Page 17 of The Wrong Promise

“The Ritz?”

I chuckle. “Good guess.”

She stares out the window for the remainder of the drive, taking in the lights of the old-world buildings, the architecture signifying royalty. It’s why I enjoy being here and how it differs from home.

“Are we in Westminster?” Zara murmurs.

“Millbank.”

“Isn’t this where Robert Pattinson lives?” I wait for her to explain further, and she rolls her eyes. “The hot vampire inTwilight.”

“It’s a beautiful part of the city,” I note, not entertaining her question as Ben parks near the entrance to the building I call home while in London. Instead, I offer, “We’ll take a walk in the daylight. I think you’ll like it.” Sliding out of the back seat, I offer a hand to help Zara out, closing the door behind her. She then follows me inside, past reception, where we take a private elevator to the sixth-floor penthouse. “There are five bedrooms, so you’re welcome to crash here anytime.”

“Thanks.” She frowns. “Does anyone else live here?”

“No. Why?”

“Five bedrooms. That’s huge, considering I’m staying in a hotel room where you can barely swing a cat. I assumedwith the lack of skyrise apartments there is a housing shortage.”

“Everything has a price.” I pour myself a whiskey, one I’ll enjoy. “The Italian restaurant downstairs is open until midnight,” I offer, handing her a menu. “You said you’re starving. Choose something.”

Zara shakes her head. “No thanks. I probably won’t stay long.”

“Stay long enough to eat.” I pluck the menu from her and add, “I’ll get you the prawn linguine. It’ll be a hell of a lot better than fast food.” With a quick dial, I place the order downstairs. “A cup of tea while you wait?”

She smiles. “I’m still not a tea drinker.”

“I thought you were blending…”

“Ha.” She turns in a circle, surveying the penthouse living room. “This is fancy, although I’m not surprised. You’re a Hendricks, so only the best.”

Her annoyed tone irritates me. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” She shakes her head, and her tangled emotions are immersed in the solitary word. “I don’t know why I’m here. I really should go.”

Before she takes the first step, I’m in her face. “I assumed we were going to talk.” I take her hand and lead her to the bar. The moment I stare into her brown eyes, I’m captivated. Noir chocolate eyes. Sexy. Mysterious and a touch dangerous. It’s what attracted me to Zara the moment we met. Her sass is a bonus. I force my gaze away from her lure and mix her a gin and tonic. “Come and sit with me. It’s too beautiful a view to adore alone.” Removing my tie, I loosen the top buttons of my shirt. “Come.”

Taking both glasses, I lead her onto the terrace.

Zara inhales but doesn’t say a word. I felt the same way when the agent showed me the apartment a year ago. Thebreathtaking views of the Thames and Houses of Parliament remind me of the abundant wealth in London, and I’m adding a nice portfolio to the Hendricks family name.

The hundred-foot private stone terrace is supported by huge round stone pillars, giving it a modern castle feel. Ficus trees trimmed into perfectly round balls offer the final touch of opulence. It’s a stark contrast to my home in LA and a refreshing one, a small piece of the pie I’m after since London is one of the top luxury capitals of the world.

I point to the chairs. “Sit with me.”

Zara takes a few mouthfuls of her gin before sitting. “Bringing me here is a form of bragging. If you wanted to talk or have company, we could have gone for a walk along the river.”

“You want to take a walk?”

“Not now,” she says bluntly, wrapping her arms around her waist as she stares toward Westminster Bridge.

I stand and slip off my suit jacket, draping it around her shoulders. “What’s next for you, Zara?”

“For dessert?”

I smile at the first suggestion that comes to mind. “No.” I take the seat beside her, lean back, and swirl the whiskey in the glass. “In life.”

“What everyone else wants. World peace.” She shakes her head as though it’s a dumb question.

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