by Sandy Barker
“Shoe Embassy in Camden.”
“Oh, I love that place, but I haven’t been in so long. I must get back there.”
“They were the last pair. I was super lucky they were in my size.”
“Fantastico.”
James appeared at my side. He looked down at my shoes, as Valentina was doing, then up at me. “Great shoes.” His eyes twinkled with good humour.
“Apparently, they’re a hit,” I quipped back.
“Sarah Parsons,” he said, turning his attention to the man standing beside him. “Marcus Aurelius.”
Marcus, Valentina’s husband, was another handsome silver fox, but I doubted his name was really Marcus Aurelius. “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.
He ignored it and kissed me on the cheek—my cheeks were getting quite the attention that night. “Likewise,” Marcus said with a crisp London accent that reminded me of Hugh Grant.
Valentina and James both beamed at Marcus, and it was clear there was a lot of love between them. Then, for a moment, no one said anything, so I did what I usually did in those situations—I filled the silence. “So, Aurelius?” All three of them laughed, and I felt a little put out that I didn’t get the joke.
“It’s a nickname Marcus earned during a mini-break the three of us took to Rome—an aeon ago,” said James, filling me in. “It’s a juicy story, but perhaps one for another time,” he added, almost conspiratorially, and I felt like I was back in the fold.
“So, Sarah. Have you been to this gallery before?” asked Marcus.
“No, I haven’t. Actually, I don’t even know which gallery we’re at.”
James raised a hand. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I don’t think I ever told you. Sorry.” He leant his head against mine as though we were already a couple who shared in-jokes. “It’s called ‘Laz Inc.’ and it’s the brainchild of that man over there, Steve Lazarides.” He nodded towards a bald man, with strong features, who looked about forty.
“Is he a friend?” I asked.
“A colleague, of sorts.” I searched James’s face for more information, but it didn’t seem like he was going to reveal anything more. “Did you want to have a look through the exhibit?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Sure,” I smiled brightly at him.
“We’ll come and find you later,” he said to Marcus and Valentina before taking my hand and leading me into the next room.
To be honest, I was less interested in the art than I was in James. He was dressed in a casual grey suit with a pale blue shirt opened to the third button. God, he was gorgeous. He also looked so at ease—in his clothes, in that environment with all those people—that I envied him a little. In contrast, I felt like the great pretender.
We stopped in front of a large square painting, which I regarded with a tilted head. It was frighteningly ugly and I found myself frowning at it as I took in the rough texture of the paint and the various shades of grey and brown.
“That dress is quite something, Sarah.” His voice was low and deep in my ear, and his breath tickled my neck.
The image of a grinning Josh popped into my mind, but I dismissed it as fast as it came. “I got it in Greece,” I said, omitting the most important part of that story. When I looked up at James, he nodded approvingly.
Then a tiny furrow appeared between his brows. “Sarah …” It was a small shock to realise that James seemed nervous. I kept my eyes on his and squeezed his hand in encouragement. “I know I invited you to this event, and we haven’t even seen the art yet, but … I just want to take you home and make love to you.”
Oh. My. God.
“May I do that?” With his gravelly voice and his eyes intently locked on mine, my nethers went to DEFCON 1. The only reply I could muster was a nod.
Chapter 5
We made a quick getaway, with a brief stop to say goodbye to Marcus and Valentina. I truly hoped I’d see them both again, especially Valentina. I was certain we were destined to become best friends.
As we rode in the back of the town car, James’s hand resting on mine, anxious Sarah made a highly unwelcomed appearance. My stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics at the thought of going home with the silver fox. I reminded myself I was sexy, smart, well-travelled, and a grown woman. The driver had even called me “madam”. I was also incredibly grateful for Cat’s insistence that I get a “just in case” bikini wax.
Cat! I should text her to say I’ll be late. “Uh, James?” He looked at me, the desire in his eyes nearly setting me on fire.
“Yes?” There was that bemused smile again.
“Do you mind if I send a quick text to my sister? To, uh, let her know I won’t be home ’til late?”
He broke into a full smile. “Of course not. But you may want to tell her you won’t be back until tomorrow.”
My surprise was genuine. “Really?”
He tilted his head to the side, “I’m fairly certain I won’t want you to go.”
“Oh,” I replied, and I couldn’t help smiling back. I hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous about sleeping over, but there was nothing ambiguous about James’s invitation.
I took out my phone and shot off a quick text to Cat.
Left gallery early. Going back to James’s place. Be home tomorrow. Eeek!
I put my phone away and reached for James’s hand. Keep calm, Sarah. You’re just going home with the silver fox to make love with him. No biggie.
My phone bleeped, interrupting my internal pep talk and James looked at the pink clutch on my lap.
“That was quick.”
“Oh, Cat is never without her phone. I think she’d have it surgically implanted if she could.” Well, that’s complete bullshit, Sarah. Cat was no more a slave to her phone than I was. We both thought of our phones as a convenience, not something we couldn’t live without.
“Did you want to check it?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I took out my phone out and opened the text without checking who it was from.
Josh. It was from Josh. Oh, crap.
I read it quickly, trying to keep my expression neutral.
Hey Sarah. I hope you’re having a great time in London. I’m almost on Chicago time again and started back at work yesterday. Brutal. Missing our boat and the gang. Missing you. Catchya later. Jx
As texts went, it was fairly innocuous, but I was sitting next to James. On my way to his house. Where we were about to have sex.
“Everything all right?” said the handsome man next to me.
“Absolutely,” I said, flashing a completely fake million-watt smile. I put my phone on silent and tucked it away at the bottom of the enormous clutch. I knew Cat would be fine with my sleepover plans, and I certainly wasn’t going to reply to Josh while I was with James.
Having two suitors was hard.
I wished I had Gerry to talk to, or one of my other girlfriends from the boat, Marie or Hannah. They’d all met Josh and James, so I knew they’d understand I was torn in two—except that Marie was definitely “Team Josh”.
I had no idea what team I was on, or if I was on either team. Was there a “Team Sarah”?
James took my hand again and lifted it to his mouth to kiss it. “Good, because we’re here.”
I looked out my window to see an immaculate white terraced house with black trim surrounding two bay windows on each floor and steps up to a glossy black door with tall topiary trees standing sentry either side. It was very “London”. It was also magnificent.
The driver came around to my side of the car and opened the door for me while James got out on his side. By the time I had gathered my wits, there were two men standing on the footpath waiting for me to exit the car. James reached past the driver and like he did at the gallery, took my hand.
I nodded my thanks to the driver and James thanked him by his name, Fergus, which explained the slight brogue of his accent.
James escorted me up the steps and took his keys from his pocket, then opened the front door.
It led to a warmly lit entryway with wooden floorboards and a hallstand along one wall. On the opposite wall were two sets of stairs, one going up and one going down. I looked upstairs, but it was dark.
“The bedroom,” he said as he placed his keys on a hook next to the hallstand.
“Oh, lovely,” I replied. Really, Sarah? Buy that thesaurus already.
“This way,” he said, leading the way into the most beautiful, most grown-up living room I had ever seen. A black Eames chair and ottoman took pride of place against one wall and opposite was a long, white couch with just enough throw cushions in various neutral shades to look comfortable, but not too “showroomy”.
“Have a seat. I’ll get us something to drink,” he said, motioning to the couch. Did I mention it was white? Me on a white couch with a beverage was a recipe for disaster. “What would you like?”
“Um …” I hoped I didn’t look as stricken as I felt. My nervousness about the lovemaking had taken a backseat—I’d probably make a clumsy fool of myself and we wouldn’t even get that far. Thankfully, James either didn’t sense my panic or was gentlemanly enough to ignore it.
“Well, I whisked you out of there before we finished our champagne, so how about a bottle of that?”
I nodded enthusiastically and said, “That sounds perfect,” just like a normal human being would in the same situation.
Bubbles were a good way to go. They made me a little tipsy, but never morose and never rolling-around-on-the-floor drunk like I’d been once or twice on other drinks, like red wine and tequila and rum and Cointreau. Okay, that had happened more than once or twice.
Champagne was also a good choice, because if I did spill—and I was going to try very hard not to—it wouldn’t leave a mark on James’s luxurious couch.
While James disappeared downstairs to what I presumed was the kitchen, I examined the rest of the room from my perch on the couch. It was accented with wood—teak?—which appeared in the sideboard, the low asymmetrical coffee table, and the floating shelves that dotted the walls, each with its own subtle lighting and showcasing some kind of knick-knack. Do rich people even have knick-knacks? Artefacts? Objets d’art?
I heard the pop of a cork from downstairs. Any moment now, James would be back, and I’d have to find something interesting or intelligent to talk about. I turned around to look at the giant painting above the couch, splashes of vibrant blues and reds on a white canvas. It wasn’t really to my taste, but it was striking. I wondered how much of a conversation I could elicit about a painting I didn’t like.
Glancing around at the rest of the room, my eyes landed on the two bay windows that looked out over the street. And—Oh, my god!—beneath each was a window seat! Ever since I’d met James, I’d pictured him in a fancy apartment, sipping his morning coffee and reading the Sunday papers as he casually lounged on his window seat. And there were two of them, one for James and one for me.
“Here you are.” James was standing right in front of me, holding out a flute. I’d been so lost in my fantasy of whiling away a Sunday morning together on twin window seats, I hadn’t even heard him come upstairs. I took the glass and he settled in beside me on the couch.
“A toast,” he said, looking intently into my eyes. I could get used to being looked at like that. “To you, a woman like a breath of fresh air and warm sunshine.” Something like a shiver, but much nicer, shot through my body. I clinked the rim of my glass against his and took a sip. It was definitely a step or two above what we’d had at the gallery. I’m not saying I knew a lot about actual champagne, but the bubbles were fine and silky, and it had that toasted honey flavour I loved.
And I’m not sure if it was the toast or the first sip of bubbles that emboldened me, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to kiss James. I placed my glass delicately on the table in front of me, without spilling a drop, and then took his from him and placed it next to mine. I took a steadying breath as subtly as I could, turned back towards James and kissed him, tenderly at first, and then the longing I felt took over.
James lifted a hand to the nape of my neck and pulled me towards him, his mouth on mine, the intensity of our kiss building. He tasted like the champagne and his tongue against mine sent more of those magic shivers through me. He broke the kiss and for just a moment I was disappointed, until his mouth found my throat and sensation took over conscious thought. His lips trailed down my chest as he held me to him with one hand and caressed a nipple through my dress with the other.
I was in heaven.
“Sarah …” A throaty whisper broke into my reverie. He looked up and met my eyes. “Bedroom.” I nodded, understanding completely. We needed each other, completely, unencumbered by the logistics of sex on a couch covered in throw pillows.
He stood quickly, but gracefully, pulling me up with him. He grabbed my hand and, with what seemed like a sense of urgency, led the way upstairs. He dropped my hand only long enough to flick on a lamp next to the bed.
Then he turned me around gently, kissing my neck and trailing kisses down my shoulder. I felt his hand on the zip of my dress and he pulled it down in one swift movement. He pushed the straps over my shoulders and the dress fell to the floor.
I stepped out of it and turned to face him. He looked the length of my body and met my eyes. “My god, you’re beautiful.” I had never felt more desired and any self-consciousness I’d felt, all the nerves I’d battled during the car ride, vanished. I wanted James in a way I’d never wanted any man before.
I wanted to lay myself bare before him and let him ravish me. Which is exactly what I did.
*
We were lying next to each other, both of us staring contentedly at the ceiling like they do in films—only I didn’t have a sheet pulled up to my chest for modesty. James had explored me so thoroughly, and enough times, that I didn’t feel the need to cover myself.
When he’d said in the gallery that he wanted to make love to me, he had meant it. I felt utterly worshipped, and I’d shared something with him I had never shared with another man—even Josh. For the first time ever, I didn’t think, I didn’t worry, I didn’t try to please. I just let myself be, right in every moment. I had let James make love to me. It was glorious.
I rolled over onto my side and propped my head up on my hand, so I could look at him. “Hi,” I said, smiling at him.
He turned his head towards me, “Hi.”
“You are very handsome—do you know that?”
He laughed. “Thank you.” He looked back at the ceiling, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. It was nice to see James being self-conscious, even just a little bit. It made him more human, more accessible, more like someone who would want to spend time with me.
“I’m going to ask you something,” I said. That got his attention and he looked at me. “Normally, I would ask if I could ask a question, but I’ve already decided I’m going to ask this, so here it goes.”
The smile was back, this one clearly at my expense. Still, I was not going to be deterred.
“Why me?”
Confusion flashed quickly across his face, but in less than a moment, his face settled; he knew what I meant. I could see him considering his response and I resisted the urge to speak, to follow up with more questions and a litany of reasons why I was such an odd choice for him.
“Because of what I said when I toasted you earlier. You’re a breath of fresh air. You are honest, you’re open, you have no agenda. You, Sarah, are genuinely interested in people and willing to know them without guile. I get the sense you’ve been hurt in the past, but you’re still willing to give of yourself. You haven’t become cynical or jaded.”
I haven’t?
Until that moment—seeing myself through James’s eyes—I thought I had. Wasn’t that why I got annoyed with Cat for hoping I’d meet someone in Greece? Or why I wanted my ex, the cheating bastard, to fuck off and die? Because I’d been screwed over. Because I was cynical about love?
Lying there with James, howe
ver, I realised he was right, that despite everything, I had met someone. I’d met two someones. And in different ways, I had let them both in. Maybe the hopeful romantic in me hadn’t been obliterated.
Maybe I wasn’t broken.
“You’re frowning,” James said, shaking me from my poorly timed self-exploration.
He reached over, smoothing the frown lines between my brows with his thumb. I let him. Then he cupped my face and pulled me towards him for a soft, sweet kiss.
“And of course, there’s that ridiculously sexy body of yours,” he said between kisses. I laughed, relieved to be out of my head and back with James, back with a man who made me feel attractive and appreciated, who was far kinder to me than I was to myself.
“Well, there is that, yes,” I said, pretending to be serious. “It is rather sexy, if I do say so myself.” We shared a smile.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly flashing on a memory of the first time we met. “You were smoking a cigar when I first saw you in Santorini—a slim one.”
He nodded. “That’s right, I was.”
“Do you smoke? Cigarettes, I mean?”
“No, not anymore. I did for a long time, but I quit about twenty years ago. Cigars, though, yes, from time to time. My friend in Santorini always gifts me a box whenever I see him.”
“I like cigars,” I said. “I mean, I love the smell of the smoke.”
“Have you ever smoked one?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want to?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I grinned. “I’d love to.” And that’s how we ended up sitting side by side on one of the window seats as James taught me the finer points of enjoying a cigar. I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to inhale them like you did a cigarette, that it was about the taste of the smoke. I quite liked it.
I also liked the view from the window seat. “It’s pretty here.” As views went, there were probably more spectacular ones in the world, but the houses across the way were as opulent as James’s and the lights from the homes gave off a warm glow.
“You asked me earlier why you.” I stopped looking out the window and met his eyes. “One of the reasons is that you notice things, you appreciate the little things.” I smiled.
