Page 68 of An American in London

He opens the door and the first thing I see is that dimple. Part of me likes to think it only comes out for me. I know it can’t be true, but I also know not everyone gets to see it. At least I’m part of an exclusive members-only club.

“You look incredible,” he says, not breaking our gaze as I step over the threshold. I’m not sure he’s even seen what I’m wearing.

“You happy with it? It’s suitable for tonight?” I twirl and my skirt lifts. When I meet his gaze again, his expression is difficult to place. It’s soft and kind and filled with gratitude, and it makes my heart inch higher in my chest. The time away from him, however short, increased my longing for him.

“More than.” He reaches for my face, cupping his hand around my jaw. Heat radiates everywhere—the base of my spine, between my legs, across my collarbones. He presses me against him and I gasp as our bodies meet. He feels so ... safe. He fixes me with a magnetic glare, andI lean into him, wanting to be closer. His lips graze mine and I have to hold back a groan, I want him so badly.

“Thank you for my flowers,” I say. After half seeing Daniel De Luca, I went back to my hotel to find more flowers waiting for me.

“I wanted you to have something that reminded you of me today.”

“They’re beautiful. But I’m not sure how you think I’d forget.”

“You’re beautiful.”

A staccato knock at the door makes me jump, but Ben holds me in place with his hand and his stare. “My driver,” he says.

“We should go,” I reply, my voice weak from our proximity.

His chest lifts and lowers. I sweep my palm up his shirt.

He nods, takes my hand, and moves back toward the exit.

“One second,” I say, seeing the mirror by the doorway. I pull my lipstick from my bag.

When I’m done, I turn to him, and he’s looking at me, a question in his eyes.

“I was hoping you’d kiss me, so I didn’t put my lipstick on,” I say in explanation. The cherry red is a contrast to my black silk dress, and it stops the outfit from feeling funereal. If it smudges, I’m in trouble. I’ll look like I have a shellfish allergy and just made out with a crab.

“You wanted me to kiss you,” he says—not a question, just an observation.

“Of course,” I reply.

He holds the door open.

“Is there anything you want me to say or bring up tonight?” I ask as I exit the house.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. What do you think you need to get him to agree to sell the hotels to you?”

He blinks once, then twice; it’s like he’s trying to say something but can’t quite find the words. “Leave me to worry about that.” He holds the car door open for me. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it feels like theatmosphere turned a little frosty. I’m not quite sure if it’s because he’s nervous, because I wanted him to kiss me, or something else.

“You’ll never guess what I did this morning.” We get into the car and I tell him about my morning stalking Daniel De Luca with Melanie on speaker, and how I got completely soaked.

He doesn’t say or do anything.

I slip my hand into his and squeeze. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just a lot on my mind. How’s Melanie?”

I almost tell him she’s deranged because she thinks I’m in love with him, but I decide against it. I don’t want him to think I’m not only Daniel De Luca’s groupie but his too. “She’s fine. Keeping New York warm for me.”

“New York. You’ll be back there soon.” His gaze is fixed ahead as if he’s driving. He looks a little solemn.

“Hey.” I drop my hand and stroke my fingers over his cheekbone. “You want to talk about it?”

He glances at me and my stomach flips. Just from a look. I might not be in love with him, but that damn lust fairy is working overtime.

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