Page 6 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

Bea narrowed her eyes at the phone, but she was smiling. “Two different shops?”

“At least fifteen minutes apart.”

“You’re very bossy for a woman who abandoned me.”

“And you’re very cheeky for a woman who’s getting a goddaughter named after her.”

Bea stilled. “What?”

Meg laughed, but her tone was softer again this time. “Molly Beatrice.”

For a moment, Bea couldn’t speak. “Oh, Meg.”

Meg laughed. “Oh, Bea! Never mind going all sentimental on me. Amy sends her love. And says to tell you that as Molly’s godmother, you have to visit at least twice a year.”

“Of course.” Bea was already reaching for her purse. She had to go out now. Bond Street was the perfect place to find a special gift for baby Molly.

~ ~ ~

Blane stepped out of the elevator and stopped dead. She was there—the Englishwoman—at the reception desk, laughing and joking with the staff. The girls behind the desk were smiling openly, genuinely, not with the polite mask the job required. Two of the doormen were there too. All of their attention was on her.

He studied her. She wasn’t asking them for anything, wasn’t telling a story, or performing. She was just talking to them—as if they were people. That was it. She was connecting with them, not handling them.

His gaze landed on the boxes on the desk: cookies and chocolates. She’d brought them a gift. That made him smile. He got ahold of it quickly, scowling at himself for the reaction. The scowl deepened when the Englishwoman reached for the handle of a suitcase standing against the wall.

Shit. She was checking out? He hadn’t expected that. He was moving before his brain registered the decision his body had made.

One of the doormen spotted him first and turned to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Wilder. Everything all right?”

Blane nodded—then hesitated when the whole group turned to look at him. The two women at the desk were a little too attentive. Cash had been on his case lately about trying to appear less intimidating with civilians, so he’d tested out being friendly, and figured he’d somehow signaled interest instead. The older of the two receptionists—who still wasn’t a day over thirty-five—seemed to flirt with him every time he came back to the desk.

Maybe he had that wrong. And why the hell was he thinking about it now?

Scratch that. He knew damn well why. It was the comparison. The receptionist was still doing her head-tilt-and-smile thing, while the Englishwoman had barely glanced at him before dropping her gaze.

And it was the Englishwoman who drew him in like a damn magnet.

But if she was leaving… He hadn’t counted on that. Some people bought tickets for just one night of a three-day run. But he’d assumed—without being aware he’d given it a single thought—that she was here for all three. That he’d see her again.

Her hand was on the suitcase now, pulling the handle up. Maybe the doormen were here to tell her the cab had arrived. He could wait a moment or two and she’d be gone. That was the logical thing to do.

Then she lifted her gaze. Eyes that might have been brown, or maybe green, met his. The back of his neck prickled.

“Sorry—I’ll get out of the way. I’m holding everyone up, standing here like this.”

She took a step forward. Blane did too, blocking her path. “Want me to carry that outside for you?”

The moment the words were out, he clamped his jaw shut. There were two doormen standing right there—men whose actual job was carrying suitcases out to taxis.

He held his breath. What the hell had he just done? Stepped out of the shadows to embarrass himself, that was what.

She looked confused. Understandably. Then she looked down at the case, and when she lifted her head again, she did exactly what he’d feared—and what she had every right to do.

She laughed at him.

But no. She wasn’t mocking him. Her laugh sounded… embarrassed. “It’s—I’m not leaving. I’m here for the concert, all three nights. This—” she lifted the case so easily it had to be empty “—I just bought it. I’m taking it up to my room. I know most people buy a new case before they go away for the weekend, but I…” She gave a small shrug.

Relief hit him far harder than it had any right to. “Good.”