A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1)

by Amy Daws

  I scream as loud as I can in frustration.

  “Crap day?”

  I jump when I see Mitch sitting in the breakfast nook by the window, sipping tea out of a mug.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, “You could say that.”

  “That tequila is crap. Seriously, I think it might actually be poison,” he gets up out of the booth and squats down by the stove, rummaging through the drawer below the oven.

  “Try this,” he says, handing me a bottle of clear liquid with a foreign label on it.

  I eye it, cautiously.

  “Trust me,” he states, dumping the contents of his tea out and pouring a bit into his mug and mine.

  “Salud,” he says, clinking mugs with mine.

  “Salud,” I reply back, gently tipping the liquor back at the same time as him. “Wow! Tastes like lemons!” I say, and lick my lips appreciatively.

  He nods his head with a smirk. “Finish it off if you like. But watch yourself, that’s a lot stronger than the shit you get in America,” he adds, walking out of the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Mitch,” I reply, feebly.

  “Cheers.”

  He makes his way up the creaky stairs, leaving me to my own devices.

  I take my coffee mug, fill it up with the clear foreign liquor, and head across the street to watch the skateboarders and have a good sulk.

  After about an hour of watching the action, and giggling every time one of the guys gets seriously hurt, I reach into my back pocket and grab my phone. My fingers have a mind of their own and before I know it, I push Call.

  “Hiya.”

  “Hiya,” I repeat.

  “Is it really you?”

  “It’s really me.”

  “You finally finished unpacking?”

  “Pretty much,” I breathe out. “Do you like skateboarding?”

  “Love it. Do it all the time,” he answers.

  “Seriously?” I ask, giggling nervously.

  “No, I wouldn’t know the first fucking thing. I’m an uncoordinated sod-all bastard who’d probably end up disabled for the rest of my life if I ever tried.”

  I laugh. It feels good to laugh. “Do you like watching skateboarding?”

  “Never tried that either. Sounds scary.”

  “I can protect you.”

  “Where are you?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Within thirty minutes, Liam comes walking around the corner. He’s looking delicious in a trendy cowl neck cotton grey shirt and jeans. His blonde hair looks softer than last time and it’s draped loosely to one side. He has a slight blonde five o’clock shadow that makes me want to cuddle up in bed with him all day.

  “Hiya you,” he says as he approaches.

  “Hiya you, back,” I reply, shooting him awkward finger guns and clicking my cheeks twice. I love how the English say Hiya instead of just Hi.

  He laughs and sidles up next to me on the metal bleacher, peering into my coffee mug tucked tightly between my hands.

  “What ya got there?”

  My eyes turn wide and the edges of my mouth turn down. “A little something I like to call Lemon Daydreamer’s Delight,” I click my cheeks two more times. Okay, I have to stop clicking my damn cheeks.

  I reach over to the other side of me and pull out another mug I ran in to get before he arrived.

  “I have one for you!” I sing out, merrily.

  “Well, alright then! Now it’s a party!” he exclaims.

  I carefully pour the clear liquid into his mug, trying my hardest not to spill. Before I hand it over, I eye him speculatively, “Aren’t you worried I roofied—hiccup—roofied it?”

  “Did you roofie it?” he asks, dropping his chin and eyeing me carefully.

  “If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you! How could I rape you and sell you into human-trafficking if you don’t drink this sweet, sweet, sweeeeet nectar?” I reply, sing-songing the last bit.

  “I’ll take my chances,” he says, grabbing the extra mug from my hands and taking a sip. He nods approvingly and looks out at the skateboarders.

  “Don’t you have a job you should be at or something?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Eh, working is for the birds,” he says, sarcastically.

  “Seriously, what do you do?” I ask him again, tucking my hair behind both of my ears, eyeing him curiously.

  He turns to me and does that thing again. That mouth glance thing. God, I hate that. Okay, I freaking love it, but I hate what it does to my insides.

  “Honestly,” he begins, “I’m the operations controller for a medical supply company. It’s pretty dull. A glorified inventory taker, but the pay is decent.”

  “And don’t you have work to work at today?” I frown at my phrasing choice.

  “Yes,” he replies, fidgeting in his seat.

  “So, how is it possible for you to drop what you were doing to come here and watch skateboarders with me?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and continues watching the skaters, avoiding my question.

  I stare at him until he looks at me. I raise my eyebrows, “Well?”

  “I blew off work to come here,” he replies. “It’s not a big deal, I was almost done for the day. They won’t even know I’m gone.”

  I look at him and drop my jaw, nodding my head as I take another drink of my Lemon Dreaming Sunshine, or is it Delight Dreaming? What did I decide to call it? Shit! A fabulous liquid deserves a fabulous name. I wonder what Mitch calls it? He’s a scary dude, but how can he be so mean and scary and then give me such a liquid deliciousness dream? Yes, dream must have been one of the words in my name for the booze.

  “What are you thinking about?” Liam interrupts my thoughts.

  “Oh, you know, really important, profound thoughts,” I reply, sipping more of my drink as he sips his.

  “What made you decide to call?” he asks.

  “I just thought I needed to stop unpacking already. Everybody else seems to be done unpacking. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Good point. I fully agree. Anytime you need to stop unpacking, you feel very free to call me,” he smiles into his mug before taking another sip. “So, what is it that you do that allows you to drink Lemon Daydreamer’s Delight in the middle of the day while watching skateboarder’s impale themselves on poles?”

  Lemon Daydreamer’s Delight! God, that’s a great name for this drink! Why didn’t I think of that?

  “I am currently on a leave of absence from my job back in the States, but I’m still doing some freelance for my company while I’m here, so I have some income coming in.”

  “What kind of freelance?” he inquires.

  “Writing stuff mostly, for advertising and marketing-type things. It’s fun. I get to meet different people and work on different projects all the time, but I just want to get out and discover a different world, ye know?” I stand on the bleacher our feet were resting on and stretch.

  “You know you’re still in the same world, don’t you?” he pushes out his lips, playfully.

  Ignoring his snide remark, I reply, “I like it here so far. Way, way, waaaay better than back home.”

  “I like it here, too,” Liam says, looking at me as I hop off the bleacher and sit on the lower level. I twirl myself around and face him. His eyes lock onto my mouth.

  “You have to stop doing that!” I exclaim, looking away from him.

  “Doing what?” he asks, smiling thoughtfully.

  “That thing you do with your eyes, where you look at my mouth like you’re trying to decide if you should kiss me or not,” I state, brazenly. Good Lord, I’m not holding anything back this afternoon. Thank-you-very-much, Lemon Dreamy Delish.

  “I wasn’t even aware I was doing it,” he says as he sets his mug down next to him and uses his arms to scoot himself down to my level.

  Facing backwards while he is facing forwards, our mouths are dangerously close together. His eyes continue to dance between my eyes and my mouth.

  �
��It does serious things to my under-carriage,” I breathe onto his face.

  He laughs, hard. “Did you just say under-carriage? Oh my word! That’s a first. That’s a true and definite first,” he continues laughing hard and I look away, not the least bit embarrassed. Lemon Days’ Drink makes me buoyant, apparently.

  He composes himself as I continue to watch him thoughtfully. “Well,” he says, “So far, I just love hearing what comes out of your mouth, I guess.” He looks down and smirks. “It always seems to surprise me,” he finishes, tucking a piece of my brown hair behind my ear.

  It tickles and I reflexively turn my face into his hand. He takes the opportunity to stroke the backs of his fingers down my cheek and over my lips. His eyes are locked on my mouth as my lips part slightly and his face grows serious.

  Before I can break my trance with this beautiful Brit’s face, he kisses me. Softly at first, then he tilts his head and really kisses me. As he’s kissing me, I just keep picturing his eyes looking at my mouth. I love it. It makes me feel desired. His hands slide from my face down my shoulders and he grasps my arms on either side. I feel the tickling of his whiskers on my mouth and smile slightly around his kiss in response.

  When he presses his tongue into my mouth, I taste the lemon drink and shiver at the delicious aroma. Before I lose my head completely, I push my hands against his chest and pull back. His eyes flutter open and waver between my eyes and my mouth. We continue touching each other as our breathing slows.

  “That’s definitely packing more in when I just finally got unpacked,” I say, looking down at my hands, still on his firm chest.

  “Maybe you won’t have to unpack again?” he questions, gently rubbing my arms with his warm hands.

  “I don’t know what’s packed and what’s not packed anymore,” I reply, pulling away from him and turning around to look back at the skaters for distraction.

  “Have dinner with me,” he says, in a rush, looking at me earnestly while I continue to look away.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do. You fancy me, I fancy you. What’s not to know?” he questions.

  “It’s so much more complicated than that.”

  “It’s not, though. It’s incredibly simple. Dinner, drinks? Anything.”

  That kiss was good. It was damn good. It wasn’t Brody, but it sure made me feel like a woman again. And speaking of Brody and women, he was off doing God knows what with Bitchy Bitcherson Old Balls Olivia. Why am I feeling so damn guilty about considering Liam?

  “Do you know what a, um, tarts and vicars party is?” I ask him.

  He smiles sweetly at me and leans back on the bleachers with his arms draped out wide. “I’ve heard of the theme, yes.”

  “What is it? Frank won’t tell me and made me promise not to look it up online! He said he’s taking care of my costume and all I have to do is show up!”

  Liam laughs softly and says, “Far be it for me to reveal Frank’s surprise.”

  “I’m so mad at myself for not knowing! I’ve read tons of British Chick-Lit novels and I’ve never come across it!”

  “Did you never read Bridget Jones’ Diary?” he asks.

  A light turns on as the memory comes flooding back into my brain.

  “Oh God,” I groan, and Liam laughs softly. I drop my head and cover my eyes.

  “When is this party?” he asks.

  “Day after tomorrow,” I reply, scowling at the realization that Frank is going to make me look like a huge skank or an ugly priest.

  He nods.

  “You could come if you want,” I offer him. “I almost regret bringing it up to you now because Lord knows what Frank is going to dress me in…but screw it, I don’t care. You can come if it sounds like something you want to do.”

  He nods his head thoughtfully with the side of his mouth turned up. I know I’m not offering him a date like he wants, but this is the best I can do for now. A social setting seems much safer than an official date. I know Brody is off being a disgusting puke and hanging out with Oldie Olivia, but jeez. I went from trying to have a baby with someone to dating again. I need to tread lightly.

  “Should I be a tart or a vicar?” he asks.

  “How the hell should I know? I just figured out what this whole damn theme is,” I reply, sullenly. “Frank is going to make me look like a fool,” I pout.

  Liam tips my chin up, “Impossible. Cheer up now, I think the party sounds fun. What time?”

  “Frank said no proper London party starts before 11, so I guess anytime after that.”

  “I’ll be there.” He stands up to leave and starts to walk away, then stops, turns around and comes back. He bends down quickly and presses his lips to mine, leaning me back onto the bleacher. Once the shock wears off and my lips relax, he widens his kiss, shooting flutters up and down my entire body.

  He pulls away, but before standing up straight, he whispers in my ear, “I hope your under-carriage remembers that until the party, Finley.”

  What have I got myself in to?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Brody kneels beside my mattress and gently strokes my cheek to rouse me awake. I purr with pleasure at the familiar feeling of his hands on my face.

  “Finley,” he breathes on my face, “I’ve missed you so incredibly much.” He groans as he leans in, whispering in my ear, “You have no idea how much I dream about you just like this.” He keeps his cheek next to mine as he slowly pulls the lavender bed sheet down my body.

  I follow his eyes as he peruses my body and am surprised to see I’m completely naked. I don’t even remember going to bed last night.

  “Finley,” Brody sighs my name like I’m his most cherished possession.

  “Brody?” I question, still trying to figure out how he is even here right now, “What are you doing here?”

  He ignores my question and begins dropping small, incredibly light kisses on the mounds of my breasts. A memorable stirring begins in my groin as my mind and body decide which it wants first—answers or pleasure.

  He takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks—hard. Pleasure wins. Oh yes, pleasure definitely wins.

  I let out a small gasp at the sudden pressure around my nipple as he drags his teeth gently over the hard nub. “Brody!” I cry, torn between loving what he is doing, and being terrified of the pain.

  “Finley,” he replies, “Don’t worry, I would never hurt you.” He looks at my face so lovingly, I could cry. I see tiny flickers of light shimmering in his dark blue eyes from the security light streaming in through my lace curtains.

  He leans down and kisses me, deeply. He presses his tongue so far into my mouth that I can’t even kiss back. It feels like he is doing with his tongue what he wants to do with other parts of his body, and it is hot.

  My hips twist to the side and rise off the mattress to press into him as he remains kneeling. He shoves his hands behind my back and continues attacking me with his mouth as his arms engulf me in a bear hug. It feels like he can’t get close enough to me.

  I slide my leg down to the floor in an attempt to wrap myself around him. He gets the memo and pulls back slightly to allow my legs to open to him. Spread out directly in front of him, I’m feeling entirely exposed while he is still fully clothed. It feels odd, so I grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head.

  His chest looks so good. So incredibly yummy, just the way I remember it. His creamy skin glows in the darkness and his chest is covered in short curly hair. I stroke the hair and move my fingers downward, to the path that grows from his navel to below his jeans; I relish in the memories of that familiar trail.

  He hugs me again, kissing me fiercely. The skin on skin contact makes me instantly aroused. He keeps flipping his head from side to side, alternating his kissing angles like he can’t get enough of me. His lips travel down my jaw to my shoulder. He gently bites down on my shoulder and I gasp in pleasure-filled pain. Then he sucks that spot, hard. He is marking me and I don’t even care. It feels so
incredibly hot.

  His right hand moves from behind my back and strokes along my side. I flinch as he hits a well-known ticklish spot; he looks at me, smiling. Brody loves how ticklish I am on my sides.

  His fingers find my wet center and begin working their magic.

  I moan loudly in pure delight at the building pleasure inside my body. Brody groans back in response and continues filling me with his fingers.

  “Brody!” I cry, breathing quicker as his fingers become more relentless. “Brody! I can’t…I don’t understand! What’s going on?”

  “Shhhhhh baby,” he hushes me as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the button on his pants.

  He stands quickly and kicks himself out of his jeans. I help him pull them down and lie back, still distraught from being so incredibly close to release, and confused as to why he is here in London—in my bedroom—in the middle of the night.

  Brody climbs on top of me, fashioning himself between my legs. In one strong swoop, he enters me and we both keen loudly with pleasure.

  “Brody! I’ve missed you so much,” I say, tears filling my eyes as he finds a good rhythm. I run my fingernails up and down his back as he works tirelessly for both of us.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he replies, cupping my breasts with his large hands, “But I can’t stay long.”

  “Why?” I moan out, getting closer and closer to climax.

  “Olivia is due soon.”

  My hands drop as the crushing name echoes in the room.

  “What did you just say?” I ask, clearly confused because there was no way in hell Brody just said Olivia’s name while he is rocking inside of me.

  He looks at me and cocks his head to the side, “I said, Olivia is due soon. With the baby.”

  I quickly push him off of me and scramble to the very edge of the mattress, pulling my legs up to my chest and squeezing.

  “What the fuck, Brody?” I ask, trying to calm my libido enough to be angry.

  “I thought this was what you wanted?” he replies, looking confused.