Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Would you look at that,” James says. “Your face is lighting up.”
I glance at him, suddenly very aware of how close I am to him. Our eyes are inches apart, and I can see flecks of a lighter color in his dark eyes. The car is cast into a strange watery light as we pass under lampposts, and the scene feels dreamy. There’s a thread of tension between us, and even though he probably doesn’t notice it at all, I do. It makes the hair on my arms rise.
I swallow thickly. “My face?”
He reaches out and puts his fingers under my chin, tilting my face so it’s facing him dead-on. He’s so close my breath catches. I can smell him, the soap from his morning shower and the faint woodsy smell of his cologne. It makes me want to inhale deeply, but I can’t do that when my eyes are locked with his.
“This very face,” he says. “Makes your eyes dance.” His hand drops away and I feel bereft.
Suddenly the car bumps over a pothole and I jolt, coming back to reality. James looks at me and grins, obviously enjoying the fact that he managed to startle me.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re obviously excited about something.”
I blush, the tension building. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy with my job that I’ve forgotten how great it is to be living near London.”
He nods, his grin turning softer. “I figured that. Which is why I thought it would be good for you to get out of your head for a while. Live a little.”
So he’s already picked up on how inward I get.
“Let me guess, you think the night will end with me dancing on top of bars.”
He laughs. “I would pay to see that.”
I give him a look. “Just so you know, I don’t actually dance on bars.”
“Just so you know, I don’t pay either.”
I giggle at that and lapse into a mix of small talk and silence, though both become more comfortable as the ride goes on. Eventually the city limits approach and the density thickens. The car comes to a stop. I glance out the window. We’re in a very upscale part of London, down the road from Harrod’s. The car pulls up to a red light. I watch a woman in a beautiful ball gown cross the street in front of us, followed by a man in a tux, and I can’t help but marvel at them, wondering where they are going.
“This is amazing,” I say quietly, eyeing the cabs jutting across traffic, the gleaming red double-decker buses that trundle below brick buildings, the flashing lights of the theater. “Why don’t I come here more often? I feel like I’m in a movie.”
James puts his hand on my shoulder, sending a warm thrill through me. I glance at him, and he gives me a smile. “Then let’s make this the best movie we can.”
Okay. That was cheesy. That was the line a guy would give you on a first date, and this definitely isn’t that.
“What?” he says, his dark brows arching dramatically. “Too much?”
I make a gesture with my thumb and forefinger. “A little.”
Charles parks the car and comes around, opening our doors like we’re royalty. He tells James to text him when we’re ready to come home, and I suddenly feel giddy, like I’m a teenager again, playing hooky from school or something, or heading to a party I’ve been forbidden to go to. Or at least, I figure that’s what it feels like to be a normal teen. I never had much of a childhood, and my teenage years were a struggle.
“Where are we going?” I ask as James puts his hand at the small of my back, the warmth of his touch coming through my top, and guides me down the street to our left. The air smells like a mixture of car exhaust, cigarette smoke, and rain coming soon, and it’s more humid than it is in the countryside. All around me are lights and people and the sounds of the city. I can feel their presence in the air, pulsing through me. My ears ring with the vibration of a thousand conversations. I can smell food frying, hear music playing. I can see the soft light pouring from the buildings, casting shadows from all around.
“Just a restaurant I’m a fan of,” James says as his hand falls away. “Hope you like Italian.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Well, you strike me as a woman of many surprises,” he says. “Now if we could just get you to tell me what they are…”
I give him a coy glance. “Maybe you’ll find out.”
Laila, stop it, I tell myself. Just stop.
He gives me a sexy, crooked smile. “Maybe I will.”
Ugh. What the hell is happening here? He’s flirting with me, and I’m flirting with him, and that’s just a horrible idea all around. I promise myself to have no more than one drink with dinner, because something tells me this man has the power to make me do very regrettable things.