Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“You’re acting like I’ve asked you to stay in the boot of my car.” He was completely unfazed by my reaction. “I got this place for three months. It’s no big deal.”

“Wait, you rented it for three months?” I couldn’t bear to think how much that might be costing. “Return the key. There’s no way I can afford—”

Joshua stepped toward me and stroked my arm as if he were trying to tame a wild horse. I tried to ignore the heat, the way his fingers seemed to press into me with authority, the way he smelled so incredible when he was so close.

“It’s no big deal. I’m not expecting you to pay for any of it.”

I shook off his arm. Physical contact threatened to ignite my old crush like a match to tinder. “Joshua!” He didn’t get it at all. “That’s even worse. I’m not expecting you to cover my rent. The entire reason you stay in someone’s spare room is to avoid incurring the expense at all.”

“But you don’t have the expense. If it makes you feel better, you can pretend it’s my spare room.”

“I need a shower.” I collapsed on the sofa, jetlag, travel, and the last thirteen months catching up with me all at once. I sank into the marshmallow cushions and wondered if I’d ever move again. “Have you paid? Can you get your money back?”

“No. I signed something. And anyway, where else are you going to go? Someone’s spare room or worse, a sofa, when you can be here?” He nodded toward the view. “You’ve been off curing the sick in faraway places. You can see this as your reward.”

I didn’t want praise or thank-yous. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked. “You’re welcome. I presume you’re hungry.” He messed about on his phone. “You haven’t turned into one of those do-gooding vegans, have you?”

“Yes, I’m hungry, and no.” I’d been dreaming about eating a burger as big as my plaster-covered leg for the last year. Nothing about my fantasy involved vegetables.

“Thank God. Burgers then?”

Despite my irritation with Joshua, a small smile crept across my lips. He might be my exact opposite when it came to lifestyle, but when it came to taste in food, apparently we’d been separated at birth. And maybe some cake, I didn’t say. I was picky when it came to sponge, and I wanted to be able to take some time deciding on my first post-Yemen piece. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a burger right now.”

“Interesting,” he said, sliding a glance at me as he tapped away on his phone. Then he sat down on the sofa opposite. “Maybe I can think of a few things.” I wasn’t sure how a dimple could be suggestive, but Joshua’s managed it.

His bold flirtations had never been directed at me before. It was sort of flattering, but I had to remind myself it was simply how he operated. He didn’t know how not to flirt. To Joshua, flirting was some kind of unconscious habit, as automated as breathing.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“It’s nice to see you have.” He paused and for a split second, looked at me like we were long-time lovers rather than virtual strangers. He blinked twice, cleared his throat. “Except the disapproving scowl is still the same.”

“Hey,” I said, tossing an expensive cushion at him. He batted it away like candy floss. “I don’t scowl.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s cute.”

Cute?

I was going to have to supercharge my forcefield.

Two

Joshua

I glanced up at the bleak, gray London sky and mentally checked what month we were in. Summers were never guaranteed in England but today felt like November, not June. Hartford certainly hadn’t brought Middle East heat back with her when she’d landed earlier today. I turned onto Piccadilly and tried to search my brain for memories of Hartford. I remembered her braces, long gangly limbs, and hair pulled back into a bun. Her whole family used to complain she had her head in the clouds. Other than that, there were an awful lot of blanks. She’d always been around; I just couldn’t recall many specifics.

A detail floated to the surface—a nickname. Something to do with fairies or ballet . . . That’s right, she’d been a ballet dancer. A far cry from the intense but undeniably beautiful doctor I’d picked up from the airport today. I shook my head—I couldn’t think about her now. I had other things to focus on.

I pulled up the collar on my jacket to stop the cold air burrowing down my back. I should have brought a coat for the short walk to the restaurant where I was meeting my biggest client. As marketing director of GCVB, Eric was one of the most powerful people in luxury goods, which meant he got to pick the restaurant. The one he’d chosen was popular and had all the right number of stars for Eric. I thought it was a little pretentious, even for my tastes. At least the steak was fantastic. I ducked down a side alley and the red-cloaked doorman greeted me. I headed in.