Getting Lucky in London

Chapter Two

Danielle

“Yer here, miss,” the cabbie announced.

Peering out the taxi window at the line of people waiting to get into the gallery, I tried to shake off an onset of nerves threatening to overtake me at the prospect of running into Michael.

“Miss?”

“Sorry.” I turned back to the driver. “How much do I owe you?”

He rattled off a figure, and I opened the clutch bag that matched the little black dress I’d packed in case Dominic and Sarah took me out on the town. The purse was only big enough to carry my phone, a tube of red lipstick, my brother’s keys, some cash—U.S. dollars, so those were useless to me now, and I’d forgotten the money in the envelope he’d left—and a credit card. I unzipped the compartment where I’d stashed the credit card and pulled out…a condom.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Jesus, where did that come from?

The answer came when I read the black writing on the neon yellow wrapper. Mardi Gras two years ago.

“We don’t accept those, miss,” the driver said and bent forward, cackling, his hand slapping the steering wheel.

Mortified, I shoved the condom back in my purse and pulled out the card. “Here.”

Wiping his eyes, he slid it through the reader and handed it back to me. “Sorry, miss. But don’t worry. Some young bloke’ll be right happy to help ya with that.”

I couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough. Smoothing my dress, I looked around to make sure no one had witnessed my embarrassment. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own world and totally oblivious to mine. The cab pulled away from the curb, the driver still laughing at my expense.

I hooked the long silver chain of the black clutch over my shoulder and found my place at the end of the line. If the condom fiasco was any indication of the night to come, I should go home now.

Minutes later, I made it through the gallery door, handed my ticket to a sleek brunette in black silk, and mingled with the crowd ranging from young bohemian trendsetters to wealthy, upper class connoisseurs. Carrying flutes of champagne, waiters wove between the gathered cliques.

I grabbed a glass to bolster my waning courage. I’d spent the last few hours talking myself in and out of attending. What difference would seeing Michael make to my life? Then again, I owed it to myself to at least try to have a good time and enjoy his company. But what if he dismissed me again?

In the end, I’d decided to forget Michael, take advantage of the ticket, and check out some of the local artists. If for no other reason than to show my support.

Normally, that would have been enough. Art and all that it entailed fueled my passion, whether oil on a canvas or a sculpture from old car parts. Even graffiti on a train car could hold me spellbound.

Yet now that I was here, art was not what had my pulse racing. Telling myself to forget Michael was easy. Putting that sage advice into practice was altogether different.

I downed the golden bubbly in one gulp, snagged another glass from a passing server’s tray, and stopped in front of a structure of silver and blue meant to embody a waterfall. As I rocked from one foot to the other, the strips of metal took on a life of their own, the movement of the water seeming almost real.

Smiling, I glanced up at the painting in the next aisle and froze.

Michael Winters stood ten feet away, chatting with an older couple. To my dismay, he wasn’t fat, and he wasn’t bald. If possible, he was even more beautiful than he’d been eleven years ago. Tall and lean, but with enough grooves cut in hard muscle to keep a woman’s fingers busy for days. Unless they were busy playing with that trademark tawny hair. Every time he’d taken off his helmet on the sideline, I’d itched to get my hands on the unruly waves that weren’t quite brown but not blond either.

The man had been a piece of art in a football uniform, but his slim-fitting black slacks outlined long slender legs, trim hips, and a good-sized bulge. A crisp white shirt hugged his chest, shoulders, and arms as if it were made specifically for him. Probably was. He came from money.

Butterflies fluttered in my belly, followed by a cold wash of fear as my gaze journeyed higher to find him…looking right at me.

Shit. Busted. I’d forgotten there was no TV screen to protect me from taking my fill of his hotness. Too far away to read his reaction, I held my breath and waited to see what he’d do.

Nothing. He did nothing.

Should I go over and say hello? No, he was with friends or maybe clients. I couldn’t interrupt, and the idea of him feeling obligated to babysit as a favor to Dominic rankled.

I took a sip of champagne, then turned away to casually stroll in the opposite direction.

Ten minutes later, I tried to focus on the showcase piece of the gallery, but all I registered was the big blob of red on a black background. It could have been anything.

I fought the urge to look for Michael. I couldn’t stand here all night, but I was afraid to turn around, afraid he’d be there, and I’d behave like the lovestruck fangirl from years ago. Or worse, he’d be gone, my last chance smothered by insecurity.

Slugging back the rest of my champagne to add to the buzz coming on, I swore it would be my last. Two was my limit, and I wanted to keep a clear head. I didn’t need any extra help getting to Stupid Town. Just the sight of Michael had me following a big arrow that blinked “ Stupid ” and “ Spineless ” in bright red letters.

Ugh. “ Pathetic .”

A crackling chuckle came from beside me, and a blue-haired older woman with parchment-thin skin lifted a gnarled finger. “Pathetic, yes, and the color is weak.”

So am I.

I shook my head. Enough already.

I turned to the woman, hoping for an intelligent conversation—I wasn’t having one with myself—but the lady was already shuffling away. I hoped I hadn’t just destroyed the artist’s chance for a sale.

With a sigh, I forced my feet to move and headed to the stone sculpture to my right. Despite my resolution not to, I slid a glance in Michael’s direction. The couple was still there, but he wasn’t.

You lost him.

I darted a quick glance to the left of where he’d been, then to the right. There.

He’d joined another group of enthusiasts who were oohing and aahing over the waterfall piece, which put him about five feet closer. But he wasn’t looking at the metal sculpture. He was looking at me. In particular, at my legs.

Oh, hello. Cream dampened my panties. I’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before. He was interested. In me. Well, in my legs, because his gaze hadn’t made it back to my face yet. I could work with that. Maybe I’d get that fantasy fulfilled after all.

One of the women, a redhead in her mid-to-late forties, laid a hand on his arm, and his gaze snapped up to meet mine. He smiled that smile I’d seen after every touchdown, and my stomach did a somersault. Giving me a nod and the quirk of a sexy brow, he returned his attention to the woman.

With that look, he’d as much as said he was okay with getting caught returning my perusal and liked what he saw. A rush of heat cascaded through me as reality set in. I wasn’t going to have to seduce him. He was doing the seducing. And all he’d had to do was stand there.

Nope. Self-respect demanded that I, at the very least, make him work for it.

Semi-confident he’d do so, I meandered deeper into the gallery, letting myself enjoy and soak in the art.

It only took ten minutes for Michael to show up in the group of people three paintings away. I slipped behind a rather large sculpture with a crack in the design big enough for me to watch him through and not be seen. He carried on a conversation, but his gaze scanned the room, never lighting on any one thing or person too long.

I smiled and my pulse raced. Our game of cat and mouse was as intoxicating as the alcohol.

I stepped toward the next painting that allowed me to face him at an angle. His gaze finally found me, taking me in from head to toe and back again. Someone blocked my view of him though—another woman vying for his attention, this one younger, closer to twenty-five, and blonde…and gorgeous…and flirting with him.

I frowned when the woman looped her arm through his. Was she his girlfriend? She seemed to think so. He sure had a type.

And you’re nowhere near it.

I was about to turn away when his gaze cut in my direction and slid over me again, lingering on my breasts. My nipples pebbled, and I bit my lip to keep from shivering as heat curled low in my belly. If he could do that with just one look…

Oh God, I’m toast.

Our eyes met again, and I held my breath. Despite wanting him to make the first move, I lifted a hand in greeting. He smiled and returned my wave.

Never once breaking eye contact, he slipped out of the woman’s grasp, said something to her, and grabbed two glasses from a passing tray. Without a backward glance, he headed straight for me, his long, casual stride eating up the distance between us.

The closer he got, his grin grew wider, making my pulse thump faster. He certainly didn’t look like he had babysitting on his mind. In fact, it seemed the cat was about to catch the mouse, and I looked forward to letting him eat me.

Yes, please.

Practically salivating at the idea and a little too jittery, I slowed my breathing. In, then out, in rhythm with his steps. Almost here. This was it.

He stopped in front of me in all his sexy, magnificent godliness.

“Hello, luv.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek and whispered, “Pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“Your what ?” My heart lurched as he straightened but remained close, too close, not close enough. I stared up at him, half tipsy but accepting the glass he handed me and half swooning at the heat of his words in my ear.

I’d heard him interviewed several times as the star wide receiver. His lilt, at the time, had been a lusty Texas drawl, mixed with the occasional slip into an oh-so sexy hint of British. He’d explained once that he’d grown up in Dallas but spent summers with his “mum” in England. But now, he seemed to have lost a lot of his drawl, sounding more clipped, more English.

“Is she following me?” He indicated with a slight jut of his chin toward the woman he’d been talking to.

I sipped from the glass absent-mindedly, burning my two-glass rule to ashes. How could I say no when—

Wait. What had he just asked? My brain catching up with my ears, I cocked my head to one side to peek over his shoulder. Whoever the blonde was, she remained where he’d left her, though she certainly looked pissed. “No.”

“Good.” He took a drink of his champagne.

Was she his girlfriend and had he just dumped her? I almost felt sorry for the woman, but his request of pretense fit right into my plans.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I tipped my glass to my mouth and emptied it, then blindly set it aside, not the least concerned that it rested next to a precious piece of art. I took his glass and placed it beside mine, then laid a hand on his chest and looked up at him from under my lashes. “What kind of girlfriend would you like me to be?”

He quirked a brow. “What are my options?”

“Well, there’s the serious, clingy, totally in love girlfriend.” I swiveled to his side and looped my arm through his as the blonde had done. Leaning into him, I laid my head on his shoulder as I pretended to study the painting. Yet I could only think about the hard grooves of his biceps under my hand, his purely masculine scent, and how to control my jagged breathing.

I let the moment last as long as possible, savoring his closeness, in case the next step in my plan failed, then said, “ Or …”

I pivoted to stand in front of him again, closer than he’d allowed moments ago, my body flush against his from chest to thighs. My palms rested just under the lapels of his shirt. The heels I wore put my eyes even with his stubbled chin and my throbbing pussy against his lengthening dick. Meeting his stormy gray eyes, I turned loose all the desire I’d felt for him as a teen. All the lust now dancing like flames in my core.

He blinked in surprise even as one hand settled on my waist, the other on my lower back to draw me tighter against him. Then his eyes darkened, and the hard length nestled perfectly at my center flexed. “ Or ?”

His reaction boosted my confidence. This was it, my first, last, and only chance to act on my fantasy of Michael Winters.

I shoved aside my insecurities and shifted one thigh, just enough to straddle his without being too blatant in the crowded room. Fingering the silky golden-brown hair at the back of his neck, I said, “I could be the girlfriend who’s only in London to get lucky, and all I can think about is getting you alone and naked and fucking you until it’s time to catch my flight home.”

****

Michael

I half grunted, half groaned as my dick thickened behind the fly of my trousers. What else could I say to the woman pouring herself over me like smooth whiskey over ice?

I brushed a finger along her cheek. “I’ll go with getting lucky in London.”

From the moment I caught this beauty boldly checking me out, my skin had zinged with a primal attraction, and I’d struggled to remember I was here to meet Dominic, Sarah, and— What was his sister’s name? Rose? Lily? Some flower name.

When they’d failed to show, I’d enjoyed a flirtation with this stunning creature and ignored the chanting in my head— no distraction, no distraction, no distraction . Then bloody Liz had appeared, and my “no distraction” had become my savior.

And criminy, what a savior. Tall and slender, with curves I wanted to explore with my fingers and then my tongue. The filmy black dress hugged her lithe frame, then flared as it ended near mid-thigh. And those legs…

I cleared the lust from my throat and smiled into her big brown, bedroom eyes. “I really could kiss you, right here, right now.”

“Might help your cause.” Her gaze fell to my mouth, blatantly inviting me to taste hers. Ignoring the voice of reason that reminded me this wasn’t the place, I lowered my head.

“So this is your new flavor of the week?”

The venomous insult startled us both and broke the seductive spell I’d been under. I stepped back from the delight in my arms. I’d probably have to escort Liz outside to prevent a scene and give up the enchanting woman at my side. “Liz, look—”

“Yes, that would be me, this week’s flavor.” Looping her arm through mine, my charming rescuer pressed her breasts into my biceps. “But don’t worry. I’m only in town to fuck him for a few days. You can have him back when I’m done.”

I choked at the blatantly crude words coming out of her mouth and would have laughed if I’d been able to catch my breath.

Liz’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed several times, then clamped shut. The shock that matched mine wore off, and jealousy narrowed her eyes. “Crass American bitch.”

A soft, feminine chuckle drifted over me, and the woman at my side placed a proprietary palm on my chest as she looked up at me. “I’d say she doesn’t miss much, but she doesn’t seem smart enough to realize you’re done with her.” She gave Liz a dismissive wave. “Move along. You’re causing a scene.”

Liz glanced around, and Michael followed suit. Several people were openly staring. Her spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin. “Please excuse me.”

Nose in the air, Liz took her leave, but only to the other end of the gallery to join her friends.

I hated to hurt her, though she didn’t really look as hurt as she did psychotic, glaring at me from behind one of her friends, making me wonder what I’d ever seen in her…other than her triple E tits.

I returned my attention to the woman clinging to me. “I’m sorry you had to be a party to that.”

“No problem.” She released my arm and faced the painting. Was it my imagination or was there a chill in her voice? Or was she bored now that the drama had passed? “So what’s the story with Liz? She your ex?”

“Hardly.” I studied the colors on the canvas with a frown. “Same old story. She wanted a relationship. I just wanted to have fun.”

“Fun meaning sex.”

Heat flooded my face, though I couldn’t imagine why her blunt assessment affected me that way. But I liked how she said what she wanted without apology. I’d forgotten that about women from the States. “Yes.”

Her big brown eyes sliced my way, and lush red lips tipped upward in a sultry smile. “Fun is good.”

Perhaps I’d mistaken the shift of her temperament. I returned her smile with a grin. “Fun can be very good.”

“How long were you together?”

“A few days.” And clearly, even that was too long. “And we weren’t together . I met her on a trip to the country with friends, but when we got home, she wanted more. I didn’t.”

I’d tried to let Liz down easy, but the constant texts and phone calls and having her show up wherever I was made it difficult. Like tonight. It was as if she had a tracker on me.

I cast another glance across the room and found Liz still watching me. If it weren’t for the mysterious woman at my side, I’d have left the exhibit by now.

Delicate fingers linking with mine drew my gaze. I glanced up from our hands to find curious dark eyes searching my face. “What?”

“She seems intent on ruining your evening.”

I couldn’t read her expression. Was she about to tell me she wanted no part of my drama? I wouldn’t blame her. Our flirty beginning had spiraled. “And yours, I’m afraid.”

“Only you could do that.” She shook her head for emphasis and teetered on her heels. I caught her against my chest, my hands on her upper arms. Those full breasts pressed against me, almost spilling from her dress.

My cock, which had deflated at the sound of Liz’s voice, stirred to life again, and I thought I might do anything for a glimpse of the nipples hiding just out of sight. “How’s that, luv?”

“Well,” she purred, splaying her hands on my chest, “you made a choice, and I’m still waiting.”

My gaze flew upward to meet hers. “For what?”

She smiled. “To get lucky.”

****

Danielle

I blinked in disappointment as Michael scanned the gallery. I’d thought we were back to flirting, but instead of accepting my obvious invitation, he’d turned serious again. I felt as if I were on a roller-coaster of emotion. Or was that the champagne catching up with me?

Shouldn’t have had that third glass.

What was he looking for anyway? A better question would be, who was he looking for? My brother? No, Dominic said he’d explained the situation and let Michael know I’d be alone, so—

Wait. Was he looking for a better offer? Did he regret dumping Skizzy Lizzy?

My tummy tumbled, but before I could tell him to forget it, his beautiful blue eyes, gleaming with lusty purpose, returned to mine.

His lips parted in a sexy grin. “Your place or mine?”

The acidic flare of jealousy that had simmered in my belly turned to smoldering flames of lust…and a bit of remorse for misjudging him. “Yours.”

“Let’s go.” He grabbed my hand and led me through the maze of art and people. As we passed Dizzy Lizzy, I couldn’t resist taunting the woman with a smug smile and a wave goodbye.

As soon as I stepped into the cool night air, the fog in my brain cleared, but only enough to make me wonder when I’d become such a bitch. Pride had always been my downfall, but petty jealousy?

I blamed the alcohol.

And tomorrow you’ll blame your rash decision to sleep with Michael on it, too.

“Damn straight,” I muttered under my breath and almost bumped into him when he stopped at the curb.

“There’s one,” he said as if I had a clue what one he referred to. His hand at my back as he guided me to a waiting taxi dissolved the guilt threatening to spoil my good time.

He opened the door, and I slid into the backseat. As he got in beside me, his thigh, hard and hot, grazed mine, and I shivered. He gave the driver an address in Kensington and settled back in the seat.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to touch him. As I turned into him, he reached for me. Our breaths had only a second to mingle before his firm lips met mine. Too needy to be coy, I opened to him. His tongue swept me into a hot, hungry vortex of passion. I gripped his collar and tugged him closer.

A hand landed on my bare thigh, then tunneled beneath the hem of my dress. His other arm tightened around my back, mashing my breasts against his hard chest. His heat enveloped me, making me shudder again, and his fingers drove into the hair at the base of my skull and angled me into a deeper kiss.

My heart raced. My clit pulsed. I almost couldn’t breathe. I didn’t care.

The strong, athletic fingers on my thigh squeezed, dragging my hips toward him. My purse dug into my hip, denying the connection I most craved. With a garbled cry of frustration, I swung my leg over his thighs and rose to straddle him.

He groaned, and I whimpered as my pussy lined up with the long, thick ridge under his fly. The fingers under my dress had glided farther up and now gripped my hip to hold me still, preventing the grind I needed to fling me over the edge of orgasm.

His other hand fisted in her hair and tugged lightly. He slowed the kiss, then withdrew to nip at my lower lip. “Wait.”

I opened my eyes but couldn’t think for the stupor of unfulfilled need enthralling me. “Huh?”

He chuckled. “Let’s slow down a bit.”

Wait? Slow down? Michael Winters was finally kissing me, touching me, and about to do some downright nasty things to me. I’d waited over a decade for this. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I didn’t want to slow down. I wanted to fuck him.

And judging from the pulsing cock between my legs, he wanted to fuck me .

Well, his dick did. Maybe his brain didn’t.

God, I’d done what I feared most when coming out tonight. I’d made a fool of myself, throwing myself at him like I’d seen the college girls do after his games. Social media had been full of videos with giggling females flashing their boobs at him.

Bile rose in my throat and my nose burned as moisture gathered in my eyes. I released my tight grasp on his hair and crawled off his lap. Shoving my dress back in place to cover my damp thighs, I faced the window. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His hand fell to my thigh again, and he leaned closer to whisper, “I’m not. I love how hot you are right now, even as you sulk.”

“I’m not—”

“And if you knew how badly I want to lay you down on this seat, drive balls deep, and make you come all over my dick, you’d know exactly how sorry I’m not.”

Another shudder rippled through me. My nipples beaded, and my core clenched. A streak of pleasure zipped back and forth between the two. Though I’d been just as crude earlier, Michael’s erotic words aroused me more than they should have. No one had ever said things like that to me. “Then why—”

“I don’t think this fellow deserves a free show, and I’m too possessive to share a view of your sweet little ass with him.” He leaned back in the seat but kept his hand on my leg, his index finger teasing circles on the inside of my knee. “Besides, we should introduce ourselves, don’t you think?”

Huh?

“I’m Michael,” he went on. “Michael Winters. I’m pleased to meet you…”

I whirled to face him, confusion slamming hard into my alcohol-ridden and lust-rattled brain. Had he really just introduced himself? Surely, he was kidding. But the patient anticipation on his face said he wasn’t.

“And you are…” he prompted once more, confirming my thoughts as he released my thigh and swung his arm around my shoulders to draw me into his side. He nuzzled my ear with his nose.

“Danielle,” I murmured.

There. Now, he would figure it out. After all, he’d been at the gallery to meet Dominic and Sarah and… me.

“Mmm, lovely name. It suits you.” He kissed my neck, then looked at me. “And do you have a last name, Danielle?”

Nothing. No recognition in his eyes or voice. Then it dawned on me. He’d expected Dominic and Sarah and Daisy . He probably didn’t know my real name.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, par for the course of the evening. Finally, after years of dreaming about it, I’d garnered his notice. He wanted me. Yet he didn’t. Not Daisy. He wanted Danielle, a stranger.

My gaze traveled over that firm jaw, lightly sprinkled with stubble. He watched me with hooded eyes. I couldn’t fathom it. We’d flirted and exchanged sexually intoxicating innuendos, and the whole time I’d only been a random hookup to him.

What difference does it make? Any of it? The point is, he wants me.

And I want him even if he doesn’t know who I am.

“You don’t have a last name?” he teased.

Despite the turmoil raging in my head, I laughed, and tension eased from my muscles. I could work with this new situation, continue the game of fun and flirtation we’d started. I’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

I laid a palm on his chest and fingered the crisp hair at the vee of his shirt. “A woman is allowed a few mysteries.”

“I bet you have more than a few.” The deep rumble of his voice soothed more of the jagged edges of my pride.

I tilted her head to one side and lifted a brow in challenge. “You’re welcome to uncover as many as you dare.”

With a groan, he scooted forward, the movement taking me with him. He tapped on the window between us and the cab driver. “Can you go a little faster?”