“And that’s the only time Franky has touched a woman deep inside,” Marc says as the rest of the guests laugh raucously.
“Whatever, I don’t see them lining up in front of you, for you to touch them,” Franky tells him as Marc shudders dramatically.
“If they did that, I would scream and run home to Mother.” Marc pushes his blonde hair back as he walks toward the bar.
“They’re something, aren’t they?” Henry asks in my ear as he stands behind me. I count two Mississippis before turning toward him.
“They should date,” I say, mirroring his smile.
“Maybe they’re already dating,” he muses and I stare at him, frowning.
“I would know about that,” I reply, moving my eyes toward Franky.
“There are times when one must keep secrets from one’s closest friends. There are things that shouldn’t be shared, or you’ll end up enjoying them less,” he says, looking past everyone around us before his eyes glue to mine.
“Do you really believe that?” I ask, noticing how his eyes sparkle with mischief while closing the space between us.
“Of course. Secrets are the best things we can keep from our friends. When they’re worth keeping. Imagine the elation, the sheer madness, the adrenaline rush of knowing something that makes you happy and brings you pleasure, and no one but you and one other person know about it.” He cocks his head to the side as if challenging me. I reach for the slice of cake on the table, fighting the heady feelings that the sinful look in his eyes is producing in me.
“I’ve never kept that kind of secret.” My heart races as I look at my body to make sure that my dress is still on. Henry Huntingdon’s eyes are clearly undressing me, making my skin warm like the summer sun.
He leans closer to me until his breath touches my ear and whispers, “Perhaps, it’s about time you do.”
Chapter Three
Henry’s blue eyes are like magnets. They command my attention, even though I’m trying to get away from his scrutiny. I reach for a bottle of water on the kitchen counter, and notice Henry’s gift is next to it. Curiosity pushes me forward, and I pick it up. After ripping the wrapping paper, my gaze falls on the book cover. I study it for a while, as surprise etches on my face.
I hear Franky’s excited voice right behind me, “What do you think?”
“Great party,” I tell him absently.
“About Henry, you silly goose.”
“Oh, he’s full of himself,” I say, resisting the urge to confess how attractive I find that quality in Henry.
“Oh, come on. Have you seen him? He has reason to be full of himself.”
“I know,” I frown, looking at him, “but I’m not nearly drunk enough to accept this gift of yours.”
“Just give him a chance,” Franky says quickly before leaning against the counter and looking toward the door. “For me?” I pout before walking out of the kitchen.
Henry’s standing in the hallway, his coat over his arm, keys in his other hand. “You’re leaving?” I blurt, my voice higher than I want it to be, making me sound flabbergasted.
“Yes… Want to come with me?” Henry asks. I open my mouth to let out some witty line about me not getting into cars with strangers, but the moment my eyes meet his, the only words circling my mind like sharks are: What the hell.
Regent’s Park is deserted by the time that we get there. It’s obvious that Henry’s not bothered by that, or the fact that the place is closed. He moves swiftly through the gate as I rush after him.
The book he gave me, which is now tucked in my small handbag, is a signed first edition copy of The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. It’s clear he wasn’t lying about Franky telling him things about me. The thought turns my stomach into a ball of nerves, wondering what exactly was discussed during those chats.
“Franky told me about your obsession with Carlos Ruiz Zafón,” he states, breaking the comfortable silence between us once we stop near the lake.
“Yes, it’s a bad one,” I admit, thinking of the way I stalked the author over the course of one hot summer in Spain. We must have gone to every single reading and signing Carlos Ruiz Zafón did. Still, I didn’t get a signature on my worn copy of The Shadow of the Wind, because usually, we were turned away. “It was really kind of you to get that copy for me,” I say, following his lead as we walk toward the bridge.
When we reach it, Henry turns to look at me and shrugs so casually, it’s obvious he’s relaxed in my company. I lean against the wall behind me and watch him. There’s something different about him. Maybe the fact that he’s seven years older than me, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s Scottish. Whatever it is, there’s an air of danger around him, and a need pushing me to explore it.
Henry’s hand lands against the side of my head as he leans closer. His eyes lock with mine, as butterflies flutter in my stomach. I swallow hard. He moves closer, twirling one of my errant fiery-red curled locks around his finger.
“I know Franky probably told you that I don’t do relationships,” he begins with such honesty I can’t help but stare at him. “The truth is that I don’t, but I asked him, a long while ago, to introduce me to you,” he tells me with an easy smile, letting my hair go. “He refused, of course; you were in a relationship with some wanker. So when he said you’d broken up, I seized the chance to meet you.”
My lungs burn and my throat dries, but still I manage to ask, “You did?”
“I did,” he whispers, drifting closer until his index finger moves under my chin and tilts my head slightly back.
“Why?” my raspy voice questions as I get lost in his eyes yet again.
“Because I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he murmurs before his lips capture mine in a painfully slow kiss, which sends my body into overdrive.
Soon, Henry’s lips move down my neck, his hands undoing the buttons of my coat before they quickly pull at my skirt. His fingers skim the skin of my thighs, his lips returning to mine in a frantic kiss.
Once out of my daze, my hands move from his chest to the back of his neck, letting my fingers tangle in his hair as a burning desire singes my skin. Never before had I even entertained the idea of sex in public, much less did I think about sex in public with a stranger. However, as much as I want to chide and tell myself to pull away, I’m not sure my body would cooperate.
“Are you cold?” he asks, panting against the side of my mouth and I shake my head.
“Are you?” my voice is nothing but a delicate breathy whisper as he presses his body against mine.
“Never,” he grins before kissing me again.
By the time we reach the benches, the temperature has probably gone down one or two degrees. However, my body’s temperature refuses to comply, instead burning with lust as Henry sits down and pats the empty space beside him. Once I sit down, he takes my hand in his while looking toward the trees not far from us.
“Do you ever come here?”
“Sometimes, though I’m partial to Hampstead Heath,” I reply, shrugging. “It’s a fifteen-minute bike ride.”
“Where do you live?”
“West Hampstead,” I tell him and see a grin appear on his lips.
“We’re practically neighbors. I live about five minutes away in Swiss Cottage,” he explains after a pause, before bringing my hand to his lips.
My eyes remain on him while he brushes his lips softly against my knuckles and then tugs at my hand. I bite my bottom lip, watching him nod for me to lean toward him.
“Come here,” he pulls at my hand. My legs shake a bit. Still, I stand up and let my limbs press slightly against him as Henry pulls me closer, his eyes never leaving mine. His deft hands push my skirt up; a light breeze is dancing around us. His warm fingers move to tease me. Once my head rolls to the side and my eyes flutter closed, a soft moan of approval escapes my lips. Henry pulls me closer until I straddle him, letting his hot breath touch my neck.
“Graciela,” he whispers against my neck, and I l
et my hands undo his belt, prompted by the incessant teasing of his fingers.
“Yes, Henry?”
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
My eyes open and fix on him, noticing the concern etched on his forehead before I let my hand finish unzipping his pants.
“Yes,” my voice squeaks as he crushes his lips to mine, guiding my hand under his underwear.
A groan escapes his lips while I watch him. My body trembles, a mix of excitement and probably the coldness of the night. Whatever it is sends me in a tailspin of anticipation that grows as I watch him fish a condom from his pocket. After he’s put it on, Henry guides himself in. For a moment, every single dark belief I’ve held for the last month fades away. The only pulsating thought running through my mind is the desire for this night to never end. There’s no shame, no sense of embarrassment. I also must admit to myself that a newfound enjoyment is melting away all reservations that I had about a one-night stand.
With the help of his hands, my hips roll over his as our mouths explore each other. My hands intertwine in his hair. Heart and Mind race together as new feelings arise and push me closer to the edge. Another moan, a soft gasp, whispered nonsensical words escape us, and all the while, his hands are domineering, molding my body into hot lava. Henry lets me stir us both into a spiral of lust.
My legs don’t want to cooperate when Henry’s mouth lets go of mine, so I pull myself away from him. After a deep breath, my heart refuses to slow down. Henry shifts beside me the moment my eyes close. Soon, his finger skims the skin of my leg before I glance at him, not sure of what to expect. Henry doesn’t disappoint.
He rises slowly and after zipping his trousers and buckling his belt, he leans closer, kissing my cheek before offering me his hand. Another comfortable silence falls between us. Henry leads me back to the car and my brain seems to finally awake after falling prey to the licentious stupor.
For once, I’m not analyzing what just happened. It’s a one-off and I’m fine with that.
Chapter Four
London, present day
The restaurant is half full and I force my eyes on the people around me rather than the man sitting across from me. The only thoughts nudging me out of the soporific-like-state are pretty basic: Why? Why do I keep doing this to myself?
I swear it’s not an act of desperation; at least, I don’t think it is. Whenever my friends ask if I’m single, I answer honestly. And this, this is the direct result of my honesty.
I’m unmarried and close to thirty, so my well-meaning friends have decided that they’ll make it happen. Their fabulous idea has been to enact a simple, yet defective way to find me a husband: blind dates.
They should mind their own business.
I try hard to look like I’m listening to Natesh, the man sitting across from me. His attitude is a total turn off. I’ve never met anyone who loves his voice this much. He’s been talking about himself for the last fifteen minutes and hasn’t noticed that my mind is elsewhere.
His speech pattern has been, more than once, punctuated by my phone. The pinging has gotten worse in the last five minutes, but if one thing is clear, it’s that he can’t hear it over the sound of his own ego. Dinner etiquette, as my father calls it, prevents me from retrieving the phone from my bag; even though I so want to see who is texting me. Maybe that will relieve some of the boredom freezing me in place.
Curiosity piques my interest and my eyes glue to my handbag dangling under the table from one of the little hooks. Could Henry be back from his trip to France? Henry, my best friend, who makes me recount each and every one of these painful nights in detail. My lack of a love life is the best form of entertainment, according to him.
The voice of the little devil on my shoulder sounds like just like his sexy rhotic accent. It’s loud and is clearly saying: Check your messages; it won’t hurt this date… not one bit.
Instead of doing that, I force my eyes on Natesh, however, even when Henry’s not around he’s a wicked influence on me. Truth be told, the temptation’s big. And yet, every time my hand reaches for my bag I can hear my mother’s voice. She’s, of course, the angel on my other shoulder. Manners, where are your manners, Gracie?
I resist all temptation, but my phone pings once more, making me groan inwardly. I desist from the idea of coming up with a lame excuse to bolt; even though it’s evident this date’s going nowhere.
Henry often tells me I’m nothing but a constant masochist.
He’s not wrong.
“… and then my mother said, ‘Natesh, any girl will do,’” he says while shrugging and I try to focus on him, forcing a laugh though I want to roll my eyes.
Any girl will do? Why do I put myself through this every week? I must learn to just say no. One firm no.
It’s better to be single than be subjected to all of this, I tell myself, drowning the incessant monologue performed by my date. Singlehood isn’t so bad, it’s not like my sex life is dead. After all, whenever timing’s right, Henry and I indulge in a bit of friends-with-benefits sex.
I’m both a masochist and a proud inhabitant of Denial-ville. The truth is, that my relationship with Henry has been longer than any other that I’ve had in my life.
A knowing smile pulls at my lips; I hope it’s convincing enough so he thinks that I’m still listening. It’s evident Natesh is conceited.
“I own a house in Chamonix. My parents love going there in the summers, but I love going in the winter. I know, I know; there are many other places to ski, but I only love the very best. Do you ski?” he asks, but before I can even answer, he’s moved on to the next topic: the upcoming British general election.
“I really don’t have an opinion on that,” I reply politely and watch as his eyebrow arches and his hazelnuts eyes fix on mine.
“Oh, of course, you don’t, dearie,” he says in such a patronizing way that only one thought runs through my mind: What if I actually bolted? Will he notice that I’m no longer here? The thought makes a tiny laugh escape me before I clasp my hand over my mouth. Natesh stops talking for a second and silence descends between us, only making me regret laughing out loud. Uncomfortable silences aren’t my specialty.
“Should we split the check? We can go to that new Latino club,” he says.
I wave my hand for the waiter, but stop mid-air before sitting up straight. I blink several times to avoid looking dazed. Does he think this night is going somewhere? A long list of excuses is hidden somewhere in a drawer in my brain, however at the moment, they’re not available to me. A half a smile nestles on my lips. I decide to be an adult and not tell him to go to hell.
“I should get going, I have an early morning.” My eyes move from him to the waiter, who I could kiss right now for bringing the check over so quickly.
“Split check,” Natesh says after glancing at the bill. His tone is such that the poor server hesitates for a moment before uttering an apology.
I roll my eyes because I’m tired of his bullshit. “I had so much fun,” I begin, pulling the small tray with the check toward me. “It’s my treat.”
The server takes my company card and walks away to swipe it, leaving me to face yet another silence. Natesh stares at me and I shift uncomfortably while his eyes scan my body. He leans closer and I ready myself to tell him to drop dead if he asks for a second date.
“This was fun,” he offers just as the waiter brings back the settled bill. In a clear rush, I sign and tip him, then stand up so fast I almost knock back the chair.
“This was…,” I say with a fake smile, but can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. I duck out of the restaurant, phone in hand, and then I scroll down so I can read the text messages.
Are you still at the restaurant?
I bet you took forever to pick something to eat without me there.
Are you wearing something sexy hoping to hook up? No, don’t tell me or I’ll come over and rip the dress off you.
Bet you forgot to ask for Merlot and ended up dri
nking Cabernet Sauvignon.
If you’re still sitting at the restaurant, I’ve got to say that he won’t be tearing your knickers off tonight.
At least not like I do in one go.
He must be a real loser if you’re still sitting there.
I bet he’s bald.
Maybe fat, but rich.
Are you done?
I’m so bored. This party blows. Want to meet?
Please, please tell me you’re not dead.
Okay that’s it; I’m going on a hunt to find you.
Where the heck are you?
Are you hooking up?
The suspense is killing me.
I laugh as I scroll down the messages when a new text arrives.
You have three seconds to reply to this message before I call the London Metropolitan Police and report you as a runaway.
A single ha leaves my throat as I speed dial Henry.
Chapter Five
The phone rings once before he answers and that sensual accent makes my whole body quiver. A smile settles on my lips and then the words fall from them, “You’re such an idiot.”
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” The smile in his voice sways me as I walk across the road. My head turns right to left to better navigate around the sea of tourists and locals looking for a place to eat. “So, how was it?” he asks as my eyes scan the shops’ windows around me, distracting me a little.
Henry and Gracie Page 2
