The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! (12 page)

Brown eyes rounded, bigger and brighter than ever. But whether from astonishment at his ridiculous confession or surprise from his provocative tracing touch across her body he couldn't tell.

‘Wow,' she breathed. ‘File that under “things-taking-up-valuable-brain-space-that-could-be-used-for-something-else”.'

‘Tell me about it.' He chuckled.

‘What are they like, your family?'

Clang.

Instant shutdown. Like a guillotine falling. He felt it and Izzy had a courtside seat, stumbling back unconsciously, gentle confusion
glinting in those once shining eyes. But instead of coming over wounded, or gushing and apologetic, or instead of snooping further, Izzy just covered the moment with light humour.

Giving them both a graceful out.

As if she'd been apologising to others her whole life.

‘Caught me. Trying to keep you talking so I can enjoy your accent.'

All his life he'd been a name first and a person second. Women, colleagues. Even some of his academic achievements were more about adding a Broadmore wing to his school than rewarding his own true efforts.

These few precious years in London were the only time he'd been normal. Just a guy. Albeit a guy who could have whatever he needed whenever he needed it.

He'd even had the crazy split-second thought that he could talk to Izzy about Mags, Carla and Katie without giving anything away. His heart pounded out the knowledge of how close he'd just come to letting part of the truth tumble off his tongue. How reckless he'd been with her. How that couldn't happen again.

Sleep with her, yes. Reveal himself to her, no.

That wasn't something he did.

With anyone.

He willingly took her lifebuoy. ‘Some people find our accent harsh.'

‘I find it incredibly sexy on the ear, actually.' Her eyes met his. ‘And in it.'

He took a long swallow of beer, needing the gastric cold shower even if the alcohol was probably not conducive to keeping things wholesome. ‘Maybe that's just the chemistry talking.'

She didn't shy away from the comment. ‘Didn't we exorcise it all?'

‘Not even close. We're a regular high-school physics lab, Izzy. Or do you just fall into bed with every Tom, Dick and Harry you meet?'

She kicked up her chin. ‘Actually, you were my first Harry.'

An unfamiliar wave of unease rolled over him at the thought that there would ever be another Harry in her future. Or a Tom. Or a single, future Dick.

Wow, the stoutness of his ego apparently knew no bounds. There'd probably been half a dozen ‘others' already. Isadora Dean was a sexy, intriguing woman. And the rest of the world wasn't as messed up and damaged as him, nor ruined for casual sex after his amazing night with her.

Maybe he should thank her.

It gave him more time to work.

He glanced back at the thronging crowd and saw a couple of furtive glances in his direction. And nothing to do with sex. If they stayed here they'd only stray into ever more dangerous territory, anyway. It was bad enough almost letting himself discuss his sisters without also going all verbal foreplay on her.

He'd broken a bunch of his own rules here tonight. Time to get back in the game.

He placed the half-empty drink on the nearest table and tossed his head towards the crowd.

‘Come on, break's over.'

Izzy swapped
the bottle of champagne she was carrying to her left hand and knocked on the plain, large door with her right. Nothing at all like the flashy Vauxhall foyer she'd entered through.

Lucky, or she'd have considered reporting Harry for skimming. No one working below the fourteenth floor at Broadmore Natále could afford a Thameside apartment like this. And Harry and all his team worked on the twelfth.

But upstairs was far less ostentatious than the rest of his complex.

The door opened with an almost surprised swish.

‘Izzy? Hi.'

Breath puffed out of her.

She'd seen Harry in an Italian suit, she'd seen
him in jeans and a shirt at the team-building day, and she'd seen him in nothing at all in the boxroom. But this was the first time she'd seen him as you would expect a man to be in his natural habitat. Casually dressed, his hair absent of the product that usually kept his natural curl under control, his usual goatee slightly longer than he'd normally wear it. Creeping higher up his jaw.

Same jeans as the team-building day, if she wasn't mistaken, but the work boots were absent, his long feet bare in the pale, plush carpet. But his black T-shirt was made of some kind of natural fibre so light it both draped and clung simultaneously. Clung to the curves of biceps and pectorals she knew from first-hand experience he boasted, and draped, below that, over the flat spread of his ribs and belly. Under the strong light of the elevator foyer the lightness of the fabric or the openness of the weave meant it was just slightly transparent, offering a hint of the tanned curves and shadow beneath.

How could a man be sexier clothed than naked? It defied logic, but here was the evidence standing right in front of her.

‘Hello?'

God. Had she been standing here, drooling, for long?

‘Harry! Hi.'
Outstanding start.
She pulled a few useful brain cells together. ‘Thanks for authorising me to come up. Your security are quite scary.'

‘They take their job pretty seriously.' Blue eyes fell on the bottle in her hand. ‘What are we celebrating?'

‘A gift, actually. For you.' Just to state the appallingly obvious. She took a long breath and released it on a silent groan.

‘Come on in.' Harry stood back and she got her first glimpse of the apartment beyond.

Uh-oh. Back to impressive. Rich tones and minimalist, masculine furniture that took nothing away from what was beyond the enormous glass window.

‘Wow. That's a pretty spectacular city view.'

‘One of only two things I like about this building, really.'

‘Why did you choose it if you don't like it?'

‘Not my choice,' he said cryptically.

Picked by a woman, perhaps? Izzy faltered and glanced around again. No evidence of a female in residence. But behind all those closed doors, who knew? The thought Harry might
have a girlfriend only reinforced the rashness of her decision to sleep with him all those weeks ago.

Just because a man
said
he was single…

‘Pricey,' she hinted. But seriously, how did he afford it? Even on Broadmore Natále rates.

‘I hate commuting. Buses particularly.'

‘This is not exactly walking distance to Canary Wharf.' And that was not exactly an answer. ‘Couldn't find anything you liked on the other side of town?'

‘I have…family connections to this property. A good deal.'

‘Handy with the tube at your back door, I guess.' The one she'd ridden here this evening.

‘I rarely use it.'

She'd never seen him arrive for work—or leave—any way other than on foot. How, if he didn't take buses or the tube?

‘Tell me you don't drive.'

‘Not on the roads.'

She followed his glance far below them towards the pier. ‘Truly? You take the ferry? Every day?'

‘I have that at my doorstep and another one at work. I'd be crazy not to.'

‘But that's commuting.'

‘Not the way I do it. I'm not much on crowds, either.'

His words made no sense. Surely, he wasn't saying… ‘You're kidding. Private ferry? Both ways?'

His dark brows dipped. ‘Is this some kind of British cultural thing? Come to a man's house with alcohol and insult his home and transport choices in close succession?'

Oh, look, who was she to criticise his purchase choices? He didn't have sixteen different wool hats in
his
wardrobe.

‘I just think you're missing so much of the London experience by not taking the tube,' she improvised. ‘Or a bus. Or a cab. Like everyone else.'

Great. Now she sounded like an ad for Visit London.

His confusion deepened visibly between his brows. ‘I'm not saying I've never ridden the underground. Just that I don't take it to work.'

His eyes grabbed the champagne she'd just been waving around as if it were a life-preserver. ‘So, a gift, I believe you said?'

Lord…
and all she'd done since walking in was poke at him.

‘A thank you really,' she said, finally handing the bottle over. Critically conscious of how ridiculous that sounded after the past hundred and twenty seconds.

Why was she so nervous?

He looked at the label. ‘Wow. Taittinger's. That's quite a thank you. What for?'

‘For last Friday night. Four of those leads I picked up are now clients of some kind. I've got a full year of work ahead of me.'

‘Nothing you couldn't have done on your own, I just expedited it.'

‘Well…I'm still grateful. It was very generous of you.'

And he was still being generous, pretending that her mid-range champagne was remotely impressive. Taittinger's was the best she and Tori could find in Notting Hill's bottle shops on short notice.

He swung away from her and into the kitchen, where he plucked two flutes from a rack in his enormous freezer and gave the bottle twenty seconds in an express chiller. God, the fire station
so
needed one of those…

‘It was completely selfish, actually. You made
the whole night easier for me. I should be giving you the champagne.'

‘I'm sure you wouldn't have struggled on your own.'

‘I don't struggle when I swim either, doesn't mean it came naturally to me. I had to teach myself how to make the kind of small talk expected at big events.'

It was too good an opportunity to waste. To find out a bit more about the very closed book that was Harry Mitchell. She slipped up onto a seat at his bar. ‘Do you go to many fancy events, then?'

It was only the slightest hitch in the level pour of bubbly liquid into the second glass that told her she'd made any impact at all.

‘Benefits of a wide dating circle. Women I know always seem to be invited to one event or another. I cash in on the free food.'

Really? Maybe that was because he blew all his income on a fancy apartment and exorbitant transport.

‘I'm surprised you didn't already have company on a Friday night, then,' she said, casually. ‘If your dance card is so very full.'

Which only reminded her of how very empty hers was. If not for their hot 'n' heavy a few
weeks back this would have been as close as she'd been to a man's bedroom in months. Not counting Alex.

‘What makes you think I don't have company tonight?'

Her hands froze, midway to patting back her hair. ‘Uh…the way you poured a second glass?'

His lips twisted. ‘You assume it's for you.'

Humiliation poured up her neck and she slid off the stool immediately, onto the plush floor, her eyes searching down the hall for the goddess that was probably about to appear. Semi-naked.

‘God, I'm so sorry…'

He intercepted her at the opening to the kitchen bar before she could get more than a few steps towards the door, and his strong grip slipped around her wrist then slid to half cover her hand. She kept her focus strictly forward facing, hoping her hair would have slipped forward enough to hide the colour almost certainly staining her face.

‘Relax, Izzy. I'm kidding. The second glass is absolutely for you.' He produced it from his other hand, icy and welcome. ‘You were just sitting there being so wide-eyed Red Riding Hood, I couldn't help a little wolf.'

She took it from him and crossed to re-examine the beautiful view, subtly pressing the frosted glass against the undersides of her wrists where the blood ran closest.

As if that could cool all of her in the little time she had before—

‘So four new clients, hey?' he said from just behind her. ‘Does that mean Broadmore now has to share your efforts?'

She took two deep breaths before turning and lifting her face to him. ‘I don't think you'll notice. If anything it might open opportunities for cooperative activity.'

‘Broadmore isn't really a cooperative sort of firm,' he murmured.

True enough. They liked being up there with the biggest and the best. Rarefied air. ‘Perhaps it's a good opportunity to learn how to play well with others?'

‘Good luck with that,' he grunted just before his frosted glass pressed against that full bottom lip, reminding her just how plump and soft it was. Reminding her just how it had felt on her skin.

That amazing mouth.

And not just because she'd got to enjoy it. Some men had nice mouths, some men had foul
mouths, some men had talented mouths. Harry Mitchell had just the right balance of all three. Learned through experience, no doubt. Some pretty full-on experience judging by the way he'd coaxed her body to respond to him.