Lingerie on the Floor (The Londonaire Brothers Series Book 1)

by Amanda Aksel

  “Um, okay. That’ll be fun,” she says.

  I guess not. “Okay, cool,” I say, indifferently, and turn towards the martini glasses on the counter. My folks are gonna love Kate when they meet her. Fuck!

  Okay, Drew, take a deep breath. It’s just a wedding date. Not a big deal. Except for the fact that for a split second earlier, when she came in my mouth, I wanted her to be mine always. And that thought never crosses my mind even in the heat of passion. About anyone.

  Maybe Mick’s upcoming nuptials are messing with my head. I pour the liquor into two martini glasses and slide one across the bar.

  She takes a sip and smacks her lips. “Mmm, that’s good. I could totally get used to this.”

  “What? A decent martini?”

  “After incredible sex while you make me something to eat, yes. What are you making, by the way?”

  I shoot her a shy glance. “Okay, so I only know how to make one thing well. My best mate’s mom taught me how to make it when we were younger.”

  “Eggs, cheese, butter . . . is it an omelet?”

  “Welsh rarebit.”

  She cocks her head. “What’s that?”

  “It’s basically toast with a cheesy hollandaise sauce.”

  “Ooh,” she flashes her big green eyes. “Sounds yummy.”

  “It is. Not as yummy as you though.”

  She hides her flushed face behind the rim of her glass.

  “How about some music?” I ask, leaning on the counter in front of her.

  Kate gives me a funny look. “Like what? Barry Manilow?” She laughs wildly, and as embarrassed as I am over the fact that she saw how many times I played that song, it’s worth it to hear her laugh like that.

  “No, that’s for after four martinis,” I say, flushed, trying to relax my cheeks.

  “Oh,” she says, playing serious. “Of course.”

  “Hey, Lucy,” I call out, “play the Best of Billy Joel.” A moment later, the sounds of Billy tickling the ivories in “Piano Man” plays overhead.

  “Who’s Lucy?”

  “It’s the name of my voice command system. You want to give her a command?” I stir the sauce over the gas stove, playing it cool.

  “Maybe later. Did you name her?”

  I hear Kate take another slurp of her drink. I’ve hardly touched mine. “Yes.”

  “Was Lucy the name of a girl who broke your heart or something?” she asks, with just a hint of jealousy in her voice. Her questions and the tone of her voice are too cute. I have to swallow a chuckle. She’s gonna love my answer.

  “Yes, actually. I loved that cocker spaniel with all my heart.”

  “Aw,” Kate sounds and her jealousy drops away. “Lucy was your dog?”

  I look up with a nod. Her martini glass is already empty. She gazes up with a daydreamy look in her eyes. “Man, I love this song,” she says, beginning to sway.

  “Me too.” I sing a few bars under my breath.

  “This song reminds me of my parents getting ready to go out for the evening when I was a little girl.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, we were living in New York, the most romantic city in the world,” her eyes light up, “And I would sit on the bed with my teddy bears and books, and watch my mom put her makeup on. She’d put on really fun sequin dresses that were hot in the early nineties. My dad would wear these gaudy, shiny cuff links, and he always let my mom tie his tie. I remember thinking that they were perfect, like a prince and princess.” Kate pushes her empty glass around the counter and goes quiet for a minute. I already know how her parent’s love story ends. “What about your parents?” she asks.

  “They’re very old-fashioned. I wouldn’t call them the perfect couple. They kind of keep to themselves, but they come together when it really matters.”

  Kate shrugs with a slight frown, seeming to still have her mind on the memory of her parents. “That’s good.”

  I can’t let her be sad. Not tonight. Time to change the tune. “Hey, Lucy, play Prince,” I call out. “Do you like Prince?”

  “Love him,” she says. And like magic, that sexy smile returns.

  “Thanks for the surprise, by the way,” I say.

  Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “Yeah, I thought you might like that.”

  “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold it. I could’ve come twelve times just looking at you.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” I whip her up another martini and shoot it her way across the counter.

  “Oh, man,” she says, “I’m a little tipsy. I need to eat something soon.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. It’s just about done.”

  Kate nurses her drink, singing along to “Raspberry Beret.” She knows every lyric. The girl has great taste in music, not to mention photography. I stay quiet so I can hear her pretty falsetto voice. She giggles, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, my God. When I was a kid, I thought the lyric was, “Faaaaast Merry-Go-Round!”

  I bust out a laugh. “That’s adorable.”

  The toast is crisp and the sauce is hot. I serve up a plate, sliding it her way. “Go ahead,” I tell her, and she slices her fork into the bread and takes a bite.

  “Mmm,” she says, her eyes wide. “This is really yummy.”

  “Right?”

  “Not as yummy as you, though.” She winks and it takes everything I have not to lunge over the counter and pour that sauce all over her body and lick it off bit by bit.

  We talked more over the toast, downing our martinis.

  “You want another drink?” I ask.

  She hops to her feet, clapping her hands. “Yeah, let’s get drunk and play ‘Copacabana’!”

  “I’ll tell you what. We’ll have another drink, play your drunk song, then ‘Copacabana.’”

  She sticks out her hand. “Deal!”

  I take her hand, then pull her in for a kiss. “I’ll get the drinks.”

  “You know, Drew, I’m really itching to hear you drunk-sing Barry Manilow, so why don’t we skip the Vermouth and take a shot.”

  “You want to take a shot?” I give her an incredulous look. Turns out my innocent little Kate is just a wild one in disguise.

  “Yes, let’s do it.”

  I laugh and head to the bar, returning with two filled shot glasses with lime wedges on the rim.

  “Oh, we should toast to something,” she says, holding up her shot glass.

  “What shall we toast to?”

  Kate peeks her tongue between her lips in an adorable thinking face. “Hmm . . . oh, I know!” Her expression morphs into a telling smirk.

  “To lingerie!” she says.

  I clink my cold, tiny glass to hers. “To lingerie!”

  We suck down the potent liquid, and she quickly chases it with her lime wedge.

  “Oh, yeah,” Kate says with pink cheeks and a goofy grin. “I’m ready.” She swings her arms and jogs in place like she’s warming up for a marathon. And whom are we kidding—her drunk song is a marathon.

  “Hey, Lucy,” she calls out, “play ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire.’”

  Right away, the synthesizer beat begins. She lets out an excited yip-scream and covers her mouth.

  “I know all of the lyrics to this song. When I was a kid, I would lie on my bed with the cassette tape playing, reading the lyrics until I had it memorized,” she says.

  “You did?” I ask, laughing and turning up the volume. “So did I.” And I really had.

  “No way!” She playfully shoves my shoulder. The lyrics take off like a freight train and we struggle to catch up.

  “ . . . Joe DiMaggio!”

  We’re doing great until she trips up on Prokofiev and I trip up on Khrushchev. She dances in a sixties mod style during the instrumental breaks, and I follow. And there we are, half dressed and laughing, singing, and dancing in the middle of my living room. It’s almost as fun as the sex but in a different kind of way. A way I have never enjoyed a woma
n before. I’m too lost in the moment to let myself overthink it, but what is it about Kate that makes me break all my own rules? The way she makes me feel is thrilling but the way I’m beginning to feel about her scares the bloody shit out of me.

  After four glorious minutes, the song ends.

  She collapses on the floor, laughing hysterically. “Oh, my God. This is the best night ever!”

  I sit next to her, trying to catch my breath and holding my stomach from laughing so hard. “Yeah, it’s pretty brilliant.”

  She lies back on the rug, her eyes heavy as Billy Joel croons “She’s Got A Way” through the speakers. “I am definitely drunk.”

  I just stare at her, the way her skin glistens in the light, how the edge of her bum-cheek peeks out of my shirt.

  She finds my hand and pulls me down next to her. “Lie with me.” I curl her up into the crook of my arm, stroking her hair as she breathes on my chest. As the song ends, her breathing grows heavy, and I’m pretty sure she’s passed out.

  And still, her words echo in my mind: this is the best night ever.

  Kate’s hidden wild and free side has apparently been a mystery even to her. Maybe there’s something about me that makes her break all of her rules too. Whatever’s happening between us seems like uncharted territory. Hopefully, rules are the only thing we break.

  I scoop her off the floor, carry her over to my bed, and tuck her under the sheets. She is so damn cute with her mouth pursed as she breathes in and out through her nose. I crawl in quietly next to her and close my eyes, thankful that she didn’t make me sing “Copacabana.”

  Seven

  KATE

  The brilliant morning sun nudges me awake like an insistent alarm clock. I squint in the light, my head pounding in pain. Where am I?

  The song “We Didn’t Start The Fire” resounds in my head on repeat. I open my eyes, the ceiling high above me. Oh, yeah . . . I look over. Drew’s fast asleep on his back, his broad chest moving steadily up and down. I don’t want to wake him, but I need a glass of water and an aspirin fast.

  What time is it? I sit up slowly, looking for some clue. There’s no clock on the nightstand. Where’s my phone? My purse? My panties? A memory from last night flashes in my mind, I can still taste Drew’s lips, feel his tongue on my . . . I glance back at a sleeping Drew, so sweet and peaceful. You’d never know by looking at him now that he’s an animal in the sack.

  I slip out of the sheets, touching only the tips of my toes to the cool dark wood floor. I tread lightly and grab my bag near the bedroom door, then scurry into the bathroom in the hall. I check my phone first. It’s nine o’clock. I really need to get back to my hotel and prepare for my investor lunch.

  My head throbs in pain. I should’ve had more water last night. What was I thinking? And why do I still have this song in my head? Then another flashback—me, martini, Drew, Billy Joel. Oh, my God. I didn’t.

  No . . . I definitely did.

  I roll my eyes, which shoots a sharp pain over my forehead. That’s not the only thing that hurts. Muscles in my back, hips, and legs are all sore. I’m not even this achy after Pilates. Who knew sex could be such an amazing workout?

  I splash cold water over my face and look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are pink with smudged mascara shadowed beneath them. I dig out a few aspirins from my purse and cup sips of water into my mouth, then quickly comb my crazy hair with my fingers.

  Back in Drew’s bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, he’s still asleep. I set his white button-down on the bed, even though I’m tempted to take it with me as a souvenir. Snatching my stilettoes from the floor, I tiptoe toward the door. Just before I cross over into the hallway, Drew utters, “Good morning,” in a sexy, groggy voice.

  My stance stiffens and I slowly turn back. “Good morning.”

  He’s lying on his side, propped up with his arm. “You sneaking out on me?”

  Yes. “No, I just didn’t want to wake you.”

  Drew sits upright, white linens covering his lower half. His cut six-pack looks even more defined in the morning sun. He pats the bed. “Why don’t you come back to bed for a while?” That intense hungered look reflects in his eyes, and I’m prepared to cancel lunch if it means I get to be naked with him again.

  Besides, how could I say no to that? But I can’t skip out on my lunch. That would be like breaking a million rules at once. For the first time, I’m actually torn between work and sex.

  Drew moves the sheets and he’s already stiff as a board.

  Screw it. I need his hands on my body.

  I drop my bag and lunge back into his bed. He catches me in his arms and I kiss his sweet morning mouth. His cologne has faded, but his natural smell is even more intoxicating. He yanks the strap of my trench coat and pushes it off my shoulders. It’s early, I’m tired and hung-over, but my body is ripe and ready for him now. He throws me back on the mattress, kissing my neck. I tilt my head back, looking out onto the view of a busy metropolitan city. London.

  And then I remember why I came here. It wasn’t to have crazy amazing sex, though that has been an unexpected perk. I’m here to save my store, and if I skip or even reschedule this meeting, then I can pretty much kiss Kate Golden Lingerie London Boutique goodbye.

  “Dammit,” I mutter under my breath.

  Drew stops nibbling my neck and gives me an alarmed stare. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to go,” I grumble with an exaggerated frown.

  “Why?” he asks with that smirk I can’t resist. “I’m just getting started.” And I would love for him to finish. I want to finish too.

  I let out a sigh. “I have a really important meeting with a potential investor in a few hours and I have to prepare.”

  “Oh.” He sits up, looking like I just told him his cocker spaniel, Lucy, died all over again. “Why are you meeting with an investor?”

  I find my coat dangling off the edge of the bed and cover myself with it. “My company’s revenue has been falling for the last six quarters and the London store isn’t performing the way it should. I don’t want to give up on it yet, but I need more capital to save it.”

  Drew cocks his head. “How much do you need?”

  “Twenty million is ideal.” Why am I telling him this? Only a handful of people even know I’m scrambling for more cash and none of them are strangers. Okay, Drew’s not exactly a stranger but we did just meet.

  Drew’s gaze shifts and he narrows his eyes like he’s thinking. He lets out a stiff breath through his nose with a serious look. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you the money, you cancel your meeting, and stay here with me today.” He takes my hand and pecks a kiss near my ring.

  I give a slight eye roll. “Oh sure, you’re gonna give me twenty mil just so I can stay in bed with you.”

  “I’m serious,” he says, and either he’s an awesome actor or he is actually serious.

  “Hold on,” I say, raising a hand. “Do you really have that kind of money?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “And you would just give it to me?” Who is this guy?

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He bulges his eyes like he doesn’t see what the big deal is.

  Geez, he’s wealthier than I thought. “So, you’re saying that me in bed with you is worth twenty million big ones?”

  “Baby,” the millionaire or, who knows, billionaire, smirks, “you in my bed . . . priceless.” Drew kisses me. “So, what do you say?”

  The only other man that has ever made me feel like a precious jewel was my father. And this guy is literally offering me the one thing I’ve been fighting to get, with a sex bonus. “It’s a very tempting offer,” I say because getting that money today would be incredible. “But I could never take your money like that.” I want to believe that his offer comes from a generous place, but who knows what kind of strings that would come with? I want to feel sexy and desired, and Drew is definitely helping with that. However, taking the money would make me fe
el a little like a prostitute. A very expensive one but still, I have no interest in blurring the lines of business and sex.

  He lowers his shoulders with a defeated sigh. “I had a feeling you’d say that. You’re not that type of girl. That’s what I love about you.”

  Love about me?

  “I mean . . .” Drew clears his throat. “You know what I mean.”

  I know Drew just offered me millions and Freudian-slipped the word love. Now I really need to get out of here. “Call me later?” I ask, rising off the bed and fastening my coat.

  “Sure,” he says with a sweet smile and I turn to leave.

  “Hey, Kate,” he calls from the bed. “You forgot your lingerie on the floor.”

  I don’t even look back when I say, “Keep it.”

  ***

  Getting back to my hotel wearing nothing but a trench coat isn’t nearly as much fun as going to Drew’s last night. But in less than thirty minutes, I’m back in my hotel bathroom. I barely have enough time to shower and do my hair, let alone review my talking points that I prepared on the plane last week. In the shower, I chug an entire bottle of water with one hand and wash my hair with the other. As I towel off, I realize that I no longer smell like the mind-blowing sex I had with Drew last night, and it almost makes me a little wistful. I’ve just swiped my armpits with deodorant when someone bangs on my door. My stomach flips thinking that it might be Drew.

  I check the peephole. It’s Beau.

  “Are you alone?” she asks when I open the door.

  “Yeah, come in. I’m running late.” I hurry back to the bathroom and slather my face with moisturizer, guzzling another bottle of water.

  “How was last night?” Beau asks, placing a towel at the edge of the sunken tub, while I prime my eyelids.