Chapter One
Jessica
Dresses come in three lengths, as far as I'm concerned: stay-away-from-me length, buy-me-a-drink length, and take-me-home-with-you length. Mine is somewhere between the last two, though I don't intend to entice anyone to buy me a drink, much less take me home.
Old habit, I suppose.
I lean forward to the cabbie and say, "Mayfair, please."
He nods, smiling at me and Dani, my roommate, in the rearview mirror. Dani pulls a bit at her own dress, as if desperately trying to make the fabric appear a few good inches longer. Her skirt is definitely take-me-home-with-you length. She looks as uncomfortable in it as she was when she first tried it on, but she insisted on wearing it. That's what college girls wear, she said, with an enthusiasm that only a freshman can muster. The red fabric does look gorgeous on her, though, contrasting beautifully with her dark, very short bob.
I stare out the window, nostalgic about my own college days, which ended only one month ago. I moved from California to London right after graduating from Stanford. I have loved this city to pieces since the first time I was here. Two months later, my fascination hasn't lessened one bit. I'm starting to think it never will. I love everything about it: from the never-slowing pulse of the city to the downright moody weather. There is no reason to dislike London.
Well, maybe one, but I'd rather not think about it right now. However, Dani's next words force me to do just that.
"I hope Parker isn't there already. He doesn't like it when I'm late."
I turn to her slowly. "Parker is joining us at the bar tonight?" I ask.
"Yes." She blushes furiously. "Sorry, Jess . . . forgot to tell you."
I sigh, leaning back in my seat. I haven’t seen Parker in a while, but I know I can’t avoid him; he is Dani's cousin, after all. I met him a few months ago when he was in the US, working with Dani's brother, James. I think my reaction when I first saw him is best summed up by the word stunned. I can think of a few more words to describe him, though. Scorching hot. Infuriating idiot. The last part became obvious only after I was around him several times.
I straighten up when we enter the bar, pushing my long, blonde hair to one side. Though the decor is minimalist, with a dozen or so low tables surrounded by couches, the place has a far more elegant feel than I expected. All the tables are occupied, except the one right next to the bar. Dani says she'll join me there in a second; she needs to go to the bathroom. I stop at the bar and order a cocktail—a mojito—then proceed to the table and slump on the couch, running my fingers on the dark leather beneath me. I swallow the first sip, close my eyes, and savor the moment. I've done this a lot since I moved here. But patting oneself on the back from time to time should be mandatory, especially when there's no one else around to do it. Achievements should be celebrated. Best with booming music and tequila shots. But a mojito in a quiet, fancy bar will do as well. I suppose this is how responsible people celebrate. Which is exactly what I'm trying to be. I have the job I want at a modern art and history museum, and I moved to this city I love. It's a good feeling, being independent at twenty-two. I'm still working on the being responsible part.
"I want a gin and tonic." I hear a man's voice behind me order the bartender and instantly open my eyes. That British accent, my God. I know who the voice belongs to. Low and commanding and somehow always strong enough to get everyone around him to do what he wants.
And apparently quicken my pulse.
When he finally comes into view, I suck in a deep breath. His dark blond hair is slightly longer than the last time I saw him, and it frames his handsome face perfectly. He's wearing a black suit—an Armani, I think—with a white dress shirt underneath it.
All man.
The kind of man that makes any decent woman fantasize for hours about doing less-than-decent things to him. Me included.
His blue eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, and as he lazily undoes the only button of his jacket, throwing it on the couch opposite me, says, "Finally ran out of excuses to avoid me, Jessica?"
"I wasn't avoiding you, Parker. I was busy. I’ve had lots of things to take care of since I moved here. Important things."
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, saying, "So how are you finding London? Is it living up to your dream?" He eyes me from head to toe as he sits down, and every inch of my skin catches fire under his gaze.
"I should say so," I say, sipping from my mojito. "The apartment is beautiful. I love my job at the museum. Men around here aren't too bad, either."
This catches his attention. In a fraction of a second, his eyes snap up from my hips and meet my own eyes. He puts his gin and tonic on the table.
"Been hunting already? Be careful who you pick, Jessica. I might not be around like last time to keep your spontaneity from hurting you."
Now this is the Parker I know.
Presumptuous.