Page 6 of One Weekend in London

I blink, internally shaking myself, and pull my gaze from her. Setting my glass down harder than intended, I force a casual tone. “Fine. Just a momentary distraction.”

Every word is a lie.

Incapable of stopping it, my stare returns to her, the beauty whose name I don’t yet know but I vow to soon learn.

Grant follows my line of sight, a low whistle leaving his lips. “Seems like more than just a momentary distraction to me. She’s a pretty one, yeah?”

My hand fists, knuckles paling.

I snap my eyes to him. “Look away.”

His eyes need to leave her. Now.

My jaw clenches, my back teeth grinding against one another. It’s been a decade, maybe longer since I’ve thrown a punch. Yet I now teeter on the precipice, close to doing so.

Calm down.

Inhaling, I force my shoulders to relax. It’s a vexing sensation—this sharp protectiveness combined with inescapable curiosity.

The corner of Grant’s mouth lifts. “I call bullshit. To me...”

Before I can deny the truth Grant is close to speaking, a scumbag I recognize, with his greying, slicked-back hair, Italian suit, and sleezy grin, slides onto the bar stool beside the siren who’s ensnared me.

It all happens in an instant.

Blood pressure spiking, a twitch begins in my right eye when he leans in, whispering something that makes her stiffen. I can see the walls she’s erecting, her warm smile becoming forced, eyes scanning for an escape.

Her discomfort is a visceral gut punch.

Sodding hell. There’s no way...

I’m on my feet before reason can catch up.

With my security in tow, I cross the room, my strides purposeful as a primal instinct guides me. I give little thought to the patrons watching, to the mobiles undoubtedly aimed my way, recording what may be front-page tabloid fodder come morning.

Reaching her is all that matters.

My vision tunnels, focusing solely on my newfound fascination as I circle the oval-shaped bar and come to a stop at her back, my furious heart pounding in time with my heaving breaths. Her perfume is hypnotizing. She smells of exotic jasmine and sweet citrus.

Of pure sunshine and creamy honey.

For a moment, I question if the waitress spiked my drink with a substance potent enough to drive a man to the brink of madness. Because when the future stiff dares to place his palm on her thigh, a murderous haze shrouds my mind, crashing over me.

An ocean of red is all I see.

“Remove your bloody hand from her leg, Thomas.” I step closer, my chest nearly touching her back as I ready myself to rip his spine out via his throat. “Before I remove it from your fucking arm.”

That’s when it happens.

She turns her head and looks over her shoulder. Our gazes meet, her wide, cerulean eyes locking with my narrowed, hazel ones. It’s at this second, with my well-harnessed restraint even closer to slipping, something inside me clicks, and irrefutable recognition dawns.

Hello, love. I’ve been waiting for you.

CHAPTER 2

Sadie

This isn’t how I saw my evening unfolding.

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