Chapter 7
Sitting in the corner of the Gaslight, jostled by people trying to get closer to the dance floor, Olivia wished she were at
home in her London apartment, which had views of Tower Bridge and was quiet.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you!”
It was maybe the twentieth time she’d said that tonight. She’d tried to be the fun aunt, as dictated by Ashley. She’d not
protested when they’d given her the most ridiculous ABBA-style silver jumpsuit to wear, just meekly slipped it on even though
she looked like an old hen wrapped in tin foil. She’d danced with Sophie and her pals to all the ABBA tracks they’d requested,
even though her body didn’t move the way theirs did.
“I said,” Jessica told her, almost shouting now, “I’m heading out after the next song.”
“Me too.”
Her sister shook her head and pointed down to her swollen belly. “I’m pregnant. You’ve got no excuse to leave.”
“I’m making sure you get back safely.” When Jessica started to reply, Olivia put her hands in the air. “I can’t hear you!”
Fine, that time it was a lie, but she was done with the thumping music of the live indie band and with not being able to talk.
Done with looking like a seventies throwback and not being able to go to the loo without taking the whole damn jumpsuit off.
And she was done with expecting Connor to turn up any minute and flash her one of his flirty, sultry smiles.
She jumped to her feet. Yep, she was done. “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”
Jessica humphed, but allowed herself to be helped up.
“I want it known that if I weren’t pregnant, I’d be shaking my booty with the rest of them,” she groused as they made their
way toward the exit.
“Of course you would.”
“You need to make sure Ashley knows that. I don’t want her griping on about me having no staying power.”
“Look, if it helps, I’ll say I got bored and made you come back with me because I didn’t want to walk by myself in the dark.”
Jessica burst into laughter. “Yeah, because you’re so easily scared. Well, you are if it’s a hot young guy flirting with you.
What happened to him, anyway?” she asked as Olivia held the door open for her. “I thought he was going to join us.”
“Probably had a better offer.” She told herself it was easier this way. At least now she had no decision to make.
She’d taken two steps into the warm evening air when she stopped abruptly.
“What?” Jessica followed the direction of Olivia’s gaze and laughed under her breath. “Ah.”
Walking up from the wharf toward them, wearing a simple white T-shirt and black jeans, was the man she’d just convinced herself
wasn’t coming.
“He knows how to rock a T-shirt,” Jessica murmured. “Is it just my pregnancy hormones or do other women desperately want to
pull it off and find out what he’s hiding beneath it?”
Olivia swallowed. “Not just pregnancy hormones.”
It was hard to remind herself to think rationally when her insides fluttered like a flag on a blustery day.
As he came closer, his eyes skimmed up and down her body. “Nice jumpsuit.”
Beneath the too-tight suit, prickles raced across her skin. “We were told to dress like ABBA. It’s itchy, hot, and difficult
to pee in.”
His eyes flared. “It’s definitely hot.”
Oh God. Her stomach swooped, and her flustered state wasn’t helped by the sound of Jessica trying to stifle a laugh beside
her.
As if he’d just realized where they were, a frown appeared between his eyes. “You’re leaving already?”
“I’m leaving.” Jessica patted Olivia on the arm. “My sister is making sure I get back safely.”
“I’ll walk back with you.” Unlike their previous interactions, this time when he looked at her, he seemed hesitant, unsure.
“If that’s okay?”
“Thank you.”
They set off toward the hotel. Around them were the sounds of holidaymakers laughing, the hum of music from bars, but among
the three of them there was silence.
“Where are Luca and Ned?” There, she’d said something.
He looked confused. “They’re in the bar already. You didn’t see them?”
“It’s heaving in there.” Plus she’d spent most of the time sitting the corner like a wallflower.
“Yeah, it’s a popular spot.”
More silence. It felt all wrong, and she had an awful feeling it was her fault. She’d turned this confident man into someone
who was unsure of his footing around her.
“How long did you say you’d been here?” Jessica asked, picking up the conversational baton.
“Came out last week.”
The rest of the walk was taken up with Jessica firing questions at him. Connor was polite, engaged, but there was a distance
that Olivia knew she’d created.
“Well, this is me,” Jessica said as she stood by the lift. “I’ll be raring to go again tomorrow once bump and I have had a
solid eight hours.” She gave Olivia a hug. “Night, Liv.” She turned to Connor and hesitated, then laughed and hugged him too.
“Good night, Connor. Thanks for the escort service.”
He raised an eyebrow. “My pleasure, just, you know, maybe next time say that a bit quieter?”
Jessica looked confused for a beat before realizing what she’d said and blushing. “Oh God, I’m going to blame my red face
on hormones.” The lift dinged and she escaped into it, gave them both a little wave as the doors closed.
Immediately the air fizzed with awareness, like the cracking, low-level hum of an electricity pylon.
Connor rubbed the back of his neck, causing the front of his T-shirt to lift and drawing her gaze to a strip of tanned, flat
abdomen. And a sexy arrow of soft brown hair. “Are you heading back to the Gaslight?” he asked after a few beats.
“Maybe.” She dragged her gaze away and sucked in a shaky breath. “I want to apologize for earlier today, on the boat. The
smart-aleck remark I made about your restaurant idea,” she clarified when he gave her a baffled look. “I didn’t mean to offend
you. My brain is wired for numbers. It’s very logical, which is great for my work but not so great when it comes to making
friends.”
He let out a low laugh. “Takes a lot more than that to offend me.” His eyes darted around the lift lobby and he muttered a
curse, then clasped her hand. “Not here. Follow me.”
She wasn’t a woman who followed, but her legs hadn’t read the memo because they automatically kept up with his long stride
as he marched them down the corridor and into a . . . storage closet?
“What—”
He silenced her with a kiss. Brief, but Hot with a capital H, his tongue owning her with long, bold strokes, his hips pressing
her against the door, his erection punching into her belly.
“Fuck. You make me forget myself.” Chest heaving, he stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. “The person I was annoyed
with,” he said roughly, “was myself.”
“Why?” she breathed, pulse hammering, the space between her legs feeling hot, needy.
“Because you were right. I’ve not thought the idea through.”
“But you will. You’ll find a way to make it work.”
His expression flickered with surprise. “Thank you.”
She’d cleared the air. Now she could escape to her room. “Why are we in a storage closet?”
“I needed to kiss you.” Arousal radiated off him, sending her belly tumbling. “And I didn’t want anyone seeing us.”
Escape, she reminded herself. “The thing you asked me to think about,” she blurted. “Sex toy, dinner date, or tour guide.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Yes?”
“I don’t know.” She stared down at her hands. “I’m not easygoing like my sisters. I’m more . . .” She searched for the right
word.
“Prickly?”
“I was going to say stubborn, but that works.” God, what was she doing in a storage closet contemplating sex with a man ten years younger than herself?
“Hey.” Big warm hands cupped her face. “You’re coming at this from the wrong angle. You’re thinking Why, when you should be thinking Why not?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“But it is.” He pressed a very soft kiss to her lips. “FYI, I like prickly. Especially when wrapped in skintight metallic
silver.”
It was hard to think objectively when he made her hormones dance. “What I’m trying to say is that just because everyone around
me thinks sleeping with you is a great idea doesn’t mean I’ll go along with it. If it happens, it will be because I’ve decided
it’s right for me.”
“Of course.”
Even serious, those blue eyes were devastating. “If you don’t want to wait—”
He cut her off with another kiss, this one meltingly soft. “I want you, not a random woman to have dinner with or sleep with.
Prickly, challenging, way smarter than me you.”
Pleasure fluttered in her chest, her belly. “You forgot older than you.”
He shook his head. “Told you, I don’t give a fuck about age.”
Her heart thumped as she met his eyes. “Then I don’t want you to stop asking me, if that’s okay.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Absolutely. Though, to be clear, in words your maths brain will understand, sex toy, dinner date, tour guide weren’t mutually exclusive.”
She laughed, relieved the awkwardness from earlier had gone.
He clasped her hand, fingers lacing with hers, the feeling warm, intimate, yet also, oddly, safe. “Shall we head back to the Gaslight?”
Her stomach dropped. “Honestly, I was glad Jessica gave me an excuse to leave. I’m not a big fan of dancing.”
“Bet I could get you to enjoy it.” With his free hand, he smoothed his thumb gently across her cheek, sending her pulse scattering.
“Give me an hour, Livvy. If you’ve not had fun by then, I’ll walk you back.”
She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, just like she wasn’t sure what to do with these fluttery, giddy feelings she got when
he touched her, when he looked at her. “Okay, one hour. And only to avoid Ashley taking the piss out of me for leaving early.”
There, a rational decision. Not one based on hormones.
Connor was out of his depth with Olivia on so many levels, but not this one. Not on a heady, crowded dance floor, a kaleidoscope
of colors raining over them, music pulsating through his veins. His hands on the hips of a woman who had no clue how gorgeous
she looked in the jumpsuit she clearly hated but had stoically worn to please her niece.