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He considered himself to be lucky to have escaped her clutches. She’d always wanted more from him than she, herself, was willing to give—financially and emotionally. She had also been incapable of fidelity. Getting back a day early from a business trip and wanting to surprise her had reaped rewards he had never imagined. On his way from Heathrow to her fabulous condo in Kensington, he had been imagining all the righteously nasty ways he wanted to fuck her.
Unfortunately, someone else had gotten there first—her assistant Gary. There had been no mistaking the sounds coming from Evangeline’s bedroom. Skin slapping against skin, moaning, groaning, and Evangeline’s breathy panting as she neared climax. He’d thought about confronting them, maybe punching Gary out, but realized her infidelity provided him with the perfect exit. He left the flowers he’d bought her on the foyer table with a note that read: ‘I hope you and Gary will be happy together,’ and then let himself out. What few things he had there, she was welcome to keep, toss, or destroy.
He'd been pretty much celibate for the past eighteen months. Well, celibate if you counted sex with a partner. If you counted your own hand, he’d had a rip-roaring sex life going on. In some ways, it was a lot easier; his hand didn’t want a damn thing except to be washed in return.
Fletch had given Evangeline little thought after their breakup. After blocking her calls and texts, he’d had a single encounter with her as he’d left his farm. This had been no chance meeting, as his farm was far outside of London.
“Ry, you have to listen to me. Gary means nothing to me,” she said as she chased after him.
Fletch didn’t break stride, but also did not give her the satisfaction of speeding up. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Evangeline, but that doesn’t make it any better. In fact, I think I’d have more respect if you said you were madly in love with him…”
“In love with Gary? Don’t be daft. He’s just my assistant, and I was really jonesing for some dick.”
He stopped, smiled and said, “And any dick would do. While I’m sure your father has always thought any cunt in the dark would do, I’m not sure he’d apply the same standard to you. What do you think?”
Fletch cocked his head and said nothing more. When Evangeline didn’t either, he knew she understood that she’d put her foot in it and that he was done. The implied threat was silent and understood. When she said nothing and stepped back, he said, “Goodbye, Evangeline.”
They’d never spoken again. He couldn’t help but compare the cold and empty shell of Evangeline to the warm and vibrant woman who simmered next to him. In contrast, Claire was slightly messy, with dark curly hair, a skewed sense of fashion that seemed to suit her, and from what he had seen, the most gloriously curvy figure a man could ask for. She had breasts that were more than a handful, a cinched waist and generous hips a man could hold onto when he was taking her hard from behind.
Fletch knew she was talking; he was watching her luscious lips move. Instead of paying attention to what she was saying about some guy named Hogson, he was thinking of what they’d feel like against his own, or better yet, wrapped around his cock, which was signaling its approval of the lovely Claire Mitchell but wanting to straighten up and come to attention.
“Did you even hear a word I said?” she challenged him in an easy, bantering tone.
“Some guy named Hogson; English landscape artist; never recognized for his talent until after his death.”
“Not one damn word.”
“Is there more?”
“Quite a bit. What you just regurgitated to me is what can be read about the artist in the little card by his painting. Care to tell me what you were thinking about?”
A man in a tailored suit tapped Fletch on the shoulder. How had that happened? It had been decades since anyone was able to sneak up on him, but then until this afternoon he hadn’t had Dr. Claire Mitchell and her smokin’ hot body to focus on.
“Mr. Fletcher, I’m from the Savoy. I have your car right outside when you’re ready.”
“Excuse me; I’m with Mr. Fletcher. Do you have to take us back to the Savoy?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve been assigned to him for the rest of the day. I’m happy to take you wherever you’d like.”
“Is there somewhere you’d rather go than the Savoy?” asked Fletch, intrigued.
“Yes, there’s a great little spot right on the Thames just outside the city. I swear it has the best food…”
“Haverty’s?” said the driver.
Claire beamed at him. “That’s the one.”
The driver nodded. “The best fish and chips in London.”
“I know, and their mushy peas are to die for,” laughed Claire.
“What is it with you English and mushy peas? I’ve always had peas that had some bite to them,” said Fletch.
“That’s because you, sir, are an uncouth American with no taste in tuxedos.”
Fletch laughed. “Okay, that’s it. First, I take you to lunch; then you accompany me to get a proper tuxedo.”
Before she could object, he swept her along toward the front door of the museum and into the waiting car.
