Page 26 of Getting Lucky in London

I didn’t want to think about that right now, though.

Stuffing my phone back into my purse, I looked into the mirror and blinked, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. My skin glowed, my hair was a wild untamed mess, and my eyes shone like a woman well and truly fucked. No, it wasn’t just a random fuck. I was happy. Happier than I’d been since…ever.

All the alarm bells clanged in my head, screaming at me to run before my heart shattered into pieces. But it was too late to save my heart. Either, he’d break it, or he wouldn’t, and I’d have to live with the fallout. Until then, I hoped Michael would share a little more of himself with me.

With a sigh, I walked into the kitchen. He looked up and smiled, and my tummy did a flip that knocked over a whole breadbasket of butterflies. And the way his gaze traveled over my legs…

“Good morning,” I said tentatively as I drew closer, trying to gauge his mood other than the obvious arousal narrowing his eyes on my tits. I’d left all the buttons on the shirt undone except one.

Just because he wants to fuck me doesn’t mean he wants me to stay.

Shut up.

“More like afternoon.” He handed me a cup of coffee. “Are you hungry?”

I arched a brow over the rim of the mug. “Very.”

He turned back to the stove to mash the toasted bread oozing cheese. “Food first, or we’ll die of malnutrition in my bed.”

“I was thinking about the kitchen counter.” I patted the marble covering the large island.

He groaned and hauled me against his hard frame with one arm. His mouth brushed mine lightly. “You are definitely asking for it.”

“Would you prefer me on my knees, begging?” I ran a hand over his chest, loving the play of taut muscles under the faded blue T-shirt. “Because that can be arranged.”

“Oh, I’d love you on your knees, but your beautiful mouth would be too full to do any begging.” His tongue lapped at my lips, and a zing rippled from my nipples to my clit. He tasted of coffee and mint and Michael. His hand slid under the shirt and palmed one cheek, then slapped my ass.

“Yow!” The playful swat startled me but didn’t really hurt. Heat bloomed across the injured cheek and melted into my core.

With a quick kiss, he set me aside. “You’re going to make me burn lunch.”

The lingering sting had me rubbing my ass as I wandered to perch on a stool. “Mmm, spank me, Daddy.”

He barked a laugh and pointed his spatula at me. “Behave or I just might.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Cheeky wench.”

Giddy with the hopefulness of the playful banter, I watched him expertly flip the grilled cheese in the skillet. My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d eaten. We’d nibbled on apples and grapes at one point, but that seemed ages ago.

Michael seemed happy to have me hanging around his kitchen, albeit half naked. And he was cooking for me. That was a good sign.

“Where did you find the keys?” I ventured.

“In my wellie.”

“Ouch, that sounds painful,” I quipped and squeezed my legs together.

He rolled his eyes but grinned. “Wellie, not willie.”

I knew perfectly well what he’d meant. I simply loved making him smile.

I shrugged. “If you say so.”

The kitchen settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, him plating the sandwiches, me watching him and trying to memorize everything about him, every mannerism, the long fingers that played so well over my skin, the cock of his hip, the tilt of his head. Everything. Like I could ever forget.

Gearing up my courage again, I asked, “Are you free this afternoon?”

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