them tick, what hurts them, what heals them. I work with them to see those things themselves and make the required changes. On top of that, I give them a new look and feel on their home. Kind of like stepping into a new world, or at least a new lease on life.”

“That’s blooming incredible. The way you see things is fascinating.” His head shook but his eyes blazed with intensity. He licked his lips and bit down on the plump flesh.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to let his emotions trace over my senses.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I placed my napkin over my plate signifying that I was ready to leave, take this party somewhere more private. He’d been sending me sex-laced vibes all evening. I’d had enough.

When he’d paid the check and we stood, a brief moment of uncertainty came over me. This was the point where we moved forward or turned back. I’d wanted him to make that choice, not let my over-sexed mind make that decision. He led me to the street and handed his ticket to the valet.

I stood clutching my handbag and looked around, not sure what he intended. Would he take me home or want to go to his place? I knew I hadn’t read him wrong. The man wanted me. The bulge in his pants through most of dinner confirmed it.

Two hands came around my waist from behind and he pulled me back against his solid chest. “Penny for your thoughts, my Beauty.” His nickname for me was sweet. I found I rather enjoyed it, made me feel special somehow. Besides Tripp, the only other man who had ever given me an intimate pet name was James.

James.
I pushed the thought of him to the furthest recesses of my mind. Nothing good would come of bringing up that wound now--especially when I was about to get me some of a hot Englishman.

“Just wondering what happens next?” My voice was smooth and strong, hiding the fact that I was actually somewhat nervous he’d reject me.

“We go back to my place where I plan to shag you for hours. Then I’ll make you breakfast come sun up.” He gripped me against him, my back to his front. The steel of his erection pressed against the heat of my ass.

“And what if I want you to take me home?” I teased, but in a serious tone to keep up the charade.

He growled into my ear, fingers digging into the flesh at my hips. “Then I’ll take you home and shag you for hours at your place where your roommate can hear how many times I make you scream. Then
you’ll
make me breakfast at sun up.”

“Your place, please,” I confirmed, though, it could have been mistaken for begging.

“Oh Beauty, the ways in which I’m going to make you come…I can hardly wait.” He thrust his rod against my ass. His heat left when the valet strolled around one of the most beautiful cars I’d ever seen and handed him the keys. It was a grayish blue Porsche. I knew that much. It had only two doors and he opened the door for me like a gentleman. I slid in, enjoying the feel of the cool dark gray leather against my fiery skin.

“This is a hot car.”

He looked at me, a sexy grin plastered on his handsome face. “Isn’t she?”

“She?”

“But, of course!” he continued excitedly. “All cars are female, that’s why men are so gob-smacked by them.”

“Gob-smacked? You come up with the most interesting choice of words.”

“That’s because I speak proper English, my Beauty.” His tone was light and filled with humor.

“And I don’t?”

“Not even close.” He laughed. I opened my mouth but he continued. “Actually, gob-smacked is a British slang term for amazing or astonishing.”

“See, I knew it!” We both laughed.

Collier was more than just a fine male specimen. He was funny, easy to be around and his British accent brought me to my knees. The moment we had in the restaurant worried me though. I’d not felt connected to a man on that level since James. It was confounding.

It’s that second when a man looks into your eyes and not only sees your soul, but identifies with it, a rare connection of two persons who were fated to meet, to know one another intimately. It dawned on me, I was so ready to jump into bed with him, not because I needed sex--I’d had it pretty recently with Dylan and never lacked for a willing participant. It wasn’t the physical contact that had me hanging on Collier’s every word or mindlessly touching him in subtle innocent ways. It was the buzzing and thrumming, the halo of light I felt moving in the air around him. It sucked me into its vortex and I wasn’t prepared to leave until I’d gotten my fill and understood why it had a hold on me.

“Having second thoughts?” Collier asked concern evident in his tone.

“What? Uh, no. Not at all. Just thinking about what happened in the restaurant. That doesn’t usually happen to me. Well, actually that’s not true. It happens all the time, me, being able to feel and empathize with others emotions, but it doesn’t usually mirror my own.”

He took a deep breath, ending it with a sigh. “Yeah, that was a bit peculiar but not altogether uncomfortable. At least for me, anyway. I’ve had a long time to accept the things that hurt me in my life. Now it’s just a matter of getting past them.”

“Is it too soon to ask who she was?”

He smiled and brushed his fingers though his hair. “It’s not too soon. It’s just not pleasant.”

“I understand if you don’t want to tell me.” Mentally, I chided myself. I shouldn’t have asked something so personal so quickly. Damn curiosity.

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not a secret. I was married just out of college. Did everything I thought was right. Worked hard, tried to give her all she ever wanted. Started a company with my brother Nathaniel. You know him.” I nodded but didn’t want to interrupt for fear he wouldn’t continue. “I was loyal and I loved her. Probably more than a man should.” He stopped talking and shook his head.

“Then what happened?” My voice was soft and sympathetic.

“It wasn’t enough. She found someone with more money and more time. Left me for the bloke. Been about five years now.”

“I’m sorry.” There really wasn’t anything more I could say. The man had been cheated on by the woman he loved.

“It’s life. It is what it is.” He brought his hand to cover mine in my lap. Immediately the sizzle and thump of our connection leapt from my hand to my heart, filling it with something I couldn’t define. “What about you?” His voice was soft.

“What about me?”

“What sort of daft bastard would leave a bird as lovely as you?” He squeezed my hand reassuringly.

“He didn’t mean to leave me. He died.”

Normally when a man finds out I’m a widow at twenty six, he has a freak out moment, one in which he either decides the waters to this woman’s bed are too treacherous to wade, then bails. Or the alternative: offering me a sympathy fuck to make me feel better. Neither is desirable. After years of dating, I realized men just couldn’t deal with the fact that I didn’t choose to leave the man I married, nor did he choose to leave me. It was decided by an innocent but tragic accident which left me unwilling and incapable of loving another ever again. That part of me died when my husband died.

“I see,” he said.

Quietly we both chewed over the thoughts, a heavy brew based on the information we’d both shared. The air around us was thick with tension.

Finally he asked, “So what happened to your husband?”

I liked that he referred to James as my husband. It reinforced the importance of that relationship even though he was gone.

Collier had a way about him that put me at ease. Usually, I refrained from telling people about James. Tripp was constantly telling me I had to let it out, let the ghost of James rest. Maybe this would put me one step closer.

I took a deep, calming breath. Collier waited patiently, eyes glued to the road ahead. Not looking in his eyes made it easier to share somehow.

“It was raining out. The first rain of the year. The pungent scent of the newly wet roads in New York City was stifling. I remember the humidity being unbearable. James was driving home from work. His car was t-boned at a light. The driver lost control of the vehicle; bad tires with little tread didn’t stick on the slick oily streets. It catapulted the car into cross traffic.”

“Was the driver bombed?”

I shook my head. “No. He was sixteen. Just got his driver’s license. It was his first time on the road by himself. He was driving home from studying at a friend’s house. He didn’t have a drop to drink.”

“Was it instant?”

“Unfortunately, no. The accident broke a lot of his bones, did a great amount of damage internally but all that could be cured. What couldn’t was his liver. He needed an immediate transplant, but one didn’t become available in time. He died within forty eight hours of arriving at the hospital.”

“In my experience, Beauty, it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Our past makes us who we are today. I for one think you’re incredible.” He said it with all the conviction of a man who’d gone through it himself, which I now knew he had.

It was refreshing. Collier didn’t apologize for my loss. He didn’t tell me that everything would be okay or look at me as if I was a broken woman. His brown eyes gleamed with understanding. Like he’d said to me, when he recanted his tale, it is what it is and he truly believed that. We couldn’t change what the universe doled out to us, but what we could change was how we dealt with that experience.

“You’re a wise man, Collier Stone.”

“Indeed.” He waggled his eyebrows, breaking the serious mood. “You still want to stay the evening with this wise-arse, I mean wise man?” He chuckled and I laughed with him. He was good for me. At least for tonight he would be.

“More than anything.”

Chapter - 5

After parking the car and taking the lift to my flat, a bit of melancholy wafted in the air. Her admission about losing her husband had been tough on her. I wondered how many people she’d told the story to. By how she was responding now, not many.

She stood ramrod straight. Desire drove her to follow me, but the walls she’d dropped during dinner were firmly back up. It would be my duty to drive the wrecking ball through them and bring her back to the present. In order to do so, I was going to be bold. This woman demanded a hefty dose of truth. It wasn’t hard to tell that she dealt in honesty and no bullshit. She wasn’t expecting or wanting prophetic love declarations. Physical release was clearly the only item on the evening’s agenda.