London Falling (The Falling Series) Read online

  “Can I pick my own dress?” She laughed but I was dead serious. There was no way in hell I’d be wearing some ridiculous bridesmaid dress. We needed appointments with Vera Wang ASAP. It was a good thing I’d done her office design last year. I could pull a few strings.

  “Whatever you want. It’s going to be really simple though, London. Only you, Ollie, and my soon to be sister-in-law, Jess on my side. On Hank’s it will be his brother, Heath, Dean, and his best friend Mac. We’re getting married at Hank’s ranch in Texas. I’ve hired a wedding planner to handle all the finite details. I do not have the time nor the desire to plan a wedding. I just want the man. Besides, Bright Magazine is going live the first of the year and there is so much to do before it launches. If Hank hadn’t demanded we push up the wedding when we found out about the baby, we’d be doing all this next year.”

  “You sound stressed. That can’t be good for the baby. How far along are you?”

  She smiled and glowed a little when she pulled out a little black and white photo. “Officially, I’m eleven weeks. I’ll be four months along by the time we get married. I have to find a dress that can hide a small bump if I have one by then.” She clasped her hands over her belly thoughtfully.

  My big sister was getting married and going to have a baby. Incredible. She was with the man of her dreams and was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

  “Do you want to go look at dresses? I’ll set up something with Vera. She owes me a favor.”

  “That would be heavenly. Thank you.” She looked at her watch and stood. “I have to go. Meeting at two. Enjoy your evening with Collier. If he’s anything like his brother, Nate, he’s a good guy. And if he’s as good looking as Nate and has the same accent? Wow. Gotta love a man with an accent, right y’all?” Her joke was lame, referencing Hank’s southern accent, but I appreciated how love can make you silly. Once upon a time, I, too, was a lovesick puppy. “Lunch and drinks on me. They have my tab. Enjoy!”

  Tripp and I watched her leave. “Wow. That was unexpected news, eh, Bridge?”

  “You’re telling me. I barely digested the fact that she was getting married and she drops the baby bomb.”

  “She dropped the bomb on me…baby. She dropped the bomb on me… ” Tripp sung and I chimed in.

  Things were changing for the better for those around me. I wonder if Tripp and I could somehow carve out that chunk of happiness where we wouldn’t be hurt anymore and we’d live happily ever after. We’d spent the last few years resigned to the fact that we were not the people who found happily ever after. We’d both actually believed the concept was more myth than reality. Aspen and Hank’s Cinderella story changed that thought process. Besides, I’d been in love once and it was ripped away prematurely. One day four years ago, my time ran out.

  Chapter - 4

  London seemed like the kind of bird that fancied men who dressed to impress. The pitch black suit jacket I’d pulled on made me feel like I had secured my armor and was ready for battle with a sexy vixen. I’d paired the jacket with light gray slacks, a white dress shirt and a deep purple tie making additional effort for the evening.

  Boy did I want to impress her. The woman was more than beautiful. She was ethereal and unlike anyone I’d ever dated. Something about her called to me. It was more than the fact that she was the exact opposite of my ex-wife, Claire, a fact which made me appreciate her physical qualities even more.

  Claire was definitely attractive and when we’d met in college, I chased her endlessly until she finally gave in. We dated for a year and then got married. I spent five years trying my best to make her happy. It was a valiant effort, one I lost miserably.

  In the end, my work and lack of all-encompassing attention drove her away. She wanted the man who fawned over her boundlessly. I couldn’t give her that and the lifestyle she required, on top of building Stone, Walker & Associates from the ground up. From the start we were doomed. A woman like her could never be satisfied.

  When all was said and done, she left me for a filthy rich man whose family had money and owned hotels across Europe. Over the years I’d heard a little about her through mutual friends we’d had while we were married. They claimed she wasn’t happy and regretted her decision to end our marriage. It didn’t matter. The damage had been done.

  After I moved to the States, information became less forthcoming and now it was practically non-existent, an ideal situation to be in when I was contemplating starting something fresh and new for the first time since my marriage failed.

  Before I headed out my phone pinged. It was a text from London.

  To: Collier Stone

  From: London Kelley

  Something came up. I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Text me the name. See you there.

  After texting the name of the restaurant and the address, I made my way out of my flat and into the garage. I waved to the attendant and slipped into my beloved Porsche 911. Even its name implied a sense of urgency. When I’d seen the deep slate blue paint, its sleek curved lines, I knew she had to be mine. A similar feeling came over me last week when the crowd thinned and I’d spotted Ms. Kelley at Maxwell’s housewarming.

  Making it out of the garage, I downshifted and the engine purred, as if it enjoyed the ride as much as I did.

  When I reached the restaurant, the valet took my beloved. “Be nice, she bites,” I warned the young man, who smiled widely. The kid probably enjoyed his job immensely, getting to park striking cars all evening and getting paid to do it. He couldn’t have been a day over eighteen.

  “Yes, Sir!” he answered and sped off with the love of my life. I sighed.

  A glittering spot of light caught my eye down the street and I knew it was her. She was bent over paying the cab driver. Her legs seemed impossibly long in her short dress, even though she couldn’t have been more than a few inches over five feet. She stood and her gaze caught mine. One delicate hand pulled her dark hair to the side then ran her fingers through it. I could have walked the thirty feet and escorted her but I stood still, watching her come to me. She made walking seem like an art form. It wasn’t so much that she walked but rather glided down the sidewalk toward me.

  The sheen off her skin dazzled and toyed with my vision. My hungry gaze swept over every bare expanse of skin, her graceful neck, bared arms, tanned thighs. Her breasts, high on her chest and rounded to perfection, were encased in a silver sequined cocktail dress. She looked smart and utterly edible.

  Those blue-gray eyes twinkled when she stood in front of me. Even with ungodly tall heels she still had to look up at me. It made me feel powerful, in charge and protective over her much smaller frame.

  “You look good enough to eat,” I whispered into her ear as I leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “Shall we skip dinner then? Go right to dessert?” Her eyes held a challenge.

  “Cheeky, are we Ms. Kelley?” I clasped each bicep and swept my thumbs along her buttery soft skin. She smiled but didn’t back down.

  “Cheeky? I’m sure a bit of cheek is doable.” She pursed her lips and slid around me, toward the restaurant door. Her hand trailed skillfully along my waist as she went. Tremors zipped from my abdomen and to every neuron, filling me with energy and life. A simple touch had me primed at the ready, physically needing to shag her. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be sporting a solid stiffy in no time. I took a deep breath and willed my body to relax.

  I caught up to my raven-haired beauty and escorted her with a light touch to her back through the frosted glass doors. She felt warm and firm and I imagined touching her skin-to-skin. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a breath, trying to calm my desire for the bird. Her mere presence wrecked me.

  We were led to a quaint booth. The seat was high back and made of a rich, dark purple velvet material. Tiered candles encased in purple mosaic glass ran along the edge in varying heights casting a lavender glow onto the white linen table cloth. Crystal wine glasses were preset alongside heavy silver flatware. A piano sat across the room
and a man in a tuxedo tinkered out a soft tune, accompanying a seated violinist. The music added to the luxurious theme.

  “You okay? You seemed to have a moment back there?”

  When we sat, my thigh grazed hers, sending bolts of electricity through me. I focused my attention on her eyes instead of the pulsating need that hummed just below the surface. “You’re beauty astounds me. That’s what happened back there.” I covered the hand on top of her thigh. Her breath picked up and her eyes changed color. In this light, they looked a mossy green.

  “Oh.” She looked around. “Nice place.”

  “It is.” I watched her features and something akin to nerves seemed to preside over her mood.

  “You come here often?”

  “First time.” I gave the room a once over. “Jane chose well.”

  “Jane?” Her question held a twinge of speculation.

  “My secretary.” I smiled and she returned it.

  “Do you always have your secretary set up your dates?”

  “Again, first time. I don’t usually date.”

  “Me neither,” she whispered. Her shoulders relaxed and she moved her hand to clasp mine. Then her eyes widened. “Then we have something in common.” I squeezed her hand and she brought her other hand up to clasp both of mine. Her widened eyes marred the delicate soft features with hard edges. She held my focus and my hand as if it was a life raft and she was up to her neck in water.

  The waiter arrived but she didn’t move, didn’t release her grasp of my hand. If anything she held it more tightly between her smaller ones. Her gaze never wavered from my face. The waiter must have noticed the tension because he averted his attention and quietly walked away.

  “You were hurt by love,” she said as if she simply stated the temperature outside. A gut-wrenching cold ripped through me at her words. How was she able to hit the nail so evenly on the head and cut me to my core? It was as if she had some type of magic or telepathic ability. Then it dawned on me. It took one to know one. I knew it as well as I knew my own pain. I could see it cross her eyes, briefly, but it had been there. She expertly masked it to focus on me.

  “As were you.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement of fact. Instinctively, my heart knew I’d met a kindred spirit. Someone who understood what it felt like to lose everything you ever held dear.

  She stared into my eyes. The shadow of hurt that lay beyond those crystal depths was staggering. In that moment she was the most striking woman I had ever known. Then, she bared her soul with a simple nod of her head.

  Leaning forward, I pulled my free hand up to her neck. With the tips of my fingers, I traced the long column of her neck from her ear down to the flimsy strap at her shoulder holding up her dress. She shuddered and gasped at my touch. My hand wove into the thick dark mane of hair at her nape. Her gaze traced each of my features, jumping from my eyes to my lips and back.

  With my mouth close to hers, my breath fanning her face, I whispered, “Never again.”

  She closed her eyes as if she was about to pray. Then I kissed her.

  It didn’t matter where we were or that we were surrounded by a room full of people. All that mattered was this woman, this moment, this need to connect with her.

  Her lips were as soft as the petals of a rose and just as moist. As I kissed her, one of her hands left mine and glided along the side of my face, from my temple to the dip in my chin. She opened her lips just enough for our tongues to graze one another’s in a sensual flirtatious dance. She smelled of cinnamon but tasted of mint tea. With one more press of my lips to hers, I grudgingly pulled back. Her eyes stayed closed for a moment until someone cleared their throat and startled us both.

  “Excuse me,” the waiter said and I chuckled. Back home the British only said “Excuse me” when they belched. Same goes for “pardon me,” only that phrase meant one has passed gas. It cracked me up how Americans were always talking about their digestive tracks. It took Nathaniel and I months to figure out they weren’t constantly apologizing for burping and farting. To this day, it is endless entertainment. “Would you like to start with something to drink? See the wine list perhaps?” The nice fellow in a white sport coat handed me a book rather than a list. It was filled with the wine they offered.

  “Beauty, do you have a preference?” She smiled at the nickname I had inadvertently given her. I always used a man or woman’s God-given name. With her, the pet name just popped out. And boy did it fit bloody well.

  “Actually, I had martinis with Tripp earlier. I’d like a Cosmo, please.” She handed the wine book back to the waiter.

  “And for you, Sir?”

  “There is obviously no need to impress the lady with my lack of wine knowledge.” She giggled and shook her head. “I’ll go the unpretentious route and order a glass of your house cabernet.”

  “As you wish, Sir. I’ll be back momentarily with your drinks and to take your order.”

  London and I reviewed the menu in a comfortable silence. “So have you decided what you fancy eating?”

  She twisted her lips, grabbed a lock of her hair and twirled it around her finger as she studied the menu, deep in thought. The act was so naughty schoolgirl it triggered my shaft like a beacon. I warred with my thoughts, trying to get the idea of shagging her out of my mind for the hundredth time this evening.

  “I think I’ll go with the filet.” She nodded then snapped the menu shut. She caught me staring at her. “What?”

  “Oh love, you break me with your beauty.”

  ***

  I leaned over and whispered into his ear, making sure to trail my lips along the curl of flesh. “You know, I’m a sure thing tonight. You don’t have to keep complimenting me.” Purposely I placed my lips just under his ear and licked the salty skin there.

  He sighed and stiffened. Pure lust poured off him like a tsunami ready to hit shore. It soaked into my pores and made wetness pool between my thighs. There was nothing that was going to prevent me from drowning in him tonight. With one last drag of my lips along the tender skin of his neck, I told him what I’d been dying to say to him since we met. “I want you.”

  “Shite.” The word slipped from his lips as he adjusted his pants. I looked around and it seemed everyone was in a world of their own. The tables were tall with long drapes that fell over our laps. No one could really see what I was about to do. In a bold move, I placed my hand on his thigh and slid it up to cup and fondle his package. The desire to touch him intimately was overwhelming.

  “Christ, Beauty, you’ll be the end of me.” He thrust his hips against my wandering hand. My fingers reached deep between his legs to cup his balls through the texture of his slacks and rub him from root to tip and back down. In this position his cock was thick and long, reaching up to his waistband. My mouth watered, wanting, no needing to taste him.

  “God, I want to taste you.”

  “Shite woman. You’re sex on a stick!” He gritted his teeth then buried his face into the crook of my neck, breathing heavily and nibbling on the skin he found there. I continued to rub him over and over, effectively making him insane with lust. A litany of small groans left his lips as he thrust several times against my palm. I had the Englishman exactly where I wanted him. Too soon the waiter approached with our drinks.

  Immediately I backed off and his lust filled eyes cleared. The caramel brown in them swirled. He ran both hands through his wheat colored hair. It landed in sexy layers against his scalp and reminded me of bed hair after a good hard night of fucking.

  The waiter took our order and we spent the rest of dinner making small talk, learning more about each other. The sexual tension between us never left, just simmered, steadily bubbling just under the surface.

  I learned he was obsessed with rugby and watched it on the ‘telly’ late into the evenings. He preferred live games but they were few and far between in the States.

  I shared my affliction for sexy shoes, colorful fabrics and my love of anything handmade and artistic.
He seemed to appreciate that most, asking questions about things I mentioned and wondering what museums I preferred.

  “Why do you do what you do?” he asked out of the blue.

  “What do you mean? Interior design?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, it seemed to fit. I’ve always had a knack for entering someone’s home and intuitively knowing how the furniture should be re-arranged to maximize space. Colors and textures are fun to play off one another but the real fun…“

  His eyes twinkled as he focused intently on me.

  “The real fun is learning what it is people need in their life besides the design. If the home needs the new look, usually it’s the man, woman or couple that needs the resurfacing.”

  “How so?” He took my hand and made endless infinity doodles on the top and wrist.

  God he’s sexy.

  “People have an innate inability to not do right by themselves. Sure, there are egotistical people out in the world who are very ‘what’s in it for me,’ but usually they’re hiding their insecurity over something else. Sometimes a person stays at a job for the money, not for the love of the work. It depends on the person.”

  “So you move into their flat to learn about them personally along with their likes and dislikes for the design aspect?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Exactly. When I move in with them, I have an ‘in the trenches view’ of how they live their life, what makes them tick, what hurts them, what heals them. I work with them to see those things themselves and make the required changes. On top of that, I give them a new look and feel on their home. Kind of like stepping into a new world, or at least a new lease on life.”

  “That’s blooming incredible. The way you see things is fascinating.” His head shook but his eyes blazed with intensity. He licked his lips and bit down on the plump flesh.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to let his emotions trace over my senses.