The Thing About My Rival (The Boston Commoners #1)

BONUS SCENE

DREW

“We have these for you if your ears are chilly,” the boat attendant says in her delightful London accent as she hands Hugo two fluffy Santa hats. “Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Or we could go inside the cabin.” Hugo points to the heated area of the boat he’s rented for us for the evening.

“It feels more special out here. You see more.” I gaze around as we bob at the dock on the River Thames and take in the beautifully lit Houses of Parliament and Big Ben behind us, and the red double-decker buses driving across the bridge. “I don’t want to miss a single thing.”

“We can come back any time you like.” He plops one of the hats on my head, yanking it down far enough to cover my ears. “As long as it’s in the off-season, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I push the hat out of my eyes and higher up my forehead as the attendant re-emerges with a tray bearing two steaming glasses of red liquid.

“Mulled wine?” she asks.

“Hell yes,” Hugo says, taking both glasses and handing one to me.

“Also,” she says, setting down the tray and lifting one of the bench seats on the side of the boat. “We have these.”

She pulls out two luxurious, heavy-looking blankets.

“Perfect.” Hugo leads me to the cream cushioned seat at the very front of the boat. “Let’s tuck in here.”

The attendant places the blankets beside us. “Have a great evening. I’ll be back to check if you need more drinks or snacks in a little while.”

Hugo and I put our spicy wine on the table in front of us. Then he picks up the top blanket and drapes it over our legs, reaching over me to tuck it in under my butt and thigh.

“That good?” he asks. “Don’t want you getting any chilly drafts.”

“It’s perfect.” I cup his face and rest my lips against his.

Instantly, as always, I sink into the scent of his skin, the warmth of his mouth, and disappear into the pressure of his lips on mine that never fail to induce a tingle at my core.

He eases back a little and brushes the tip of his nose against mine.

“You can look at this whenever you like.” He points at his face. “But this is the first time you’ve seen any of this stuff, so take it all in.” He gestures to the history all around us and the lights glistening on the water.

He tosses the second blanket over us both, lifting it higher to cover our chests. Then he picks up our glasses of mulled wine, hands one to me and wraps his arm around me, snuggling me into his side. It’s a solid, warm side that I know will always be there whenever I need it.

“Right, now we’re all set,” he says.

His words sum up the warm sense of belonging inside me. I could not be more set for the rest of my life.

“I’m so happy I’ve finally gotten to meet your family.” I circle my hands around the warm glass and inhale the spicy, Christmassy aroma. “From everything you’ve said I thought there’d be more tension or awkwardness between you. But it feels fine. They’ve all been so nice to me.”

Hugo’s parents welcomed me with open arms when we arrived at the large family house he bought for them on the outskirts of London. They were all smiles, hot tea and cookies, and gently probing getting-to-know-me questions. And then when his brothers, both single, showed up yesterday there was lots of affectionate sibling banter.

“Yeah, it feels better to me too.” He pulls me tighter to him. “Ooph, that tickles.” He pushes the pom-pom on the top of my hat out of his face. “But everything probably feels better because you’re here. You make everything better. And maybe they think you make everything better too.”

I slide a hand under the blanket and onto his muscular thigh.

“Hey, careful.” He drops a kiss on my forehead just below the white fur on the hat. “Don’t get frisky under here, or you might end up missing the sights after all.”

“Good evening, lady and gent,” a voice says from the speaker next to us. “Welcome aboard your personal Christmas Eve Thames cruise. I’ll be pointing out the main locations of interest and giving you some of their history. We’ll start by heading west just a little, to get a good look at Big Ben and the Palace of Westminster before turning around and heading eastward for St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower of London, Tower Bridge and some other gems along the way.”

The boat shudders a little as we head off.

“But as we pull away from the dock,” the captain says, “check out The London Eye opposite us on the south bank of the river, gloriously lit up red this evening in honor of the festive season.”

Hugo raises his glass toward it. “I got drunk and threw up in one of those pods when I was seventeen.”

I shake my head and squeeze his leg. “Guess I’ll be getting a whole other kind of history from you.”

And I could not be happier to learn a whole bunch of new facts about this man’s life before I met him.

“We can’t.” I whisper my protest as Hugo slips his hands up inside my top the second we close the door of our bedroom at his parents’ house. We haven’t even stopped to turn the light on.

“Oh yes, we absolutely fucking can,” he says between urgent breathy kisses up the side of my neck. “I’ve been desperate for you ever since you slid your hand a little too high under that blanket.”

“Me too.” I giggle at the memory of feeling him grow hard under my fingers as the boat made a U-turn under Tower Bridge to take us back to our start-point.

“This isn’t the only tower you’re going to see tonight,” Hugo had quipped, tipping his head toward the bridge.

“But someone’s bound to hear us,” I say to him now. “How do I look at them over breakfast tomorrow?”

“It’s a huge house.” His mouth has reached my ear, the tingles that it sends through me making it harder and harder to resist him. “Simon’s the nearest, and he’s two rooms away.”

His words tickle my skin and goosebumps race down my side.

I have no willpower when it comes to Hugo. None. My lust for him has not diminished one bit since that first drunken night at the club in Paris all those years ago.

In fact it’s grown alongside how much I know about him, how much I love him, how much I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

“Okay.” I allow myself to give in and reach for his belt. “Maybe if it’s just a quickie, it’ll be okay.”

Deep down I know my common sense has deserted me and there’s no way we’ll get away with it. But he drives me so crazy and makes me want him so badly those rational thoughts are swiped off the table by the heat and wetness at my core and Hugo’s fingers reaching to undo my bra.

“That’s my girl.” He frees my breasts. “Now let’s get naked right this fucking second.”

And his hands disappear as he whips off his shirt, unbuckles and shucks his jeans, then snatches his socks from his feet. All the while I can’t take my eyes off his spectacular erection bobbing in the diffused light of the streetlamp through the sheer curtains.

“Come on, babe.” He reaches for my top and pulls it over my head. “Keep up.”

His mouth is on my breast as I try to get out of my jeans. The distraction of his tongue on my nipple makes me topple sideways. But he catches me.

“I got you,” he says, helping me out of the rest of my clothes.

Hugo is there for me always, whether it’s backing me up over a difficult decision at work, filling awkward silences when we’re chatting with my dad, or catching me as I stumble almost-naked in his parents’ dark guest room.

He straightens and pulls my bare skin against his, his hardness pressing into my lower belly, sparking a pulse of anticipation at my core.

“Here we go.” He falls sideways onto the bed, taking me with him. The headboard unexpectedly bangs into the wall.

“See.” My cheeks burn. “Someone will hear. This is really embarrassing.”

“Okay then.” He leaps from the bed and sits in the armchair under the window. “Come take a seat.”

He makes a sweeping motion over his crotch, like theater curtains being drawn back to reveal a spectacular set.

Christ, I want this man inside me. And he’s right that it would be less noisy over there.

I instinctively wet my lips as I crawl off the bed and stand in front of him.

“Just look at you.” His eyes eat me up as he drags his fingers across my shoulders, down my breasts, stopping for a quick nipple-tweak that sets every inch of my skin a-tingle, and lower over my belly until one hand slips between my thighs.

I part my legs and sink onto it, guiding myself onto his finger. The electricity of making contact makes my head fall back.

Hugo lets out a long breath the second he finds my entrance. “Fuck, Wilcox. How long have you been this wet?”

“Since the boat.”

His finger slides up to my clit and gets to work as he leans forward and takes my left nipple in his mouth while his hand massages my other breast. And the world disappears as I sink into a universe where the only thing that exists is Hugo doing exactly what he knows my body loves, what drives it crazy, what he knows can bring me to a climax like this in less than a minute.

The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful, and I want this man inside me right now.

I push at his solid shoulders until he falls back.

“You’re ready then?” His smile is devilish as he reaches for my hips and steadies me as I straddle him on the chair—the joy of birth control and monogamy.

“Hell, yes, I’m ready.” I grasp his rock-hard dick, making his eyes close and head sink back with just two pumps of my hand.

Then I position him at my entrance and lower myself deliciously slowly, every inch of the ride making me disappear into the pleasure of him, the pleasure of us. He takes my hips and guides me as he pushes himself up to meet me.

“Fuck, Wilcox,” he sighs under his breath.

And then I’m full of him, full of the man I desire and love more than I ever knew it was possible to desire and love anyone.

My back arches on a giant exhale of relief at the combination of having him where I want him, and the thrill of knowing it’s about to get even better.

“Ssh,” Hugo says when his finger connects with my clit and forces a squeak of surprise from my lungs. “Just a quiet quickie, remember?”

I nod and increase the pace of the rise and fall of my hips to match his rhythm.

I’m already past the point of no return, already the world behind my eyes is glowing, already nothing else on earth exists other than where Hugo and I are connected.

I sense myself tipping to the left and losing balance, so I reach for the arm of the chair to steady myself. But with my eyes closed and my body rocking back and forth and up and down, amid the dark and unfamiliar surroundings my hand lands on the side table, sending a heavy glass paperweight, that I noticed earlier is engraved with the date of a high school soccer win, thudding to the floor.

“Fuck,” I say probably way too loudly.

“It’s okay, forget it,” Hugo pants, his thrusts not missing a beat. “Just come with me.”

His finger is magic, his cock is magic, the whole of him is absolute fucking magic and he shoots me right to the top. There’s no steady climb, no gradual rise, just a catapult to physical ecstasy where everything inside me bursts in an explosion of light and sparkle and I never want it to end and for a second it feels like it might not. Then with a giant cymbal crash inside my head my whole body contracts in wave after wave.

“Ssh.” Hugo’s hand is over my mouth. I didn’t even know I’d made a sound.

He bangs up into me even harder, reaching his own high as I tumble down from mine. I open my eyes to find his tight shut, head tipped back against the chair.

“Shit,” he breathes as his hips pump and his head thrashes from side to side. I meet him thrust for thrust, squeezing him inside me, wanting to milk every drop of pleasure from him.

He pulls me on top of him and buries his face in my hair to muffle the long low groan of his final release.

I relax onto his chest, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling our beating hearts together.

“I think we got away with it,” he says.

“Not so sure about that.” I trace my finger around the outline of the muscles in his shoulder. “Hope I didn’t break the paperweight.”

“Not a chance.” He pushes the hair back off my forehead. “I threw it at Bobby once when I was about fifteen and it survived that.”

And we sit there, still joined together, in the armchair in his parents’ guest room on the night of Christmas Eve.

“That was delicious.” I scrape the last drop of warm custard from the floral china bowl and lean back in the chair at Hugo’s parents’ dining table.

“You’re only saying that because I told you you’d hate Christmas pudding and custard,” Hugo says.

“No, I’m not.” I play-slap his bicep with the back of my hand.

“Yeah, Hugo, leave the poor girl alone.” Hugo’s mom, Janice, picks up a huge glass bowl layered with sponge cake on the bottom, followed by fruit in Jello, then cold custard topped with whipped cream and sprinkles, and looks at me. “Now, my love. How about some trifle?”

“We are a multi-dessert household on Christmas Day,” Hugo’s eldest brother, Simon, says.

“Yup. There’s a chocolate log on the side in the kitchen as well,” the middle brother, Bobby, adds.

“Going to have to unbuckle my belt in a minute,” Hugo’s dad says.

“Don’t show us up, Neil,” Janice says.

“Oh, you wouldn’t mind, would you, Drew?” he asks me. “You’re one of the family now. Feel free to unbuckle yours too.”

“How about we all keep our trousers on,” Hugo says. “And I get to the important question of the day.”

“Oh, what’s this?” Janice asks, scooping a large helping of trifle into a bowl and handing it to her husband.

“Well.” Hugo puts his arm around the back of my chair, and I instinctively lean toward him. “At a wedding, I believe it’s traditional for the groom to have a best man.”

I rest my hand on his leg, hoping to provide a reassuring touch at the moment I know he’s lost sleep over. The dilemma of whether to ask his best friend Tom to do the honors, or to do what’s probably the “right” thing and ask one of the brothers who teased him mercilessly about his soccer practice until he turned pro and was making enough money to give them a good life.

“Oh, yeah,” Simon says as he and Bobby both straighten from their slouches.

“It’s bound to be me,” Bobby says.

“Why would it ever be you?” Simon says. “I’m the oldest, of course it’s me.”

Janice puts bowls of trifle down in front of each of them. “Can we not turn everything into a competition now you’re all grown men?” she asks.

“You can’t say that to him.” Bobby points at Hugo. “His whole life has been a competition.”

Hugo’s powerful thigh muscle tenses under my hand.

When I give it a gentle stroke, he reaches under the table to lace his fingers with mine.

“But life doesn’t have to be a competition,” he says. “Anyway, I can’t possibly pick one of you. So how about you both win and are my joint best men?”

Simon and Bobby’s faces fall into almost identical expressions of surprise, that same crinkle appearing between their eyebrows that Hugo gets.

His fingers tighten against mine. “Well, what do you say? Sound good?”

“I think it’s a marvellous plan,” Janice says. “Honestly, it makes me all emotional to think of seeing the three of you standing up at the front of the wedding all together.”

“And at a fancy beachfront house on that Cape Cod,” Neil adds.

Janice reaches across the table to rest her hand on my wrist. “I’ve been meaning to ask, do your family know the Kennedys?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think they’ve ever even bumped into one.”

“Probably keep themselves to themselves,” Neil says.

“Anyway.” Hugo sighs and looks at his brothers. “What do you think?”

Simon and Bobby shrug and nod at each other.

“Sure,” Bobby says. “Thanks for asking us.”

“I’ll obviously carry the rings, though.” Simon says. “Seeing as how I’m the oldest.”

“Oh, for Christ’s?—”

I dig my nails into Hugo’s hand. “How about you take one each?’

“Oh yeah, that’s a good idea,” Hugo says quietly.

“Well, that’s that sorted.” Neil digs into his trifle and comes up with a multi-colored spoonful. “Plenty of time to figure out the details.”

“Yes, and anyway,” Janice says. “You still haven’t told us how the cruise was last night.”

I’ll take this and give Hugo a break. This is something I can definitely talk about for a while. “It was incredible. Hugo organized it all perfectly. Doing it in the evening with everything lit up was extra special. They plied us with warm mulled wine too, so that was good.”

“Ah, that explains the noises when you got back late last night,” Simon says. “You must have both been half pissed and stumbling around into things.”

“Exactly what that was.” Hugo squeezes my fingers as my cheeks feel like someone just set them on fire.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask as we get out of the car outside London’s stunningly beautiful St. Pancras rail station.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Hugo says as he walks to help the driver retrieve our luggage from the trunk. Or maybe I should say boot while I’m here.

As if the fairytale red brick exterior of the station with its elaborate clocktower and arched windows wasn’t dazzling enough, inside it’s equally awe-inspiring. The winter sun streams through the curved glass ceiling, reflecting off the elegant ironwork.

The place is abuzz with hurrying commuters and travelers like us, rolling suitcases and searching for their destination on the giant boards.

It feels like more than a place for just arrivals and departures. It feels like somewhere that magic happens, that this is a place where new beginnings are born.

Hugo brings us to a halt amid the sea of rushing people. A man crashes into his back and mutters something like, “Bloody tourists just suddenly stopping.”

“Happy Christmas, mate,” Hugo calls after him with a cheery wave.

Then, reaching into his jacket, he turns to me. “Get out your passport.”

“My passport?” What on earth is he talking about? “For a train ride?”

“Yup.” The smile already on his face grows even wider. “We’re heading over there.”

He points to a blue sign that reads EUROSTAR DEPARTURES.

“Eurostar?” I ask.

“You know where the Eurostar goes.” He nudges me with his elbow as if I’m playing dumb.

I’m really not.

But then it dawns on me what the main non-British destination is for trains from London.

My heart leaps. “Are we seriously going to?—”

“Yup.” He drapes a casual arm around my shoulder. “Paris, baby.”

My heart leaps. “Oh my God, Hugo.”

It’s so touching and thoughtful and also kind of hilarious all at the same time.

“I want to replace the bloody awful memory of me that you have in that city with a new one. So it’s Paris for New Year. Sound good?”

I throw my arms around his neck and plant my lips on his. “I don’t think there’s anything that could sound better.”

And there, amid the hustle, bustle, and noise of St. Pancras station, with hundreds of people rushing back and forth around us, Hugo’s tongue sinks softly into my mouth in the most loving kiss of my life.

When we pull apart, he plants an affectionate peck on the end of my nose then takes my hand and leads me toward the Eurostar platform.

“Come on, Wilcox. Let’s go make some new Paris memories.”

Remember how Hugo and Drew’s book ended with one of the club’s owners, real estate mogul Miller Malone, heading off to our favorite small town of Warm Springs to buy a donkey sanctuary?!

He thinks it’s owned by an old guy who’ll be a pushover. Turns out, the man’s granddaughter is running it at the moment, and she is not going to sell…

Grab their story in The Thing About My Secret Billionaire.