2. Natalie
CHAPTER TWO
NATALIE
“I think that’s checkmate.” Eddie winked again.
"Maybe,” the man drawled, “but I don’t play chess. I prefer Twister. Or Scrabble …” His voice dropped to a delicious whisper. “But only to spell out the dirty words.”
Natalie bit back a grin. “Does your little stopwatch trick rate a high yield of return?”
“They say there’s no such thing as a sure thing,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth, “but I’ve yet to miss with it.”
“Really? Don’t they also say there’s a first time for everything?” Natalie countered.
“They do, they do … which is why I think you and I should make it a night full of firsts.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would telling you I’m not interested be a first for you?” she asked.
The man turned fully toward her, his posture loose but confident. “Based on your recent phone conversation and our current discourse, I’d say you’ve crossed the line from uninterested to mildly curious. And if I play my cards right, you might end up somewhere between enamored and smitten.”
The sexiness of his tone coupled with the sparkle of mischief in his eyes scattered Natalie’s normally well-organized thoughts.
This guy’s got more lines than Disney World at Christmastime.
And that smolder? Weaponized.
Maybe he’s an actor?
With lines this good, what else could he be?
Women must throw themselves at him.
In fact, she’d ask that last one.
He smirked. “Only the quick-witted, extremely beautiful ones.”
“Like me?”
“A man can hope.”
And so, it began. One flirty quip led to another and before she knew it, they’d laughed and talked for half an hour, never straying into anything too personal. Casual talk. Nothing messy. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that might follow her to Chicago.
At one point, he said, “You haven’t asked me.”
“Asked you what?”
"What I do for a living."
Natalie chuckled. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“But you're curious, right?” He made a mock, covert check over each shoulder, then leaned in close, all secretive-like, and whispered these words: “Fine, I’ll tell you. I steal priceless works of art.”
She repeated his unexpected words to herself in silence, unable to decide if he’d placed the emphasis on steal, priceless, or art. When he leaned back on his stool, he hit her with another smolder. Like the stopwatch, she decided, this routine had mileage.
Natalie’s head cocked to one side. "Is that so? You have an obsession with expensive things?"
It wasn’t a real question. She'd already sized him up, making note of his head-to-toe style.
The gorgeous charcoal-gray suit. Lace-up oxfords with an almost blinding shine.
Pocket square in a stunning fall palette floral.
It sat slightly askew in his pocket, and she fought the urge to straighten it for him.
Two-tone metallic watch. No wedding ring …
and no tan line to hint that a band had ever encircled his ring finger either.
Other than his tie, which was downright awful, everything about this thirty-something guy screamed first-class. He had money. Lots of money. After years in event planning, Natalie could spot ‘em a mile away.
"It's not the expense that interests me, it's the beauty,” he answered. “I'm actually about to sneak off with something that has eluded me for years."
"Really? And what's that?" she asked, her eyes aglow with flirty concentration.
"An incredibly beautiful redhead." He eyed her auburn locks.
She sucked in a breath, fully expecting him to reach out and touch the ends of her hair. Seconds passed, but he sat stone still, his gaze locked on her, as if daring her to one-up his comment.
"Anyone I know?" Natalie asked, slightly flustered, a blush blooming on her cheeks.
He rested an arm on the bar. "Give me one good reason why we shouldn't go have dinner together? Right now?" He tapped the bar top with his index finger for emphasis.
"Actually, I can. I had a huge late lunch and I'm not that hungry."
"Well, how about dessert?" he asked.
"Oh, I never say no to something sweet.”
Careful, Nat. Lines like that might get you in trouble.
They held each other’s gaze for several beats, until he finally extended his hand.
“Don’t you think it’s time we made proper introductions?”
"Nope." She shook her head firmly and pushed his hand away. "I don't do names."
"What do you mean you don't do names?" he asked, his forehead lined with intrigue.
She shrugged. “Just a little rule I made for myself.”
"You know what they say about rules, right? They’re meant to be broken."
"Not this one," she said, her tone firmer.
"Look, I'm not asking you to pick out china. Just a name, nothing more. Scout's honor." His right hand shot up, oath style.
"Alright, fine." She cleared her throat and extended her hand. "Hi, I’m Amelia Earhart. Nice to meet you."
He barked a laugh. "Amelia Earhart? That's the best you can come up with?"
"You wanted a name and I gave you one." She brought her martini glass to her lips.
"In that case, I’m Thomas Crown. And I'm honored." He shook her hand.
Instantly, his touch triggered something, and the heat from her cheeks dropped into her stomach.
"Thomas Crown," she repeated with a large grin, as legendary actor Steve McQueen's image from the sixties classic film flashed across her mind. "Excellent choice."
"Hold up. You know Thomas Crown?" His face showed surprise.
"I love Thomas Crown."
"Because of Pierce Brosnan and the accent, right? American women love a good foreign accent."
"No, not the remake. The original. And speaking of accents, what's a southern gent like you doing in London?"
"I could ask you the same question. Your drawl's not exactly inconspicuous. You're a little far from Texas, Ms. Earhart."
She shot him down. "I'm not from Texas."
"Oklahoma?" he guessed.
"Nope." She shook her head.
"Arkansas?" he continued.
"A little further east," she corrected, but didn’t share her birthplace—Nashville, Tennessee. "And you?"
"Texas-born and Texas-bred. And when I die … "
He’s from Texas? No way!
"You'll be Texas-dead," Natalie finished, keeping the fact that Kate lived in Houston to herself.
A smug grin curled around his lips. "Somethin’ like that."
Mr. Crown signaled for another round. Natalie took inventory of his appearance once more, still puzzled by one glaring detail.
"What's the story with your tie?" she asked, her nose wrinkling.
Hand to his heart, his face acquired a wounded expression. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that.”
"You didn’t have too. Your face speaks for itself.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “Sorry about that. I’ve been told I have Resting Judgmental Face.”
“I think your face is pretty perfect.”
Silence hung between them for several seconds. Something about the way he spoke these seven words sent her insides tumbling like a Simone Biles floor routine. Except this wasn’t a line. His tone was much too sincere for that.
He circled back to her original point. “I also think this tie is pretty perfect.”
"You’re not serious. I’m sorry, but it's atrocious."
His jaw dropped, feigning shock. "It's vintage bespoke from Gieves & Hawkes on Savile Row. Do you know what I could get for this tie on eBay?"
"Banned?" she teased.
"Seriously, what's not to like? Don't you like animals? Everybody likes animals."
"I love animals. In parks. In the wild. In pastoral scenes on canvas. But a fox carrying a dead rabbit in its bloody mouth hardly says professional. Whoever decided that image would look good hanging around someone's neck was sadly mistaken."
"I’ll have you know that this tie was inspired by a very famous painting. The same artist who designed this tie designs ties for the Royal Family."
"The Prince of Wales wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that. It's hideous."
He trailed the tie through his fingertips, placing it just so. "I've closed many deals while wearin’ this tie.”
God, his accent! It’s country enough to sound sexy but not too twangy.
“It's all about metaphor,” he added with a wink.
She swallowed a laugh. Am I to be just another rabbit in your chops, Mr. Crown?
She debated whether to say those words out loud. To surprise him with her own bit of boldness, to see his reaction. While their flirtation had flowed as effortlessly as ale through brew taps, she’d definitely been the more conservative in terms of anything overtly sexual.
Then reality set in.
The bartender knows his stopwatch trick. He’s quick and cool with every line. He probably has a slew of notches carved on his bedpost, making me one more rabbit. This guy is looking for a one-nighter and nothing more.
A convenient prospect, since Natalie had only one night to give.
Get real, Nat, she chastised herself. You’ve never had a one-night stand in your entire life. You’ve been a serial monogamist since your first kiss with Brad Moran in seventh grade.
Then again, didn’t he suggest a night of firsts?
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and reached for her drink, hoping the gesture conveyed nonchalance. If he wanted her, she’d make him work for it. A couple of martinis and some zingy banter were a nice start but certainly wouldn’t close the deal.
Mr. Crown watched her with calculating, scheming eyes. He reached behind the bar and grabbed the bartender's utility scissors. Before she could say a word or even realize what was happening, he’d whacked off half his tie.
"Oh my God!" Natalie’s hand shot to her mouth. "What the hell? Why on earth did you do that?"
He loosened the tie’s knot, the raveled ends now lying limp against his dress shirt. "Because it’s hideous and atrocious."
Her cheeks flamed. "But I didn't mean that you should—”
A choir of loud and lively voices erupted from the door.
A dozen burly men in matching rugby jerseys paraded into the pub, heads and fists held high, serenading the crowd with a victory song.
Scrum style, they pushed their way to the bar—a wrecking ball of camaraderie.
Before Natalie could fully process the scene, Mr. Crown shot to his feet, his arm shooting directly over her shoulder.
He blocked the beefy arm of a boisterous reveler seconds before it would have smashed the side of her head.
“Oh, sorry, mate,” the man apologized. “Miss.” He nodded at Natalie, then turned back to his friends.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Crown asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.
Natalie exhaled shakily. “Yes, thanks to your quick reflexes.”
Wow! Roman wouldn’t have noticed. And I’d be concussed.
“You’re sure?” He scrutinized her closely.
“I’m fine, really.”
He motioned to a small table in a dark corner. "Might be safer over there. What do you say?"
"Only if you give me a headstart." She extended her foot, revealing the broken boot.
"Some new avant-garde fashion trend?" he questioned.
"More like proof that price doesn't equal quality. My heel broke getting out of a car."
"Graceful," he teased. "If Eddie has a machete, I could whack off the other heel. Make you a pair of flats if you like."
"You're really into destruction of personal property, aren't you?"
He didn't answer but grabbed their martinis with a smirk. As she moved toward the table, Natalie clocked dozens of eyes tracking her unusual gait.
"Between your tie and my missing heel … " she said as he pulled out her chair.
"Why do you think I wanted to move over here? Concealment is everything." Even in the dim light, his eyes gleamed.
She bit her bottom lip, then said, “Right, because hacking off one’s tie is so discreet.”
“But think of the story you now have to share with friends later. This is rom-com level stuff here, lady.”
She eyed him skeptically. “A fan of rom-coms, are you?”
“I might be.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I must know. What’s your favorite?”
He looked off, contemplating. Natalie noticed a scar on his jawline, up by his left ear.
About two inches in length and faint. Definitely not a recent mark.
Her mind whirled with possible scenarios.
He’d had something medically removed? An old sports injury?
He took a heavy right hook during a fight?
He turned back. “The Little Mermaid.”
She blinked. “What?”
“My favorite rom-com. It’s The Little Mermaid.”
“The Little Mermaid?” Her judgmental expression returned. “You’re not serious.”
“Okay, technically it’s not a rom-com, but you gotta admit Ariel’s got a certain something.”
“She’s a cartoon.”
He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing the ends of her hair. "Never underestimate the power of a redhead, two-dimensional or otherwise.”
His easy-going nature and the let-your-guard-down looks he fired continued to hit with precision. A war of seductive attrition, but with top-notch banter as their weapon of choice.
This guy's good. Too good.
Natalie could not stop smiling.
She cranked her own accent up to full Blanche Deveraux, fanning herself with one hand. "My goodness, you are lethal with one-liners, aren't you?"
"I’m tryin’ my best, ma'am."
After a few minutes of discussing other movies in various genres, he finished his martini in one gulp, stood, and extended his hand to her. "Ready?"
"Ready for what?" Natalie’s internal warning system flickered. Drinks and flirting were one thing. Leaving the bar with him? A completely different story.
"There's a little club not far from here. Plays some of the best jazz music in all of London. I was thinking we—"
"A club? I wasn’t planning to make it a night of hardcore drinking," she interrupted.
“I meant for dancing."
A searing heat rose in her chest. Pressing up against him on a dark dance floor sounded both thrilling and reckless.
But she didn’t even know this guy. In a few hours, she could very well be Dateline fodder.
On the other hand, he and Eddie seemed to have a good rapport.
Surely Eddie would have given her a sign to run away if she were truly in danger, right?
“My car is right around the corner, but I’ll get an Uber if you’re more comfortable with that. I know you don’t know me from Adam, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or unsafe in any way.”
That’s all it took. Internally, she waved a white flag to this smooth-talking, intriguing Texas fox. There’d be someone else in the car with them. She had mace in her purse. There’d be loads of people in the club. Safety in numbers, right?
“What the hell …” Natalie stood, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”