Loving Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 3) Page 10

  “Great. I’ll text you in the morning and tell you where we’re to meet.”

  “Don’t make it anywhere too posh. I don’t have super-fancy clothes with me.”

  “Conlon’s picking, not me. But if he chooses somewhere too fancy, I’ll take you shopping first,” he tells me. “I just got a new contract worth a pretty penny. I can be your sugar daddy for a morning.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He nods. “I would love nothing more than to use it as an excuse to get you to take off your clothing repeatedly.”

  “I definitely think that crosses our imaginary line, Davies.”

  He pulls up close, putting his hands on my waist, and draws me to him. I swear, his hard-on is making the earth tremble under my feet. Oh, fuck, I want him so badly.

  “Our imaginary line is bollocks, for the record,” he says in a low, coarse voice that sounds like sex. “I would cross it right now, if you asked me to.”

  My eyes are locked on those lips of his, picturing what it would feel like to kiss them again. What they would feel like, pursed around my nipples, or working their way up my thighs…

  “I want to,” I whisper.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply, pulling away in a rare moment of impressive self-discipline. I spin on my heel, holding a hand up in the air. “Good night, Mr. Davies,” I say. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  “Til tomorrow,” he replies. I swear to God that I can hear his hard-on yelling, “Riley! Come back to me!”

  I don’t blame it. My lady parts are currently reprimanding me for pulling myself away from the gorgeous beast who’s just told me he’d like to get naked with me.

  Well, maybe not in so many words.

  But he totally said it.

  Thirteen

  Riley

  Day: Who the hell knows? I’m too nervous to know what day it is. All I know is that I’m supposed to meet the famous brother and his almost as famous fiancée today. That’s enough to make me want to go back to bed and shake like a terrified dog sitting in the vet’s waiting room.

  Time: 10:00 a.m.

  Steps: 3546, all from pacing back and forth like a maniac all morning. Note to self: I don’t know if steps really count if it’s adrenaline that’s making them happen.

  Outfit: Dark grey pencil skirt, white blouse. I look like I work in a bank. Hopefully a sexy bank. But not too sexy. For some stupid reason I don’t want Galen’s sibling to think I’m an overly eager whore monster.

  Mental state: Is holy shit a state? Because that’s totally where I am right now.

  Galen’s just texted me the restaurant’s address in Soho, which he assures me is not terribly fancy. But no yoga pants, he wrote. Probably no cut-off jean shorts, either, but given the November weather I trust that you aren’t intending to delve into that territory (which is a damned shame, if I may say so myself).

  We’re to meet at Chez Henri at noon. I have no idea how I’m going to get my legs to work reliably enough to guide me there. Right now they feel like two floppy noodles that are currently trying very hard to support my weight while trembling like leaves in a hurricane.

  Every time I ask myself why the hell I’m so nervous, I come up with the same answer: I’m meeting Conlon. The creator of Galen’s arm, which means he’s a genius. Living god number two. Oh, and I’m also going to meet his perfect partner, Adriana. The one who went to Paris and charmed his pants off. The one who hired Katherine’s agency to set her up with a holiday, met the man of her dreams and ended up staying in Paris with him. It’s like a freaking fairy tale. Very different from my own tale of woe, which seems to involve a shitload of sexual frustration, some crying, and a lot of biting of nails.

  But I’m also nervous because it’s the first time I’m meeting anyone close to Galen. I want to make him happy. I want to make myself happy. Hell, I want to make everyone happy. I think maybe I’m just scared. Scared that my attraction to him, which is already beyond intense, will only intensify more if I like his brother.

  I know I have no real reason to feel pressure. It’s not like I’m Galen’s girlfriend who’s meeting the family for the first time. I’m just a friend, really. Even if I feel more, there’s no reason for me to put so much weight on my shoulders.

  That said, I am currently wondering why in the living hell he invited me to lunch like this. Is he trying to torture me? Is this another one of his fun ways to tease me?

  Calm down, Riley, I tell myself as I slow my pacing. Chill out. Be yourself. You’re usually pretty fun. At least when you’re not being a psycho who tries too hard to be impressive or worries that you’re not good enough or…

  Okay. You’re totally not fun at all.

  As I spin around to pace another length through the living room my phone buzzes, sending me leaping into the air like a house cat who’s just snorted an ounce of cocaine. When I’ve landed on the carpet without breaking an ankle, I finally let out a laugh at my own insanity.

  Okay. That’s it. I’m definitely going to need a drink with lunch.

  Looking forward to you, says the message from Galen on my phone’s screen.

  Oh. That’s such a sweet text.

  It makes me feel so good that suddenly I totally want to throw up.

  Somehow I make it to 11:30 without being sick, having executed no fewer than 6,000 steps in my living room alone. I throw on my leather jacket, check my reflection in the mirror to make sure nothing horrific has latched itself onto my face, and head out to meet my questionable fate.

  Inhaling and exhaling slowly in a vain attempt to decelerate my heart rate, I walk the ten or so blocks to Chez Henri, a restaurant that sounds way too posh and expensive for the likes of me. I think I look okay. I mean, if slightly sexy bank teller is suitable for a lunch date.

  Oh, God. I have no idea if I can do this. I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I met Galen, and that was a near-disaster.

  I arrive at the restaurant at precisely 11:55. Is it bad to be early? Is it uncouth or something? I don’t know the English rules. I don’t know how to be amazing. I definitely don’t know how to talk to rich, super successful people.

  Hell, I don’t know anything. All I know is that I wish I had a paper bag so I could hyperventilate properly, instead of trying desperately to filter London’s air through my lungs without passing out.

  Just do it, I tell myself, Just go for it. What could possibly go wrong?

  Yeah, maybe don’t answer that.

  I grab hold of the door handle and pull. For once, nothing horrible happens. No umbrellas get stuck in the door, no one trips and stumbles like an idiot into the restaurant.

  I am the essence of elegance. At the very least, I’m vertical.

  I walk in, tiptoeing like it’s going to make them less likely to see me if I’m silent as the grave. But my eyes feel like they’re making noise as they veer to the left and right, looking all over the place for Galen’s gorgeous features. I don’t see him, yet every table seems occupied. Surely there must be one reserved for us.

  I spin around, looking for a waiter, a menu, anything to tell me I’m in the right place, when I hear it.

  “Simmons!”

  The booming voice comes from a distant corner. I swing around, smashing into a passing waiter who’s wearing an adorable little white apron and a sneer. By some miracle of science he manages not to spill the glasses of white wine on his tray.

  “Excuse me, madame,” he shoots me like a dagger flying into my ear to stab my brain. Great start, Riley. Smooth.

  “So sorry,” I mutter as Galen rushes towards me from his table. He grabs me and kisses both my cheeks, which immediately heat up under the touch of his lips. This is the first time he’s kissed any part of me since…well, since our poorly thought-out make-out session in the National Gallery.

  “I’m doing this so my brother doesn’t think there’s something untoward going on,” he tells me quietly, grabbing my hand to lead me to the table.


  “Wait, what?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth. “You’re saying that if you didn’t kiss me on the cheek, he’d think we were humping?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Sitting at the corner table some distance away is a dark-haired man who looks very much like Galen. Opposite him is a blonde, but her back is turned towards me, so all I can really see is the man, whose expression is making me very nervous.

  He’s gorgeous and intense-looking, his blue eyes studying me. He may or may not be judging me; it’s hard to tell. He has the sort of face that probably intimidates the living crap out of most humans, male or female. His buttoned white shirt fits him like a glove, and looks very expensive. Much nicer, anyhow, than my off-the-rack separates from some chain store in a Vermont strip mall. Success and wealth drip from him in a way that I find oddly admirable, instead of annoying. He just looks well put together. Fit. Perfect.

  Just like his brother.

  A sly smile spreads across his face as his gaze takes me in. He stands as I approach, holding out his right hand.

  “Riley,” he says. Deep voice. Check. But of course.

  Great cheekbones. Check.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” he adds as I shake his hand. “Galen’s told us a great deal.”

  Yup. He’s charming. Check.

  The blond woman has also stood up and turned my way. She’s lean and beautiful, and like Conlon, she’s smiling from ear to ear. She doesn’t exude the same intimidating vibe as her fiancé; something about her strikes me as very down to earth for such a lovely specimen of womanhood.

  Her body is smokin’ hot. The two of them make an incredible couple, speaking purely aesthetically.

  Even though they’re trying very hard to make me feel welcome, suddenly I feel as though I stick out like a sore, homely thumb. I’m not a model-type. I’m not glamourous. I’m just me.

  The blonde holds out a hand, too, forcing me out of my awed stupor.

  “I’m Adriana,” she says. I shake her hand. Her grip is reassuring and confident. Oh, thank God. I can’t stand limp fish handshakes. Just another thing that makes her seem perfect.

  “So nice to meet you,” I reply. Galen pulls out my chair, and I flatten my skirt against the backs of my thighs as I sit down. Only after I’m seated do I realize that my jacket is still on. But like he’s reading my mind, the considerate deity that is my non-date reaches over and helps pull it off. He drapes it over the back of my chair and throws me a quick smile that says, You’ve got this, love.

  Suddenly I feel like half a couple, and I like it.

  Way too much.

  “So Riley, I hear that you’re one of Katherine’s ladies,” Adriana says, putting me immediately at ease. Talking about Katherine will mean not talking about me. That’s exactly what I want right now.

  “That’s right,” I reply. “From what I hear, you were one of her ladies as well. You went to Paris, as I understand it?”

  Adriana looks like she’s about to turn crimson as the question hits her ears. Welcome to the beet red blushers club, sweetie. She glances over at Conlon, who looks very satisfied with himself, or at least with her. Either way, they’re so cute that I just want to bite them. “I did,” she says. “I mean, I was supposed to have a very nice solo holiday. Then I met this one.” She jabs Conlon gently in the side with her elbow, and he throws out an exaggerated wince, as though she’s trounced him.

  “To be clear, she met me in a bar at the airport in New York,” he retorts. “But we got to know each other rather well on the plane, when Adriana was fortuitously tossed into the seat next to mine. Needless to say, the two of us sought some privacy to get to know each other a little better. There’s nothing like the kindly hand of fate to make one realize just how tiny an airplane loo actually is.”

  I stifle a snort. Airplane loo? Really?

  Okay, clearly Galen hasn’t told me the whole story about these two. From the tone of Conlon’s voice, I’d say their relationship moved pretty fast. It seems that they’re even members of the mile-high club.

  I feel like saluting them for their achievement.

  “I see,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. I can’t help but smile and wonder how things would have gone if I’d sat next to Galen for six hours straight during our first meeting, instead of running off like a terrified rodent.

  “Great way to make a first impression, Con,” Adriana laughs. “She’ll think I’m a loose skank who has sex with strangers.”

  A laugh escapes me before I have a chance to cover my mouth. “Sorry,” I snicker. “It’s just—wow, you two aren’t at all what I expected.”

  “Oh?” asks Conlon. “Do tell.”

  “I thought you’d be a little…stuffier.” The two of them shoot synchronized chastising looks at Galen. “Oh, not because of anything your brother’s said. Just, I don’t know. You sounded very professorial, Conlon. Like a genius scientist or something. I suppose I envisioned a young Einstein, or Stephen Hawking. Someone who doesn’t get it on in airplanes.”

  “Well, let’s get one thing clear: while I may not have frequent sex in bathrooms, I am terribly laid back and supremely relaxed,” he insists.

  “Relaxed like a tiger with a hot iron rod rammed up its arse,” laughs Galen, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a look of pure amusement on his face.

  Conlon shoots him a good-humoured glare, and Adriana leans towards me to speak low. “He totally has an iron rod rammed somewhere, but he’s amazing all the same.”

  After the waiter’s come to take our orders, we sit back and enjoy a nice, leisurely meal. We chat about the couple’s home in Paris, their upcoming wedding, Adriana’s writing career.

  “I’m so happy to know that we share that in common,” she tells me when I finally mention my blog. For a moment I forget that I’m not Galen’s girlfriend. She and Conlon are certainly treating me like I am.

  It makes me wonder what he’s said to them.

  Occasionally I notice Adriana looking at Galen and then at me, always with a smile on her face, like she’s sizing up how we look together. I can tell that she’s pleased, and some part of me never wants to bring her down by letting her know that this isn’t anything more than a very innocent, platonic relationship. I try not to think too hard about it, though; I’m enjoying living in the moment a little too much.

  When the meal’s done and we get up to leave, she takes me aside as Galen and Conlon walk away chatting animatedly about some sports team or other.

  “You two really aren’t dating, then?” she asks. “I mean, forgive me for saying so, but it’s almost hard to believe.”

  I shake my head. “No, we’re not,” I reply, shooting a glance at Galen, who’s looking back towards me as he talks to his brother. I imagine they’re now having the exact same conversation.

  “It’s too bad, you know,” Adriana says.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Because you seem perfect for each other. I’ve always wanted someone like you for Galen. I wasn’t sure he’d ever find a good fit in any woman, yet here you are.”

  “He’s amazing,” I admit. “But…it’s really complicated. We can’t date; I’m in rebound-land. My engagement fell through really recently, and I don’t want to use him to stoke my ego. He’s too good for that. Besides, I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. It wouldn’t make sense to get attached.”

  Adriana tries but fails to mask her disappointment, then she gives me another of the reassuring smiles that make me wish I could spend a lot more time with her. “I hear you,” she says. “When I got together with Conlon, I thought it was a fling, you know. Nothing more. Conlon tried to convince himself of the same thing. I’d pretty well given up on the whole idea of a long-term relationship. Believe it or not, it was Galen who convinced me to take a chance and let Con know how I felt.”

  “Really?” I say the word a little too loudly, shocked by Adriana’s words. I lean in and whisper, “What did he say?”

  “He told me that I
make his brother happy. Said I owed it to us both to be honest with each him about my feelings. He pointed out that I really had nothing to lose by saying how attached I’d grown to him, and in the end he was right. The worst case scenario would have meant that I headed back to the U.S. with a broken heart. But the best case scenario was to end up exactly where I am now.” I can hear the joy in her voice as she utters the word now. This is a woman who lives each day with the sort of happiness that I’d love to experience for just an hour.

  Happiness that I’ve never felt in my entire life.

  “Galen’s a good man, to say those things to you,” I mutter, because I don’t know what else to say. “He cares a lot about Conlon, and you.”

  She nods. “He’s the best. I mean, aside from his brother. He’s considerate of people in a way that a lot of men—and women—aren’t. Galen is unfailingly generous and amazingly mentally healthy, considering all that’s happened to him in his life.”

  “I know,” I reply, misery bubbling up inside me to know that I’ll be losing such an incredible man so soon. “I know.”

  Adriana squeezes my arm. “Well, whatever happens, I really hope you have a good time here. Enjoy yourself. You totally deserve it.”

  Even though I’ve only known her for a few hours, I wrap my arms around Adriana and give her a hard squeeze. Fortunately for my slightly fragile ego, she squeezes back.

  “Thank you. I will,” I reply when I’ve pulled back, “with a tour guide like that,” I add, nodding towards Galen, “I can’t help but enjoy myself.”

  “Tour guide,” she laughs. “I think you’ll find that he’s much more to you than that before your time in London is over.”

  She’s right, of course. The truth is, I want far more than a tour guide.

  I want all of him.

  Fourteen

  Galen

  “So, you liked them?” I ask Riley as I sidle up next to her to watch Conlon and Adriana walk away hand in hand.