Finding Bree is like trying to capture a particularly slippery fish with my bare hands. One moment, I thought I had her in my grasp, the next she'd flitted away, leaving only a ripple in the water. Who knew chasing after an American woman would become the most difficult task I'd ever undertake?
Where might a tourist go? She is a tourist, after all, though her holiday in London involves searching for a man. Or perhaps many men. Honestly, I don't know enough about her to understand her reasoning or her inner desires. I might be one of countless blokes who Sabrina has found and rejected.
I scan the bustling streets of Covent Garden, my eyes darting from one strawberry blonde head to another. None of them is her. I'd captured Bree the first time thanks to a method that would likely seem underhanded if I told Sabrina about it. That's why I didn't confess. Not yet. And I intend to use the same method every time until she figures out what I've done. Bree might be angry, or perhaps she'll appreciate my tactics. I never promised I would stick to fair play in this game.
The glow of pubs and restaurants and other after-dark establishments light my way. I check my mobile and follow the path prescribed by artificial intelligence or whatever it might be. I have no idea how digital maps work. I've just crossed the street when I see a familiar figure.
Ah, there she is. Well, almost. I'll need to actually enter the establishment to ascertain whether Bree is in there.
As I step inside the pub, the aroma of food wafts over me and makes my mouth water. I haven't eaten anything since I left my flat, too obsessed with hunting my bewitching prey. Though I have visited pubs many times, I've never tried this one before. The smoky lighting melds with the rich shades of the wood decor. As I scan the interior, my heart speeds up. Sabrina perches on a stool at the bar, looking as lovely and delectable as ever.
"Bree!" I call out, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of laughter, chatter, and a football match on the telly. I push through the crowd, muttering apologies as I go, and bump into one gent who scowls at me despite my immediate apology. The dim lighting makes it more difficult to seek out my quarry. The air is thick with the smell of fish and chips as well as a few other foods. I make my way to the bar, hoping to get a glimpse of Sabrina.
Then I see a familiar, shapely figure. It's her.
But she is not alone. Some tosser slouches on a stool beside her, chatting up the woman I shagged earlier today. Sabrina doesn't seem like the sort who would go to bed with one man, then seduce another at a pub.
Bree's head turns, and her green eyes flare wide as they lock onto mine. For a moment, I see a flicker of...something. Surprise? Guilt? Or maybe it's only the dim lighting playing tricks on me.
"Declan?" Her voice betrays a mix of confusion but also what I hope is a hint of pleasure.
I sidle up to the bar, positioning myself between Sabrina and the twat who's trying to seduce her.
She flashes me a brief scowl before returning her attention to the tosser.
"Just fancied a pint," I lie smoothly, ignoring the twinge of jealousy as I glance at her companion. "Didn't expect to find you here. Making new friends already?"
Her new mate shoots me a look that's equal parts curiosity and annoyance. He's tall, dark-haired, and admittedly attractive in a generic sort of way. Nothing special, if you ask me.
Sabrina's eyes dart between me and her new companion, and she seems to be enjoying this new game. But she can't make me jealous. Her lust for me is evident in her eyes. "Oh, you know me, Declan. I'm all about making friends."
Her voice drips with honey-sweet sarcasm.
"Yes, pet, I'm familiar with your penchant for collecting mates. You are quite the social butterfly, aren't you?"
She turns to her companion, placing a hand on his arm. "This is...um..."
"Crispin Webber," the bloke helpfully supplies, extending a hand.
I shake it, perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary.
Bree grins, twirling a lock of hair round and round her finger while her gaze remains glued to mine. "Crispin has been telling me all about the best spots in London for food and drinks."
I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to slug him in the gut. "I'm sure he does. Tell me, Crispin, what's your favorite chippy?"
Peter launches into a detailed explanation of some hole in the wall place I've never heard of. I nod along, feigning interest while watching Bree from the corner of my eye. She's fidgeting with her drink, noticeably uncomfortable with the situation she's found herself in. That looks like a gin and tonic. Based on how little of it she's consumed, I don't think she's all that interested in booze. But Crispin downs the last of his pint, ordering a second beer before the bartender has even taken away the first one.
I interrupt him mid-sentence. "Sounds lovely. I should try that pub sometime. Sabrina, would fancy a dance?"
Her head snaps up, and her eyes go wide. "Dance? Here?"
I gesture to the small area near the back where a few couples are swaying to the music. "Why not? I'm sure Crispin won't mind if we take a friendly spin around the floor."
Her gaze flicks between me and Crispin. She bites her lower lip, a habit I've quickly come to relish as both endearing and so maddeningly stimulating that it makes my cock rouse. But right now, I'm contemplating all the ways I could render Crispin unconscious.
"Oh, I don't know, Declan," she says, her voice light but with an undercurrent of mischief. "I wouldn't want to leave Crispin here all alone."
The gent in question, bless his oblivious heart, waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly content with my pint and the match." He nods toward the TV where a football game playing. "Chelsea is the best in the league.