London's Calling Read online

  “I’m out,” I growl. Standing to leave, I push Quinn out of the booth, ignoring him as he calls me. He’s been genial about everything but my name the whole evening. It’s not the best name in the world, but dammit, it’s mine. It’s all I have left of my parents.

  “London, wait!” It’s like I can feel his breath on my neck. As I walk out of the restaurant, I realize it’s much later than I anticipated. While the stroll to my hotel is a pleasant one, and not too long, this is a strange city, and I’d be stupid to walk it alone when there’s nowhere near as many people out now as there were when I got here.

  “London, please, I’m sorry. I wasn’t taking the piss.”

  “Do you have parents, Quinn?” Maybe he’ll understand my hurt.

  “Yes, they’re alive and well. Retired to Wales a few years ago.”

  “I don’t. My name is literally all I have left of them. Nothing was saved but a single picture of the three of us when we went to the dinosaur museum when I was nine. That’s all I have. Except my name. My name is every piece of them condensed into three little words.”

  I feel his arms wrap around me from behind, and like a hussy, I melt into his embrace. “I’m sorry, pet. I wasn’t making fun; I was enjoying your name. It’s not often a name like yours comes about.” His lips are warm against the side of my neck as he speaks.

  “I know. The pain is just there. All the time. Right below the surface. Being here brought it all back, I guess.” I wish I could have experienced this with them. I bet they would have loved coming home again.

  “Can I walk you to your hotel?” It’s like he’s a mind reader.

  “I’d like that, Quinn.” Without asking, the man grabs my hand in his, locking our fingers together, and follows where I lead.

  It’s nice.

  The walk.

  The atmosphere.

  Him.

  Me.

  Us.

  I could get used to this intimacy.

  It’s too bad I’m leaving in two weeks.

  Chapter 2

  Quinn

  After leaving London at her hotel, I returned home and couldn’t stop thinking about her. I’m quite glad I was able to secure plans with her for today. She believes it’s merely breakfast, but I intend to occupy her entire day.

  She wants to see Big Ben, walk Stonehenge, possibly visit Manchester University. I’ll give it all to her. She can explore to her heart's content, so long as I’m by her side.

  I was initially frustrated with my suspension, now, I’m grateful. My suspect deserved the clobber to his jaw when he lunged at his beaten girlfriend. He’s lucky I hadn’t pulled my weapon and ended his life like I wanted. The bloke was thrashing the poor woman in front of their one-year-old son.

  I remember what that was like as a youngster. Hearing about my friend’s father beating his mum until she finally killed herself the day we left for basic training together. We later learned that she stayed to protect him. From that day forward, I vowed to protect the innocent.

  That’s what I was doing that day. Protecting a girl too young to understand she didn’t have to tolerate such violence. I think seeing the fear in her boy's eyes was her breaking point because as soon as the man had been carted off, she became angry and stayed that way when I left her with a social worker at the hospital that had a plan in place to help her out.

  My only hope is that she stays strong for them both and doesn’t go back. The thing with victims of violence is that their assailants are master manipulators, and they tend to be lured back with false promises of apologies and regret. I’ve seen more than my share of bad endings before. This is one I don’t think I’ll move past if she returns.

  Pushing the morbid thoughts from my head, I get my shower started so I can meet the lovely London Manchester Bond for breakfast by the river. I’m still surprised by her name. It’s so…British. For a westerner, I’m shocked at how much she loves it.

  London spoke so lovingly about my country last night that I was a bit envious of the fact that she was seeing it through virgin eyes. Everything was new and a grand discovery to her. She smiled at the silliest things.

  She called some of my language my Britishisms and pointed out her Canadianisms with glee. Even without my accent, she said there’s a significant dialect difference. Not shocking with the American television shows and movies I’ve seen.

  The tepid water slides down my body with a calming sense of arousal the more I think about her. The attraction simmers just below the surface for us, and while I’m not opposed to a little fling while she’s here, I’m not sure she’d go for it.

  Hell, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop it at just a fling. London is definitely a forever type of girl. I just need to surmise if she’s my forever girl.

  Shutting off the tap, I head out to my room to grab some clothes and intend to leave from there. Warm tea, fresh pastries, and a sweet little woman the only things on my mind.

  I grab a fresh navy-blue henley and my favourite worn-in jeans with a bomber jacket and my dockers. Just as I’m grabbing my car keys, my mobile phone rings, and I see my chief inspector’s number flash across the screen. Anger at his words yesterday, stops me from answering as quickly as I usually would.

  I relent just before it gets sent to voicemail. “Inspector Page.”

  “Page, listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. It’s Scotland Yard wanting to punish you. They intend to set an example that the police force doesn’t slide from punishment to the public after last year’s fiasco.” A group of officers nearly beat a man to death because he was deaf and didn’t understand what they wanted from him. “You understand, don’t you, mate?”

  “I understand things went balls-up.” Hanging up on him, I turn the volume down. I’d leave the device at home if it weren’t for the fact I want to capture as many pictures of my London-girl as I can.

  With her here, I now have a distraction. I have plans for us today that include at least one of her dream spots. I think a picnic out by the stones will make for a lovely afternoon she’ll quite enjoy.

  I used to explore them as a young lad, and no matter how many times my mum took me, I always had fun. There’s always something new to explore when you’re in a historical setting. Nothing ever looks the same twice. Especially with the weather changes occurring.

  Given it’s not quite tourist season, we should have quite a bit of time to ourselves as well. It will give me a chance to explore every inflection of her sultry voice. Watch as her pupils dilate when we get closer to each other. See the blush creep up her cheeks when I lean in to kiss her luscious lips.

  She’s a delicate creature in search of something I’m not even sure she understands. I’ve spent many years studying human nature, and whether she recognizes it or not, London is lost with the present knowledge of who her family is and where they’re from.

  I imagine she craves the history our country has to offer because she feels abandoned by them. I can relate to that. Being alone, even surrounded by people, leaves a gaping hole in your chest that can be hard to fill.

  Driving the streets of London in mid-morning traffic is a breath easier than first thing in the morning when everyone is out racing to get to work on time.

  Anticipation drums through me with the speed of a bullet train. Spending time with London has become an obsession I won’t quit. I like the sparkle in her eyes when she laughs. The energy she exudes from simply breathing. Being around her is like a breath of fresh air I’ll always crave more of.

  As I pull into the valet of her hotel, I realize that maybe she feels just as lonely. I walk in the revolving doors and see her sitting in the lobby, reading a tourist magazine.

  “London,” I call and quite a few people look over at us. One couple giggles, another scowls, most ignore me once my girl stands, wearing the most outrageous outfit I’ve ever seen. “That’s different.” As fabulous as she looks, it’s odd. Her dress has capped sleeves and a plunging neckline, showing a perfect amount of cleavage from
her ample breasts. I have to take a moment to collect myself as she strolls towards me.

  The British flag sways with each step of her bright red flat shoes. “Hi, Quinn.” She’s flushed as she comes to stand in front of me. “Do you like it?” She spins, and as the skirt spreads out, I get a flash of matching bright red undergarments I’d like to take off her creamy flesh.

  “I love it.” Placing one hand on her hip and the other in the small of her back, I bring London closer and tighten the distance between our lips.

  Her eyes close, and she sighs as our mouths touch ever so slightly. When she moans, I nip her lip while pushing my hardened cock into her soft belly, showing her what she does to me in her outlandish dress.

  “I think you like it very much.” She smiles up at me.

  Leaning down to her ear, I growl, “I’d like it even more pooled at your feet as I devour you.” Her breath hitches and I can’t hide my smirk from her as her gaze loses focus, and her breathing picks up pace.

  “Food. We need food.” She clears her throat and takes a step back. London isn’t shy, though, and as she spins, she’s sure to get that skirt up and gives an extra sway to her step while she walks away.

  “Hot damn,” I groan, prowling after her until my front is pressed to her back as we walk. She’s definitely going to be the girl to bring me to my knees.

  London

  I bought this silly dress on a whim a few days before I boarded the plane. I didn’t even know if I’d have the guts to wear it. It’s so juvenile that I almost didn’t. But the bodice hugs my frame perfectly, and I kept imagining Quinn’s face as he saw me in it, and after the persistent dreams of him last night, I had to do it.

  It ultimately paid off this morning from the moment I saw his face. At first, he was amused. Then his gaze ate me up like Sunday brunch. He couldn’t stop staring, and when I noticed the heat enter his eyes, I knew I’d made the right choice by wearing it.

  Where the hussy who flicked the skirt up—twice—to give him a peek at what’s underneath came from, I have no idea. That is not me. Not the London from Canada. But maybe I could be that London in England.

  I want to be intimate with Quinn. As frivolous and possibly even reckless as it may be, I want it more than my next breath. He’s the type of man I've always imagined having sex with. I’m not a virgin, I’ve had boyfriends before. But none that I’d been so attracted to that I became careless of who saw our public displays of affection.

  I noticed the way women were looking at him as he strolled up to me with his smooth gait. His thick thighs rippled with muscle, and the way he flexed his arms seemingly unconsciously exhibited the strength he exudes. His mysterious looks can draw in the curiosity of any woman wanting to do more than just watch as he moves.

  The best part of Quinn is that he doesn’t seem to be affected by how sexy the female population finds him to be. I caught the women from dinner last night watching him as he laughed, spoke. That accent, it’s a punch to the gut in the best of ways.

  When he kissed me, I got so thoroughly lost in the sensations he evoked from my battered heart. A complete stranger and he aroused more emotions in me with that short kiss than I have felt in years. I like it, no, I love it.

  As Quinn guides me to his waiting vehicle, a shiver works through me when he helps me into the seat and buckles my belt. His hand slowly crossing my lap and skimming the flesh of my thighs. My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “I thought we’d go to this place my parents often frequented before moving. It’s local, has the best fry-up in the country.” His enthusiasm is infectious.

  “Fry-up?” I’ve never heard that before. My gaze doesn’t leave his skillful hands as he manoeuvres into traffic. Driving on the wrong—or right for them—side of the road proves to be a bit disconcerting, so watching his powerful hands expertly steer around the busy streets is a welcome distraction.

  “Fried eggs, sausages, back bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread, and a length of black pudding.”

  “Black pudding?” How do you slice pudding?

  “Blood sausage.” He grins at my scowl.

  “That sounds…disgusting.”

  “You’ll love it,” he insists.

  “If you say so.” I find it hard to believe. “I know there’s another blood sausage I’d love.”

  “It’s yours anytime, pet.”

  I blink at his words. He didn’t just say that. “Oh, my shit.” I should have some sort of mute button attached to me. Something to stop the unfiltered thoughts from leaving my mouth. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.” I’m utterly mortified.

  As Quinn parks in front of the restaurant, he turns to look at me. “I’d like it if you said those things more. I’m attracted to you, London, and while I know you’ll only be here for a couple weeks, I’d definitely like to explore this.”

  “How can I say no?” Not what I meant to say. Dammit. “I mean, don’t you think that’d be hard? I’m not really wired to do casual. I’m more of the permanent type.” I search his eyes, and they never change. They’re filled with heat.

  “I know that. We may be from different worlds, pet, but who’s to say we can’t make it work beyond what we have? One day at a time, yeah?”

  I nod. I seriously can’t say no. I tried, and the word wouldn’t pass my lips. I want him.

  Breakfast is enjoyable, but I can't get on board with the black pudding. It's a little too strange for my tastes, and Quinn gets a kick out of every bite I try to force on myself before he finally grants me mercy.

  This man takes every opportunity to touch and pet me. He’s continuously crowding my space as we walk along the bridge to the river. Stonehenge is our afternoon exploration, and I can’t wait.

  Any time someone walks past us, he steps behind me but also blocks me from their view and places his hands on my hips. It’s endearing and sweet, and I wish it weren't, because before I return home, I have the feeling he’s going to break my heart.

  Or at the very least, I’m going to break it.

  Quinn is so easy-going and likable. It’s hard not to wish for more from our encounter. Friendship may never be enough, but I fear it’s all my tender heart can handle.

  Chapter 3

  Quinn

  I see the way London watches me from the corner of her eye as we walk across the Golden Jubilee Bridge. I feel her breath hiccup when I touch her softly or with a little roughness. She craves this connection we seem to share as much as I do.

  When I woke up yesterday morning, I never would have imagined my suspension turning into such a wondrous thing. If I hadn’t been angry, I never would have run into her outside last night. I never would have been able to offer a comprehensive London tour if I were working. I’m more than happy with how things have turned out so far.

  “Wow.” London stops at the end of the pedway to stare at the sights before her. “I have hundreds of pictures, I’ve looked online at everything I could feast my eyes upon, but nothing does this beautiful city any justice.”

  If she saw the breath-taking view I’m looking at now, I doubt she’d agree. The wonder in her eyes, the excitement on her face as she absorbs her surroundings is more magnificent than any sight I’ve ever seen.

  “A true beauty,” I say, not looking anywhere but at her.

  London begins walking again, and I follow because how can I not. Lucky for us, it’s still late morning, and most people are working, so there’s no line to board the London Eye. “The stars at night are a thing of beauty, as well,” I tell her after paying for our tickets, and we are escorted into the glass enclosure with one other couple.

  “I have a confession,” she whispers as we begin to move. “I’m terrified of heights.” Her voice squeaks like a mouse as we start our ascent into the sky.

  Wrapping an arm around her waist and stepping into her back, I hold her close. “Why would you do this to yourself then?” I’m a bit frustrated that she would risk stressing herself so much when I can feel her body v
ibrating in my hold.

  “Because, how can I come to London and not do this? I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” I don’t know if she can tell or not, but her voice is even shaking, and her face has gone pale.

  “London,” I say, bringing a finger under her chin to turn her head. Her eyes are wide as she stares up at me.

  Lowering my head slowly, I give her a chance to pull back before I sip at her lips. Her body turns in my embrace, and I press her into the glass, deepening the kiss to distract London and also because I can’t keep my hands from roaming her body. Landing on her derrière and massaging the globes in my hands, I feel the wheel begin to move. I’ve got London so lost in the moment, she doesn’t realize what’s happening until I pull away.

  Gazing down at her, I groan at her matching lust-filled stare. I’d kill to lift her skirt and ride her right here, but it’s not appropriate, and I have the feeling she’d object. Instead, I carefully turn her around, so she’s facing the city over the river.

  Her audible gasp makes me grin. “Oh, Quinn.” Fuck. Her sighing my name is almost as good as her ass in my palms. “It’s breath-taking.”

  Gliding her thick hair to the side, I lay tender kisses along the column of her neck as we leisurely move along the wheel. When she leans back into me, I can’t help my body's response. My dick hardens, and my hands tighten on her hips as I grind my shaft into her back. Letting her know just what I’d like to be doing with her right now.

  “I think,” she murmurs before rotating to face me, “I’d regret it very much if we didn’t explore this.” She stares shyly up at me from beneath thick lashes.

  “There is nothing I’d like more, pet.” Capturing her lips with my own, I seal the deal with a kiss. I’m not sure there’s much that could have stopped me from trying to convince her to let this happen, but having her acquiescence makes it so much sweeter.