The Last Kiss: A Standalone Romance Novel (The Notting Hill Sisterhood Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  I love you. Kiss Paige and Lenny for me.

  I almost don’t wait to see what her dancing dots are going to say.

  Don’t you dare. Don’t you bloody dare.

  I grin, my face muscles the only ones still working.

  Chill sis, just want you to know. I haven’t told you enough.

  Has he drugged you? Do I need to send a rescue party?

  Laughing, I show Henri and he presses on the voice message button. “Non, not drugged, next time you can come along and feel the magic for yourself.”

  My chest hollows. Liv and I both know there won’t be a next time.

  There might not be a next week.

  I slide my phone under the pillow and turn to face him. “Henri, I need to tell you something.”

  He just watches me.

  The damn words. They just don’t want to form, don’t want to break this spell.

  “Tomorrow.” I nod. “Tomorrow.”

  “Go to sleep, mon coeur. I’ll wake you for some food shortly.”

  “But what about the beautiful dress?”

  “I don’t care about dresses, Julianna.” He leaves his words dangling. He only cares about me, and I’m lying to him, another night of secrets.

  “Julianna?” A gentle kiss on the edge of my jaw brings me back around. I blink, confusion muddling my thoughts when the room is lit with sunlight—damn it, he let me sleep too long. When I can make sense of the room, I understand it’s candlelight not sunlight illuminating the walls and surfaces with a golden haze.

  “Did you do this?” I struggle to sit up, breath still too shallow. How the hell did this happen so fast? Bastard Sod’s law that’s what.

  The room is lit by an uncountable number of candles. Big ones, church ones, small tea lights.

  “It’s nothing.” He shrugs. Do I love his shrugs or hate them? Sometimes it’s hard to decide.

  At the foot of the bed is a room service trolley complete with gleaming silver-domed lid. “Would you hate me if I said I wasn’t hungry?”

  Dark eyes meet mine. “Would you hate me if I said you had to eat anyway?”

  “Touché.”

  I shuffle forward, automatically keeping my movements small so as to not overexert my breathing.

  Bastard bloody lungs.

  Bastard bloody heart.

  Why the fuck is this happening now? Yesterday I was shagging in a barn… actually, now I think about it…

  Henri’s expression is torn and pained. “Stay there.”

  Stretching up off the mattress, he walks for the trolley and lifts the lid before shooting me a grin. “It’s only cheese and biscuits anyway.”

  “Good, I love a bit of cheddar.”

  Stalking back, plate in hand, he fixes his lips to mine. “Heathen.”

  “Cheese snob.”

  I submit to his mouth, falling into the kiss with everything I have left. When he pulls away those damn stabbing tears prickle my eyes again.

  “Snuggle up.” He motions me to get back into bed, while my gaze is drawn to the beautiful dress I should be wearing, draped over the back of a chair against the far wall.

  “I’ll get crumbs in the bed.”

  “Really?” His eyebrow does some major talking. “I’ve seen your flat. Crumbs aren’t an issue for you I think.”

  “Ah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.”

  “What?” With a knife he wedges some pale crumbly cheese onto a plate, scattering some small tomatoes, grapes, and what look like small pickles. My stomach growls.

  “Well, Barney. He’s going to be very cross when finds out you have a thing for dogs. It’s a betrayal of the highest order. I think he’ll break up with you.”

  “William and Harold?” He passes me a plate and then brings his to his side of the bed and scoots under the sheets. “They’d adore him.”

  “For breakfast.”

  “Not all at once, they watch their weight.”

  “Oh, well now you’re just being rude.”

  Like the French sunshine he chases away the shadows lingering in my soul. “What do you think of the cheese?”

  Thankfully I can breathe a little better, though I still feel exhausted. At least I feel like I can speak longer sentences now. “I haven’t got that far yet. Grapes come first.”

  If anyone has ever looked more disappointed in me, I don’t remember. “Non, grapes with, not first.” He rattles off some disgruntled French I’m glad I can’t translate while I try to hold in my giggle.

  “I know, I’m not a complete cheese novice. I just like to hear you talk French under your breath at me. It’s incredibly sexy.”

  “Eat. Now.” His frown pulls at his eyebrows. “And then I’ll show you sexy.”

  Ah. Oh my god. I’ve forgotten what I packed back in London. Well, if ever there was a time for stepping out of my comfort zone, tonight is the night, because tomorrow if I stick to my plan everything will change.

  I wolf down some biscuits despite the fact my appetite is coming in at just about zero. Henri shakes his head in true dismay as I shovel in some cheese, nodding my appreciation.

  “I need the loo,” I announce and manage to move slowly from the bed, taking a moment to grab a nondescript black bag from my suitcase.

  Odile isn’t the only one who can hit the boutiques. Before I travelled I visited a Notting Hill lingerie shop. I’m still sandy and wearing the bikini—which I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to wear as long as I have been without it doing some damage to private areas. With a quick nip back to the bedroom with a, “Just forgot something,” in Henri’s direction, I pull my peacock diary and pen out of my suitcase before slipping back into the bathroom.

  On a whim, I tug open the shower door and switch it on. While I wait for it to warm, I flick to my list at the beginning. It seems so stupid now to be keeping a record of all of these things, but it feels almost like I’m keeping a record of us, one for history. I write: Have sex in the sea, and then cross it out. Snapping the book shut, I jump in the shower, lathering myself in the lemon-scented gel he has on the shelf.

  “Julianna?” There’s a shout through the door.

  “I’m fine, give me five.”

  He doesn’t answer, so I lift my face to the powerful jets. The hot water is soothing, restorative. I should probably be thinking of the words I’ll need to say tomorrow. I never thought I’d have to tell him, never knew that we’d get to this point. It was only ever meant to be a night of fun. But I guess that’s life. It steals up and surprises you when you least expect it, squirming into all the tight spaces that you thought you kept carefully locked. I’d spent so long forgetting to live, keeping below the radar, that I’d long forgotten there could be a spark in the veins that pushed you from one moment to the next with only a heartbeat between.

  Life was simply a heartbeat. Love the silence between.

  Out of the shower, I dry off and rub the rose-scented oil Liv’s gifted me over my skin until I glow like a brand-new penny. Then I slip on the black lace set I bought one rainy London afternoon. The bralette does something miraculous to my cleavage, the sheer shorts giving me curves I’ve never owned before. The woman in the shop had suggested a G-string, but hell, I was dying, I hadn’t lost my mind yet. The sun today has tinted my pale skin with a hint of gold, and thankfully no bacon streaks.

  With my hand on the bathroom door my heartbeat races. Good race I think.

  Come on, Julia. This is what this thing called life is all about.

  Dragging in a breath, straightening my shoulder and swinging my hair out behind me, I yank open the door. Probably with more force than I need because it bounces off the bathroom wall making Henri jump as it slams tiles. “Sorry, I’ll fix the wall tomorrow if I’ve broken it.”

  “And you’ll be wearing that when you do?” One of his brows quirks and he throws back the sheet revealing his naked perfection underneath.

  “Only if you wear that.” I stalk for the bed, tossing my diary back in my suitcase
as I pass.

  Our lips fuse, his hands skimming my exposed skin. “Never has black lace looked so perfect.”

  “Never has naked looked so perfect,” I counter.

  I shiver as his broad hands rise from my waist, cupping my tits, pushing them together into rounded globes that make his eyes widen. Dipping his dark head, he presses butterfly soft kisses onto the swells and curves.

  “This stays on,” he growls, lowering himself, one hand still firmly cupping my laced goods, brushing circles with his thumb, making me arch my back. Kisses trail my body, tongue dancing a path downwards. My fingers find his hair, slipping through the long, dark waves, dancing around where they end at his neck.

  When his free hand palms my thigh, sliding over my oiled skin, roughing over the delicate lace, I give a little tremble.

  This is profound.

  Every time with him has been out of this world bliss, but now there’s this intensity burning. It’s a dark need to feel him at the very root of me, a clawing desperation for us to be fused and connected in a way that words will never truly describe. For us to be a single entity with one breath.

  “Henri,” I murmur, drawing him back up towards me. “I really need you.”

  “But the lace.”

  “I don’t care.”

  His eyes meet mine and I know he gets it too. He gets me. This unexpected soul mate of mine. A wild coursing sensation, foreign and unknown sweeps through my body, making my stiff heart swell. This is the same way I felt in the rain in Notting Hill weeks and weeks ago, but now I know what it is. I’m brave enough to know what it is.

  He reaches for the cupboard by the bed.

  “No.” I pull him back. “Just you.”

  “Julianna,” he breathes my name like a prayer.

  “Just you.” Hooking my fingers in the expensive black lace I push the knickers down, exposing myself to his hungry gaze, stretching to his sweeping touch as his fingers dip between my thighs. “No. I want my first touch to be you.”

  “But—”

  With a smile, I spread my legs. “Believe me, I’m ready.”

  His head dips in acknowledgement and he settles between my thighs, pushing at my entrance with nothing between us. I slip my hands down his back, lowering him so we are connected across every inch of our skin, our lips slanted, fast and firm as he pushes inside, filling me, fulfilling me, further and further until I gasp his name, my eyes screwed shut.

  This is where I need him.

  Warm, soft but hard, firmly centred within me. It’s electric, ripples flood my skin, everything heightened.

  “You are the most beautiful thing, Julianna.”

  My eyes fly open to find him watching me. A dark heat licks inside me and he hasn’t even moved yet. He closes his eyes, groaning softly as he rocks back and forth, gentle at first, the feel of him bare inside me almost I think bringing us both to an unexpected ending.

  I clutch in a gasp of air, holding it in my lungs, not wanting to come already, but it does nothing. Every stroke of his hips teeters me on an edge of the unknown and my orgasm blasts hard and I dig my nails into his back, arching against his weight. “Shit,” I gasp.

  That is not what I wanted to happen at all.

  Henri though is grinning, no, smirking, that boyish dimple teasing me. He rolls us, keeping us connected. “Ride me, ma petite.”

  I’m gonna ride him like a bareback pony. I circle my hips grinding him deeper. His hands settle at my sides, keeping my rhythm as my orgasm creates a sensitivity that’s almost on the point of pain. Our gazes lock. Holy shit, another tingle builds.

  “Oh, dear god,” I groan. The angle is everything. Electric pulses shoot me down deep, all the while his hands keep me steady, his hips rising slightly to meet my dance.

  “Julia,” he sighs my name, hand reaching for my tit, squeezing, somehow freeing it from the lacy confines and spilling me over the top.

  I glance down at how we are connected, how I’m exposed, and it’s the most wanton thing I’ve ever seen. It’s another log onto the fire of my pleasure.

  “Henri, I’m going to come again.” I pant my words, each one exhaling on a puff of air.

  Flipping us over, he drives home so fast and so deep. I scream his name as I come apart. He shouts his release, clutching me tight as an unexpected warmth fills me with an almost territorial power.

  Me Julia.

  Henri mine.

  His lips land on mine, planting kisses, soaking up tears I didn’t know were there until I taste them on his mouth. Roughly, his hands clasp my face, holding me still, making me look deep into his storm ridden eyes. “I love you, Julia Brown.”

  A stupid sobbed whimper leaves my lips, and he kisses it away while I clutch onto him like a lifeboat drifting in the Mediterranean. “And I love you.”

  26

  Irresistible

  “Tell me about Paris.” We’ve been snuggled, curved in warmth, one last flickering candle our only light with the shine of the moon.

  “Ugh.”

  “Ugh, is not the right response when talking of the capital of lurrve.”

  “Ugh.” He drops his hand to cover his eyes and shakes his head. A small smile curves his lips. I want to kiss that smile forever.

  “Okay, tell me about the Eiffel Tower. I’ve never been.”

  I’m watching him with stalking closeness that I can see his skin blanch in the half light. “Scared of heights, my lover?”

  He peeks through his fingers at my use of the label he’d once given himself. “Not heights. Tourists.”

  “Well, you know, I’m a tourist, so maybe I should just go and put my clothes on if you don’t like us so much.” I go to get off the bed, but he pulls me back with a firm tug and fits me back against his chest, his arm a barrier so I don’t dare move again.

  “I should remind you; we are in a hotel your family owns full of tourists.”

  Ha. I’ve stumped him into silence, although I’ve shot below the belt. It’s more than obvious that this venture is led by his maman and not him. He’s happier with his cows.

  “I suppose it’s an engineering feat,” he grumbles, and I chuckle against his warm skin.

  “Would you think me a foolish romantic if I said I always wanted someone to propose to me at the top of the Eiffel Tower? That they were willing to get down on one knee and submit to the ridiculousness that is the cliché of romance, just for me?”

  With gentle fingers he turns my chin. “I really am very scared of heights.”

  Snorting a laugh, I shake my head. “Don’t worry, Henri, I’ll let you off.”

  “You still love me though?”

  “Until my dying day.” Turning, I crane my neck to kiss his cheek, not letting him see the rogue tear that escapes my eye.

  “Now the Louvre is worth a visit. Sometimes when Gabriella is at her most frustrating, I just walk the corridors, taking some time.”

  “Why is she frustrating?” I squidge myself over so I can see his face properly, the expressions that dance in the candlelight.

  “Because she doesn’t take anything seriously.”

  Pursing my lips, I contemplate this. “Should life be serious?” I can tell him right now that it shouldn’t. I’ve got my membership pin badge for that group.

  “No.”

  “So why is she frustrating?”

  He scowls at the ceiling.

  “So, it’s really the situation your mother has created that’s frustrating? Let me guess, she thinks Gabriella should come back here too?”

  “It’s not that straightforward. She’s still in mourning, she wants us close.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty easy.”

  He shakes his head, lips pressed.

  “You know my parents, they suffocated me, always expected me to do everything right. I was the eldest, I had to set an example. I never even really did anything wrong, yet they still blamed me when Liv followed her wild path. They blamed me for something I didn’t do. Everything I’ve done since has be
en cast in the light of that time. Months ago, you told me I lived a life in grey. Well, you, my lover, live a life of repression, here at the will of your maman. Is this even where you want to be? In a hotel that isn’t your dream, when really you’re a farmer at heart?”

  There’s a lengthy pause, and I think I’ve overstepped the mark. Finally, he kisses under my ear, his arms closing me in tighter until my already empty lungs are depleted of all air.

  “In January, I was in London because I was meeting a farmer who has managed to rebuild a herd of truly rare cattle. I was talking of taking over some land and starting what we do here over there. It would be different. A different type of cheese process to here. I wanted the challenge.”

  “But?”

  He doesn’t answer for a long time.

  “Then the following month I went back to tell him it was a no go, I couldn’t do it. But then I saw you again, and right then in that moment I knew I wanted to move to London. Not for cows, not for the challenge of what I could achieve, but because I knew that I’d found something in you I never thought I would.”

  It hurts. All of this hurts because… “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.” His eyes meet mine. “And if I did now? If I packed a bag and left with you now?”

  I can’t answer. It’s too late.

  And even though he doesn’t know yet, he can hear the words in my silence.

  “Let’s get some sleep.” I nestle down so he can’t see my face. I’m pretty sure it’s a picture of pure heartbreak.

  I wake to warm fingers of sunlight reaching around the curtains. I pat the bed, expecting him to have gone to check his herds, but I tap tight arse cheeks instead. Nice. Automatically, I crank an eye to check Simone hasn’t come for a morning chat, breathing a sigh of relief when it’s just us in the room.

  Gosh what a miserable mess he’s in here. Part of me wants to go and seek out his mama bear and tell her to let her grown ass son live his own life, live her grief herself and not destroy him with it. But I won’t. Because she’s damn scary.