Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Tom
I don’t date. Ever. For over a decade, one-night stands and short-term flings have been my modus operandi. Still, even I know that sprinting away from your date-slash-non-date breaks every rule in the romance handbook. Not that I’ve seen a copy, but if Dee were here now, she’d be scowling in my direction.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. Paisley kissed me. She kissed me, and it was fucking divine. The second her lips touched mine, I was done. The bolt of awareness that burned through my chest made it clear that while Paisley’s words claim a holiday friendship, her lips hint at something more. And I’m not gentleman enough to deny her.
In other words, Paisley got me hot and bothered, and now I’m tweaking our afternoon plans to upgrade this non-date to a holiday romance.
Hence, the sprinting. If a gondola tour is good, a private gondola tour is better, and I’m convinced I can find a member of staff who agrees. So, I leave Paisley to wait for our pre-booked timeslot and begin my hunt for the employee who looks like the biggest romantic.
It’s shockingly easy. People here really believe in love. And if I stretch the truth about my relationship with Paisley and exaggerate my accent to sound more like a resident of Buckingham rather than Crystal Palace, then so be it. In less than ten minutes, I return to Paisley triumphant, armed with a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and the promise of a private boat.
“Are you ready to be serenaded?” I ask, linking my free arm with hers to guide us to the water’s edge.
“Aren’t we supposed to queue over there?”
“Today, we’re VIP, Paisley Darling. We’ve got a private tour.”
“What?” Paisley gasps. “How the hell did you manage that?”
“Remember that drunk couple we saw stumbling into a wedding chapel on our way here? Well, it gave me an idea. I just need you to play along and pretend to be desperately in love with me because I told everyone here we just got engaged.”
“You did what?” Paisley stops so abruptly that I almost dislocate my arm. “Are you insane?”
“Only the best for our date.”
“Still not a date,” Paisley argues automatically. “What if we get caught?”
“Who’s going to know?” I shrug. “I just embellished a bit. Besides, can you blame me? Paisley, after that kiss, I’m making the most of every moment I can get with you.”
Those are the magic words. Paisley’s need to admonish me for bending the rules falls by the wayside, and she bites her lip, attempting to hide her blushing smile.
“I suppose we’d better make it believable then,” she says shyly, leaning in to press her lips to mine. It’s just a peck, a brief taste of her that passes in the blink of an eye. But, at this moment, surrounded by the romance of Vegas, it’s everything.
“Come on, Tom. Serenade me.” Paisley steers me towards the boat and the patiently waiting gondola. The burning afternoon sun glistens off the diamond blue waters, rivalling the brightest lights on the strip. It’s a tribute to manmade beauty, and I thank my lucky stars that I get to experience it, even if my road here was unconventional.
I step onto the gondola with all the fake confidence I can muster, praying to whatever God that’ll listen that I don’t fall in. It seems my trepidation is shared because Paisley hesitates beside the boat.
“You’re not afraid of water as well, are you?” I ask, momentarily horrified that I’ve bullied Paisley into yet another activity she’d hate.
“Not at all,” she replies, carefully taking my hand to board the swaying gondola. “Just wary of scheming P.E. teachers who coerce strangers into dangerous outings.”
“I don’t think you can call me a stranger anymore.” I wink.
The gondolier pushes off, steering us smoothly past beautifully clean, cream buildings, under impossibly low bridges, and past the colourful crowd called by the delights of Sin City.
“So, how does this rate as a first date?” I ask, popping the cork on the champagne. “It must be up there, right?”
“It’s hard to tell. I’ve never really been on a first date before,” she admits distractedly, taking the offered flute as she drinks in every sight the tour has to offer.
“Not that this is a date,” she tacks on half-heartedly as we pass an elaborate marble fountain.
“You’ve never been on a first date?” Either Paisley’s romantic philosophy aligns more with my own than I’d first assumed, or there’s something wrong with the male population of London.
Colour floods Paisley’s cheeks. “Um, I’ve only ever been with one person. We split up eighteen months ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since.”
Wow. For the first time today, I’m the one unsure about our non-date. Yes, Paisley set up all these rules for us, but is that what she really needs? She’s clearly someone built for commitment. Will she be alright when we part ways tonight, never to see each other again?
She must read the trepidation on my face because she laughs brightly, reaching over to top up our champagne. “Tom, stop freaking out. It’s not that I’ve been saving myself for Mr Right. Something fun and casual is all I want right now. I’ve not got the time for anything more with my new job and everything. Today’s been perfect. Thank you for dragging me out of the hotel and showing me Vegas.”
Paisley’s eyes shine with honesty, the happiness sparkling in their depths reminiscent of the crystal water beneath us. She’s so dazzling that I’d challenge anyone to resist her. It’s impossible. I’ve no choice but to lean in and kiss her.
If I take Paisley by surprise, she doesn’t let on, meeting my attention with fevered ferocity. With one hand on the nape of her neck, I angle her head back so I can take her in earnest. Her answering moan is addictive, and I swallow it hungrily, desperate for more.
Slowly, I skim my nails down her neck and trace the cold metal of her zipper all the way to the base of her spine. She trembles beneath my fingers, and I press my hand into the small of her back to draw her body into mine.
My lips embark on a teasing course from her sumptuous mouth to the slope of her shoulder. My hand ghosts lower and lower, my fingers teasing the swell of her ass while I nip at her collarbone. The move must weave some kind of spell because Paisley throws her arms around my shoulders and rests her knee on the bench to pull herself as close to me as possible without sitting on my lap.
“So greedy, Paisley,” I murmur into our kiss, trailing my fingers to the jut of her hip when
“Ahem…” It takes my lust-addled brain far too long to place the disgruntled cough. But when I do, I realise two things. One, we’ve come to the end of our gondola ride. And two, Paisley looks like she wants to disappear into the ground for the umpteenth time today.
“Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed,” she whines, burying her face into my shirt. “This is all your fault.”
“Big words for someone who couldn’t form a sentence ten seconds ago,” I reply, coaxing her away from my chest and helping her off the gondola.
Sensing that Paisley needs to put as much space between us and anyone who may have unwittingly seen more than they bargained for, I steer her away from the crowd. She’s quiet the entire time, and I start to worry I’ve inadvertently pushed her one step too far.
That is until she dissolves into what can only be described as girlish giggles once we re-join the safe absurdity of the Vegas strip.
“Paisley, are you okay?”
Instead of answering, she flashes me a sly grin before grabbing my face and pulling me in for a quick, dirty kiss. If nothing else, today, I’ve managed to breach the walls she’s built to shut herself off from everyone else, and I’m not stopping until the whole damn castle is in ruins.
“It seems we have an engagement to celebrate, fiancée,” I tease, locking my arms around her waist. “My hotel or yours?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question, considering you can’t remember where yours is?”
“You are correct.” I grin.
“In which case, I guess it’ll have to be mine,” she sighs dramatically. “But the rules still stand. This is just a one-time thing.”
“Don’t worry, Darling, I remember the rules. I’m even inclined to make a few of my own.” I drag my fingers across her back and watch with satisfaction as goosebumps erupt over her arms.
“Yeah? Like what?” she asks breathily.
I slide my hand up the hot skin of her thigh, travelling higher and higher under her dress until my fingers meet the tell-tale scratch of lace. “For a start,” I say, incited by the catch in Paisley’s breath when I brush across the coarse material. “The moment that hotel door shuts, I’m banning these until morning.”
The storm that gathers in Paisley’s eyes swarms with carnal promise, and I wonder for the first time if I might be in trouble.
Against all odds, Paisley’s giving me one night. I just hope it’s enough.