Page 28 of Getting Lucky in London

A few minutes later, we were seated on the upper level. Michael had given me the outside window so I could take in the view.

“Will we be able to see Big Ben? Or London Bridge? Or the Thames?” I asked without taking my eyes off the passing cityscape. “And the Tower? Can we see that?”

He leaned close, his chest to my back, one arm along the back of my seat. “Only if we go in the other direction. We’ll see those another day.”

Another day?My insides churned and my heart ached.

I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him quiet, to beg him to take me back to his house, to lock the world away so there was no need for words that couldn’t be said with our bodies. Because whether I stayed in London or not, my time with Michael was running out.

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Michael

“There.” I pointed as the bus bumped along Kensington High Street, Danielle’s enthusiasm rubbing off on me. It was like seeing the city I adored through new eyes again—her eyes. I wanted her to love it as much as I did. I couldn’t wait to show her all of London and its countryside. Wherever she wanted to go, I’d take her.

Ifshe got the job and moved here from the States.

I didn’t want to think about how I’d feel if she didn’t. “That’s Leighton House. You might find it of interest if you’re into art history.” I kissed the back of her slender neck. “You like art, right? I mean, we met at the art exhibit.”

She shivered and tugged the sexy braid out of the way, inviting me to taste more of her, yet I wasn’t unaware of how her shoulders stiffened at the subtle opening for her to finally trust me and tell me the truth. “Yes, I-I do love art.”

I sat back in my seat, ignoring the tightening in my chest. Perhaps she didn’t trust me. Dom had a hard time trusting anyone that first year at uni. We’d been assigned as dorm mates and were well into our second semester before Dom let his guard down. It had taken another year before he opened up about his family situation.

It stood to reason Danielle might have the same issues with trust. I just needed to be patient.

The double-decker jumped on the A3220 North and skipped along, and in a matter of minutes, we were approaching the Westway Roundabout where traffic picked up.

I glanced at Danielle and smiled at her nose practically mashed to the glass like a kid looking in a candy store. “Our stop is coming up.”

The bus finally pulled over at the corner of Cambridge Gardens and Portobello Road.

“This is us.” I slid out of the seat and into the aisle, backing up so that she could go ahead of me.

When we stood on the sidewalk, she looped her arm through mine. “Out of all the places in London, this is your favorite?”

“It is.” I covered her hand with mine and led her up Portobello Road to the first clothing shop. “Let’s see if they have any shoes.”

Fifteen minutes later, a pair of flat, white sandals lay on the counter, along with a large Union Jack bag.

“To carry my heels in,” she said, “and anything else we find.”

I pulled out my wallet, but she handed the cashier a card.

Her gaze slid to mine, and she shook her head. “Thank you, but I pay my own way. You and your mom have done enough.”

She was definitely as proud as Dom. Too many times, he’d missed out rather than accept anyone’s “charity.”

As we wandered down the row of multi-colored tents and buildings, stopping at each vendor, I wasn’t sure we’d make it to the end before dark. We’d gotten a late start, and Danielle oohed and aahed and touched everything. She chatted with people from all walks of life peddling their wares. We explored everything from books and jewelry to vintage clothing and antiques. It was a good thing her new bag was big because she’d stuffed it full of homemade soaps, candles, and shampoo.

“Gifts for back home,” she offered.

Finally, an opening I’d been waiting for. “Family?”

“No, just friends and co-workers,” she said, her tone taking on a cautious edge as she turned away to thumb through a book. I wondered if she even read the title or saw the words on the pages before laying it back down.

“So, you know a lot about me—where I live, what I do. You’ve even met my mum.” I picked up the same book, flipped it over, and pretended to read the blurb. “Are you going to tell me anything about yourself?”

She picked up another book. “I thought we agreed that a woman is allowed her mysteries.”

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