London Falling (22 page)

Had she done that? No, the alarm stopped and a light went on. She tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Sorry,” Simon said, opening the door. “I couldn’t find parking.” He took the pink cupcake boxes from her when she walked inside. “I could have sworn I didn’t turn on the alarm.”

“Was the private detective out there?”

“Yes. Not the same bloke, though. This one is in a white van.”

“Could he be any more cliché?” she asked.

Simon shrugged his shoulders. “I waved to him as I walked by.”

Aimee laughed. “I wonder why they’re not following you when you leave?”

“Because I lose them with my brilliant driving skills.”

“Right.”

Simon looked so adorable. His eyes sparkled with humor, and he held the pink cupcake boxes like they contained expensive crystal. Would he hold her as if she were a delicate object? She forced her mind away from that thought by turning her gaze into the room, only to be met by the scene of their previous kiss. Simon followed her gaze to the couch, and when he looked at her again, his eyes darkened.

He wanted her, but did he want her specifically, or was she just convenient? The only available female in his house tonight.

“Thank you for helping me tonight,” she said.

Simon shrugged again. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. I know the risk you took to help me. It was unexpected. But welcome.”

“Every time I’m around you I do something unexpected.” He shook his head and muttered, “Bloody Stockholm Syndrome.”

It was the second time that night he’d said that. She didn’t think he knew what Stockholm Syndrome meant. Didn’t that mean you had been kidnapped and turned in favor of the kidnapper?

Oh.

He dropped the boxes on a dark side table and moved closer. “Thank you for trying to take the blame for running the red light tonight.” He stepped even closer.

“At least you didn’t get a ticket. Although that cop didn’t seem too happy about it.” He was so close she could see the scar on his brow. She really needed to move away from him. “How did you get your scar?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” His face was tense, but his eyes were searching. “You have to make up your mind.”

“About what?” she whispered. But she knew.

He moved his hands over her shoulders in a gentle caress. “About whether or not we’re going to sleep together.”

All of the electrons in her body leapt toward him in one science-defying leap, but her logical brain dragged them back. Wrong man. Wrong time.

Wrong situation.

“I want you. And I think you want me too.”

Aimee shook her head. What a bunch of phony baloney to get her into bed.

He put his finger on her lips. “You have to make up your mind. I thought you were a strong, confident woman. You don’t strike me as the type to let her fears get the best of her.”

She was strong, damn-it. She just couldn’t stand it if someone thought poorly of her. If she was a terrible lover–and all the evidence pointed in that direction–he would know it. There was no way to hide it from him.

But hadn’t this whole trip been about becoming normal and learning to have a normal relationship with a normal guy? He was just a different guy than she’d been expecting.

His hands on her shoulder were heavy and strong, but would they protect her or hurt her? Hoping for an answer, she searched his blue eyes, but there were no answers. No reassurances that she would be okay. He lifted one hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, and she realized that his fingers were trembling.

She made up her mind.

His eyes flared, as if he could read her thoughts. “You’re sure?”

No. But she refused to think about it. Leaning on her tip-toes, she spread her fingers across his rough cheek and pressed her lips to his. In response, he tugged her along his length, welcoming her initiative. He caressed the back of her thigh through the thin material of her fishnet stockings and lifted her even closer.

Everything about the moment felt right. One hundred and eighty degrees from the way she’d felt with Rodney. This was the experience she needed. She could practice with him. Learn from him. And because he lived an entire continent away, she’d never have to see him again, or have to face him after she revealed her inexperience. It was the perfect solution to her dilemma.

Simon pulled away. She thought his blue eyes couldn’t get any darker, but they did. “Are you sure?” he asked again.

No. “Yes.” Please let him enjoy it.

He let out his breath, as if he’d been holding it in anticipation of her answer. But that couldn’t be. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door. “We’re doing this proper.” His hand was smooth and warm where his fingers wrapped around hers. He led her up the stairs, past the study, and to the door of his room where he stopped. Pressing her up against the wall next to the door, he kissed her while his hands slid down the zipper of her coat.

“Too many clothes,” he said. He trailed his lips along her neck.

Goosebumps made her shiver.

Arching her back, Aimee reached behind her to tug the sleeves off her arms. Simon’s hands followed the coat down her arms, and he let it fall to the floor. She tugged on the buttons of his jacket, revealing the blue dress shirt that stretched across the width of his shoulders. Why did a man in a dress shirt turn her on so much? He was like James Bond and Bill Gates (yes, she had a thing for him, and she knew it was weird) all tied up in one sexy, smart and powerful combination.

He shrugged out of his jacket, but he didn’t reach for her. Instead, he searched her eyes. It was all she could do not to glare at him and say, “What?’

What did he find so lacking in her?

But he smiled, and all her fears melted away.

He possessed her with his kiss, making her forget about everything except the pressure of his lips on her mouth. He slid her along the wall, through the door, and backed her onto the bed. The bed, the beautiful bed.

She couldn’t believe she was about to have sex on that gorgeous bed. With his knees, Simon straddled her, but his weight felt good. Dim light from the street lamps sneaked between the curtains and illuminated the angles of his face.

“My boots …”

He ignored her plea. Instead, he teased her mouth. Umm. Where had he learned to kiss like that? She was having trouble keeping her thoughts together. He slid his legs, one at a time, down the bed and placed his full weight upon her. She arched her hips against him. Trailed her hands under his shirt to trace the muscles of his bare back. His skin was so smooth and warm there, in such contrast to the rough texture of his five-o-clock shadow.

She lifted her leg to allow his weight to settle more deeply against her core, but her foot wouldn’t move.

“My boot is stuck,” she said. She tried to move her leg again, but the comforter had snagged her heel.

He lifted his head. “We definitely can’t allow that.” He lifted his weight from hers, moved to the end of the bed and untangled her foot. He held her bent leg in the air. “I don’t know whether to leave these on or take them off.”

His eyebrow was raised in a question, but a tiny smile snuck out of the corner of his mouth. He was adorable, and that smile made her want things she had no right wanting.

“Off.”

“I don’t know. They’ve been driving me crazy for days. There’s something about a woman in high heeled boots that turns me on. Perhaps we should leave them?”

She had to get them off, because the sheets were going to get dirty. She lifted onto her elbows and knocked into his head, just as he was shifting down to kiss her. “Ow.” Thankfully, they hadn’t smacked too hard.

“Okay, no need to main me. I’ll take them off.” He kissed her back down onto the bed. Placing a kiss behind her knee, he slowly dragged the zipper down, kissing each inch of skin he revealed. He tugged on the boot and threw it on the floor then repeated the same with the other side.

He ran his hands up her legs, behind her thighs and cupped her bottom.

When he kissed her through her wool skirt, she sucked in her breath.

“I hate this skirt,” he said. She did too. She wanted it gone. Now. “I hate this skirt, because every time I see you in it, it makes me want to shove it up your thighs and taste every inch of skin underneath.” He moved his hands from her bottom. His fingers found the zipper on the side. Within seconds, he’d tugged off her skirt, underwear and hose, leaving her exposed from the waist down.

He sat back on his heels and gazed at her. He looked intent and confident and too good-looking for words. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life, and she was terrified she was never going to measure up.

He leaned down and brushed kisses over her abdomen, moving lower and lower, unsettling her with his intent. He was still fully dressed, while she lay half-clothed and vulnerable beneath him. She shifted, pushing him back up.

Slowly, she slipped the buttons of his shirt open. He sat up and shrugged out of the shirt. His skin gleamed in the dim light. She brushed her fingers over the hard planes of his abdomen, watching as his muscles reacted to her touch. Dropping her hands, she focused on his belt, slipping it from his belt loops and then dropping it on the floor. But when she moved to unbutton his pants, he stopped her.

“Not so fast.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her swollen lips. “I’m trying to make this good for you.” His voice was deep and steady, making her more aware of her own uneven breathing. She didn’t like the fact that he was able to make her lose control so easily.

As he kissed her, she caressed him through the cloth, and then grew bolder, slipping her hand inside to arouse him even further. She was rewarded with a deep catch of his breath.

But when he slipped his hands to her thighs, she tensed up.

“Relax,” he said.

She tried. She really tried, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what he was thinking, and how vulnerable she was. She closed her eyes, but her brain wouldn’t stop working.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Let me make this good.”

Didn’t he understand how badly she needed to make this good for him?

No way could she go through life with someone like Simon thinking she was bad at sex. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. At the same time, she redoubled her efforts to arouse him.

His breath came in ragged gasps. Soon, he’d stripped off his pants and grabbed a condom from the bedside table. She found herself stretched out underneath him, his weight an exciting burden.

“I knew I should have stopped you,” he said. And then he filled her.

What did he mean by that? Had she done something wrong? She knew she needed to relax and focus on the sensations, but she couldn’t stop thinking. Should she move her legs? What should she do with her arms? Was this good for him?

And then it was over, and she couldn’t help feeling like she’d disappointed him. She turned her face into his shoulder and cursed herself with every ounce of her being. Why couldn’t she just let go? Just like she’d expected, she totally sucked. And now he knew it too. She’d give anything to take back the last moments of time. Erase it from his brain. Instead, she pushed against his shoulder. “I can’t breathe.”

She felt him nod. As soon as he lifted his weight from her she turned away from him. She couldn’t stand to see the disappointment–or, God forbid, laughter–in his eyes.

She moved to sit up, but his arm snaked around her, holding her in place.

“Wait,” he said.

While she waited for him to say something, he pulled the comforter, which had somehow gotten tangled up at the bottom of the bed, over both of their shoulders. He held her against him, his breath warm against her shoulder.

“Next time will be better. I just need a few minutes.”

Next time? There wasn’t going to be a next time! No, once in a lifetime was more than enough humiliation.

Agonizing minutes went by.

Slowly, his breathing became more even and louder. He was sleeping, the bastard. But when she tried to lift his arm so she could escape to the safety of her room, he only tightened his hold.

Damn it! She had to sleep with the one guy in the world who wanted to cuddle after sex. And he wasn’t even conscious for it! Aimee scrunched her eyes to hold back the tears. She’d wait for him to loosen his grip and then escape downstairs. If only she could go all the way home to Seattle.

One thing was for sure. She was never going to humiliate herself like this again.

Aimee woke with a start, and her stomach dropped to her ankles. She was in bed with Simon. The room was still dark, and his breathing was steady, but at least he was still asleep.

She slipped out from the covers into the freezing room, and she immediately wanted to crawl back into the warm bed. Looking around the floor, she found her skirt and a boot. She slipped on her skirt and quietly searched for the rest of her clothes, finally finding her underwear and her other boot on the other side of the bed. Next to Simon.

He was sleeping on his stomach with one aim snuggled beneath the pillow and the other bent at an angle near his face. In his sleep, he looked so relaxed. And adorable. His blond hair was tousled every which way and his lips were parted slightly.

She’d so wanted sex with him to be good.

She’d known she was going to suck at it. Why hadn’t she listened to her intuition and just told Simon to leave her alone? Both times she’d had sex had been terrible. Horrible, embarrassing experiences. At least this time, she had been into it. So why couldn’t she just let go and enjoy it? Why wasn’t she normal?

She couldn’t face him again.

She turned and headed out the door, quietly shutting it behind her. Half-way down the stairs, however, something–a sound perhaps–caused her to stop in her tracks. “Cupcake?” she whispered.

“Oh!” It was a woman’s voice.

Aimee’s heart sped up to marathon pace. She peered at the dark shape at the bottom of the stairs, and the shape took on the form of a woman. An older woman. Someone who might be the perfect age to be Simon’s stepmom, if Simon’s father had remarried again. Had he? God, she’d just slept with a man and she knew nothing about him.