British Bad Boys

by Nancy Warren

  Phrases like that should come with subtitles, as in a foreign movie. “I’d like to see you again,” he’d say. Translation: I’m really not that into you. Don’t expect more. “I’ll call you,” meaning You’ll never hear from me again. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.” I’ve already forgotten your name.

  It didn’t matter. Hadn’t she hooked up with him exactly with a casual affair in mind? All she wanted was some uncomplicated fun. A chance to prove to herself and her battered ego that she was still a contender.

  So even as she rolled her eyes and scoffed when Max made some comment about how well she and Jack had hit it off, she felt warm all over.

  And if she carried her cell phone with her everywhere, never let it out of her sight for a second, no one had to know why.

  Somehow she’d fallen into the business of the estate. Well, with Max for a sister, it was impossible not to. The woman was so full of energy and plans for raising revenue-a surprising number of which seemed to include food, and therefore Rachel’s input-that she kept busy. Too busy to mope and feel sorry for herself. Even better, she was appreciated. George had appeared horrified at first to find Rachel was the chief caterer on the estate, but she hazarded a shrewd guess that Max had informed him that work would be good for her poor, depressed sister, because he never argued again. What he did was thank her, repeatedly and sincerely, for all her help.

  It had been a long time since anyone had taken the time to thank her.

  And he did it so charmingly. If his charm was inherited, no wonder his family had managed to thrive through centuries of turbulent history. Her sister, she had to admit, had chosen herself a great guy. How nice to know they were still out there.

  Max had hinted that she and George weren’t getting married until Hart House was operating in the black. How could she not want her sister to be happy? So she cooked, she catered, she sourced local suppliers, she planned.

  She was in the old stables with Maxine, working out details of a corporate retreat for a big computer manufacturer who wanted to put on a medieval fair, including jousting. Her job was to create a menu of authentic medieval food, then figure out how to feed it to three hundred workers who’d no doubt be exhausted from jousting, fencing, archery, barging on the river, and learning to party like it was 1399.

  “It’s going to be simple fare, obviously,” she said to Max. “Back then, they’d roast whatever animals they’d raised or hunted, eat local produce. No potatoes, obviously, since they hadn’t discovered America yet. Honey for sweetening, I imagine. I wonder what spices were imported then? I’ll check.” She was scribbling notes to herself when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Jack Flynt here.” He had a business voice on, she noted. “Did I ring you at a good time?”

  Since he sounded so businesslike, and she was so happy to hear from him, she felt flirtatious. Turning away from Max, she took a few steps toward the open door, hoping her nosy sib would assume she was searching out better reception. “It depends what you have in mind,” she said.

  A short pause. “Naturally, I rang you to make lewd, filthy suggestions.”

  “Then you picked the perfect time,” she said.

  He laughed. “I may not say them”-he dropped his voice-“since I’m about to go into a meeting with the Italian trade commissioner, but I’m definitely thinking them.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted.

  “Can you come up to town on Saturday? We’ll poke around and I’ll take you to dinner.”

  He’d called. And when he’d said he wanted to see her again, he’d actually meant he wanted to see her again. She wanted to throw her phone in the air and scream with excitement. “Yes, I’d love it.”

  “Great. Bring your toothbrush. I’ll drive you back down on Sunday.”

  “A whole weekend? That sounds serious.”

  “Once I get you naked, my sweet, I’ll show you serious.” He raised his voice. “Yes, I’ll be right there,” and then a few phrases in Italian. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

  “Ciao.”

  She turned to find Max standing much closer than was even remotely polite. “Was that Jack?”

  “You have no subtlety whatsoever, do you?”

  “Too many years in television. Well?”

  Rachel nodded, wondering if she looked as pleased with herself as she felt. “He’s invited me up to London for the weekend.”

  “Oh, my God. I knew it. You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, unable to stop the smile that bloomed.

  “And?”

  “It was fantastic.”

  “Best ever?”

  The grin widened. “No contest. I swear, one more orgasm would have killed me.” She sighed, already thinking ahead. “A whole weekend.”

  Max’s delight dimmed a notch and a worried frown creased her forehead. “You know his reputation, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sister dear, you warned me about him. I get it. But you know what? I don’t care. He wants a casual, no-strings-attached affair and so do I.” She stuck her phone back on the clip at her waist. “You were right to manipulate me into coming here.”

  “I didn’t-”

  She silenced Max with a look.

  “It was for your own good,” Max mumbled.

  “I know. And I’ve finally had a chance to get over myself enough to see that I’m free. Free of a man who didn’t deserve me and a restaurant that wasn’t mine. So maybe I’m not such a failure after all.”

  “Hallelujah. She gets it,” Max said, throwing up her hands.

  “Maybe I can take some time for myself for a while. Time to have fun and hang out with unsuitable men who are great in bed. I can find another job. One day, I still hope to open my own restaurant. Until then, I can learn from better chefs. Maybe take some management training, so I won’t make the same mistakes I’ve witnessed.”

  “Wow, three weeks in England and you’re a changed woman.”

  “I really needed this, Max.” She felt her eyes go misty as she walked up to her sister. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  Maxine’s eyes filled, too. “Always.”

  Rachel had been to London before. Once to take a course from a renowned chef and once when she’d come to visit her sister when Max was on location. But she’d never looked forward to London quite so much. She’d never had an amazing lover waiting.

  Her train arrived at Victoria Station Saturday at noon. And there he was.

  At a conservative estimate, there were three gazillion people in the station, rushing here and there, or loitering waiting for their trains, eating at one of the cafés, or yacking on phones in every language ever spoken.

  Among all that flow of humanity, she spotted Jack almost immediately. For a moment it was as though there was a hiccup in time. There was silence, the world stilled, all those cell phone talkers were muted, all the rush of motion halted. There was only she and the man who had so easily helped her find her way back to herself.

  She walked forward, so did he, and time was allowed to do the same.

  Would he kiss her in front of all these people? Did she want him to?

  He did. And she did. And as their lips met, she leaned into him. Oh, he was already so familiar, and her body wanted to get as close as it could to him.

  “Hi,” he said, taking her weekender bag in one hand and linking his fingers in hers with his other. “What do you want to do today? See the changing of the guard? Visit the Tower? Madame Tussauds?”

  “We could, but I saw all that last time I was here.”

  “What about Notting Hill, then? Excellent shops, interesting architecture, good places to eat.”

  “In what part of London do you live?”

  He grinned down at her. “Notting Hill.”

  She grinned back. “Excellent choice.”

  “Good. We can drop your bag off and then go out and see the sights.”

  She gawked like a tourist as they drove through London traffi
c. She loved the excitement of the city. The splendid old buildings, the surprising green spaces, the London bobbies, the Tube stations, the black cabs.

  His home was a brick townhouse in a row of same, all looking Victorian and genteel. Inside, his décor tended to modern, sleek and much neater than any other man she’d ever come across. This was the kind of place where she knew she wouldn’t have to shut her eyes before venturing into the bathroom, or do some Yogic, centering breathing before opening the refrigerator.

  “Do you want anything before we venture out?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen.

  If a woman was launched on a short-term affair that centered around sex, then she wasn’t going to waste her time on salmon sandwiches and tea. She stepped closer. Looked him in the eye. “I want you.”

  “Thank God,” he said, and swept her into his arms. “I thought you might think I was a randy bloke who wanted nothing but a shag.”

  She laughed, half breathless as he pushed her coat off her shoulders and pulled her sweater over her head. “Aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. But I didn’t want you seeing through me quite so quickly.”

  There was a pool of sunlight splashed on the floor of the living area. It made the hardwood gleam and brought out the rich reds and blues in a Turkish rug. There he led her, pausing to flip a quilt she hadn’t noticed from the back of a gray couch. With one flick he had it open and floating to the ground like a picnic blanket.

  The thought flashed through her mind that it was a familiar move. And the quilt was washable. Very practical for a quickie in the living room. One of the intricate wooden boxes arranged on a nearby shelf no doubt contained condoms and there was a handy box of tissues tucked in behind it.

  A flicker of…something-sadness? regret?-she banished. She’d gone into this with her eyes open. She knew what he was. He was a good-time guy, a charming rogue who’d love her and leave her unless she left him first. Which, she reminded herself, was exactly what she wanted. Some fun, some great sex, some laughs, no tears or recriminations when it was over.

  And a man who had a sex station, likely in every room of his home, was a man you could trust to run an affair smoothly.

  She helped herself to a cushion off the couch, in a pattern that harmonized with the rug. Stepped out of the rest of her clothes and sank cross-legged to the cushion, watching with pleasure as he stripped.

  “Which little box holds the condoms?” she asked him.

  If he was surprised that she’d guessed, he showed it only by the slightest flicker of an eyelid. “The middle one.”

  “What’s in the others?”

  “Why don’t you have a look?”

  Knowing a dare when she heard one, she rose, as gracefully as a naked, not-in-very-good-shape woman can rise from a cross-legged position, and walked to the three boxes, knowing he was watching her, feeling his eyes on her larger-than-necessary ass. She went for the middle box first, and based on their last encounter, removed two condoms. Then she opened the second box, wondering if, like Pandora, she might end up wishing she hadn’t peeked.

  But there was nothing more threatening than a vibrator with a variety of attachments. She glanced at him over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised.

  He grinned at her. “Definitely not something you need,” he said.

  She lifted the lid of the third box and found a selection of flavored and scented lubricants and massage oils.

  “Not bad for living room décor,” she said, feeling happy that he didn’t have anything that went beyond her comfort zone.

  “Bring over whatever you like the look of.”

  “Maybe later,” she said, and launched herself at him.

  This sex did not need any aides.

  His hands were all over her, hers all over him. He pushed her into the sunlight, so she was utterly exposed to him, and he seemed to glory in her.

  Never had she felt so beautiful or delighted that her body responded so quickly. He kissed her deeply, running his hands over and over her breasts and belly. When he reached between her thighs she opened for him, sighing at his touch, blooming beneath his fingers. Her first orgasm took the edge off but also dropped her to a deeper level of sensation. Her skin was ultrasensitive, so she was aware of the subtle heat of the sun coming through the window, of the soft cotton of the quilt beneath her, aware of each quivering inch of her body as he touched her.

  He didn’t take the time to play as he had before; she sensed that his urgency was too keen. He took her, straight on, pushing in and up, filling her, reaching so deep inside that he began to feel like a part of her.

  She watched his face change as his passion built, the way his eyes darkened and seemed to look inside her. Tiny sounds were coming from her throat, little sighs and helpless moans. She was climbing, trying to wait for him, but so excited she wasn’t sure she could.

  “Let go,” he panted, kissing her, licking into her mouth. “Let go.”

  As he said it he changed the angle so he was rubbing her clit and nudging her G-spot, and it didn’t take anything else to send her over the edge with a wild cry. Her body went crazy, bucking and rolling, pushing up, up, even as he thrust. She was clinging to him, feeling her body spasm around him, and then the motion grew even more frenzied as he threw back his head and groaned, spilling deep inside of her.

  She wrapped her legs around him and held him tight against her. “Don’t leave,” she whispered, and he seemed to understand what she needed, continuing to move until she cried out once more against his shoulder.

  “Any more waiting in the wings?” he whispered.

  She snorted. Then started to laugh. “I can’t help it.”

  “Darling, don’t ever change.”

  “I was a little…uh, needy, I guess.”

  “I was fairly needy myself.” He sighed. “Now I’ve got a few of my wits back, I can kiss you properly.” And he did. So properly that it was another hour before they were ready to leave.

  “Should I dress for dinner?” she called out to him from the bathroom upstairs. It was en suite to his bedroom, which was as sleek, masculine, and neat as the other rooms.

  “Yes.”

  She had no idea how fancy dinner would be, so she’d packed a classic little black dress and borrowed a red pashmina shawl from Maxine. Her quick shower had caused her hair to bush out, of course, but she was used to that, and pinned it back with quick efficiency.

  She felt well-sexed, as attractive as it was possible for her to look, and excited about the rest of the weekend. She had no idea what the rules were for this kind of casual relationship, but a whole weekend with Jack seemed like an enormous treat and one she wasn’t going to waste a moment of. By next weekend, she might well have been supplanted by an acting student from RADA or a European banking colleague.

  When she emerged downstairs, he was talking on his cell phone. He waved to her and kissed his fingers to his mouth to her, Italian style.

  “No, of course I understand.”

  She could tell it was a woman he was talking to and turned away to examine the books in his bookcase. She couldn’t have said, afterward, whether he read philosophy or graphic comics-all her attention was on eavesdropping.

  Instead of furtively skulking around the corner, Jack followed her into the room, phone still glued to his ear. He seemed to be doing a lot of reassuring and calming. Finally he said, “Look. Everything’s going to be fine. Try not to worry so much. All right. Love you, too. Good-bye, darling.”

  Her spine stiffened. Every muscle in her body stiffened. Darling? Were these the rules of casual dating in Notting Hill? You banged one woman and within the hour were calling somebody else darling?

  When he clicked off the phone, she smiled brightly. “I hope I’m not overdressed.”

  He’d opened his mouth to speak and now closed it. Blinking at her. “Don’t you want to know who that was?”

  She kept her face carefully neutral. “I don’t think so.”

  He still looked
at her oddly. “Well, you should. It was my sister.” He grimaced. “She’s having second thoughts.”

  “Second thoughts?” It was his sister. Yeah, sure it was. But what if it was his sister? Wouldn’t she feel like a suspicious fool. “What do you mean she’s having second thoughts?”

  “The wedding. The one you’re catering? She’s having second thoughts about getting married.”

  “Oh. That sister.” Okay, so it really was his sister, and he was right. If the wedding was off, Maxine was going to be seriously peeved. A lot of work had gone into that catering plan and the arrangements. The wedding, which would naturally be heavily featured in the society pages, was going to be a real showstopper, the kind of event that could set a trend. Maxine had hoped to see a lot of big, expensive weddings grace the grounds of Hart House. If Jack’s sister cancelled…

  “How serious do you think she is? Would she actually cancel the wedding?”

  “Hard to tell with Chloe. She’s chucked a wobbly in front of Mario, her fiancé. If he didn’t bend to her will, she’ll be in a right snit.”

  “Wow. I hope for George and Maxine’s sake she goes ahead with her wedding.” Rachel wasn’t entirely sure what wobblies were, but felt confident Max wouldn’t want them chucked at Hart House.

  “Let’s not worry about it now. She and the fiancé have had a row. Most likely they’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.”

  Rachel probably ought to have been worried for Hart House’s sake, but she was too glad to find that the woman Jack had called darling was in fact his sister.

  Not that she was in any doubt about his lifestyle, or under any illusions about the future, but it was nice to know he had more class than to talk to one lover in the presence of another.

  “Right, we can catch a few shops, and then we’ll go to dinner.”

  “Sounds good. I worked up quite an appetite.”

  “Do you fancy walking? You’ll see a bit of the area that way.”

  “Oh, yeah. That would be great.” They set out and she saw the market stalls full of everything from produce to third and fourth-hand evening bags. The street was busy with Smart Cars and Mini Coopers and cabs. They passed bakeries, independent record shops, tiny restaurants, and a sea of very trendy pedestrians.