Right now, he’d grab a moment for himself and enjoy it with … what was her name?
“I’m Mitchell, by the way, and you are?”
“Grace. Nice to meet you.”
Yes, of course her name would be Grace, she almost shimmered with it.
“So, Grace, across the Thames there you’ll notice Big Ben, and the Gothic-style building with all of those lights right on the river are the Houses of Parliament.”
She followed wherever he pointed, smiled and nodded. He liked it that she’d stepped a little closer and a refreshing, brisk, fruity scent floated up his nose. She wore a sexy black dress with a diving neckline, but instead of flaunting everything God had given her—there he went assuming again, but her breasts were probably real as they were shapely but not overly large—she’d covered up with amazingly alluring thin black lace. Sexy. And not fair. The subtle holding back made him all the more curious about what lay beneath. Some women knew how to make a man take notice and beg for more. Hats off to the beautiful Grace from Arizona.
He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back on task. “Oh, and over there is Westminster Abbey. Look down just a bit more. There.”
She inched forward and grimaced when she glanced downward.
“Fear of heights?”
“Fear of falling.”
“Ah. I promise I won’t push you or swing the pod.” She smiled and another moment stopped in time. He grasped for something to say. “Remember trying to make the Ferris-wheel gondolas swing when you were a kid?”
She gave him an incredulous and funny look.
He grinned. “Maybe that was just a guy thing. Anyway, I’ll point out a few more places….”
She oohed and ahhed over everything, giving him the impression he was doing a fantastic job as a tour guide. Maybe he could start a second career? But then again, maybe she was easily pleased.
“The lights make everything so much more beautiful, don’t they?” she said, her sweet, husky voice soothing every wrinkle in his mind.
The sparkling city lights reflected off the pod window and dappled her face in shimmering whites and muted colors. He dipped his head in agreement with her statement—the lights did make everything look more beautiful, especially her.
They continued the rest of the ride in casual conversation, just two Americans in London sharing a fun moment together. It was a hell of a lot better than what he’d been doing before she’d spoken to him.
She laughed easily when he tried to be charming and he liked that—made him want to keep talking. He also liked it that her fashionable shoes made her only a couple of inches shy of his six feet—all the better to stare into those amazingly vibrant blue eyes.
Suddenly energized, as the pod ended its full circle journey, and not wanting to say goodbye to the lovely lady, he got a crazy idea. Ask her out. Why not?
But he was so out of practice at spending time with women. Didn’t have a clue what she might like to do. Where did the only female that mattered in his life like to go best? “Do you enjoy swinging?”
A shocked and offended expression replaced Grace’s prior childlike enjoyment. She really had a way with giving “looks” that said it all.
Realizing his unintentional allusion to carefree sex—swinging—he raced to make things right. “On swings, I mean. Actual swings. Uh, the kind you sit on. Swinging?”
She blurted out a laugh, relief softening her eyes. “Oh. Well, in that case … I haven’t been on a swing in ages.”
The pod door opened. The other couples exited. He took her by the arm and led her out. “I know a place nearby—that is, if you’re up for it. We could walk over. Maybe have a drink afterwards?” He let go of her arm, not wanting to seem overbearing. “No strings.” He gazed earnestly into her blue—yes, they were definitely blue—eyes. “What do you say?”
He’d laid it on the line, stuck out his neck and set himself up to be humiliated with a firm no, but he couldn’t help it. Something about her had made him ask. Suddenly, his only desire was to spend more time with this woman.
But for all she knew, he could be a London serial killer. He, on the other hand, had known immediately that she definitely wasn’t a serial killer, just a lovely lady biding her time before “donating” to the Hunter Clinic.
“I’m still on Arizona time, everything’s all mixed up, but I’m not ready to turn in yet. Sure. Why not?”
Apparently as good at reading people as he was, she, and their mutual trust of strangers at charity events, overcame all her doubts. And he couldn’t have been happier with her decision.
The man named Mitch—and she was perfectly happy not knowing his full name, because once she began her new job she wouldn’t have a spare moment to get to know anyone outside work anyway—grabbed each of them some champagne in a plastic flute and directed her out of the gate. Facing away from the Thames, they turned left and soon came upon a few straggling street artists, no doubt holding out for the last of the tourists of the day. Or night. She checked her watch, it was almost ten.
One street artist was completely silver and stood on a small box with a large jar for tips at his feet. His head was shaved, he wore a suit and was reading a book. Perfectly still. Another fellow wore a fedora and a raincoat, all bronze from head to toe, arms folded, one foot forward looking like something from out of the forties or fifties.
“What if their nose itches?” she said, taking a long sip of her bubbly, admiring the live art.
Mitch laughed. “I’ll ask.” He stepped forward, dug into his pocket and put a bill into the tip jar. “What do you do if your nose itches?”
The pavement artist slowly and believably came to life. First his eyes moved, then he twitched his nose. He unfolded his arms and robotically took his index finger and ran it up and down the bridge of his nose. Then, just as methodically, as if he were a machine or wind-up toy, he returned to his original stance.
Grace clapped. “Love it.”
Mitch gave her an odd look as he took the crook of her elbow and pulled her down the path. She followed willingly. Halfway down the wide walkway they came upon a huge fenced-off playground on the right.
“This is, bar none, my favorite playground,” he said.
Why would he have a favorite playground? Was he married with children? Could her innocent desire to forget and enjoy the night damage someone else’s relationship? She slowed. He noticed her hesitation, raising an eyebrow over it.
“I’m just a big kid, I guess.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that she didn’t pursue the rest of the story. He’d told her everything she needed to know. He was a big kid who happened to know about children’s playgrounds.
Yeah, he was probably a dad. A single dad? One could only hope.
But tonight wasn’t about making a new friend, learning about family trees, personal baggage, regrets, or joys. Tonight was about letting go and having a little adventure with a complete, and totally handsome, stranger. The less she knew the better. Just to be on the safe side, though, she’d memorized the walk back to the Eye and could get herself there in a flash.
She nodded. He took the cue and they walked to the entrance of the Jubilee Playground, which had a large green sign on the gate.
“‘Young adventurers this way,’” he read, glanced at her and winked. “That would be us.”
Grace saw the shoulder-high fence railings and closed gate and wondered how they’d manage to get inside, just as two hands took her by the waist and hoisted her upward. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing. “You want to go first? Or should I?”
She suppressed her need to squeal, sucking in a breath instead. “Let me take off my shoes at least.”
He put her down and moved a few feet over to an embankment where the fence was much lower. He jumped up on the cement ledge and offered down his hand. She threw her shoes onto the grass and climbed up with his help. To hell with the sexy dress, and thank God she had on the body suit!
His eyes sparkled when
he glanced at her just before he jumped the fence. How the hell was she supposed to do that? Realizing his mistake, he jumped back over and helped her up, giving her time to get her footing and gain confidence, and soon, with the help of his cupped hands for her foot, she’d also scaled the fence.
Everything in the playground was made of sturdy logs and wood, encouraging the “young adventurers” to climb and play. Like a man who’d been here a number of times, Mitch led her to the swings and helped her on, then gave her a big push.
He had to be a father. And husband? Oh, no, she hoped not.
She curved into the night, feeling like a kid again. Soon he joined her on another swing and they quietly went about the business of letting down their hair in the cool evening breeze.
“This is great,” she said, having pumped her feet enough to take her to the hilt on the swing. “Haven’t done this since I don’t know when.”
“Then I’d say you’re overdue. Hey, for someone with a fear of heights, you’re awfully high.”
“That’s ’cause I’m in control.”
“Ah, a lady who likes to be in control. How refreshing.”
She’d play along with his teasing jab about pushy women. “Watch it, buddy.” With that she jumped out of her swing in midair, feeling daring, and more like a kid trying to impress an older boy than a thirty-two-year-old reconstructive surgeon.
He applauded then used his feet to stop his swing the old-fashioned way. “Want to go down the slide?” He looked directly at her in the darkness of the playground, daring her to take his challenge.
She sputtered a laugh. “In this dress?”
“You climbed the fence and dove out of the swing, didn’t you?”
“True,” she said, dusting off her hands. “But I really don’t want to ruin my dress on a slide.” She ignored his dare and walked farther on. “You’re probably renting that tuxedo, and don’t care what happens to it,” she said, one last attempt to save face.
“How about the monkey bars, then?”
“Who’s there?” came a gruff voice from over the fence. A high-beamed flashlight danced around the vicinity of the swings. She fought the urge to hide sideways behind a pole. “No trespassing.”
“We were just leaving, Officer.” Mitch stepped up and offered a hand to Grace. Her heart pounded from the swinging, and now for getting into trouble for it.
She grinned to make up for her nerves and decided to go the teasing route. “That’s what I get for going off with a strange man on an adventure. Next I’ll be thrown in jail and I’ve barely been in town twenty-four hours.”
The security officer noticed the fact that Mitch wore a tuxedo and she was in an evening dress, and he beetled his brows and tugged his earlobe. “You’re not dressed for the playground, are you?”
“No, sir, we’re escapees from the Hunter Clinic charity function at London Eye tonight,” Mitch said.
The man’s expression brightened. “The Hunter Clinic helped my niece when she’d burned her face on a campfire. Wonderful place, that clinic on Harley Street. Now if you’ll just run along, I’ll let you off with a stern warning.”
“Thank you!” Grace called out, walking briskly toward the exit.
The officer stood by and watched with one brow raised as they jumped back over the fence, Mitch helping Grace up and over. Then Mitch shook the man’s hand and the officer bid them good-night. They all walked away, the officer one direction, they in another.
“I’m starving. How about you?” Mitch asked, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with mischief.
Besides the salmon puff she really hadn’t eaten anything today, not yet having had time to stock food in her new kitchen. “Come to think of it, I am, too.”
“I know a great place about ten minutes away. You okay to walk in those shoes?” He nodded toward the shoes dangling from her fingers.
“I made it here, didn’t I?” She brushed off her skirt with the palm of her free hand and worried about how messed up her hair must look.
He smiled and his white teeth gleamed in the night. It wasn’t fair he was that gorgeous. “That’s the spirit.”
Fifteen minutes later they wound up past the Hunger-ford Bridge on the third floor of the Royal Festival Hall in an upscale restaurant overlooking the South Bank. They sat at the huge modern wraparound bar with a distinct 1950s-influenced design. The view was gorgeous, and Grace ordered a Cabernet Sauvignon and gnocchi. Mitch ordered a mixed drink and steak.
Up close, in the brighter-than-average lit bar, his eyes were green, more sea-green blue, and she realized she’d gotten lost gazing into them. He must have noticed and lifted the corner of his mouth in an angled smile.
“For someone from the sunny state of Arizona, you have a really creamy complexion,” he said.
“I own stock in sunscreen.” Feeling flattered he’d noticed something about her, she smiled.
He smiled back, and added a light laugh. Maybe she hadn’t lost her touch with social conversation after all, or he was going out of his way to be polite.
It was easy to make him chuckle, and their evening went on in free-flowing banter. No topic scratched below the surface. Somehow they’d made a pact not to really get to know each other. Yet she picked things up, like the fact he hated onions and separated them out of his dinner salad, and even after cavorting in the park he smelled fresh and trendy. The scent probably cost an arm and leg from some designer store. He owned his own tux and he knew where to take children to play.
The nagging question returned. Did he have a wife and family? And if so, who looked after them while he gallivanted around at charity events with strange women? Maybe he was one of the wealthy Hunter donors and could afford to live a double life.
She really needed to quit trying to figure him out and just enjoy his company. After tonight she’d never see him again anyway.
Her gnocchi was delicious and she forced herself to eat slowly. The cabernet warmed her brain and for her first night in London she had to admit she would never have come up with this scenario in her wildest dreams. Thank you, Leo, for inviting me to the Eye.
By half past midnight, rather than get to know each other, they’d discussed half a dozen couples from the bar, sizing them up and guessing their circumstances. Then, after making up far-fetched stories about secret agents and international spies along with who the couples must be, they pondered what other people might surmise about them.
“Maybe they think we’re two famous doctors out to save the world,” Mitch said, hitting very close to home in Grace’s situation.
“How about a rich American actress and her best friend’s husband,” said Grace, raising her brows, wanting to throw him off track. She must have done a good job as his expression faltered for a millisecond. Oh, no, she’d pushed the game too far. Had she hit a nerve?
The next few moments ticked by in silence, and he seemed to have lost interest in playing the game.
Mitch finished his drink and looked at his watch. “I should get you home.”
Okay, she’d definitely hit a nerve, and now she’d ruined their evening. “Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward for the first time that night. “I imagine you’ve got to get home, too.” To your wife and family.
“I’m divorced, in case you’re wondering.” His mood had shifted toward all business and she suspected it was because of what she’d hinted at. Or could he read her mind?
He reached for his wallet when the bill came.
“Let me pay for mine, okay?”
He scowled at her, but quickly turned the look playful. “Not on your life. I almost got you into trouble back there. It’s the least I can do.”
She glanced at the huge run in her hose. “True. And I’ve ruined my stockings.”
“Sorry about that. Maybe I should buy you another drink?”
“No, thanks.” She sat straighter. “It was fun. Well worth the cost of new stockings.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” He left the right amount
of cash plus a generous tip and got off the barstool. “We’re pod people,” he said, offering his hand. “Pod people and young adventurers, and we must stick together.”
And total strangers, don’t forget.
Grace grinned and accepted his hand to help her down then followed Mitch out of the bar. They took the elevator, more subdued than earlier, though he made eye contact with her several different times. She wondered if he’d ask for her phone number, but he didn’t. When they hit the street, he hailed a cab, opened the door and helped her to get in.
“Look,” he said, sticking his head inside but not getting into the taxi, “I’ve had a great time tonight. You’re a beautiful woman, and I thank you for spending these past few hours with me.” He sucked in a breath and Grace waited for the “but”.
“But I have a demanding job and what extra time I have … well … I don’t have time to date.” He glanced into her eyes, as if looking for understanding. She held his gaze, not saying a word. She wasn’t his type, or … Was this how men who were involved handled things? “If it was a different time in my life. If circumstances were different. The thing is, I just don’t have … well … it just wouldn’t be fair.”
“Shh,” she stopped him. She’d heard enough.
He’d made his point quite clear. There was no room for anyone else in his life. He was probably living with someone and had needed a night to himself, that was all. He was an honorable guy who didn’t fool around on the side, just hung out with strange ladies.
He’d been the one to say no strings immediately after inviting her to walk with him. What had she expected?
Silly thoughts invaded her mind but nothing could stop the disappointment that came crashing down around her. Though in her heart she knew exactly what he’d meant about not having any time beyond work. Hell, she’d been thinking those very thoughts earlier. She was in London to start a new job as a reconstructive surgeon at the Hunter Clinic on Harley Street, she planned to put her heart and soul into her job, and where did that leave her? Exactly in Mitch’s shoes.
American Surgeon in London Page 2
