by Beck, Jamie
He waited for Peyton to take her seat at the bar before he did. When he ordered a brandy, she asked for her fancier version. She interlocked her ankles while hooking a heel against the low part of the stool, giving him another glimpse of her delicate calves.
“What’s going on in there?” She pointed at his temple. “You’re acting strange.”
“I was thinking the same of you.” His words emerged with more bite than he’d planned.
“Are you upset with me?” She placed her elbow on the bar, laying her cheek against her palm, giving very few clues about her own mood.
His heart thudded as he probed her gaze, ultimately choosing not to elaborate. “No.”
“Good.” She flashed the bartender her gorgeous smile when he pushed her drink in front of her. Before taking a taste, she sent Mitch a vexed look. “If anyone has the right to be irked, it’s me.”
“You?” He swigged his brandy, letting it burn its way down his throat. Wherever this conversation was heading, he sensed nothing would be the same when it ended.
“Yes. Me.” Her tone gave nothing away, although her half smile almost seemed flirtatious.
“How do you figure?” He’d bet his tense posture made him look more constipated than sexy. Hell, maybe he was a robot. He swigged more brandy, which intensified the hot, tingly feelings in his stomach.
She drummed her fingers on the bar top as if waiting for some kind of confession. “You didn’t tell me about the Barcelonan’s YouTube video.”
He choked on his drink, then grabbed a napkin to wipe his chin. “You knew?”
Her face fell along with her shoulders before she flicked his biceps with surprising snap. “Darn it, Mitch. A little part of me held out hope that you hadn’t heard about it yet.”
His chest deflated under the weight of her disappointment. He almost never let down the women he cared about, and he cared about her. After knocking back the rest of his drink, he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt to cool off. His answer wouldn’t flatter—that much he knew—but honesty seemed like his only way out. “If it had been a bigger deal, I would’ve told you. But it wasn’t, so I kept quiet. In truth, I also worried that if you knew, you’d back out of the reading and maybe even the tour.”
“So you think I’m a coward.”
“Not at all. Compared with me—a guy who couldn’t even read your work—you’re incredibly brave.” He signaled for the bartender to bring him a second drink, although there wasn’t enough booze in the joint to wash his own weakness from memory. “But you’re unpredictable, and I wasn’t convinced you had the confidence to continue in the face of that criticism.”
“I figured as much. It’s why I had to turn this whole thing around. I won’t have you or anyone else mistaking my distaste for self-promotion as an inability to hack this tour.” She stared into her glass before taking another sip.
While the bartender slid a second drink in front of him, Mitch held out to see if Peyton would go on to chew him out, which he would’ve allowed. When she didn’t, he asked, “How’d you find out about the video?”
“Logan.” She licked the fancy stirrer before laying it aside. It took a second for him to stop thinking about the way her tongue had curled around that plastic. “He was the one texting me this morning. He called while you were in the restroom at that café.”
“Ah.” Mitch shouldn’t envy her relationship with her brother, but he did. He wanted her to trust in him as her confidant. To rely on him like she did her brother, although Mitch’s fondness for Peyton was far from familial. But this second strike of his would make it even harder for her to trust him.
Conversation died as she nibbled on some nuts and he remained too stuck in his head to say anything. She downed her drink in one long swallow. “Time for bed.”
The lack of flirtation in her tone or eyes proved she hadn’t meant that in the way he’d prefer.
So be it. He could not afford to make yet another wrong move. He folded his jacket over his forearm to hide the evidence of his infatuation, then stood and waited for her to leave, following behind once she did.
“Good night, Peyton,” he said when they arrived at her room.
She paused after opening her door. “Despite the rocky start, Paris has been good. Thank you for sharing your story with me, and for giving me a little kick in the pants. Tonight wouldn’t have gone so well without it.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the video. You deserved more credit.” The effect of his drinks had kicked in now. He could practically feel his inhibitions drifting away.
“I haven’t given you much reason to believe in me before, so let’s put it behind us.” She then leaned forward, one foot bracing her door open, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
Her soft lips worked like a match to a powder keg. In a flash, he’d caught her by the arms to keep her close. She didn’t wrench free. Eyes closed, heart pounding, he kissed the pouty mouth that had tempted him for days. The gentle nip at her lower lip tasted of sweet fruit and a spark of citrus. A fevered urge to make love to her gripped him. He would’ve wrapped his arms around her and carried her off if he hadn’t heard her sharp inhale.
When he opened his eyes, hers were aglow and round as quarters.
They lingered in the hallway, their lips mere centimeters from another kiss. He stood, breath held, awkwardly clutching her elbows while refraining from walking her backward into her room without a clear invitation.
“Good night, Mitch.” She eased her arms free, pausing to squeeze his hands, before stepping into her room and closing the door.
He stared at that door, wanting to believe in the light he’d seen in her eyes rather than in her quiet salutation. The pros and cons of knocking scrolled through his head like a ticker tape.
Pros: joy, orgasms, and peace. Cons: his unsolicited kiss might’ve already made their upcoming trips to Brussels, Berlin, Amsterdam, Edinburgh, Dublin, and London more than a little awkward. Not to mention the US launch, which Savant was emailing him about each day. Everything—his identity, his savings, his future—was tied to List Launch’s ability to produce a string of success stories with its first clients. The cons were too big to ignore.
Tucking his chin, he retreated. She’d been clear, if kind, in literally and metaphorically closing the door he’d tried to open. Now he would regroup and get through the rest of the tour on his best behavior.
His room’s midnight-blue walls and coverlet mirrored his dark mood. He tossed his jacket on the empty bed, followed by his shirt, slacks, and boxers, and then headed straight for the shower. Gritting his teeth, he stepped inside and turned the knob to “Froid.”
Mitch woke with a start at the alarm, having fallen asleep a mere ninety minutes earlier. He’d spent half the night replaying that kiss and the other half rehearsing the apology he would have to make this morning.
He’d crossed the line he swore he’d never cross again . . . and once more, he’d met an unpleasant end. He stared at the ceiling, wishing for more time to regroup. For the privacy to work through his discomfort and disappointment. If he’d been at home, he could’ve spent hours baking an intricate confection. Creating something extraordinary from otherwise ordinary ingredients usually reassured him that someday he’d replicate that outside the kitchen.
But not today.
Not unless Peyton intimated regret about shooting him down.
Twelve more days together. Two hundred eighty-eight hours of the pleasure and pain of her company, and of the simultaneous wishes that it would speed by yet never end.
There was no point in dragging his feet. He showered, dressed, packed, and descended the elevator, practicing his apology one last time.
He rounded the bend to the lobby, heart in his throat, but Peyton had not yet come down from her room. Any other day he wouldn’t think much of her tardiness. This morning, however, he guessed she dreaded seeing him. Had she, like him, spent the night practicing a speech—some kind words of rejection to hit
reset yet again?
He didn’t have to wait long for her arrival. Wearing an orange-and-yellow summer dress, she looked like the sunshine after a rainfall. He guessed she could see exhaustion stamped across his face, so he didn’t even try to mask it.
“Good morning.” She met his gaze for a second before letting hers drift.
“Good morning.” He cleared his throat, hesitating. Holding out hope that she might surprise him with a hint of flirtation.
She tucked some hair behind her ear before raising her gaze to meet his. “Mitch, about last night—”
Damn. He held up one hand, his gaze now seeking a distant spot beyond her shoulder. “I’m sorry I put you in an awkward situation. I’ve no excuse for my behavior but promise you it will not happen again.”
“Oh.” Something soft in her voice snagged his attention, so he looked at her, but she waved him off with a half smile. “It’s fine. Really. You’d had a few drinks. Who hasn’t gotten swept up in a celebration now and then? To be honest, I’m rather proud of my effect on you, Optimus. By the time we get back to the States, you might lose your robot status altogether.”
How like her to deflect with jokes.
His face burned. “Thank you for making this easier. We still have a lot of work ahead, and I would hate to have done anything to hurt our momentum.”
“Please, stop.” She reached out to touch his arm, and for a shining second, he thought she might tell him she wasn’t sorry about the kiss. She might even confess to having liked it. “It’s no big deal. Consider it forgotten.”
He should have been relieved that he hadn’t ruined everything, but her words punctured his already-battered heart. That kiss had been a huge deal to him while meaning less than nothing to her. Whatever attraction he’d believed had been mutual must’ve been imagined.
No matter what came next, he could not let her see his disappointment, so he smiled. “Done.”
Her responding smile wasn’t as bright as normal. “Well, let’s grab a quick coffee for the cab ride. We could both use a little caffeine, I think.”
“Good idea.”
She cocked her head, eyes now twinkling. “It’s rare, but I’ve been known to have one from time to time.”
Another joke. He gestured for her to lead and then followed behind. A pattern he should have been used to by now.
This marked the end of the fantasies he’d spun about her. She’d opened no door for the future. No possibility of what might be after the tour ended. No indication that she’d seen past all his ordinariness to the potential for something more.
He’d ruined everything by turning the heat up too fast—something even amateurs in the kitchen know not to do.
Chapter Eleven
By the time the black cab stopped in front of Twenty Nevern Square, the London drizzle had subsided, although the lingering humidity would quickly turn Peyton’s postchemo waves into a riotous mop of frizz. She stepped onto the sidewalk and caught her first whiff of the grassy, shaded park’s earthy fragrance—a dank aroma common in parts of this city.
Mitch dealt with the cab driver, who’d set the luggage on the sidewalk. She rolled her shoulders, noticing a strange pulling sensation under her right arm. She’d dropped a few pounds since the trip had begun, too. Either thing could be due to all the work and restlessness of the past weeks, but she couldn’t ignore the niggling fear that they could be symptoms of something more. That her upcoming checkup might bring unwelcome news.
As the driver pulled away from the curb, Mitch scanned the row of restored brick Victorian townhouses with a narrowed gaze.
“Ta-da!” She pointed toward the entry portico of the boutique inn, camouflaged amid the residences. The central yet tranquil location in Earl’s Court put the inn at the top of her preferred hotels when visiting London.
“Doesn’t look like a hotel.” His brows shot up.
“One of many reasons why I love it.”
He grinned. “You do seem rather upbeat.”
“I am. This is it! A few interviews and a reading followed by a publisher party all in one day. I can’t wait to go home tomorrow.” She heaved a happy sigh, thinking about her bed in Connecticut, with its view of Long Island Sound.
“I’m sorry this trip has been such a chore.” His light tone didn’t match the withdrawal that had intensified every day since their last night in Paris, settling thickly between them like the misty air.
Her body still warmed at every recollection of the unexpected kiss that had sent her running in fear—of her own feelings, of trusting anyone after Todd, of dragging a lover into her still-fragile health crisis. In that moment, she’d thought she’d rather lose all her hair than undress in front of him. Then she’d spent the night alone in bed, hot with yearning. Frustrated by her overthinking. Wondering if maybe there wasn’t a middle ground, much like her light relationships before Todd. The kind of romance where no one invests enough to get hurt.
There’d been a moment in that lobby the next morning when she’d found the courage to share her feelings—to tell him that it was her own insecurities that made her run. But he’d cut her off with an apology and firm promise that proved he’d thought it all a grand mistake. Despite her vow to put the kiss behind them, they had yet to manage the rapport they’d shared before that night.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” She reached out to touch him, but he moved to raise the handle of her suitcase. It had been this way for twelve days. She’d constantly put her foot in her mouth, and he’d steadily pulled away. Their now fine-tuned professional relationship made her miss the personal moments they’d enjoyed in that Parisian park and Rome and elsewhere prior to that night. “I’m just a little drained at this point.”
He reached for his suitcase with his free hand. “Weren’t you always on the road with your old job?”
“Yes, but I worked alone, so I didn’t have to talk to people unless I chose to.” When he grunted under his breath, she added, “Not that I haven’t enjoyed talking with you.”
He barked a short laugh. The fleeting twinkle in his eyes struck her heart like flint. “Too late. I know where I rank.”
She should’ve laughed at his little joke, but she didn’t. The man had no idea where he ranked because she’d diligently concealed the number of times she imagined what it would be like to walk hand in hand, or kiss him in a taxi, or fall asleep listening to the sound of his breath.
She’d expected to feel better with a number of successful events now under her belt, but she hadn’t counted on missing his undivided attention. In fact, there’d been moments when she’d almost resented him for that kiss she couldn’t forget.
Silver lining—the slow separation should make their goodbyes easier. The Manhattan launch party could be the last time she’d see him. He couldn’t go with her to Chicago, Dallas, Miami, and San Francisco because he had commitments for other clients’ soon-to-be-released books. Eager clients who wouldn’t waste time fighting him, or pretend to dismiss a furtive kiss.
Yet his earnestness and gentleness kept calling to her, making the distance between them prickle. She no longer felt certain that she’d made the best decision by hiding her true feelings.
His quick smile had already faded.
“You’re frowning again. Is it because my book didn’t hit Der Spiegel’s nonfiction bestseller list?” Fifteen thousand copies during release week had sounded good to her, but based on the phone conversations she’d overheard, it wasn’t good enough for Savant.
“I’m not frowning, although I am sorry I failed you on that count. But don’t stress about lists. You did your job, which was to write a good book, promote it on your sites, and come on this tour. The rest is your publishers’ and my job to figure out.”
“I’m not stressed. If it weren’t for the fund-raising goals, I couldn’t care less if we hit any lists.” She did, however, care that Savant was applying even more pressure on Mitch for the upcoming US launch. And while she didn’t know all the details, she�
�d overheard enough to know that his assistant had made some other small bungle, and his mother and sister had argued about something. She could only imagine how exhausted he must be.
“Well, there’s still time.” He shot her an attempt at a reassuring smile. “We’ve picked up momentum this past week, and I’m optimistic about the US launch next week. Preorders are strong.”
She stroked his arm. “Whatever happens, I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mitch, and I’ll be recommending you to any authors I know. I hope you know that.”
He held still, blushing. “Thanks.”
He turned and started up the short flight of front steps with their bags in tow. She trailed behind him and through the archway and hotel entrance. Inside its tiny lobby, a pink potted orchid stretched forward from the registration desk like a delicate handshake.
“Excuse me.” She stepped around Mitch when he paused to take in the hotel’s mix of European and Oriental influences. Smiling to herself about the surprise she’d planned, she handed the receptionist her passport and credit card. Peyton glanced back at Mitch, hoping he wouldn’t fight the upgrade. “I’ve moved you to a deluxe four-poster room. You’ll feel like a king!”
He deserved that much after dealing with her initial reluctance to cooperate and everything that had followed on this tour.
“Hmm.” The unusual squatty vermilion antique velvet chairs in the lobby now held his attention. That was for the best. He might’ve refused the gesture if he had been listening.
She signed the paperwork, pleased to pamper him, and then handed Mitch his key. “I wish the publisher party was this morning instead of this evening. There are a million better things we could do with a night in London than sitting in a pub, listening to the team blow smoke about my book.”
Mitch shrugged. “At least you won’t need a translator. I know how much you’ve hated that.”
