Page 17 of Getting Lucky in London

I slid into the sleek black sedan, and he shut the door. As he rounded the front of the car, I looked at him fully for the first time that morning. In jeans that hugged his ass and a T-shirt that had seen better days, he still sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering around in my belly.

How could anyone regret a night with this man? I certainly didn’t. Not the night anyway. But I’d turned into a burden. He’d tried to assure me otherwise, that he wanted to spend the day with me, which thrilled the hell out of me. I just hoped it wasn’t a mistake. I mean really, my fantasy had been fulfilled.

And yet, as he slid into the car with a happy grin and pulled away from the curb, the engine wasn’t the only thing revved up and ready to go.

Michael wasn’t lying. The trip literally took two minutes. He turned two corners and parked on a street similar to his. The front doors of the white homes were fewer and farther apart, indicating the homes were likely larger. Posher, too, judging by the architecture. This was old money England.

He jumped out of the car and hurried around to open my door while I was still gawking at the ornate beauty of the buildings.

“Who lives here?” I accepted his hand and unfolded from the comfy leather seats. If he’d brought me to one of his supermodel-thin booty calls, I was out of here, even if I had to walk all the way back to Chelsea.

The front door opened before he could answer, and a lovely woman in her fifties smiled serenely at us. Her hair was blonde with a hint of gray, her eyes were the color of thunder clouds, and she appeared to be about my height. The same build as me, too.

He greeted the woman with a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Mum.”

Mum?

“Hello, darling.” His mother glanced at me, never batting an eye. “Hi, I’m Laura.”

“Danielle,” I choked out.

“Come in, come in.” She backed into the hall, so that we could enter, and Michael closed the door.

Her gaze swept over me, taking in the wrinkled dress, the amount of leg showing beneath the short hem, my hooker heels, and no makeup. This was not how I would have wanted to meet his mother, looking like a hot mess, not that I’d ever considered meeting her when years ago, Dominic had sung her praises.

“I understand we have a bit of a dilemma,” his mother said.

I resisted the urge to tug on my dress. It wasn’t going to get any longer. Instead, I smiled. “A bit of one, yes.”

Laura looked at her son and nodded, then turned to lead the way into the living room. “I believe I have just what you need.”

I grabbed Michael’s arm to keep him in the entryway. “Yourmum?” I whispered. “Really? You brought your one-night stand to your mother’s house?”

This was no walk of shame. This was a fucking marathon.

He frowned, and his eyes flashed with… What? Anger? Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it disappeared as he patted my hand and pulled me forward. “She’s good at this. Trust me.”

Feeling like a peasant, I let him drag me farther into the elegant home.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” his mother asked.

I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but—

“We’re in a rush, Mum.” Michael laced his fingers with mine. “Her meeting is at one.”

“Then let’s get to it, shall we?” Laura nodded as if to answer her own question, then looked at Michael. “Why don’t you go find something to do and leave us to it?”

“Of course.” He nudged me as his mother glided toward the stairs.

I balked. “Don’t you dare leave me here.”

“You’ll be fine.” His lips cut off my argument with a quick peck. “I’ll go look for your keys again.”

Then he was gone, and I stood staring after him.

“This way, dear.”

Like a prisoner on my way to the gallows, I followed Laura up the stairs and down a hall to an open door. I entered a bedroom decorated with whites and creams and tans. The only color was a painting with splashes of teal and blush pink. I wanted to explore it further, examine the brush strokes, to see who the artist was, but I contained my curiosity as Laura waved a hand toward the bed.

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