3. Natalie
CHAPTER THREE
NATALIE
Multiple wooden barricades blocked the route, forcing the driver to stop his Kia a block shy of their destination. Natalie scanned the street, her sixth sense kicking down the door of her better judgment.
So, it’s a two-for-one deal? Dancing and a mugging? Fantastic!
She wasn’t familiar with this part of London, and for good reason. Abandoned storefronts, half-demolished buildings, a labyrinth of scaffolding up and down the street. The whole neighborhood looked sketchy AF.
This is it. I’m moments away from death. Keith Morrison will interview my loved ones, and they’ll all say the same thing: “Natalie would never have gone off with a stranger. Never. Natalie was cautious.”
Mr. Crown exited the car, jogged to her door, and opened it with a smile. He held out his hand. The moment she slipped hers into his, that same spark of electricity zipped up her arm. He led her safely to the sidewalk before dropping her hand to settle up and tip the driver.
“No case?” she asked.
“What?” He looked up.
“On your phone.” She pointed. “You don’t have a phone case.”
“Don’t need one.” He slipped the device into his pocket.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll drop it? Shatter the screen?”
“Nah. Cases are too bulky. I like the feel of something sleek and slim in my hand.” He took Nat's hand again and squeezed. “Kinda like this.”
Fingers laced, they walked half a block in silence. He matched her gait, bobbing up and down as though he'd lost a heel. Natalie stopped and palmed her face.
“I look ridiculous, which in turn is making you look ridiculous. We don’t have to go dancing.”
“You think I look ridiculous?”
Before Natalie could respond, he’d kicked off one shoe, scooped it up, and hurled it over a high chain-link fence with NFL quarterback precision. Her mouth fell open at the thud that followed his throw. His shoe, gone. Completely irretrievable.
His blue eyes softened. "Now we’re even. Besides, with a face like yours, no one will be looking at your feet." He wiggled his socked toes. “You can do the honors with my other shoe, if you want. Or we can call it a night. Like I said, I don’t want you feeling pressured.”
Natalie stared at him. "First your tie and now your shoe? Are you always this reckless?"
"I prefer the term spontaneous.” He wiggled his toes again. “And maybe you're jealous my socks are cooler than yours."
"Concealment is everything," she said with an eye roll. “No club is going to let you in with one shoe and your tie hacked off.”
“It has to be the right club … and you have to know how to ask.”
They continued on until they reached an unmarked door on the side of a brick building. Mr. Crown opened it with a sly smile. “After you.”
Natalie didn’t move. Ahead, a dimly lit alcove led to a set of narrow, metal stairs. His expression shifted.
“Do you trust me? I have other ties, ones that don’t depict slaughter.”
This made her laugh.
“I promise. I’m one of the good guys,” he added.
“Which is exactly what a bad guy would say.”
“Maybe. But up those stairs is one of the coolest clubs in the whole city. Want to live on the edge and find out?”
Natalie frowned. “That’s not really my style.”
His face softened again. “Take a picture of me and text it to a friend. Send the location, too. That way, someone has my face and your exact coordinates.”
Only a good guy would offer to do that. And Emma and Kate can already track me on Find My …
“You won’t be offended?” she asked.
“Offended? It’s my idea.”
She pulled out her phone and texted Kate to keep an eye on her location. Kate replied instantly:
Kate: Exactly one martini, my ass. Go, Nat, go! But be safe please!
Natalie clicked the thumbs up icon on Kate’s message, then opened her camera. She snapped a photo of her mystery man, standing with one hip against the stair railing.
And something just for me. A little souvenir of the night.
“All set?” he asked.
She tucked the phone into her back pocket. “Right behind you.”
He nodded and started up. Natalie followed, eyeing the industrial metal door at the upper landing. Its deep red color gave off an ominous vibe, made even more so by a large black Roman numeral III painted in the center. Muffled voices and music pulsed faintly through the metal.
"Give it a knock,” he suggested. “Three hard raps with the side of your fist. It has to be exactly three though."
Her eyes lit up. "Like a secret code?”
"Exactly. This place is called Three Raps." He pointed to the number.
She followed his instructions and the door opened, revealing a warm blend of wood, leather and vintage lighting. Very old school gentleman’s club, filled with well-dressed people their age.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, shoulders dropping. Not a serial killer’s lair.
If he heard her, he didn’t let on. His hand found the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd to an empty table.
He pulled out her chair. A candle flickered in a glass hurricane lamp.
Natalie cupped her cold hands over it. A server approached and rattled off an impressive list of spirit and food options.
"What sounds good to you? Another martini?” he asked.
"We’re here for dancing, remember? I'll have a Coke."
Now, more than ever, she needed to keep her wits. The martini from Eddie’s place still pulsed through her bloodstream. One more drink and she’d really be pushing it.
He ordered. “Make it two Cokes.”
The server nodded and left them alone. Natalie watched him take inventory of the crowd. As his gaze cruised the perimeter of the club, she studied him a little more.
Damn. His profile is sexy. And that scar of his just kicks it up a notch. Would it kill you to bend the rules and find out this guy’s name?
“Back at the pub, I noticed you have a little …” She gestured to her own jawline.
“You want to know about my scar?”
“Only if you want to tell me. I probably shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”
“I took a polo mallet to the face on my twenty-first birthday.”
Natalie winced. “Oh my God, how awful.”
Awful, yes, but he plays polo. Which means he’s a skilled rider. Another coincidence.
“It was just a scratch, but I bled like a stuck pig.”
“You play polo?” she asked, intrigued.
“Haven’t in years, but I’d love to pick it up again at some point.”
Wouldn’t you die if I told you my father trains horses for a living …
The server returned with their drinks.
Natalie raised hers. "To being edgy and spontaneous."
He clinked his glass against hers. "My two favorite adjectives.”
The band started up. A trio of musicians delivered torchy, soulful jazz that reverberated in her chest. A couple of times her eyes drifted shut. Each time she opened them, she found him watching her with a smile that filled his whole face.
She wasn’t imagining it.
They were making a connection.
One she'd never felt before.
You better hope he's an awful dancer because once he wraps those strong looking arms around you, you'll be wrestling with other adjectives, like powerless and lustful.
Two songs in, he asked her to dance. He pulled off his remaining shoe. She ditched her boots. On the dance floor, he drew her close—close enough to scorch her thoughts. The feel of his protective arms and hard chest made the whole room disappear.
One dance turned to two, and then a third. The dance floor filled like a mall parking lot on Black Friday. Every few steps, Mr. Crown increased his grip, twirling her this way and that to avoid collision. He never missed a beat, even as he whispered naughty little quips to her.
A guy one hundred percent focused on keeping me safe? What a concept! Roman would have run roughshod over every single couple out here, like the asshole he is.
Mr. Crown has shown more genuine care in a few hours than Roman did in two years.
When the set finally ended, their bodies remained fused together for a beat before Natalie stepped back, fanning her neck. “I haven’t danced like that in … well, maybe never.”
“You’re a natural.”
“Hardly. Years of tap and jazz and I was still one of the worst dancers in the class. You, on the other hand, are incredibly smooth.”
“I’ve spent a little time on honky-tonk dance floors,” he said. “How about another drink, to cool you off?"
“I’d love some water.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “One water, coming right up. I’ll meet you back at our table.”
Natalie laughed to herself, watching all six-foot-two of him saunter toward the bar in socks.
By the time he returned, Natalie had polished off her Coke and chomped every ice cube. Parched, she grabbed the water bottle and chugged it down in a few hasty gulps. When she met his gaze, he smiled widely—almost to the point of laughing.
"Sorry. That wasn’t very lady-like, was it?"
"You forgot to give it the Cowboy Treatment," he said.
"The what?"
"You know, throw it back like an outlaw, slam your empty glass down, and then wipe your mouth with your sleeve."
"You mean … like this?"
She grabbed his glass of amber liquid—Scotch, maybe?—and downed it. Heat exploded through her as she wiped her mouth like a Wild West gunslinger. She leaned back with a smug grin.
His eyes were all over her, taking in her face as though seeing her for the first time. "Pardon my French, but that was bloody brilliant.”
"I'm not one to back down from a challenge."
"I wasn't aware I'd issued one."
"A challenge, a suggestion, makes no difference. I can play with the big boys.” She nudged his shoulder.
He caught her hand before she could pull it away. He brought it to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. Then he pushed her shirtsleeve up, trailing kisses along her forearm.
Actually, sir … that is bloody brilliant.
When he reached her elbow, he paused. "Think your feet could handle one more dance?”
Was he serious? Not only could her feet be persuaded, her entire body was his for the taking.
“Lead the way,” she said for the second time that night.
Back on the dance floor, he held her closer than before.
Her body fit perfectly against his tall, muscular form, now moving together as a single entity.
She closed her eyes, lost in the music and the protective feel of his arms. She'd never danced this way with a man she knew so little about, so close and full of longing.
As good as it felt, she had a feeling the best was still to be had.
He pulled back and looked down at her. The playful expression she'd observed all night had been replaced with a serious one.
“Like I said, sleek and slim …” He squeezed her waist.
“Like I said, your one-liners are lethal.” Her fingers toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck.
"What's the most romantic thing a man's ever done for you?" he asked.
"Cut off his tie," she said, one hand moving down to tug on the raveled remains. "What about you? What’s your ultimate romantic fantasy? Has a woman ever left you breathless?"
He grew quiet. Natalie watched his eyes as he turned these questions over in his mind. They continued to sway, but now he loosened his grip. By the time the song ended, their bodies were barely touching.
"It's getting late. Shall we go?" he asked, suddenly business-like.
"I, uh … sure, ready when you are.” Her stomach knotted with confusion.
She collected her abandoned boots. He ordered another Uber. They descended the stairs in silence. A total about-face from the hours of easy-going, flirtatious banter.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
He shook his head. His hands were shoved into his pockets now—hands that had stroked her back and held her hips minutes before.
Something was wrong. How else could she explain such a drastic change?
He directed his gaze up the street, watching for their ride.
She took the opportunity to peek at her watch for the first time since leaving the pub.
He’s right. It’s late.
"If you wouldn't mind dropping me, or I can call my own ride. I don’t want to inconvenience you."
"Something is wrong, Ms. Earhart," he confessed, turning back to face her.
"Okay." She nodded, a nervous flutter rattled her insides, and she braced herself for bad news.
“You asked if a woman has ever left me breathless. And the answer is yes, but not the way you meant.”
“Really, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
He nudged a pebble with his socked foot. “Breathless isn’t the right word though. More like speechless, and not in a good way.” He exhaled. “I poured every ounce of myself into someone once. And she burned me.”
Whoa. And here I thought I’d screwed up.
Natalie stepped closer and placed a supportive hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I know exactly how that feels—to give everything and get nothing back.”
He looked up, blue eyes soft. “Something was happening on that dance floor. A closeness I haven’t felt in a long time. I know we just met, but … I like you. And that scares the hell out of me.”
Her arms wrapped around him before he finished speaking. His hands left his pockets and folded around her. They held each other in a tight, silent embrace for a full minute. Even through his jacket, Natalie could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.
He’s smart and funny and vulnerable. And nothing like Roman.
He’s not like any guy I’ve ever met.
She pulled back just enough to see his face. The shadows dancing across the deserted London street couldn’t hide the brilliant blue of his eyes.
Say something. Tell him this is the best night you’ve had in years. The ultimate bon voyage gift.
She didn’t get the chance. The streetlamps and darkened storefronts disappeared around them.
Her eyes fell closed the second she felt the softness of his lips.
The kind of kiss she feared most, gentle and cautious.
A kiss of warning. She teetered on the edge of a very dangerous cliff.
One misstep and all her professional plans could crash and burn.