He reached over and rubbed my leg. “The baby can have all the snacks it desires.”
The rest of the flight passed by quickly, and I watched out the window as we touched down at a private terminal at Heathrow Airport.
Locke had a car waiting for us, and we left right from the tarmac for the city. I can’t lie; it was really great to have an airport experience in London that didn’t end in a thirty-minute tube ride just to get into the city.
I leaned back against the car’s leather interior. “Last time I made this journey, I had so much baggage that my carry-on slipped from my hand on one of the escalators coming out of the underground and almost wiped out an elderly couple.”
Locke covered his hand with his face, his shoulders shaking.
“It wasn’t funny,” I insisted. “I was traumatized. They were really old.”
“I know, I’m trying not to laugh at you almost causing a national emergency.”
I hummed. The crowds coming out of the underground were something out of a horror movie. I could have wiped out a quarter of London with my bag. “So where are you taking us?”
“I have some ideas for dinner,” he admitted. “But was there anythingyouwanted to do before that?” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got some time to kill.”
Excitement rushed through me. “Oh my God, you know what I’ve always wanted?”
“What?”
“Those giant chocolate-covered strawberries they sell at Borough Market.”
Locke groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You must be taking the piss. Of all the things to do in London, you want the gimmicky tourist attraction?”
“You mean thedelicioustourist attraction.” I pouted playfully, rubbing my stomach. “The baby wants it. And you said?—”
“The baby can have whatever its little heart desires,” he agreed. “All right.” Locke lowered the window between us and the driver. “To Borough Market, please.” He turned, giving me the kind of look that set my skin on fire, and I tried not to overthink that as we made our way to Southwark.
Once we arrived, Locke and I went straight to Turnips, the greengrocer stall inside the market that sold the strawberries. We bought a cup to share, though I mostly devoured them myself, with Locke teasingly licking chocolate from my finger when I offered him a berry.
I swallowed down my gasp and covered my blush by dragging him all over the market, exploring each and every one of the food vendors. Once we were done there, we wandered down a side street, finding a few cute children’s boutiques. I picked out a couple of baby-friendly board books of bedtime stories, and Locke found a silver rattle that reminded him of the one he’d had as a baby. He bought that despite me insisting it was too expensive.
“The baby gets whatever its little heart desires,” he whispered to me.
“I don’t think the baby knows what sterling silver is.” My stomach growled. “But the baby definitely wants to know when you’re taking us to dinner.”
He laughed and took my hand, sweeping me off to a place called Mira’s, a Michelin-star restaurant in Notting Hill. By the time we were done there, I was so stuffed with deliciousness that I swore I’d never eat again. But by the time we got back to the plane, I was peckish and agreed the moment the flight attendant offered me some ice cream not long after takeoff.
“I am astounded,” Locke said. “You must be growing a giant in there. Or maybe a black hole.”
“I mean, we walked off a bit of the meal afterward,” I argued. I licked the back of my spoon, enjoying the flavor. “God, they put the ice cream of the gods on private jets. I need an entire tub of this French vanilla.”
By the time we’d landed and made our way back to the inn, Locke had sourced the ice cream brand and ordered me a crate of it. “Should be here by the end of the week,” he said, getting out of his Bentley and walking me to the door.
I shook my head at him, standing in the halo of light coming off the Deerhound. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“When I said whatever the baby wants,” he whispered, staring down at me, “I really meant whateveryouwant.” His gaze was sincere and teasing all at once, and something fluttered in my gut. It was affection, and appreciation—and most of all, it was desire. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel the need to stamp that out. Instead, I savored it.
I stepped toward him, my gaze flickering from his lips, beckoning for me to taste them, to his eyes. “And what if I want something more than ice cream?”
He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Yes to that too,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. It was soft at first, but as my hand curled its way around his neck and his hand fisted in my shirt, it quickly became passionate. A moan slipped up my throat, tumbling out as Locke grabbed my ass.
“Bed?” I gasped, breaking away. I shook off the heady daze long enough to gesture at the inn.
“Yes,” Locke said, the sheerwantin his voice sending shivers racing across my body.
I latched onto his hand, taking him around the back of the inn, slipping through the kitchen door. I led us down a dimly lit hall on the first floor to my room. Once inside, I closed the door and flicked on a lamp in the corner of the room.
