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We talk a little more, but I can see that she’s tired and starting to fade.
She covers her mouth, stifling a yawn. When she drops her hand, she gives me an apologetic smile. “I should probably get ready for bed. I have to be up early, Crêpes Suzette and all.”
I nod. “Probably a good idea. I should do the same so I can watch you make them. Unless you’re feeling generous and decide I’m allowed to try them.”
She gives me a saucy grin. “I could be persuaded to share.”
London rises, and I have to avert my gaze so I don’t get caught checking her out. She’s even more of a temptation than she was before we came out here and had this soul-baring talk.
I remind myself that there are still a little more than two weeks before the event. Once it’s over, I’ll remove myself from anything business-related so I can finally act on these feelings and ask her out.
London tips her head. “Are you coming in?”
“In a minute. I need to shut everything down and turn out the lights.” I motion to the dimly lit apartment.
“You don’t have a remote control for that?” she teases.
I do, and someone who will turn them off for me if I forget. And everything is on a timer and motion sensor, but I just smile. “Rest well, London. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Her face falls slightly, but she smiles and nods. “Of course. You too. See you with the sun.” She turns away and pads across the terrace, slipping inside.
I listen for the sound of her leaving the penthouse before I let my head drop back and just breathe for a few minutes. I should have let Trent take over when he offered.
13
ANOTHER CHINK IN THE ARMOR
JACKSON
I wake up at five the next morning to the most amazing smell. It takes a moment for me to remember that London is here and she promised me Crêpes Suzette. Usually, my breakfast consists of coffee and something I can take with me on the way to the office, or whatever is reasonable to eat at my desk while I check emails.
I quickly change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, brush my teeth, and comb my hair before I pad down the hall to the kitchen. London’s back is turned to me, her long hair pulled into a knot on top of her head. She’s wearing a loose, flowy shirt that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of fitted jeans. She looks incredible, but more than that, she looks like she belongs here and always has.
“You are amazing,” I say, rather than think.
She gasps and turns around. “Oh! Hey there! I hope I didn’t wake you up with all the noise.”
“You weren’t kidding about being an early riser.”
“Not even a little.” She points her spatula at the French press. “There’s fresh coffee and the crêpes will be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“If you want to get out plates and cutlery, that would be wonderful. Everything I needed was already set out for me this morning, apart from the dishes we’d eat on.”
I have to thank Aylin for making sure she had everything to make this happen. I warm the plates by running them under hot water for a minute, then dry them and set them on the counter next to the cooktop. A tendril of hair has escaped from the knot of top of London’s head and she keeps trying to blow it out of her face because her hands are busy.
“Hold on, let me help you.”
“It’s fine. It’s just tickling my nose.” She swipes her forearm across her face and blows the hair away again.
“It’s annoying the hell out of you. Lift the frying pan and hold still for me.”
She sighs, but does as I ask, taking a step away from the stove, bringing her into my personal space. She smells just as delectable as the crêpes she’s cooking, like vanilla and something sweet and citrusy.
I take the opportunity for what it is and pull the elastic free from her hair. I grip the satiny strands in one hand and run my fingers from her hairline to the crown a few times, making sure I have all the flyaways and the strays before I fix it with the elastic again.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I lean in and brush my lips across the nape of her neck.
She sucks in a startled breath and nearly loses her hold on the frying pan. As it is, the crêpe slides off the pan and lands on the floor at her feet. She manages to catch herself before the pan joins the crêpe.
“Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t … I didn’t—” She stumbles over her words.
“It’s my fault. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” I take the pan from her and turn off the burner, before grabbing the crêpe from the floor and tossing it in the garbage, burning my fingertips in the process.
