Page 43 of Loving London

“I’m not playing games.” My voice comes out soft and shaky.

“London, open your eyes, and look at me,” his deep timbre instructs.

I shake my head.

That’s when I feel his soft, full lips cover mine.

All summer, I’ve been trying to remember what it was like to kiss Loïc, to feel his lips on mine. I’ve all but forgotten the way his lips felt. The last time they touched mine was nine long months ago when they kissed me good-bye right before he left on the trip that would change everything.

The last time Loïc’s lips touched mine was so much more than a kiss. It was a promise of love and commitment. It was a promise to return to me. But, though he came back, he never came back to me.

And, now, my lips that have longed to be kissed every minute of every day for the last nine months are being kissed, and it hurts.

It feels wrong and painful.

It’s not the kiss I crave but the soul connected to it. I miss the love and connection I feel for one man only, and it’s not this one.

“Stop.” I pull away, a guilty tear rolling down my cheek. “I love someone else, Brad. You can’t do that again.”

“I thought you were single.” He lets go of my hand.

“I am, but…” I stop, not wanting to say any more.

“You’re in love with a man who doesn’t want you?”

I don’t respond.

“I’m being rejected because you have feelings for someone who doesn’t love you back? Seriously, London?” His voice carries an edge of anger.

“I came here for a job, Brad, not a relationship or a fuck buddy or wherever else you see this going. I just want to write. I don’t want you treating me differently than everyone else. And I don’t want your lips or any other part of your body to touch me again. Are we clear?”

I turn and all but stomp toward the door.

Before I open it, I address Brad one more time, “You might have offered me this job because you wanted to get in my pants. But I hope you’ve been reading my articles because they’re good. And, unless you need to talk to me about something legitimate, I expect all future work-related topics to be covered in our morning staff meetings.”

I give him a big smile—albeit a forced one—and I exit his office.

Loïc

“The people we love most in this world are the ones who have the capacity to cause us the most pain.”

—Loïc Berkeley

“He hates me! He hasn’t even met me, and he hates me already!” a very pregnant Sarah cries as she lies, sprawled out, on the couch, fanning herself with the gossip magazine that came in the mail today.

“Do you want me to turn down the air some more?” I ask her even though it already feels like the Arctic tundra in here.

“Why does he hate me, Loïc?” she continues her rant.

“How about a fan?” I suggest.

I leave Sarah to wallow in her uncomfortable pregnancy alone for a moment and make my way toward the stairs to the basement.

Closing my eyes, I pull in a few deep breaths before turning the handle. I haven’t stepped a foot in the basement since I’ve been home.

We never used the basement for hanging out. Instead, it has always been one giant storage area for anything and everything. I don’t know how much of Cooper’s random stuff Maggie took, but I’m guessing, not all of it. The fear of not knowing what I could find down these steps has stopped me from going down them before. But it’s time.

We had several fans, none of which I’ve seen since I returned, so I’m thinking that Maggie put them down here to store over the winter when Cooper and I were deployed.

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