“Hey… you look so cute,” Franky enthuses while Marc twirls me around. “Love that blush pink color on you,” he adds, clearly approving of my coat and cocktail dress.
“Thank you. You guys look great as well,” I say, definitely approving of their matching pin striped suits. “So, where’s Leticia?”
“Talking to Tom Murphy.” Marc waggles his eyebrows and I can’t help but look around for Hollywood’s hottest actor.
“Is he here, for real?” I gasp. “Guess that’s where all the women are?”
“Yes. As soon as he arrived, they made a beeline for him. Come on, let’s have a sneaky peek.” Franky pulls me with him through the crowd inside the house before leading me and Marc up the stairs to the second floor.
“So, how’s Divine?” I ask Marc about the dog because I guess that’s the polite thing to do.
“She’s great. Such a diva,” he rolls his eyes with a fond smile on his lips once we round the corner. “She’s already used to her bed, thankfully.”
“Yes, we only had to buy her a blanket with a thousand thread count,” Franky states before pushing the door to the bedroom. Once he scans the interior, he nods, letting us follow him inside. From the window, we have a view of the small communal garden where the rest of the guests are.
“There he is,” Marc announces, and I move closer to look at the blond locks of Tom Murphy.
“He’s so dreamy,” I say with a laugh. Franky sets his eyes on me with a scolding look.
“Indeed,” Marc agrees while Franky drapes an arm around his shoulders.
“So, I heard from a little bird that you cancelled on Henry,” Franky directs the conversation toward me while I wish he hadn’t.
“Did you, now?” I ask with a grin, but offer no more explanation.
“The little bird’s hoping you’ll still meet him tonight. What do you reckon?” Marc inquires with a curious grin.
“Well, I’m so sorry for the little bird,” I reply, keeping my eyes on Tom Murphy’s back. “I have an early morning,” I lie, because the subject of Henry is off limits, even if he himself called Franky and it’s obvious the latter told his husband.
“So, you two didn’t shag?” The surprise in Marc’s voice as he questions me prompts me to shake my head a few times.
“That’s, that’s not even, I mean, wow, your mind. Gutter,” I tell him while I point to the ground.
“Darling, you two have it bad for each other.” Franky pulls back from the window and closes it when the door behind us opens.
“There you are!” Leticia exclaims as she walks into the room before waving at the boys with a friendly smile. “He’s waiting,” she announces after I follow her and we walk down the stairs.
“Who?” Marc asks confused.
“Leticia’s setting me up with a Scottish guy,” I reply, watching Marc’s forehead crease.
“You already have one of those,” he states, and Franky, in a not so subtle way, elbows him.
“She doesn’t… and Gerrard’s so good-looking.” She lets a wistful sigh escape her before I laugh. “I wish I was twenty years younger and single.” With one arched eyebrow, I turn to mouth ‘I’m sorry’ in the boys’ direction. To my surprise, they both look as if they were trying hard to keep their faces straight.
“Later!” Franky calls, pulling Marc with him to the back of the house.
“Are you ready?” Leticia’s voice is full of enthusiasm and it’s hard not to wonder if she’s hiding pompoms under her dress.
“Can’t wait,” I lie, because it’s much better than to tell her that I don’t have high hopes for any of these meetings. We turn right and then take the corridor into the communal garden.
“So, if things don’t work with Gerrard …”
“Oh, come on, you can’t continue to set me up with people,” I tell her in a firm voice, which makes me feel very proud of myself.
“Last time, I promise. My brother’s in town,” she says and it’s hard for me to refrain from rolling my eyes.
“The model?” I ask even though I know she only has the one brother, Sebastien.
We’ve been here before. Sebastien has no interest in going on a date with me. It’s obvious from the way he always seems to have something to do when he’s in town. However, this doesn’t deter Leticia at all from continuing to pursue this.
“Yes, and he’s dying to meet you.” The way she over enunciates the words tells me that she’s lying.
“I don’t know if I can… I still have to go through the TV proposals for Theresa, and I have to set all those press dates for the Dissonant Anonymous tour,” I reply. Rather than talk me into it, Leticia waves her hand at a man not too far from us. On the other side of the group, the man waves back at Leticia. “Gerrard?” She nods way too enthusiastic when I ask.
Gerrard is rugged. Unlike Henry’s alabaster skin, he wears a tan with a certain degree of pride. Leticia mentioned he was an architect and did most of his work in Spain. That probably explains why his skin looks tanned in the middle of autumn. He has a long and unkempt beard, and longer hair than Henry. The dark auburn curls are abundant. He runs a hand carelessly through them before reaching us. I swear, he’s only done that so that he can show off his flexed arm, which is as big as my thigh.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” she whispers in my ear and I try keeping my expression neutral. “This is my darling Gracie. Gracie, darling, Gerrard,” she says, patting his bicep a bit too long. I swear she’s swooning as she walks away.
“Nice to meet you.” He shakes my hand with a tight grip. I nod and quickly pull it away.
“Likewise.”
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks. My hand moves and pushes my hair away from my eyes. “Water, please.” The moment I reply, a chuckle escapes his lips. Confused, my eyebrow shoots up.
“Right… I should have known.” We move to the bar and it’s hard to ignore the fact that he’s already made his mind up about me without even interacting with me.
Chapter Eleven
Something in my stomach burns. My eyes fix on Gerrard, trying to understand his words. I wouldn’t put it past Leticia to give prospective dates a list of drinks that I like, to speed up things. However, as I follow him, it still feels like a weird statement.
“Why should you have known?”
He orders my drink before turning around and giving me a smile that has the words: It’s obvious; written all over it. “Most skinny girls like you only drink water,” he replies. It’s not the first time someone has said this to me. “Are you training for something? You’re skinny enough, but I see a lot of women like you at the gym.”
“Not that it is any of your business, but I prefer not to drink alcohol when I have to get up early the next day and go to work,” I tell him before turning to thank the man behind the counter and grabbing the bottle of water.
Gerrard frowns, visibly mortified. “Sorry, I just suck at these meetings.”
“It’s fine,” I lie.
“Leticia can be quite…” he begins and I can’t help but smile and shake my head a bit to agree with him.
“Indeed.”
“Well, at least she was right about you: charming and very pretty,” Gerrard says unabashedly. Instead of thanking him, I drink some more of the water; accepting compliments isn’t something I’m comfortable with.
“Thank you,” I manage to tell him before looking around. “So, Leticia says you’re an architect?”
“Yes, however, it was hard getting a job here in London, so I went into publishing for a while. One of my friends from university offered me a job in his father’s company. After a while, I moved to Spain to work.”
My eyes glue to him. For a moment, I hesitate to ask, but really, what are the odds? “Was the friend Henry Huntingdon?”
It only takes a fraction of a second for his whole demeanor to change. Gone is the smile on his lips; his eyes are guarded and his expression unreadable. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Henry?
Yes, he’s my best friend.” The atmosphere around us changes and I wonder what has Henry done to this man, even though I probably can guess from Gerrard’s reaction to this.
“Your best friend is Henry Huntingdon?” he echoes my words in a question before his eyes move past me.
“Yes…” There’s no reaction to my reply. Hating uncomfortable silences, I press on, “So, are you two still in touch?”
His eyes harden. “Excuse me.” And those are the last words Gerrard says to me before he walks away from me.
I’m sure the letters W.T.F. are written across my face as I stay rooted to the spot, watching him walk toward a group of women. The moment I’m over the confusion, I move past the crowd and sneak out around the back entrance unnoticed. Once outside in the street, I hail a cab down so I can return home. After climbing in, I reach for my phone and text Henry.
Great, even if you’re not with me, our friendship is ruining potential dates. I think that’s a first and a new low.
The cab zips around London. I hold on to the phone, waiting for a reply from Henry. My thoughts all over the place. I try hard to ignore the quiet jealous rage in my belly.
Maybe it was a great thing. If a guy feels threatened by me when I’m not even there, he’s probably not someone you want to shag. What’s his name?
I roll my eyes, looking at the text before writing again: Gerrard, an architect but he worked for your father. You offered him a job right out of college?
Oh, yea… I remember him. I did his fiancée in Dubai.
If it wasn’t because I’m already wrestling with the burning sensation in my body, his reply would have probably made me laugh. However, as things stand now, all I want to do is put some distance between Henry and I, until, at least, I’ve gotten my feelings under control.
***
Outside my office window, it’s drizzling. The sound of the door opening and my assistant walking in with a pack of new documents that need to be checked, read, and/or signed distract me from the rain. I reach for the first at the top and then lean back against my chair to review it.
“Hey,” the voice distracts me before I look up from the document in my hand.
“Morning,” my voice sounds a lot happier than I feel; my eyes follow Leticia to the chair across from me.
“So?” she asks, clasping her hands together and leaning her chin over them. “What did you think about Gerrard?”
“He’s really nice.” The moment I start talking, the smile on her face vanishes.
“But?”
I could nip this in the bud and tell her that there aren’t any buts, though that’ll open another can of worms with the words: When will you see him again? So, I decide to be truthful.
“He was sort of put off by my friendship with Henry,” I explain. She arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know any more than you do,” I lie before fixing my eyes on the contract in front of me.
“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve heard so many wonderful stories about Gerrard — in bed.” She sighs, taking a seat opposite me.
“Really? We’re doing this now?”
“Come on, Gracie,” she sighs, pushing her long jet-black hair back. “Aren’t you a little bit inclined to settle down, have kids?”
“Of course,” I say slightly more hurt than I intended to.
“Then what?” she leans closer to my desk. “Are you still sleeping with Henry?” Leticia asks. I look at the door, my assistant smiles before clearing her throat.
“Sorry, you have a call on four… Dissonant Anonymous’ front man Dakota McKenna calling about the new tour dates in Ireland.”
Saved by the phone!
“I have to take this,” I say with an apologetic smile. Leticia rises regally from the chair and sighs.
“We’re not done.” She hesitates for a moment then walks out of my office before closing the door behind her.
“Hey, Dakota…”
“Hi, Miss Graciela,” the voice on the other end sends a light frisson down my back.
“Henry, what do you want?” I ask in a hiss, but a stupid smile spreads through my features.
“Are you wearing those nice black panties of yours? Oh, wait, no, because they’re actually still in my car.”
“Oh, my God, what do you want?” I ask, feeling flustered and when he pauses, I bite my bottom lip in anticipation.
“You owe me dinner,” he begins. “So, I think it’s time for you to pay up.”
“I don’t,” I singsong before leaning against the leather back of the chair, fixing my eyes on the rain drops sliding down the window.
“Yes, you do. You cancelled on me at the last minute,” Henry volleys as I sigh.
“I didn’t. I called you …”
“And you cancelled. So, I’m picking you up,” he says as I shrug even though he can’t see me.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Graciela Marquez. I’m a gentleman, I’m not going to let you gallivant around London so we can sleep together,” he replies with a smile in his voice.
“I thought we were going out to dinner. No one said anything about sleeping together.” I try hard to keep a straight face, but his exasperated sigh punctuates the silence.
“You’re impossible.” His voice is nothing but a dark whisper that sends a shiver down my back.
“Perhaps…”
“Not perhaps. You just love to get me all riled up,” he adds in a murmur before I cover half of my face with my hand and will my heart to stop sprinting away.
“Then I guess I’ll make sure I’m not wearing anything under my dress.” I reply triumphantly as I hear him groan, but before he can say a word, I hang up the receiver.
Chapter Twelve
The restaurant’s romantic aura is taken to the max by the LED candles in glass vases that rest on every table. My phone vibrates against the table, reminding me that I didn’t turn it off like I meant to do. I ignore it because Henry is sitting across from me and commanding my full attention.
His dashing blue eyes pull at my strings with gleeful mischievousness. He leans forward, his eyes quiet like a distant storm and grabs my phone. A second later, after examining it like it’s committed some sort of offense, he unlocks it. His finger moves slowly across the screen while my eyes remain on him. The desire to touch him burns through me as my finger moves lazily around the edges of the champagne flute before Henry’s forehead crinkles.
“Who’s Sebastien? French?” he asks, his voice crisp and detached. I’ve grown used to it, because it’s the usual tone he uses when we discuss potential blind dates.
“Leticia’s younger half-brother,” I reply, watching him finish his espresso in silence. “Her mother’s second husband was French,” I add when he lets the silence expand between us.
“Why is your boss still trying to set you up with her brother?” A tiny trace of mortification accompanies the new frown, which vanishes almost as soon as it appears.
“Because she’s desperate for me to use my eggs. Her words, not mine.” I shrug, lifting the glass to my lips and looking away. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of being single for the rest of my life.”
“Unlike me.” The smile pulls at his lips, quickening my pulse the moment I return my eyes to him. A shaky laugh escapes my lips. It’s hard to pull myself together when he’s looking at me like that. I reach for my phone, but he’s quicker than me. With his free hand, he captures my wrist.
“Henry…,” his name escapes my lips like a prayer as my eyes meet his and I see the danger and the excitement in them.
“How very different we are,” he states, his eyes moving down my face and settling on my cleavage before a smirk appears on his face. “I’m glad we’re different.” The brazen tone sends a shiver down my spine. I immediately let my eyes sweep the other tables. My skin warms and there’s nothing I can do to hide it.
“Henry….” I chide him when his thumb makes a circle around the skin of my wrist, gently eroding away what’s left of my will.
&
nbsp; “Don’t you remember that the mighty Lord Huntingdon has been on my case to settle down for quite some time? He insists the period of mourning is over, and I must take a wife.” He pulls away and leans casually against the back of his chair, his eyes on the table. I take his hand back and link our fingers together. “I’m fine,” he states, pulling my hand up to his lips and brushing them against my knuckles. “Perhaps, it’s time for us to leave,” his husky voice is firm with intention when he finally puts my phone on the table. A mischievous smile appears on his lips the moment he sees me snatching it and chucking it in in my bag.
Without taking his eyes off me, he opens the black leather checkbook where the bill is. He glances at it and takes a few pound notes from his wallet, leaving them in the folder. After standing up, he walks around me, grabbing my coat before I can from the back of my chair.
“Thank you,” I say as he helps me into it, before pressing his lips gently against my skin and moving down my neck and up again to my ear lobe.
“Ready?” he asks against my ear, and I try in vain to push myself away from the lustful cloud that has surrounded my body.
Henry takes my hand in his after messing his ginger locks. I take it willingly and follow him.
Once outside the restaurant, the crisp London wind greets us. Henry lifts an arm up to hail a cab, but immediately dismisses it. When he lets go of my hand, my eyes follow him to a homeless man near us. The man’s leaning against the wall, clearly worse for wear if his slurred speech is anything to go on by. He’s vomited not only on the wall but on his shirt and long beard.
While many of the people walking around us ignore him, Henry’s listening intently before moving closer. He fishes his neatly pressed linen handkerchief and hands it to the man along with a few pound notes.
“No, I don’t need your money,” the man tells him, but the smile on Henry is unwavering.
“What money?” Henry turns toward me as a black cab stops beside us.
Henry and Gracie Page 5
