4. Natalie
CHAPTER FOUR
NATALIE
They returned to the pub for his car—a sleek, black coupe that looked like it had driven straight off the Fast & Furious set.
“You’re okay to drive?” she asked, clicking her seatbelt.
“Absolutely. Other than Coke, I haven’t had a thing since Eddie’s. You drank my Scotch, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She smiled, sheepish.
“Are you still up for dessert? You did say you never turn down something sweet.”
“At this hour? Everything’s closed.”
“Except my place. My freezer’s the British equivalent of Baskin-Robbins. You like ice cream?”
Natalie eyed the glowing digits on the dashboard clock. Midnight had come and gone, but she had no urgent reason to go back to the hotel. Her flight wasn’t until late in the afternoon.
And who wouldn't want to eat ice cream with this guy?
“Again, no pressure. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
“I’m in, but only if you can guess my favorite flavor. Three tries.”
He looked straight ahead, thinking. After a moment, he buckled his seatbelt and gunned the engine. He turned to her with full-throttle confidence. “I only need one. Coffee.”
Natalie’s jaw dropped. “There’s no way. How could you possibly know?”
He leaned over and touched the pendant resting against her collarbone. A silver coffee-bean charm on a slender chain. A Christmas gift from Kate from years before.
“Context clue,” he said.
He held his finger there for several seconds, rolling the tiny pendant back and forth across her freckled chest. That small touch made her insides tingle.
With a smile, she said, “Oh, you’re good.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He winked.
With her hand draped over his on the gearshift, he drove through a collection of quiet streets.
Every turn revealed wealthier neighborhoods.
Moonlight waltzed across the surface of the Thames—a body of water that, in her opinion, wasn’t that impressive during the day but looked amazingly good at night.
“Is your place on the river?” she asked.
“It is. We’re almost home.”
He said it as though this were their real life. Amelia Earhart and Thomas Crown, a happy couple who’d enjoyed a night on the town and were now going home. Together. As if they’d done it for years. That kiss felt like it changed everything. And nothing. She’d still be on her flight tomorrow.
He made one last turn toward the river. The road came to a dead end at a stately building on the edge of Chelsea Harbour.
Stately meaning hella expensive. A monolith of stucco and brick surrounded by lush gardens.
The main entry boasted a massive circular drive and a wall of glass with two sets of double doors.
Bypassing the front driveway, he continued around to the side of the building.
Natalie shivered with nervous anticipation as Mr. Crown eased into an underground garage.
He carefully inched the sports car into a tiny space—number 34—which happened to be her exact age.
A little jolt of adrenaline pulsed through her, a clear sign of good things to come.
He typed a code into a keypad and a private elevator whisked them to the top floor.
Steps inside his dark penthouse, she turned to him, eager to toss propriety and clothing aside and feel every part of him against her.
Their bodies snapped together like two Lego bricks.
Her mouth went hard on his, exploring every inch while her fingers swam through the waves of his dark hair.
The dancing, the laughter, the playful banter—all a prelude to what she really wanted.
This wasn’t kissing.
This was something else entirely.
Internal fireworks.
The fourth of fucking July.
A level of wanting Natalie had never experienced.
She shoved his jacket down from his shoulder with one hand and fumbled with the clasp of his belt with the other.
"In a hurry are we, Ms. Earhart?" His arms snaked around her waist.
When you’ve avoided men and sex like I have, then yeah …
"Did I say Earhart? I meant Earnhardt, but you can call me Dale." She yanked the remains of his tie free. "I know men normally take the lead on these things. I hope you're not offended," she said, hands working the buttons of his shirt.
This wasn't her style.
She didn't sleep around.
But she wanted him.
And this night.
And this memory.
It’s all they’d have.
"Offended?" He pressed his hips against hers, very much not offended.
He guided her to the living room, stripping her blouse and jeans before adding his clothes to the pile.
Pillows were shoved off the sofa as he lowered her onto it.
She moaned, flooded with equal parts desire and disbelief.
His hands explored every inch of her bare skin.
He traced the line of her nose with his finger, studying her like a work of art.
Their breathing synced, rapid and shallow.
The connection she'd sensed sparked into something powerful and undeniable.
She moved beneath him, trying to get closer.
Impossibly closer. He paused only long enough to condom-up—one he seemed to conjure from the thin air.
Then he entered her, the longing in his eyes like a beacon the moment he lost himself.
There had been other men. Not many. None since Roman. Mr. Crown was something else entirely. Every moment they shared, raw and true.
One for the road, indeed.
"You should take control more often, Ms. Earhart. You're a natural born leader."
He brushed his foot against hers, then reached over the back of the sofa. A moment later, the warmth of a cashmere blanket draped over them. Her head on his chest, she listened to the sound of his heart, matching the rhythm of her own. Did his thoughts mirror hers too?
Natalie Powell.
You just had sex for the first time in two years.
And you don't even know this guy’s name.
And it was fan-fucking-tastic.
"Who called you?" he asked. "Back at the pub, when we first started talking?"
"Oh, that. That was my sister."
"I bet she's wondering what the hell’s going on."
"Actually, she hung up as soon as I answered. We have a system. Code word, then phone call. Instant interruption if we need an escape."
"So, she has no idea about tonight?"
"Not specific details, no. Just the location of the jazz club.”
He shifted position slightly, pulling her body more firmly against him.
“What specific details might you share with her? If she asks, I mean.”
“Curious, are we?” Natalie asked, with a playful poke to his ribs.
“You could flatter—or humor—me a bit.”
“Well, she’ll want to know everything, so I guess I’d start with your stopwatch and go from there.”
“Yeah, about that …” he began.
“No, no. It’s a great trick. Very effective. Roped me in under five minutes.”
“Everyone gives me shit about it. My brother’s the worst. All my friends are hoping the right woman comes along so I can retire the stopwatch for good.” He returned the poke.
Wait. Is he implying that I might be the right woman? Surely not. He’s just being cute.
“You have a brother?” she asked, steering the conversation away from the right woman comment.
“I do. My brother, James. James Bond,” he teased.
Natalie laughed. “Thomas Crown and James Bond are brothers? I had no idea.”
“Stepbrothers actually, but you can’t expect me to share all my secrets.”
She walked her fingers up his bare chest. “True, but I do expect you to deliver on your promise of ice cream.”
Mr. Crown took her hand and pressed a kiss to the pad of each finger. “My tastebuds are quite satisfied at the moment … but a promise is a promise.”
He kissed her once more, then slid off the couch.
Natalie could only see the silhouette of his toned body before he disappeared into darkness.
Blanket wound around her, she bent down in search of her jeans—her cell phone, specifically—which she hoped was still in the back pocket.
She sighed in relief when her hand wrapped around its familiar shape. She quickly sent a text to Kate.
Natalie: Going out with a bang. Literally!
Natalie: Save this location, just in case.
Natalie smiled as Kate began typing a response immediately.
Kate: OMG! The sexual camel emerges from the driest of deserts!
Natalie:
Kate: You know the rule: give me one random detail.
Natalie: You know how in movies when crazy rich people have elevators that open right into their home?
Kate: SHUT. UP.
Natalie: 50 Shades level shit here.
Kate: BE SAFE PLEASE!!! You’ve got your mace, right?
Natalie: Haha yes. But I don’t need it. Love you.
She dropped the blanket and wiggled back into her panties.
As she buttoned up her blouse, a recessed light positioned over the fireplace came on.
Natalie squinted, then took her first real look at the room.
High ceilings. Crown molding. Exquisite furnishings.
A perfect balance of glass and wood and warmth, solidifying what she already knew.
Mr. Crown had two things in spades: money and excellent taste.
Naked when he left, he returned wearing a robe, with a second robe draped over one arm. His smile grew with each step he took toward her.
“Not that I don’t love the view, but you might be more comfortable this way.”
"Thank you. Your place is absolutely gorgeous,” Natalie said, slipping into the robe.
"Keeps the rain off, as they say.”
“No, really. You have exceptional taste.”
“Like I said before, it’s not expense that excites me, it’s beauty.”
Longing flickered in his eyes. He kissed her with a firmness she read as saying: I want you again, and again, and again. A couple of minutes passed before he pulled back and drew an audible breath.
“Damn, woman. We better cool off with that ice cream before you kill me.”
He led her through the apartment, a mini tour en route to the kitchen. To their collective disappointment, the freezer held only two pints.
Natalie folded her arms. “Baskin-Robbins, huh?”
“I might have a bit of a sweet tooth.” With a container in each hand, he asked, “Pistachio or Mint Chocolate Chip?”
“How about we each eat half, then we trade?”
“Done.” He nodded. “Fastest business deal I’ve closed all month.”
A-ha. The perfect segue to find out exactly how he financed his impressive lifestyle.
Does it matter, though? Really?
Unless … he’s looking to invest in a premiere event planning company?!
Stop. You know that’s not why you’re here.
“What line of work?” she asked casually.
“Sales. Boring stuff, trust me.” It took opening several drawers before he located two spoons. “Sorry, I’ve moved around lately. Still don’t have the lay of the land in this kitchen.”
Natalie took a pint and spoon from his outstretched hand. “Oh, that’s okay.”
“What about you?” he asked.
She took a bite of ice cream, debating how much or how little to share. She decided on the latter and decided to keep it broad.
“I work in hospitality. Boring stuff, trust me.”
Mr. Crown nodded but didn’t ask her to elaborate. Natalie watched as he loaded up a tray with all sorts of goodies—candy, chips, sodas, and water bottles. When he turned to her, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“You look like a 1930s movie theater snack vendor.”
His mouth curled into a smile. “Which happens to be the exact look I’m going for. You, me, my bed, and a movie. What do you say?”
What do I say? I say, yes. A thousand times, yes.
“After you,” she said with a bow.
Natalie followed him down a hall off the entry, its walls lined with massive canvases.
He’s into art, too? Wait until I tell Kate.
His hands full, he motioned to the last door with his chin.
She opened it and flipped the light switch, making a quick visual sweep.
Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom exuded warmth and class.
Photo-shoot ready, but also comfortable.
Kinda like, well, the man himself. The real star of the room?
The inviting king size bed—all fluffy and cloud-like in layers of creamy white linens.
She turned back to him, a child-like gleam in her eyes. “May I?”
“Absolutely. It’s what I’d do if my hands weren’t full.”
Natalie sprinted and dove onto the bed. Mr. Crown parked the tray on the bedside table, then hopped in beside her. A wrestling match ensued for a minute, laughter and tickles, until she begged him to stop. Lying face to face, he smoothed her hair off her forehead with a caring touch.
“You’re doing it,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Leaving me breathless.”
“Maybe you’re just out of shape.” She jabbed his side.
He caught her hand and held it to his chest. “I’m serious. And it has nothing to do with sex, or how beautiful you are. You’re smart. You’re not afraid to be silly. You’re kind and funny. And you’re a good listener. I meant what I said earlier. I like you.”
Natalie stroked his cheek with her free hand. “I like you, too. You’re thoughtful. Protective. Perceptive. Witty—almost to a fault. And extremely down to earth.”
“You can say handsome and sexy. It’s fine.”
“Handsome and sexy, too,” she added with a wink.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment before he said, “Name your poison. Comedy, drama, action, sci-fi?
“Seriously? There’s only one movie we should watch, Mr. Crown.”
He grinned, then turned over and snatched a remote off the bedside table.
He pointed it toward a flatscreen housed in a massive floor-to-ceiling built-in unit on the opposite wall.
Music filled the room from recessed speakers in the coffered ceiling.
Natalie recognized the song immediately—a classic country tune by Texas legend Willie Nelson.
“Sorry, wrong remote.”
She touched his elbow. “Wait. Leave it. I like the idea of just lying here and talking. Is that okay?”
“Anything you want, Ms. Earhart.”
He adjusted the volume and the lighting to max ambiance. Natalie snuggled up next to him, head again on his shoulder. They lay in a silent embrace for several songs, her mind plowing through rows of thoughts but always coming back to one: God, this feels so good.
“I still want to know,” she said.
“Know what?”
“Your ultimate romantic fantasy.”
His arm tightened around her. “Honestly? Anything can be romantic if you’re with the right person. There’s plenty of romance in everyday moments if you’re paying attention.”
“I’ll agree, but I mean specifically. What would sizzle your bacon?”
He snorted at this comment. His hand disappeared up the sleeve of her robe and he stroked her arm for a minute before responding.
“This might sound weird, but for me, it’s about finding someone who lets me be myself. Building a life that includes our families and close friends, where we’re not afraid to be bold and let the whole world witness our love.”
Natalie tensed and hoped he didn’t sense it. His response took her by surprise. One hundred percent not the answer she’d expected. It revealed more about him than anything he’d said thus far.
A secret place inside her tightened up, and a new thought rushed to the front of her mind.
Dear Universe,
Is this a test?
Why would you drop this amazing man on my path hours before I leave London?
WHY?