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

by Amanda Aksel

  “I met Dean Bonnaire at a party once in Paris back in the nineties. He was kind of a fox.” She nods slowly, seeming to daydream about Drew’s father. Gross.

  “But what if Drew won’t talk to me?” I don’t know if I’d talk to me. “What if it’s too late?”

  “If he meant what he said, then he’ll at least hear you out. I’m sure he misses you as much as you miss him.”

  I suck in a deep breath. I don’t know how the hell I got here, but here I am. And after talking to Lisa, I feel like I understand this whole love thing. Or at least a little more. I know now that it’s worth taking a chance. So I will.

  Fourteen

  DREW

  It’s been weeks since I left New York and I’m still pissed. Pissed at her but mostly pissed at myself. How could I have let myself be so vulnerable to a woman? I’ve never gone there, and after this, I don’t think I’ll be going there again. It’s like I’m a kid again, totally heartbroken over a girl. But this is worse. Kate’s different and what I feel for her is so much bigger.

  I hate her.

  No, I don’t.

  I hate that I love her. I fucking love her. I fell in love with the one girl that I knew would never fall for me. Every time I get a knock at my door, I think for a second it’s her. But it never is. For a while, she hadn’t made an appearance on social media and I secretly hoped she was crying her eyes out over me. Now she’s posting smiley selfies again, saying that she was in her “design cave” preparing for next season. She was in a cave all right, but the only thing she was designing was new ways to drive me fucking insane.

  She seems fine. Happy even. Without me. So she was probably right not to take me up on my offer—any of them. Kate’s doing great on her own. I ought to move on and do the same.

  That’s why I’m heading to New York for the art show. Kent’s coming with me. He says he needs to get out of London for a bit and I couldn’t agree more. I’d rather be heading to a city that doesn’t remind me of her, but that’s life in the big city.

  The evening of the show, Kent and I stop for a drink at the hotel bar. We take a seat in the plush red-velvet chairs and I look up at the high stone ceilings.

  Kent gawks around the half-filled room. “I almost forgot how many gorgeous women are in the city. They’re everywhere.”

  “That’s the beauty of New York,” I say half-heartedly.

  “Maybe we should move here. I can start a New York branch and you can do the art thing.”

  “Why? Have you run out of girls to shag in London?” I ask. Kent is the one who taught me about women, how to be with them, and then how to get away from them after awhile.

  Kent scratches his chin. “I hope not.”

  “I do love this city, though,” I say.

  A cute blonde passes by. “And I have a thing for American women.”

  So do I, apparently. But there’s only one American woman for me. “Do you ever get tired of playing around and wonder what it would be like to share your life with someone?”

  He raises his brow. “Still thinking about her, huh?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”

  “I knew that girl had something special, but damn. I’ve never seen you this upset over a woman before.”

  Maybe if I forget about Kate, I can forget about how he treated her that day I found her on the street. He apologized, of course, and offered to share any of his contacts that could be helpful to her business. He’s not a bad guy, but it’s still kind of a sore spot with me. And for some reason, I want Kent to know how messed up I am over her. Because if it can happen to me, then it can happen to him too.

  “That’s because I fell in love with her,” I say.

  He shakes his head like he can’t believe his ears. “Sorry, did you say love?”

  I nod.

  “Well, that sounds . . . terrible. Sorry, mate.” Kent pats my shoulder, offering the only support he can. “Let me buy you a drink. Or two.” He waves the waiter over and orders two scotches on the rocks. We could use some ice. I’m sweating in my white T-shirt. This August heat is mad.

  While we wait for our drinks, I try to switch my focus to the art show. All I can think is, what if they hate my photographs? What if people love them? What if they all sell? Maybe I’ll spend more time in New York, work on a collection here? Maybe I’ll run into Kate.

  See. All roads lead back to her.

  The waiter pops back over with our short glasses. One for Kent and two for me. “Thanks,” I say, taking a sip.

  Kent’s attention is elsewhere. “You see that woman over there at the bar, the lady in red.” he nods. “She’s been staring at you.”

  Lady in red? Kate’s my lady in red. I look over. It’s not her, I knew it wouldn’t be but it is a lady in red. She smiles and waves at me. I smile back.

  “Do you know her?” Kent asks.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I’d like to get to know her.” Kent waves at the woman with the silky brown hair and one of those toothpaste commercial smiles. She walks toward us carrying her cocktail in her freshly manicured hands.

  “What are you doing?” I say under my breath.

  “Just because you don’t want to have any fun doesn’t mean I can’t. I’m technically on vacation.”

  “Hi,” she says with an American accent not much different than Kate’s.

  “Well hello, darling, would you like to join us?” Kent says, trying to sound extra posh, then sends me his I’m in wink.

  “Sure,” she says and lowers herself gently onto the seat between us.

  “I’m Kent, this is Drew. We’re visiting from London,” he says.

  “I’m Dahlia, in from L.A.,” she says. “What are you two in town for?”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she’s from L.A.

  “We’re heading to an art opening in Chelsea. Fancy joining us?” he asks. Kent never says fancy.

  “Sure,” she says. I send him a secret glare behind the rim of my drink.

  He shrugs innocently, then gives her his full attention. “What are you in town for?”

  “I’m researching a new role.”

  Kent leans over the armrest. “So, what are you? A Hollywood actress or something?”

  She smiles. “You could say that.”

  “What’s the role?” I ask, trying to be somewhat engaged in the conversation.

  “It’s a high-end prostitute who gets tangled up in a crime with a billionaire. Did you two by any chance think I was a hooker?”

  Kent chokes on his drink, a little scotch dribbles from the corner of his mouth. “Wait, are you a prostitute?”

  “Maybe,” she says, lowering her tone.

  Kent looks nervous, but I know she’s joking. Dahlia laughs hysterically.

  “She’s not a hooker, you git,” I say. “She’s an actress. She just told you that.”

  Kent chuckles apprehensively, waiting for the hidden cameras to come out. “Right. You’re a very good actress.”

  “Thanks,” she says.

  About halfway through the conversation, Dahlia seems to get the hint that I’m not interested and she lends all of her attention to Kent. The two have a couple of cocktails and get a little tipsy and a little handsy too.

  I really wasn’t looking to be a third wheel the night of the show, but unless I want to chat someone up, that’s what it’s going to be. The three of us hop into a cab and head over to Chelsea. Kent and Dahlia cozy up on one side, whispering to each other the way that Kate and I did that first night we ventured out of her apartment. Why didn’t I just sit up front with the driver?

  I tell them to head inside while I pay for the cab, but I really just want to be by myself for a few minutes before going in.

  The opening started almost an hour ago. I stand on the dark street looking in through the wide windows of the brightly lit gallery. The wired sculptures are no longer in the window and instead, the place is packed with well-dressed patrons of the arts holdin
g glasses of champagne and snatching tiny quiches from the black-tie waiters, all while perusing the work. I take a deep breath, inhaling the city air and push my way through the door.

  Kent and Dahlia have already disappeared into the crowd. So I wander the floor, trying to find my display. I peek over the various heads and see several familiar photographs on the wall. Those are mine. I push through a chatty group, then another until I’ve made it. But before I can even get a good look at my work, I’m distracted by a lady in red staring at my photographs. Those legs, those shoulders, that slightly untamed hair—it has to be . . .

  I tap her shoulder, too twisted up to even utter her name. I half-expect her to be a figment of my imagination, so it’s a nice surprise when my finger meets her solid shoulder.

  She turns around, gasping, and I feel wet liquid spill over my crotch and down my leg. Now I know it’s Kate, spilling her martini down my pants just like that night we first met.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” she says, covering her face with her hand. “I can’t believe I did that again!”

  The waiter comes by and hands me a cocktail napkin. “Here you are, sir,” he says and I thank him before he walks away. Finally, I find my voice. “What are you doing here?” I blot my black jeans with shaky hands.

  “I came to see you,” she says, her green eyes are even more beautiful in the gallery light. “How have you been?”

  I hesitate, debating how to answer. I want to tell her that I haven’t stopped thinking about her and I miss her, but I don’t want a repeat of the last time I put myself out there with her. Not when every photo and post she’s made since that day are testaments to how happy she seems without me. “I’ve been doing all right. What about you?”

  She swallows, almost like she doesn’t want to tell me. But her expression crumples and she says, “I’ve been terrible. This has been the worst two weeks of my life.”

  “Really?” She’s either lying or the girl knows how to fake a killer smile for her Instagram followers.

  “Yes, can we go outside and talk for a minute?” she asks and I glance around the room uncertain if it’s safe to be alone with her again. “Please?”

  “Sure.”

  She hints at a smile and takes my hand, pulling me through the crowd. The touch of her skin feels new and unnerving but at the same time so familiar and right. We make our way through the crowded entryway and I let my hand drop in the bustle while I follow her up the sidewalk, away from the busy gallery until she stops and turns to me. I keep my distance and stuff my slightly shaky hands in my pockets. Kate starts to step closer but then appears to think better of it.

  I let my gaze drop to the sidewalk, getting caught by her feet in a pair of strappy red stilettos. She has the sexiest feet. I didn’t even know feet could be sexy until her. I shake my head, keeping my eyes lowered. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

  She looks taken aback. “You do?”

  “Yeah, you feel guilty about what happened. Maybe you’re a little worried about me but you don’t have to be because I’m good. And I get it. You were probably right. I just got caught up in the moment. You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

  “Drew, that’s not what I was going to say.” Now she steps closer and I can smell her sweet perfume. It reminds me of the last time I tangled my hands in her hair as I pushed it away to kiss the back of her neck.

  “Oh,” I say, my pulse revving up. “What were you going to say?”

  “I was going to say that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said about us making a huge mistake. Well, I did mean it back then, but I was an idiot. Letting you walk out that door was the huge mistake, not going to London to be with you. I love you and I don’t care—”

  The moment those three words leave her lips, I step forward, cupping her face in my hands and kiss her the way I wish I could’ve kissed her every day since I left. She grabs ahold of my back, pulling me to her. I’ve never been so happy to kiss a woman in my whole life. “I love you too,” I say, pulling away for a quick second before diving back to those delicious lips.

  We finally take a breath and I just look at her. Kate. She’s mine and I’m hers.

  “I really do want to take a chance with you. I’ll move to London if that’s what it takes,” she says.

  I wrap her in my arms, breathing her in, and grin like a kid in love. I know Kate and I belong together, but I’m not sure I want her to move to London just for me. I want to show her a gesture of good faith too. After all, this is uncharted territory for both of us.

  “Maybe you don’t have to,” I say.

  She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

  “We could meet in the middle. What if we stay here in New York?”

  “You’d move to New York for me?” Her eyes glisten with fresh tears.

  “Yes. Will you move to New York for me?” I ask, pushing back loose, wild strands of her hair.

  She smiles, letting out a laugh. “What do you think?”

  I lean in for another kiss even though there are so many more of these in our future. “I think we should grab a glass of champagne, do a round at the show, then head back to my hotel to . . . celebrate.” I wiggle my brows.

  Kate gives me that sexy little smirk. “Great idea, because I’ve got another surprise for you under this dress.”

  A devilish grin spreads across my face as I imagine how sexy she’ll look in that surprise. “Baby,” I say, snaking my arm around her waist, pulling her body against mine, “let’s grab you a drink and get that lingerie on the floor.”

  Epilogue

  KATE

  I love our new apartment in the city. With the floor-to-ceiling windows and our wraparound terrace, it feels like we’re floating on a cloud over New York City. Maybe that’s because Drew and I are more in love than ever.

  It’s been three months since that night outside of the gallery—the night I spilled my martini on him again, but also the night I told him that I loved him. And I meant it. We almost immediately moved into my dad’s apartment until we could find a place. At first, I pushed for us to rent because I still had a seed of fear and doubt in my gut. Drew kept insisting that we buy, and now we own a gorgeous two-story loft downtown.

  I’ve just finished unpacking the last box in my home office. My sketchbooks and pencils are set out just the way I like them on my drawing desk. Since moving to New York with Drew, I’ve been so inspired. Next season’s collection will be the best ever. And I couldn’t be more thrilled about this next chapter in my life.

  With the last of my unpacking done, I head to the main room. Drew’s sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, chatting on the phone.

  “Yep,” he says, “I’ll see you next month. Cheers.” He ends his call and sets the phone down as I pass him heading toward the garbage with my broken-down box. “That was Kent. He says hi and he’s looking forward to visiting.”

  “I’m looking forward to it too,” I say and mean it. Kent apologized to me again after Drew and I got back together. I told him that he didn’t have to keep apologizing, and we should just let bygones be bygones. He’ll be here in a couple of weeks because, according to him, he had a great time in New York when he was here for the art show. Drew, on the other hand, is convinced that Kent just wants to see our committed relationship in real life since Drew’s never been in one.

  “Where are you going?” my man asks.

  “I’m just taking this to the garbage.” I send him a wink and can’t help but swish my hips as I walk. He always stares at my ass when I walk away.

  “Don’t take too long. I miss your beautiful ass.” He also says things like this all day, every day, and it still makes me blush. I feel like a sexy goddess twenty-four seven. Even with all the amazing things New York City has to offer, staying in bed with me is still his favorite.

  His second favorite thing is working on his new collection. All of his photographs sold at Liv’s gallery. Next month, she’s hosting a
n art show of just Drew’s work. His dad is very proud. The work’s been keeping him pretty busy so he’s scaled back on fashion photography jobs—but there are plenty if he ever wants to take one.

  Since the Lux issue came out, Kate Golden Lingerie sales have been up and the London store is holding its own. Working with the New York investor has been a dream. With the extra capital, I’ve got a new marketing team in place and a campaign rolling out soon. Not to mention, Garret’s done a great job of making sure my brand is popularized in the media. I miss him and Beau. But Beau and I video chat almost every day, and she’s been flying in to see me about once a month, so it hasn’t been too bad.

  She’s been single since I moved to New York, taking time out for herself so she can figure out what she really wants. I’m super proud of her and she’s just as proud and happy for me. I’m proud of myself too. Taking this chance with Drew has been one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself, and it’s helped me make other bold decisions about my life and business. The list of things I’m afraid of has dwindled down to wasps and tsunamis.

  I make my way back to the main room and plop on the sofa next to my sexy man. He lifts his arm and I snuggle in, laying my head on his chest.

  “We did good, didn’t we?” he asks as we gaze out the window overlooking the city. I don’t know if he’s talking about our new place or our new love, but either way the answer is . . .

  “Yes, we did.”

  The sun lowers behind the tall buildings and the sky glows a beautiful pink, orange, and purple. He kisses the top of my head and a smile instantly graces my face. “Feel like taking a ride?”

  Sometimes that’s code for riding him and sometimes he’s literally talking about taking a spin on the bike. But either way, the answer is always, “Yeah.”

  He rises to his feet, pulling me up with him and leans in for a sweet kiss. I never get tired of his kisses. I could kiss the man all day and still want more. “I love you,” he says.

  My smile grows wider as if I’m the happiest person on earth. “I love you too.”