CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Five days until Christmas
The next morning, I wake up to a text from Jake. This one has more specific instructions than any of our dates so far, but they’re so contradictory, I have no idea what to make of them.
Be ready at four. Wear a long coat. No jeans. Expect to get wet.
Expect to get wet?
I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. We’ve already had a date on the Thames, so that can’t be it. Obviously, we’re not swimming anywhere in December. Unless there’s an indoor pool he’s planning to take me to? But then, why would it matter whether I wore jeans?
The only thing I packed for this trip that isn’t jeans and would also be suitable for an evening out is a burgundy maxi dress with a scoop neck and long fitted sleeves.
It’s not fancy by chic London standards, but my only other options are joggers that were meant for Maddie’s eyes only. I guess I’m wearing a dress tonight.
When the text notification pinged, I’d been in the middle of a dream that Jake gave me a gorgeous traditional advent calendar, only instead of gifts behind the doors, each one was full of condoms. They came shooting out at me like those prank cans full of spring-loaded snakes.
And I’m definitely not seeing Jake again without them.
* * *
The crackling cold air in Covent Garden smells of hot cinnamon and espresso.
When I pop in to Grey Earl’s for a coffee and chocolate croissant, Jake is there.
He’s in black thermal leggings under a pair of loose olive-green shorts, and a lightweight hooded fleece in the same color.
Obviously, he’s been for a morning run. We’re not supposed to see each other until this evening, and even though I’m not surprised to see him, my blood pressure climbs and I get a tingle along the back of my neck.
It’s a delicious little thrill to run into him here in public.
Like this is my real neighborhood, and I’m a real local, and he’s the guy I’m dating.
He raises his mug and nods, and I smile back. As I head to the bar, he watches me with smoldery warmth in his eyes.
“Morning, love,” Cherry says.
Quinn has already begun my pour-over. They look up, wink, and murmur “Ev,” by way of greeting.
“Croissant or banana bread this morning?” says Cherry.
“Chocolate croissant, please. To take away. I’m going shopping.”
“Ooh. Where you going?”
I clasp my hands behind my back and rock on my heels. Playfully, I say, “That’s for me to know.”
“Ooooh,” Cherry says again, this time drawn out a bit longer. “Right then, keep your secrets.” She passes me a paper bag with my pastry inside.
Cutting their eyes to where Jake sits at the window, Quinn hands over my coffee and says in a low, conspiratorial tone, “I don’t know if you realize this, but that man by the window hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in.”
“Mm. Interesting. Should I say hello?” I whisper.
“To your future husband? Of course,” Quinn whispers back. “And when you marry this man, we’ll be at the top of the guest list, right?”
I laugh and say, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” but it sets off a wistful little ache behind my breastbone.
I stop at Jake’s table on my way out. A knitted cap and a pair of gloves sit folded neatly on the table next to a near-empty coffee cup and the leftovers of a two-inch-high slice of chocolate cake layered with pistachio cream.
This contradiction delights me—he cares for his body, and he indulges it at the same time.
“Chocolate cake for breakfast? Are you a hedonist, Mr. Frost?”
A single eyebrow bumps upwards as he glances lazily at his wristwatch.
“It’s past noon, Miss McClane. It’s not breakfast for those of us who don’t have the body clock of a koala.
” Then he picks up his fork to take a bite of the cake.
He licks a bit of chocolate from the edge of his upper lip.
It’s just cake, for goodness’ sake, but I know too much about what that tongue is capable of.
“To answer your question, though—” He meets my eyes. “I suppose I am.”
“Flirt.” I roll my eyes and laugh, but the smolder low in my belly flares to life. I shake my head and walk to the door, and I’ve got my hand on the knob when Jake says, “Hey.” I stop and turn to face him, and he says with one of his quiet smiles, “See you later.”
* * *
The London Eye is the third-highest structure in London.
I’ve seen it in the distance a lot over the last few days, and it was easy to think of it as a glorified Ferris wheel.
But now that we’re directly below it, its scale is staggering.
Lights surge and shift, racing along all its structural surfaces.
Blue and white, green and red. The pods are enormous, at least twenty feet long.
I still have no idea how “prepare to get wet” fits into this date, but I trust Jake implicitly.
When we arrive, there’s a long line of riders waiting, but we skip it by taking a different path up to the platform. Jake leans in and quietly says something to the attendant, who then smiles and says, “Right, sir.”
The pods are clear capsules, with at least ten people boarding each at once.
I’m not sure if it’s a trick of the light, but when our turn comes to step up to the platform, the pod coming towards us looks different.
When it lowers to let us board, nobody else gets out.
When I finally see inside, I forget to breathe.
This one is special.
Instead of the plain bench and minimalist lighting I noticed in the other pods, this one glows warm with frosted lanterns that mimic flickering flames.
Young potted trees fill the space with the sharp, earthy fragrance of evergreens.
Strands of micro lights weave between the branches, nearly invisible.
The center bench is covered by oversized cushions in cream knits and cocoa-colored fleece.
Plush woolen rugs cover the floor, and a few throws in warm grays and sandy browns sit rolled in a basket.
A moment ago, I was in London. Now, I’m inside a snowy, remote Scandinavian cabin.
Jake takes my coat and shrugs out of his own, draping them over the cushioned bench.
At the front of the pod, there’s a cushy chair made for two.
It’s covered in ivory velvet, and there’s an oversized blanket of sumptuous faux fur across the top.
Jake takes my hand to lead me to it once we’re securely locked in to begin our slow ascent.
He has something in his other hand that I can’t quite see.
Whatever it is, he tucks it under his thigh when he gets comfortable in the chair.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “This morning, your text said to expect to get wet—”
“Trust me.” He leans forward, does a half-hearted tug on the hem of my dress, and sits back again.
“Will we be able to see as well if we’re sitting?”
“We have thirty minutes in here. I promise you’ll have time to see everything you want.” Jake pats the small space next to him on the seat. “Come here.”
I gather the skirt of my dress and ease down next to him. The seat feels like a memory-foam cloud. The moment my butt makes contact with the seat, Jake hooks his arm under my knees and pulls me into his lap.
“What are you—”
“Save all your questions for the end, love.” He reaches behind me to pull the blanket over us. “I’m going to get you high.”
“Jake, please tell me you didn’t bring drugs onto this very busy tourist attraction.”
Softly, he laughs. Then his eyes darken. “There’s another kind of high I can give you.”
He glides his hands along the sides of my neck, his fingers dipping into the wisps of hair at my nape.
He bumps the tip of his nose feather-light along my temple, then along my cheekbone.
With his teeth, he traces the lobe of my ear.
He spreads his knees a bit so I nestle even lower into his lap.
Beneath the blanket, I feel his hand settle high on my thigh.
He’s got something hard in his palm. A moment later, it begins to vibrate.
“How high do you think I can take you before you fall?” he murmurs.
“Oh my god. Are you serious?” The words come out in an airy rush.
He kisses his way to my mouth. “Very.”
“There are cameras in here,” I whisper.
“They’re behind us. All they see is a man and a woman enjoying the lights of London from their cozy little nest in the sky.”
“But they can hear—”
“Then you’d better be very, very quiet.” He says the words into my mouth, and I feel each one as much as I hear them.
He uses his tongue and teeth to nip my bottom lip between his.
He’s fully erect under the zipper of his pants.
With the weight of my ass against him, I wonder if it hurts. I wonder if he likes it.
“What if we get caught?”
Jake leans back to meet my eyes, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Is it a no, Evie?”
A full-body tremor goes through me. “It’s not.”
“Then open your legs for me.”
I spread my knees.
“Now,” Jake says, “sit on my hand,” and I do.
The vibrator is cradled in his palm. It’s still on a low setting. I expect him to somehow subtly move his hand under my dress, but he doesn’t. He’s holding the toy against me through the fabric of my dress and panties.
“Open.” His voice is muffled against my shoulder. “More.”
There. Now I understand the no jeans request. I begin to move beneath the blanket—slow, fluid rocking nobody would notice even if they looked right at us. The purr of the vibrator isn’t enough for me to get off, but it’s making blood rush to all the critical places. Quickly.
He winds my braid around his fist. “I’ve fantasized about this plait since the first time I saw you. So pretty. So … orderly. I’ve been dying to fuck it up.” He eases off the elastic at the bottom, then he works his fingers between the thick strands to part them.
“Kiss me, Jake.”
Jake presses his mouth to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. His voice drops a husky octave. “I am kissing you.”
I breathe out a barely there whimper as he boosts the vibrator up a level. “Kiss my mouth.”