Page 7 of London
He’d seen them. His grin spoke volumes, and his words proved it.
“Nice stickers.”
“Thanks.”
She opened the door, realizing she’d forgotten to lock her car again. Damn. She had to stop doing that.
“You should be more careful,” Gerard admonished, stopping in front of her. “Never leave your car unlocked, especially when you park on the street.”
“It’s not a big deal.” She gestured vaguely. “There’s nothing to steal, really. Only a few chisels somewhere in the glove box, but I have more at home, and under these lights, you can see the vehicle’s empty.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Chisels?”
“What? The gossip squad didn’t mention what I do?”
“Sorry. All I got was that you’re an artist, nothing more specific.”
She grinned at his chagrined look.
“I am. I specialize in high-end custom jewelry, sculptures, and pieces used for interior décor,” she said. “I enjoy being versatile.”
“You must be very talented.” He lifted her hand, studying the white gold ring made of overlapping bands, one simple, one studded in diamonds.
“Did you make this?”
“Yes. It’s one of my favorite pieces.”
He nodded his head. “Very talented indeed.” He held her hand a moment longer, stroking her knuckles lightly. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, Linda.” He held her gaze with his. “When will I see you again?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. Until she decided whether or not seeing him personally was a good idea, it was safer to keep him at a distance. After all, they’d just met, and his intensity and her reaction to him scared her.
“I’m sure I’ll see you around the clinic. Thanks for dinner, and good luck with your research. I’ll check on your progress.”
He smiled, seemingly unaffected by her indifference.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he said and bent to kiss each of her cheeks, a typical French gesture that was almost as common in Italy, then turned and walked away.
The crisp, masculine scent of his cologne stayed with her long before she drove off, her hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. That man was dangerous to her piece of mind—and her hormones. She would be wise to stay away from him.
Until a few months ago, she’d rented an apartment overlooking the London Eye, the city’s spectacular observation wheel, and the Thames River. After giving the matter serious consideration, she’d decided to buy a house. While it was true she preferred Italy’s sunshine to the moody English weather, somehow she felt at home here. Her business had improved, and she was closer to HOPE.
With that in mind, her hand had been steady as a rock when she’d signed the purchase documents for the Georgian-styled, three-bedroom, two-story, red brick house in East Croydon, less than an hour outside the city. Her home, smaller but similar to the others on the street, had a dignified façade she admired.
The traffic was light and within fifty minutes, she turned into her evergreen-lined driveway and pulled up in front of the garage, waiting for the automatic door to open all the way.
Once she parked the car, she entered the house through the mudroom. Slipping off her shoes, she left them in the hallway and padded into the spacious living area. Here, enormous windows revealed the view that had sold her on the house—a swimming pool with asymmetric edges, surrounded by vegetation. Decorating the yard were garden gnomes, elves, and fairies, each holding lanterns. Once darkness fell, the solar lights came on, filling the scene with fairy tale charm.
Beside the pool, a stone deck sported lounge chairs and a café table where she could eatal fresco. On the other side of the yard, she’d built a small gazebo to use as a workshop.
Linda dropped onto the sofa and reached for the TV remote, keeping an eye on the kitchen since her roommate would show up at any second.
He did. Tail raised in welcome, the cat jumped onto her lap, purring noisily.
“How are you,bambino?” She stroked his soft white fur, marred only by black fur booties on his front paws. A circular black patch around his left eye earned him the name Pirata.
Now her constant companion, she’d found him last year the very day she’d moved to London. He’d been facing a dog five times his size. Although Pirata had been holding his own and had bloodied the dog’s nose, Linda was certain the dirty white cat would soon be a doggie snack.
She’d slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street, climbed out of the car, snatched the cat from the bully, and had driven off in a torrent of honks and curses. Pirata, grateful she’d saved his life, had become her most faithful friend and confidant.
