“Of course, thank you so much for letting us stay,” I say, bolting to my feet, wondering where my shoes have gotten off to.
“Absolutely, Reg, no trouble at all,” Olly says. Then, as if reading my mind, he points beneath our card table. “I think your shoes are under there, Em. If you want to fetch those, your purse, and your coat, I’ll rescue your suitcase from the manger, and we’ll be off. You said you’re in Mayfair?”
I nod. “Yes. At the Winthrop Mayberry.”
“That’s quite a jaunt,” Reggie says, concern in his voice. “And I haven’t seen a cab in hours.”
“I’ll get her home safe on the subway,” Olly assures him, the protective note in his voice melting the last of my hesitation.
Yes, he was a sarcastic ass at first, but only for like five minutes. Then, he apologized and has been completely lovely and funny and charming for…two hours? Three?
I suddenly realize I have no idea what time it is.
I fetch my cell from my purse as I stuff my feet into my ruined shoes.
Midnight.
The witching hour.
Not a good time to make big decisions of any kind, but as we bid Reggie farewell outside and toddle off in the direction of the closest tube station, I can’t help looping my arm through Olly’s.
The last thing I want is to say goodbye.
The storm has gentled into a dreamy, cinematic snow. Fat, lazy flakes drift down from the gray sky, catching the light from the street lamps. The city is covered in a pristine coat of white, the streets are empty, and it feels like we’re the only two people in London.
“God, it’s beautiful,” I breathe, lifting my face to the sky.
“You’re beautiful,” Olly murmurs, summoning a fresh flush to my cheeks. “Very beautiful, but there’s no pressure. If you’ve changed your mind about me behaving myself, I can see you home and take my leave.”
As we stop at the corner, I glance his way, deciding he’s even sexier in the snow. “No,” I whisper, heart galloping in my chest. “I haven’t changed my mind. Unless…you’ve changed yours.”
“No, I haven’t. Not at all.” He clears his throat, looking almost as nervous—and exhilarated—as I feel, making a foolish part of me hope this isn’t something he does every weekend, either.
Yes, he’s a gorgeous, classy, funny, likely-wealthy man if his leather Crockett and Jones Oxfords are anything to judge by.
But he’s also been grieving his father.
And he said he works a lot, too.
In the name of bolstering my confidence, I let myself believe we’re in the same boat as he threads his fingers back through mine. “So, the tube station is about a ten-minute walk this way.” He nods in the direction we’ve been going. “And then we’ll have a transfer to get to Mayfair. Or…we could go to my guest place.”
He turns, pointing across the street. There, on the other side of a small, open square, is one of those beautifully redesigned structures they’re turning into luxury apartments all over the city.
“I keep a flat in the building for family and friends when they’re visiting,” he continues. “All the comforts of home and, best of all, we could be warm and dry in two minutes flat.”
Two minutes…
I could be alone with Olly in two minutes.
I mean, I’m already alone with him, but we could bealonealone. In a place with a door, we can close to shut out the world.
A place with a bed…
I should say no. I shouldn’t go home with a man I barely know, who I haven’t even kissed yet. I should tell him I would be more comfortable if he came to my hotel, where there will be plenty of people around to hear me scream for help, on the off chance I need it.
Even better, I should march my frozen feet to the tube all by myself, go back to my sensible hotel room where I can make sensible lists and stay focused on salvaging my professional reputation.
That’s what Responsible Emily would do.
