Page 2 of Pervade London
I saw him set his tumbler down, as though sensing me behind him.
Feeling embarrassed over gate-crashing such a formal elitist gathering, I spun around to bolt and nearly ran into the maître d’.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, capturing everyone’s attention.
I cringed inwardly, facing them with a wave. “Hey.”
Surprised disappointment flashed across Xander’s face as his crystal blue gaze narrowed, and I saw dread reflected in those dazzling eyes. A chill slithered up my spine, my forearms prickling.
Xander threw a look of concern over to one of the men.
I followed his line of sight, blinking at the striking vision of the thirty-something man staring back. Complex emotions bubbled up inside me, a sense of my rising insignificance in contrast to the man’s profoundness. I snapped my attention away from the glare of his raw beauty.
Then, daring to look back, I let his chestnut eyes capture mine and lost myself in what seemed like a multitude of worlds, all touched by privilege.
His hypnotic stare held me transfixed as the room and everyone around us disappeared. I studied his perfect features, his regal nose and full sensuous mouth. Raven-black hair framed his devastatingly chiseled features.
His intense scrutiny took my breath away.
He pushed to his feet with a deadly grace. He was tall, a couple of inches more than Xander’s six-foot-two. Versace-clad broad shoulders made him stand out and when he tilted his head with intrigue, he held the silence hostage, commanding the room.
The way the other men deferred to him with reverence confirmed he had the authority. He was the only one not wearing a tie and his shirt collar fell open casually. For some reason that made him look all the more powerful…
He stood there, exuding power while looking my way, his voice deep and penetrating. “This must be Emily.”
Six Months Ago
“Are you okay?” I gave the man a nudge to wake him.
He rubbed sleepiness from his eyes. “I’m fine.”
No, he wasn’t. I’d just found him curled up in a ball on the filthy tiled floor in a corner of the Piccadilly Circus Tube station, half-hidden behind a pillar. His fancy Burberry coat looked creased and a three-day scruff shadowed his face, matching his dark blonde hair.
Meandering tourists and evening commuters strolled by him without a glance—like he was garbage and not a person who’d fallen on hard times. Goodness knows how long he’d lain there breathing stale air while people rushed by.
It had only been when foot traffic had slowed that I’d caught sight of him from where I’d been busking. For over half an hour, I’d been playing my violin to passers-by trying to make some extra cash to supplement my student grant. Glancing over at where’d I’d been playing, I checked to make sure no one had touched my tip jar.
Turning my attention back on him, I studied his dazzling features and guessed he was probably in his early thirties. His pale blue irises were a stark contrast to his grubby face. I found his Norwegian attributes quite beautiful.
“What time is it?” His accent was pure Surrey…or close. A friendly tone balanced out his posh accent, a contrast to mine.
“It’s just after nine,” I told him.
“Morning or evening?”
“Evening. What’s your name?”
He mulled that over. “Xander.”
“Can you sit up?” I helped him, and he leaned back against the grubby tile and blinked as though re-orientating himself.
“Here.” I handed him a bottle of Smart Water I’d carried over with me.
He eyed it suspiciously before accepting it. “You’re a sucker for advertising, then?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean…thank you.”
