Love In London: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  My dad looks like an old man. He always has, to me. But Oz? He looks like a rock star.

  Or maybe an actor would be more appropriate – especially in what he’s wearing now. He could be the next James Bond.

  I glance up and see a waitress from behind the bar staring at us with a slight pout on her lips, her eyes focused on his face. The receptionist was watching him so closely when I came out of the elevator, too. It’s obvious why. He’s so handsome, people tend to just stare at him.

  “You want to get a drink?” Oz asks. “A coffee, or something? To say welcome to London properly.”

  My heart starts racing in response to his question. Me, get a drink with Oswald Patterson? Um, hell yes. Even if it’s super innocent, I can always pretend in my head that it’s more. That it’s a date. And I can look back on this moment later on if I need something to get me through a dark day – or a cold night…

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” I say, hoping my smile is as innocent as I’m aiming for it to be.

  Chapter Four

  Oz

  I can’t believe it.

  I think I might be about to go into cardiac arrest.

  Something has happened here, and I’m not sure what. Somehow, the sweet and innocent gangly sixteen year old I knew, with braces, acne, and awkward clumsiness, has been transformed. It must have been some kind of spell. A witch or something got hold of her, or maybe the devil.

  Yes, definitely the devil. Because only he could make curves this sweet.

  Somehow, sweet little Gabriella has been transformed into the goddess I saw walking down the street earlier, and I just do not in any way understand how.

  It’s as much as I can do to get through the first few minutes of our conversation. I even lead her over to the bar I was sitting in before just to give myself a moment to turn away from her and think. This is all so confusing. The woman I saw from behind – the one who had the strange power to instantly turn my thoughts dirty and make me want to grab her by the hips and take her – how can that be Gabriella?

  I offer her a drink because I need one. Something. Anything to serve as a distraction.

  And also because this is no longer strictly something I need to do out of courtesy to my best friend.

  Now I’m infinitely curious – and I need to know what it is about her that has this effect on me.

  Because, even as I’m getting up to go to the bar and order us both a couple more coffees – though I probably don’t need any more caffeine at this point – my mind is racing. Alright, not just my mind. My blood keeps threatening to rush in one particular direction, and I’m not talking about my brain.

  No, my body has other ideas.

  She’s grown up so much in the last couple of years. Now she’s like a model, gorgeous straight white teeth set in an open smile, full lips, wide blue eyes I could drink up… she’s blossomed into herself completely. I know it’s wrong to have these thoughts about her – about Dean’s daughter – but… I don’t think I can stop myself.

  When I turn back around, she’s leaning towards the window, craning her neck to get a better view. She’s lifted herself up off the booth seat slightly to look, giving me a pretty good view of that perfect ass encased in white. It’s as much as I can do not to trip over myself as I walk back to the table with two cups and saucers in hand, trying hard not to spill anything.

  What has come over me today?

  “Thanks for this,” Gabriella says, as I clatter the cups down onto the table. I slide back into my seat, flashing her a smile.

  “No problem,” I tell her. “So, what are your plans this week? Are you really visiting colleges, or is that just an excuse to get a vacation all on your own?”

  She laughs, her eyes lighting up as she does. Her nose does this adorable little crinkle, dimples appearing on her cheeks. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t look away. “No, I really am looking at colleges,” she says. “Actually, didn’t you study here? Maybe I’m looking at your alma mater.”

  I nod, taking a sip of my coffee in a foolish attempt to study myself. “I was at Imperial,” I say. “It’s actually where I met your father. He was there for a year to study.”

  She brightens up again. “That’s where I’m going tomorrow.”

  “Oh, really?” I say, laughing a little. I remember, so many years ago, when I took that tour myself. God, it feels like a lifetime ago. But at the same time, I don’t know that it feels like it was much more than a handful of years back. It’s funny how time changes the older you get. “Well, it’s a good university. You’ll enjoy it there.”

  “Do you ever go back, ever?” she asks. “Like, for alumni stuff?”

  “Not really,” I shrug. “Every few years, I suppose. I’ve been back there maybe a handful of times.”

  “When was the most recent?” she asks eagerly. “You might be able to give me the inside scoop on what to look out for.”

  I grin. “I was actually there last year. They’ve put in some great improvements lately. Invested a bit more in the student social scene.”

  “Like the bars?” she asks.

  “Like the bars,” I chuckle. “Typical student.”

  She shakes her head, grinning. God, that smile. I could look at it all day long. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “It’s kind of weird. Coming to a place where it’s legal to drink three years earlier. I don’t know if I’ll do it. But I heard they have a lot of entertainment going on there.”

  “Oh, yes. Live music is pretty regular. And they have talks and workshops from visiting professionals. Actually, that was why I was there last year.”

  “No way!” Gabriella exclaims. “You gave a talk?”

  I nod, wishing it didn’t show just how painfully older than her I am. If I was twenty years younger, I would be charming her into my bed already.

  But even following that thought, I can’t help but find another chasing it. That it doesn’t matter. Even knowing who she is and that she’s almost twenty years younger than me, I don’t know if I can resist her.

  I want her. I want to make her mine. I want to put my mark on her so no one else ever touches her again. Like a primal beast, I just want to own her. That’s how strong a reaction she triggers in me.

  “I was a guest speaker,” I say, trying to play it off a little less than what it was. They have speakers all the time, after all. Not such a huge achievement in the grand scheme of things.

  The more we talk, the more I find myself noticing every little thing about her. The way her mouth moves when she speaks. The curve of her shoulder, the way her eyelashes move as she blinks. How she tucks her hair behind her ears sometimes, the last awkward holdover of a teenager now gone and turned into a woman.

  And it’s more than that, too. She’s confident in herself now. She carries herself well in conversation, never making me feel like I’m talking to someone so much younger than myself. Even when we talk about college, it’s like I’m talking to a mature student, not an eighteen year old. I don’t know how she got to be this incredible. But I feel like I could sit here and listen to her talk all day long.

  Even more so because it would be the most exquisite torture, watching her all the while and never being able to lay a finger on her.

  I know it’s wrong, and that I should respect the fact that she’s Dean’s daughter. I know he wouldn’t like it. He’d be furious to know that I even had these thoughts about her. But, damn. How am I supposed to get them out of my mind when she looks like this, sounds like this, is like this? Everything about her taps into some instinctive, primal urge to claim her as my mate.

  To make her mine.

  “It’s getting late,” I say, at last, checking my watch. We’ve whiled away the whole afternoon, and people are starting to arrive for drinks – probably after finishing work. I’ve kept her all this time, and now her first afternoon here is gone. It’s time to start thinking about dinner, and she hasn’t even had time to finish unpacking yet. “I guess
I should let you go and get settled in.”

  “Oh, is it?” Gabriella says, checking the time on her phone in surprise.

  “Sorry,” I chuckle. “I guess we got carried away chatting. But now that I’ve checked you’ve arrived fine… I guess I should let you get on with your trip.”

  Inwardly, I hope that she doesn’t want me to go. That I’ll see disappointment on her face. But at the same time, I’m not holding out for it – because if she does want me to stay, we could get into a lot more trouble than either of us may bargain for.

  Chapter Five

  Gabby

  When Oz tells me it’s time for him to go, it’s like the world comes crashing down around me. I don’t want him to leave, but what am I supposed to do?

  I’m the one who said I wanted this vacation to be my first slice of independence. I’m the one who insisted on coming here alone. And now I’m going to cling onto the first familiar face I see?

  I know it isn’t like that, inside. It’s not the fact that he’s familiar that makes me want to spend more time looking at his face. Even though it happens to be the best face I’ve ever seen in my life. But that’s how it will look – and how it will sound even to him. Like I’m some dumb kid who can’t spend a single moment in an unfamiliar city on her own, after all.

  Still, I’m desperate. I want to get to know him more – I do. As an adult this time, not as the kid who kept getting underfoot when he was trying to talk to her dad. And I don’t want today, this perfect moment together, to end.

  I just have to think of a way to make it sound like I’m not just being a stupid, clingy kid before it’s too late.

  “Thanks for checking on me,” I say. “I know dad kind of pressured you into doing it, but it was nice to see someone I know.”

  “No problem,” Oz says. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle in this charming and unexpected way. Almost like he’s not used to smiling often at all, and it’s a brand new look for his face. Come to think of it, his eyes aren’t as lined as my dad’s, or other men around his age that I’ve seen. He looks much younger. In fact, I’d have a hard time guessing his age at all, if I didn’t know it. “The pleasure has been all mine.”

  “Actually,” I say. Inspiration strikes and I can’t let it pass me by. I seize hold of both it and the moment. “You’re probably really busy, right? So it’s a big deal for you to take time out of your schedule like this. I should do something to say thank you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Oz says.

  I can almost hear what he’ll say next, anything for Dean’s kid. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want him to say those words, to remind me that he only sees me that way. I speak fast, to cut him off.

  “No, please,” I say. “I should do something. How about dinner?”

  Oz blinks at me like I’ve said something so completely unexpected. Is it really so wild to think that I might be a person who eats dinner and that we might do that in proximity of one another?

  “Dinner?” he repeats. “Tonight?”

  Oh, god. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  I’ve made myself look like an idiot.

  I just hope it’s not too late to take it back. I immediately start backpedaling, trying to figure out how to take the surprised tone out of his voice and make him look at me the way he was before like I’m someone worth looking at.

  “Oh, of course, you probably already have plans,” I say, waving a hand dismissively and trying to ignore the blush that must, by now, be creeping over my whole face. “I was just being a little selfish, really. I still want to pick your brain a little more over the whole college thing. And London in general, to be honest. If I choose to study here then I need to know what the whole scene is like, and I’m just a tourist right now.”

  “I don’t have plans,” Oz says, making my heart race. Here’s where it gets even more brutal, I think. Here’s where he puts a clear boundary in place, because why would he want to go have dinner with some stupid teenager, and I end up feeling like the smallest thing in the world, and it still won’t be small enough because I’m going to want to completely disappear. “I just think it’s a terrible idea for you to take me to dinner.”

  I swallow hard. Excuses, ways to brush this off, anything to save face, start popping up in my head. I just don’t know how to pull them off.

  “I’m the resident of the host country, here,” he says. “It should be me that takes you out to dinner. And frankly, I’m embarrassed it took me so long to ask that you had to do it first. Gabriella, will you do me the honor of your presence at dinner?”

  I blink.

  And then I laugh, in sheer joy and relief.

  “I absolutely will,” I tell him.

  “Come on, then,” he says, getting up and offering me his hand to help me do the same. “I’ll take you somewhere not far from here. There’s a great little place I know. I’m familiar with the chef, he can get us a nice table.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much of a thanks from me, if you go to all this trouble,” I say, my eyes wide at the offer and also at the feel of his hand in mine. He lets go once I’m on my feet, but I swear I can still feel the touch of his hand long after it’s gone.

  Oz gives me a smile, and it nearly knocks me back down into my seat.

  “Maybe it’s me that needs to thank you, for giving me some entertainment for the evening and a chance to go to a restaurant that I love,” he says. “Like I said – the pleasure is all mine.”

  I don’t think he’s quite right in that statement.

  Then again, he couldn’t possibly know how much pleasure it gives me just to be around him.

  I smile, hoping he takes my blush for shyness instead of excitement at the prospect of being with him for even longer – and the thought of having pleasure together. “Then, lead the way,” I say, which is the most gracious thing I can think of and prevents me from embarrassing myself even further by getting too tongue-tied.

  Oz really does lead the way out onto the street, but out there, we fall into an easy rhythm of walking side by side. A couple of times I almost feel the urge to reach out and take his hand again – to make it look like an accident or something, to just let our fingers brush and see how he reacts. But I don’t, because I know I’m getting way ahead of myself. Lost in a fantasy.

  We make small talk as we walk down the street, the weather is cooler than I’m used to but warmer than I expected. It’s not raining, which just about destroys the stereotype of London I have in my mind. When I mention this, Oz laughs.

  “You wanted it to be raining?” he asks.

  “Well, only because that’s always how it looks on TV,” I say.

  He chuckles again. “I can’t imagine coming here from sunny California and actually wanting it to be raining,” he says. He makes a half-turn to the side, putting an arm out to steer me, and for a second I have no idea why. We’re next to a big, ornate building that…

  That seems to house a restaurant.

  Here?

  There’s a doorman at the door, who opens it up for us with a gloved hand and nods at Oz. “Mr. Patterson,” he says, his voice deep and sober.

  “Thank you,” Oz says cheerfully, and as if this is a completely normal turn of events.

  I’m stunned – so floored I can’t even react. We can’t possibly be going here, can we? I wasn’t expecting this – just a local place with cheap and cheerful food.

  But now I’m stepping through the doors into a small space dotted with just a few tables, all of them occupied by people who look much better dressed than me – and I realize that this is real. We’re eating here, in this place.

  And I try not to look horrified at the thought of how much all of this is going to cost.

  Chapter Six

  Oz

  I settle Gabriella at a table near the kitchen – one of the preferential spots since the chef is known for coming out personally to make sure the food is served to perfection – and take my seat opposite her. I can’t help but smile
with excitement, but it changes to a frown when I realize that she doesn’t look quite as excited as I feel.

  In fact, she looks downright nervous.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, leaning over the table to keep my voice low. The waiter has disappeared to leave us with the menus, but this is a cozy space, and I don’t want to embarrass her by having the question overheard.

  “This is too much,” she whispers, her eyes flashing with alarm. “When you said a local restaurant, I didn’t think…”

  I grin, realizing that’s all it is. “Relax,” I tell her. “Like I said, the chef is a friend of mine. And it’s my treat. Believe me, somewhere like this, no one is paying attention to anyone else. All we’ll have room for in our attention is the food. You’ll see what I mean when it gets here.”

  There – that should take care of any of her concerns. I’ve covered the fact that it usually takes a long wait to get in here, the cost of the food, and that she might feel underdressed or out of place somewhere like this. Not that she should. Not that anyone should, but especially not her. She’s like a princess. She deserves to have the very best of everything. This place should be lucky to have her.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, still leaning forward a little, her elbows resting daintily on the table.

  Ah. So it’s definitely the money that hits her as the biggest issue.

  “I’m the host here, remember?” I tell her with a smile. “I wouldn’t be doing my fair city justice if I just took you to a chain restaurant that you could get anywhere in the UK. They’re all full of tourists there, anyway.”

  She chuckles a little at that, seeming to relax. “I’ve just… never been somewhere like this before.”

  “I know,” I say, easily, letting the teasing words roll off my tongue. “They don’t have anywhere else like this, anywhere in the world.”

  She shakes her head with a grin, the teasing allowing the tension to break. “So, you know the chef? What’s good here?”