No Ordinary Gentleman

“Not yet.”

“But you want me to have this in case you end up dead?”

“Yep,” I reply, noting her indifferent tone.“That’s not how I anticipated this conversation going.”

“I take it you’re going back to his place.” She doesn’t know about the hotel, but she knows I would never take a random man back to my employer’s house in Chelsea. “Or is this going to be an alfresco assignation?”

“You mean, like in an alleyway somewhere?” What is with her today?

“Nothing says special like sex up against a dumpster.”

“Bins. They’re not called dumpsters here.” I don’t rise to her tone as I pinch a little

colour into my cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter what they’re called,” she drawls.

“And why is that?”

“Because to the best of my knowledge, and I have a lot of Holland knowledge

as your big sister, you have never had a one-night stand. Not even to get over he who must never be named. So regardless of whether a bin or dumpster or The Savoy Hotel, you’re not going to have sex with a man you just met. Flirt with one, sure. I can picture that. But sex? Nope.”

“I don’t want to hear you’ve tried to picture me having sex, Kennedy. That’s just creepy. Take a look at that photo again,” I say, almost bouncing on my toes with excitement.

“Holland . . .” My sister draws my name out over several long, disapproving

syllables.

“Kennedy . . .” I respond in the same way.

“This isn’t like you.”

“I know, but this is the first time I’ve met him. And it’s not just his looks. It’s the whole vibe he’s giving off. He started off all cool and remote, but he’s got this devilish grin that says he knows things.” When he licked his finger and told me I tasted spicy, my God, I thought I was going to burst—explode!

“Well, now that makes more sense.” I don’t get a chance to ask what she

means by her announcement as she carries on. “You’re enjoying the challenge. The chase.” I guess she’s not wrong. “The minute you’re sure he’s interested, you’ll drop him like a bad habit.”

“I know he’s interested. I can see it in the way he looks at me.” Not like he’d taste me like he did his finger. More like he’d devour me whole. “I can’t explain it to you. It feels right.”

“Well, it is time you moved on,” she replies carefully.

“I did that months ago.” Like eighteen of them. “I just haven’t found anyone who was right.” Mainly because I haven’t been looking. It’s been a little like someone switched my sexuality off. “And now suddenly, my hormones are screaming we want that one, washed and oiled, and brought to our metaphoric tent!”

“Your metaphoric tent being your underwear,” my sister surmises. “Because a one-night stand isn’t a risk to your heart.” She sounds sad, but I really don’t have an answer that will make her happier. “Unless he’s about to cut it out,” she says, sounding more like herself. “Which is what this call is about, I guess.”

But it isn’t. Not really. I think I just want someone to share in my excitement. Maybe for my big sister to tell me I won’t go to hell. Or turn into our mother.

“Well, I don’t know what else to say, Hols.”

That has to be a first.

“How about don’t choose the dumpster?” I suggest.

“Stop being a smart-ass. Does this much older man have a name?”

“He’s not that old, and it’s Alexander, if you must know. Just Alexander because we’re keeping it at first names.”

“Well, just you stay safe. And remember to use condoms.”

As if she needs to tell me. Rug rat might be my favourite little person in the world, but I’m not ready for one of my own.

“Wish me luck?” Picking up my purse, I slide it over my shoulder.

“I wish you alive. How about that?”

We say our goodbyes, and I slide my phone into my purse. Then my purse off my shoulder. Then my blazer off my arms. My arms are tan and toned, and my white tank shows off two of my best assets, but I worry I’m trying too hard. Back on it goes again.

“Carpe diem,” I say to the mirror. “Or whatever the Latin is for seize the man.” It’s time to put this derailed train back on the tracks.

Pulling on the heavy fire door, I step out into the dark hallway. And into a great wall of chest.

6

Holly

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you engineered this as payback.”

“I’m sorry?” Hand still at my chest, the words hit the air a little warbly, part laughter at his assumption, part the shock of finding him here.

“Lewis.” His delivery, like his smile, is dark and slightly sardonic.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.” I shrug and step away from the bathroom door. Positioning myself against the adjacent wall, I slide my hands to the small of my back, the cool bricks brushing my fingertips. “I didn’t think for one minute that, well, you know.” My reply is halting and awkward, the words forced from my mouth a couple at a time as I resist the urge to shrug again. This is so mortifying.