Loving Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 3) Page 6

  Mental state: Enthralled, i.e. absolutely fucked.

  Maybe it’s because I really needed to get out and meet someone new. Maybe it’s that I’m single for the first time in years. Maybe it’s because my tour guide and I have vowed to keep our hands off each other.

  All I know is that I’m having way too much fun with Galen, and I don’t want this evening of ours to end.

  Part of me feels like I’ve known him forever, like he’s the most comfortable companion in the world. An old friend, who can read me as well as anyone I’ve ever known.

  Yet every time I look over at him, I remember that not only have I never set my eyes on him before today, but he’s more beautiful than any man I’ve ever met. Butterflies explode in a flurry of excited, horny flight inside my stomach. My head spins. I feel light and heavy at the same time, like I’m on top of Everest without oxygen.

  It’s so good.

  But it’s so, so bad, too.

  He’s so damned stunning, so impossibly handsome and impossibly friendly, all at once. How the hell did someone who looks like him turn out to be so nice? If I were that good-looking I’d be a total uber-bitch and demand that all my homely underlings bring me chocolates and praise all day long. I’d have buff men in loin cloths fanning me with palm fronds. I would rule the universe with an iron fist. Or maybe a diamond-encrusted one, because I’d probably be rich, too.

  The only thing about him that isn’t traditionally perfect is his prosthetic arm, and that just makes him all the more interesting. It’s just another part of him that pulls me in, intrigues me, excites me. I want to ask all sorts of questions about it, but I’m not sure if that would make me a total ass or not.

  Occasionally he pushes his hair out of his face with his left hand, the prosthetic fingers working so well that I almost forget they’re not actual skin and bone. Whoever his genius brother is, he did an amazing job of designing that hand.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say as we stroll from one landscape painting towards another.

  “Mmm?” he replies a little absent-mindedly.

  “How did you lose it?” I ask, courage apparently working its way through my system as we make our way into a room filled with portraits of psychotic-looking guys with beards and women who look like their corsets are cutting off the supply of blood to their brains.

  “I say, that’s a rather personal question,” he replies in a tone that smacks of harsh reprimand, throwing me for a loop. His voice has suddenly gone stern. Crap. I’ve totally offended him.

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to…”

  He cuts me off by stepping towards me, his brows meeting in anger. He really does look like he’s about to go off on a rant. Okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe Galen isn’t so friendly and laid back as I’d thought. Lesson learned.

  “You actually have the nerve to ask me how I lost it?” he says, his voice deep and accusing. “I feel, Riley, as though I should inform you that how a lad loses his virginity is a sacred and precious bit of information which should remain between him and the Thai hooker that his father hired to deflower him.” My jaw drops open, and an expression of faux-surprise crosses his face. “Oh wait—that was what you were asking about, wasn’t it? Or did you mean my arm?”

  He finally cracks a smile, and my body relaxes. I want to kill him and hug him at the same time. Instead, I slap a hand across his prosthetic in retaliation for his teasing.

  “Ow!” I yell as a sharp jolt of pain shoots up towards my shoulder. This just in: artificial arms don’t have a lot of give to them. “That thing is hard!”

  Galen lets out a sigh. “If I had a pound for every time a girl said those words to me, I’d be ever so wealthy.”

  “Smart ass,” I snipe a little too loudly. “You and your Thai hookers…”

  “Shh!” Galen pokes me and points the an old couple who’s just wandered into the room. He leans in and shushes me again. “Honestly, Riley, we’re in an art gallery. Show some composure, please.”

  I want to hit him again, but I pull up short and let out a chuckle. “You’re such a fucker,” I whisper.

  “I am. Which is precisely why you should come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a narrow corridor around the corner from the room we’ve been standing in. Our sole company is now a large window, a fire extinguisher and a sign for an emergency exit. Much better.

  When we’ve reached the window at the end of the short hallway, he stops walking and turns my way, holding out his left hand.

  “You asked how I lost it, so I’ll tell you. It was an accident in my father’s factory when I was a child.” Galen opens and closes his fingers, showing me how his brain is effortlessly transmitting signals to the hand, like magic. My eyes pull up to his face. For some reason, I feel so close to him right now, so warm and affectionate towards this man I’ve only known a few hours.

  His expression has changed, but he doesn’t seem sad or bitter as he talks about it; just sincere. “It was a large machine that I’d been told was dangerous. I shouldn’t ever have been there, but I was, and I was careless. My father had warned me a thousand times, but I didn’t listen.”

  “You must have been terrified,” I say. “So must your parents.”

  He nods. “It was hard for everyone, yes. Probably hardest for Conlon. My mother died a year after the accident, and that hit Con hard, too. Not to mention how it affected my father. He sort of went off the rails, particularly after her death. He’s never been the same.”

  “Oh, my God,” I reply. “I’m so sorry.” I want to reach out for him, to console him. But I don’t.

  “Thank you. It was a long time ago,” he tells me. “Conlon became a surrogate parent of sorts around that time. He’s very protective of me. He’s a good brother, that one. He’s looked after me all my life, really.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re a good brother as well.”

  He looks me in the eye, a smile working its way across his lips again. He could melt an iceberg in two seconds flat with that look.

  “I do my best. At any rate, I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, so we can have a who’s the best brother competition then.”

  “Oh?” I ask, something inside me getting way too excited. “Is he coming here?”

  Okay, I don’t know why I just asked that. This get-together of ours is a one time deal. It’s not like I’ll meet the guy’s brother. Even though I’d really like to, because meeting Conlon would give me more insight into Galen.

  And I want to know everything about Galen.

  Oh my God. I’ve known this man for all of three, maybe four hours, and already I’m daydreaming about meeting his family.

  This is bad.

  Fear sinks into my chest like a slow blow from a fist. I promised myself not to get attached. Promised myself to take my time, follow the rules, be good. Everything I’m doing right now is defying my own plans. Even just speaking to Galen about personal matters was a bad idea.

  I’m not supposed to like him.

  I’m not supposed to want him.

  And I’m sure as hell not supposed to want to meet his brother.

  “No, he’s not going to be in London,” he says, his smile fading. No doubt he’s picked up on something in my voice. He’s probably terrified that I’m going to become a stalker. “I’m heading to Paris for a few days, to see him and to have some adjustments made on the prosthetic.”

  Paris. He’s taking off for another damned country. Well, if I had any hope that we’d see each other again for another platonic bout of tour guiding, it’s gone now.

  I try to hide my disappointment, but I’m sure that Galen can read it in my face as his words sink in.

  Yup. My incredibly hot, super-clever, sexy-as-hell, irrepressibly English tour guide is going to Paris, where the women are delightful and seductive. A single male model who’s hotter than the sun is going to the City of Lights, the most romantic place on earth.

  He’ll probably be having a lot of s
ex.

  Okay, that’s not supposed to bother me. I’ve just been reminding myself how I’m not supposed to be into him. God, I’m an idiot.

  Snap out of it, Riley.

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.”

  “Have you ever been?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, never.” I know that I’m staring into his eyes a little too hard. A little too much like a puppy begging for a treat. Ask me to come with you. Ask me. Please ask me, even though I know it would be an absolutely awful idea for us both.

  “Would you like to come with me?” he asks, like he’s reading my damned mind and toying with it for fun.

  Evil wizard.

  I stare at him blankly. For a moment I wonder if he’s serious. I sort of, kind of, want to say yes. Okay, I totally want to say yes. But it would be a bad plan. Very bad.

  “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m taking the piss again,” he laughs. “A jaunt to Paris would hardly fit into our abstinent lifestyle. Besides, if I showed up in that city with you, I’d never hear the end of it from Conlon.”

  I swallow the little lump that’s formed in my stupid throat. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “He’d think I’d fallen in love again.” Galen locks his hands behind his head and leans back against the wall, his shirt hugging every muscle on his sexy torso as his pea coat splits open. Now he’s just torturing me with what I can never have. “If I brought a beautiful girl like you with me, he’d assume that we were shagging.”

  “You…really think I’m beautiful?” I don’t know if I actually said those words out loud or just thought them. All I know is that I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  I stare into his eyes as he leans back, a slow smile spreading across those amazing lips of his. His jeans cling to his powerful thighs, his chest and abdomen all chiseled eight-pack and lickable man-flesh under his cruelly thin shirt. Damned sexy man. I’m still having trouble believing that this living, breathing god could really think I’m beautiful.

  He nods, answering the question that I guess I did ask out loud.

  “Yes,” he says, pulling his hands away from his head and taking a step towards me. “I think you’re very beautiful, Riley.”

  Like some madness has overtaken me, I grab the open front of his jacket and pull him towards me, then push myself up on my toes and kiss him.

  At first, I feel him go tense, like I’ve taken him entirely by surprise. But then, like the god that he is, he kisses me back. Reassuring me with the confidence of his body language, he takes over control of the moment, his tongue pushing its way past my teeth, searching out my own. We revel in one another’s taste, in the sensation of our connection. Heat rushes through me like wildfire. The need, the want, everything that I’ve been holding in since long before I ever met Galen has risen to the surface.

  For the first time in my life, I understand what a kiss should feel like. Suddenly the world makes sense. My breakup, my trip to London, everything. I understand it now.

  I understand why I’m here.

  As though to pull me away from my thoughts, Galen’s hands slip down to my back, his right hand cupping my waist, pulling me closer, his left gently stroking its way down to my hip.

  It feels so good, being with him like this. So right. Sensual, comforting, perfect. I don’t want the moment to end. I want more. I want to feel his skin against mine. I want his mouth between my legs. I want him inside me.

  I want…

  No.

  I can’t want.

  I mustn’t want.

  This kiss was an act of desperation. I’m a foolish woman who’s trying to erase everything that’s happened and mend her broken ego.

  But if I mend it with Galen, I might lose my heart in the process. He’s more than a kiss. He’s a man who’s somehow worked his way into my heart over the course of a few hours. I’ve grown far too attached to him, too close.

  This is dangerous.

  I yank myself backwards, slamming into the opposite wall of the narrow hallway.

  “I’m really sorry,” I blurt out so loudly that I’m sure I’ve just attracted the attention of everyone in the entire National Gallery. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter again, miserably. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. I should go.”

  Galen steps over to me, a concerned look furrowing his brow. “You okay?” he asks. Damn it, he seems genuinely worried, which only makes this harder. Can’t he tell himself that I’m a psycho nut job and be happy to send me on my way?

  I nod, pulling my eyes away from his. I can’t look at him when he’s got that expression on his face. It makes me like him too much. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you to your flat.” He reaches a hand politely for me, but I flinch back like I’m suddenly terrified of his touch.

  “No,” I blurt out.

  Immediately I feel bad about it.

  “I mean, I should find my own way,” I tell him, calming my voice.

  “All right. At least let me walk you out to the Tube station, though.”

  I nod, unable to utter any more words.

  Silently we make our way through the gallery until we reach the exit onto the street. Galen turns to me when we get to the doors. His body language tells me that he feels as defeated as I do.

  “Riley,” he says, “I have to ask, did I do something wrong? If I did…”

  Still avoiding his eyes, I shake my head. “Not at all,” I tell him. “You did everything right. That’s sort of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I chew on my cheek for a second. I can feel some awful emotional tidal wave about to overtake my insides, and all I can think is that I need to run away, and fast. “Nothing,” I say, refusing to look at him for fear that it will make me want to kiss him again. You were too delicious, Galen. Too good. Too near perfection. How could I walk away from you if we got close? “Listen, it was really nice to meet you. Thanks a lot for bringing me here. But really—I’ve got to go.”

  With that, I turn on my heel and run out the door like Cinderella fleeing from the ball at midnight. Only I don’t leave him a glass slipper.

  The only thing I leave behind is a shard of my damaged heart.

  Eight

  Galen

  She’s gone. Just like that. Beautiful, sexy Riley has taken off like a bat out of hell.

  I guess that makes me the Devil she left behind. Stupid me. I was too forward. I made it too obvious that I was attracted to her, and it freaked her out.

  I was probably an arse. I should apologize to her.

  I yank my phone out of my pocket and start to type up a remorseful note, but just as quickly, I delete it and shove it away.

  Stupid idea. It’s too soon to text her. So instead, I head towards an exit far from the one that she took, hoping to avoid awkwardly running into her on the street on my way home.

  She probably did me a favour just now by fleeing, anyhow. The truth is that I haven’t found myself so attracted to any woman since my last relationship ended, and I’m not sure my head’s on straight.

  I was involved for some time in a very off and on and off again romance with a woman named Britney—a woman with whom I had absolutely nothing in common. Conlon mocked me endlessly for it, as she was little more than a squeaky creature with an ample bosom who always seemed far more interested in my wealth and looks than in my mind. My brother was right to torture me over it, I suppose. I was in that particular relationship for no other reason than that it was easy. There are no complications when neither of you is terribly serious, other than the fact that you’re wasting your life away. So when we finally split up, I realized that I needed to be with someone who was better for me, or else be with no one at all.

  Since Brit, I’ve remained true to my resolution of abstinence. But Riley…Riley is challenging my resolve, to put it mildly. There’s something so charming about her, so delightful, so stimulating. She’s inquisitive, intelligent, and funny. We’re two peas in a pod.

&
nbsp; The trouble with that analogy, of course, is that peas in pods tend to rub up against one another. Riley rubbing up against me was enough to make me lose all control. One touch of her lips to mine and I was ruined. Any will to remain alone was gone.

  All I wanted was more of her. Had she not run, I would have taken her home and spent the night ensuring that she experienced the greatest, most prolonged and intense orgasm of her life.

  And it’s no wonder I want her so badly. She’s such a sexy thing. Beautiful eyes, perfect lips. Round, luscious breasts, not too big, not too small. I get the impression that without the help of a bra they’d stay where they belong, too. But it’s not her breasts, lips or even her eyes that are already making me miss her. It’s something far deeper than that; something I’ve never found in any woman.

  She feels like home, somehow.

  Wonderful. I’m currently wandering towards my flat, moaning internally about how attached I am to a woman I’ve just met, when the fact is, I’m supposed to be thinking about anything but attachment.

  Well, some tour guide I turned out to be.

  Fucking hell.

  When I finally scramble up the stairs to my place, I throw myself down on the couch and extract my phone once again.

  This time, I type a message. Enough time has passed, damn it. I should say something before I lose touch with her forever.

  Listen, Riley—I’m very sorry if I did something to upset you. I’m not a very smooth fellow. It’s possible that I didn’t do a good enough job of hiding my interest in you.

  I hit send and press my head back into the couch, my eyes fixed on the ceiling high overhead.

  I live in an amazing flat in Soho, thanks in part to Conlon’s generosity, in part to my burgeoning career. The open concept floor space is enormous, the furniture luxurious and comfortable. The living room where I’m sitting is larger than the entirety of the flat where our family lived when we were children, its ceilings rising fifteen feet above the hardwood under my feet. The windows on one side of the room run from floor to ceiling, looking out onto one of London’s more famous shopping districts.