Meet Me in London

by Georgia Toffolo

  She looked deep into his eyes. Saw the truth there, the desire. Saw this chance to grasp something she wanted. For five minutes. Or fifty. For now, at least.

  Maybe it was time she took a damned risk and lived for the moment instead of always thinking about protecting herself from the future.

  What would Nana Norma do? With an uncertain future and a chance for some fleeting joy?

  Live.

  So, she gripped his shirt in her fist, tiptoed forward and slid her mouth over his.

  13

  THE FIRST TOUCH of her lips was enough to send Oliver’s lust into super-drive. She made him forget everything else, but her. Made his focus laser-sharp on her, and blind to everything else. He pressed her against the glass railing, molding his body to hers. He could feel her curves, the press of her breasts against his chest. The gentle parting of her legs to let him closer and closer still.

  He imagined stripping her clothes off, item by item, taking his time to unwrap her. He imagined how she would look in his bed, her dark hair flared on his pillow, her eyes heavy with sex. He imagined tracing his fingers, and then his tongue, across her body, kissing her most intimate parts.

  “Oliver,” she moaned as she opened her mouth to him, her tongue dancing with his as she wound her fingers into his hair. His hands went to her waist, fingers sliding under her sweater to the soft silk skin underneath. Her lips were still cold from the November night but hot from need. She tasted of hope and freedom, of lush desire unfolding under his touch. She moaned against him, urging him on. He traced butterfly strokes up her rib cage and she curled into him, twisting her body so her breast met his palm.

  The kiss was fire. Breath. Heat. A melding of wants and needs, a desperate exploration. Possession. The minute he’d seen Andrew and Peter talking to her he’d felt a feral need to claim her as his. And ever since that hug in her apartment he’d been desperate to taste her again. And more. God yes, he wanted all of it, all of her.

  She moved against him, pressing hard against his body, kissing a hot wet trail from his mouth to his neck in hungry gasps, making him writhe against her. An image of Peter and the way her ex had looked at her flashed through his head. Oliver cursed and found her mouth again, using her desperate kisses to wipe away the picture, wanting to brand his name on her lips, on her skin. No one else would ever kiss her like this. Want her like this. No one.

  “My Victoria,” he growled as he crushed her against the railing.

  But when he slipped his fingers underneath the lace bra cup she went completely still. Reluctantly, he drew his mouth from hers, his breath ragged. “You OK with this?”

  She nodded and shook her head at the same time. Her eyes were wild with desire, a rough swelling of her lips. She looked utterly and thoroughly kissed. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “I... We have to stop.”

  “Yes, of course. Anyone could be watching.” Any of the board members could come in, his staff. His mother. Andrew. It wasn’t exactly a private place.

  She leaned her head against his chest. “I mean, it’s all happening so quickly. We need to slow down.”

  “Got you. Yes.” She wasn’t saying no. She just had a different gear than him and that was OK. But for him it was never going to be just a kiss. And it was never going to be enough. No matter how much he fought it, this thing they were developing was more complex than just physical attraction.

  And she was right to make them consider their actions. She’d been hurt before by a man who’d broken promises and betrayed her. It would take time to grow that trust again. Oliver had time. He was a patient man when it came to getting what he wanted. He could do the long game in business so why not in his personal life?

  When she’d asked him earlier what his perfect woman would be like he’d almost blurted out her name, her qualities. My Victoria. Which had rattled him to the core. But talking about his grandparents’ relationship had made him understand how precious it was to grab a chance at something. No matter how fleeting. To grasp joy when it came.

  She stroked his jaw and looked up at him with lust-soaked eyes that he wanted to dive into. “I’m sure you have things to do tonight? Go visit your dad. Tell your parents I love the ring and am honored to wear it. And that Nana Norma sounds like one hell of a woman.”

  “It will make their night to hear that.” He wasn’t going to push it any further. She wasn’t running scared so that had to be a good thing. “When—?”

  She understood the subtext. “I don’t know. Call me. I’ll text you. Something.”

  But she was smiling. There was no regret in her voice. She wasn’t running away, or trembling.

  She looked almost in control, which was more than he could say about the way he felt when he was with her. He wanted to press her against the railing, strip her naked and make love to her. He wanted to wake up with her. He didn’t know if he wanted it for fifty years, but tomorrow morning would be fine. And the next day. And the day after that.

  But his Victoria wanted a slow burn. She needed to develop trust, he got that. She didn’t think this could be real.

  He just had to make her believe it could.

  * * *

  “How are the show plans coming along?” Sara asked a few days later in the quiet lull in the bar just after opening and before the lunchtime rush.

  “I’ve just had Nisha on the phone in a panic about not being able to find any black buttons the right size for one of her dresses. Jasmine’s gone so quiet I think she’s scared half to death and has gone to ground.” Victoria laughed, although it was a little on the hysterical side. “And Billie’s mother’s rung three times to confirm timings. I could sort it all out with them on Friday, but everyone wants answers now. So, in a nutshell we’re moving from excited to fever pitch. God help me by next Saturday. I might need some tranquilizers.”

  “Or alcohol?” Sara brandished a miniature bottle of tequila she was about to hang on one of the branches. “Need a shot?”

  “Not while I’m working.” Even though their contract said they were allowed to drink within reasonable limits while behind the bar she didn’t think it was good luck to be more drunk than her patrons.

  “How’s his lordship?”

  She assumed Sara meant Oliver. “Fine. Lovely, in fact.”

  She hadn’t heard from him in a few days and that was absolutely fine. They both needed some time apart. That last kiss had been better than the first but had complicated things. Man, it had been good but it had pushed her so close to the edge she could have made love to him right there in the store. The way her body responded to him, even just the little things like his smile, or the fleeting touch of his skin set her on fire.

  Nana Norma had a lot to answer for.

  But even so, Victoria couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Having a handsome, good man wanting to kiss her had been a real boost to her ego. She just had to work out what to do next. Could it even be possible that things could work out between them? Somehow?

  Hell, Norma wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of what she wanted. The trouble was, Victoria didn’t know what Oliver wanted and whether it was completely at odds with what she could actually provide.

  “Yes, love, what can I get you?” Sara asked a customer who had just walked in.

  Victoria had her back to the door but the second she heard the voice she didn’t have to turn to see who it was. The hairs stood up on her neck. And not in a good way. “Hello, Vicki.”

  “It’s Victoria,” she replied and turned around to give Oliver’s cousin the kind of greeting he was giving her: a cold stare. “Didn’t think this was your kind of place.”

  Andrew looked round at the wine bar with its dark wood floor, gray pigmented walls and edgy industrial vibe. And scowled.

  “You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”

  She looked down at her finger and at the little circ
le of indented skin the ring had made. “It’s not safe to wear something like that in here. I could lose it. It could get damaged.”

  His eyes met hers and she saw a sad emptiness there. “It’s not real, Victoria.”

  Her stomach tightened. He knew. As she’d feared. He was going to out her as a liar. Or a con merchant. Maybe he thought she was stringing Oliver along? That she’d duped him into proposing. Ha. If only he knew.

  “Of course it’s real. We’re a...couple. Oliver is lovely. Whirlwind...romance.” His favorite color is not green or blue, it’s the color of the moon on a cloudless night. He hates his job but he’s doing it for his family. For you, Andrew.

  He shook his head, a snarl on his mouth. “I meant the ring. The one they gave you is just glass. The real one’s in a safe at the bank. They’re just playing a game too. They wouldn’t risk giving something as valuable as that to a barmaid.”

  “Designer.” He really was trying to unsettle her, and she refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing that he had. She tipped her chin up. If she was going to get anywhere in her dream career, she had to start believing in it and that started with claiming it. “And it’s not a game, Andrew. Not to me. Now, can we get you a drink?”

  “No. I just came to find someone, but they’re not here.” He turned to go, but looked back, his eyes piercing her. “It is all a game, Victoria. And you’re going to lose.”

  “God.” Her hands shook as she put an empty glass onto the bar. “He knows, Sara. He knows we’re pretending and he’s going to blow the whole thing.”

  As their friendship had grown Victoria had confided in Sara about what had happened in the accident and the legacy she’d been left with; her inability to create a genetic legacy of her own.

  Sara smiled reassuringly. “Calm down. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just messing with you. He’s jealous and he’s trying to cause trouble.”

  “It was a warning. Maybe I just need to tell Oliver the truth.”

  “And what’s that, my dear?”

  “Huh?” Victoria whirled round.

  Stella put her white Chanel goatskin clutch on the bar and smiled warily. For a diminutive woman she had an aura of gravitas and presence. It seemed she always looked immaculate. Her hair was groomed and neat and there was a slick of lipstick on her lips.

  Today, she was wearing a lemon cashmere sweater and beige trousers, and had a very expensive-looking cream coat hanging from her shoulders as if she’d effortlessly slung it there without thinking. Victoria estimated that just the jumper would have cost the equivalent of her week’s wages, never mind the designer coat. Stella pinned her with a look. “What do you need to tell my boy?”

  Well, wow. Victoria’s gut clenched. Was this a revolving door of Russells today? She was so not ready for this and couldn’t tell Stella any truths without discussing everything with Oliver first. She needed to make sure Eric wasn’t going to be upset, because the last thing she wanted was to make him relapse.

  “She doesn’t want to admit to you and the family but basically, Vicki’s nervous about the opening day.” Sara jumped in and Victoria could have kissed her. “I’m having to talk her off the ledge. She doesn’t think she’s good enough. But we all know she is, right?”

  Inspired. It wasn’t a lie and hinted about the real anxieties she had.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m sure your designs are every bit as good as Oliver says they are. And I imagine if you work here you’ll be equipped to herd a group of teenage girls into order.”

  “You don’t know the girls.” Victoria laughed, grateful that Stella and Sara had so much faith in her. “How’s Eric?”

  “You can always tell when a man’s getting better, they stop being compliant, and start complaining and giving orders. That man has a serious grump at times.” Stella shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line. “I needed a break before I did something bad, like increasing his dosage of laxatives. So, I thought I’d take a trip to see the store and then found myself here.”

  She was deadpan. But funny.

  “Are you meeting Andrew?” Victoria asked as nonchalantly as she could. “He was just in here, said he was looking for someone. I wasn’t expecting it to be you, to be honest.”

  “Andrew? No. But I think I saw him farther down the street crossing the road.”

  Heading to Peter’s? “Maybe he’s meeting someone about the village stalls.”

  “That boy has an agenda all of his own. Don’t mind him, he’s all about the grump too. Russell side of the family—forewarned is forearmed, Victoria. Don’t take any of their crap.” Stella looked down at her hands and then back at Victoria. “My dear, I wondered, I know this is rude of me, but—no.” She shook her head decisively. “No, you wouldn’t. Silly of me, really.”

  “What?” Victoria’s heart clattered. What the hell was she going to be asked to do now?

  “I used to love making clothes when I was younger. Could I have a peek in your studio?”

  That was all? Relief spread through Victoria’s body. “Oh, yes. Of course you can. Sara, can I...?”

  “Sure, we’re not exactly busy. Why don’t you take your time owing and have the rest of the day off? You can get on with your sewing, then too.” Sara’s eyes widened in encouragement.

  “It’s upstairs. Come on up. You’ll have to excuse the mess. With opening day just around the corner I’ve left my things out so I can work on them whenever I have any spare time.”

  Victoria led the way up the stairs silently thanking the fact that she’d woken up this morning, realized the place was a pigsty and whizzed round with the vacuum cleaner and cloth.

  Stella walked through the flat with the air of an estate agent doing an inspection. Victoria wondered how she was going to handle it if Oliver’s mum ran her finger over the mantelpiece and tutted at the dust bunnies.

  But she needn’t have worried. Stella’s eyes softened as she walked into the studio. Her hand went to her chest. “Oh, it’s just how I hoped it would be.”

  She rushed over to the table and smoothed her hand over a bolt of lace the way Victoria did when she found something she coveted, and instantly Victoria’s heart made a space for Oliver’s mother. Someone else who appreciated fabric as much as she did.

  “You have a good eye for quality material, Victoria.” Stella walked to a mannequin and inspected a dress. “I made myself something like this when I was newly married. Well, I say it was something like this, that was the plan. I spent a fortune on the best fabric I could get from Liberty—”

  “I love it there.”

  “Me too. I convinced Eric I was saving us money in the long run by making my own clothes. Remember, we didn’t have eight fashion seasons a year, and throwaway clothes like we do now. Eric liked that I was trying to be frugal...he may be rich but he’s astute and doesn’t like wastefulness.” Stella smiled.

  “One of the reasons I like vintage clothes is because they’re so well-made and designed to last.”

  “Exactly and they suit you.” Stella’s laser gaze appraised Victoria’s pin-curled updo hairstyle and her floral rockabilly dress. She nodded her approval. “But I was a terrible seamstress. The hem was uneven and the sleeves didn’t fit right. They were too blousy and puffy.” She laughed at the memory. “I wanted a dress à la Coco Chanel. But Eric said it looked more like something Coco the clown would wear. It ended up in the dog basket. Most expensive blanket that dog ever had.”

  Victoria laughed at the thought of a dog in puffy sleeves. “I’ve had a lot of failures of my own, trust me.”

  “I seriously doubt that and I bet none of them ended up as dress-ups for the dogs. Damned pooch dragged it everywhere until it fell to pieces. Oh, I love this.” She’d moved on to the next dress.

  “That’s for the bridal collection I’m showing on opening day. Bridesmaid or ball gown or party wear.” It was the dress she�
�d imagined Lily wearing. Simple but classic shift shape with an accentuated waist and soft frill round the hem. The fabric draped beautifully and it perfectly suited Lily’s approach to life: simple and natural.

  “It’s stunning.” Stella walked round examining each piece, but when she came to the wedding dress she stood and gaped. “This is divine. For...you?”

  Victoria was not going to fall into the fairy-tale trap and start to dream and hope for something so completely unattainable. This thing with Oliver was moving fast but it was not going to end with a bouquet and a nice dress and her father walking her up the aisle. “It’s my design, yes.”

  She hoped that would be suitably vague but enough to stop further questioning. Stella was already completely wedded to the idea and was, as people often did, making up her own answers in her head.

  “I can see you in this, walking towards Oliver. But it’s probably bad luck for me to see it.” Even so the woman couldn’t take her eyes from it.

  “Don’t worry, it’s going to be in the show so everyone’s going to see it in a few days.”

  “But they won’t know it’s uniquely yours...for you. You are so talented.”

  Stella certainly knew how to say all the right things, but Victoria hadn’t missed the way the older woman’s eyes wandered to Victoria’s left hand more than once. Looking for the ring, she supposed.

  “Oh, and thank you so very much for the ring. It is absolutely stunning. I hope Oliver mentioned how much I love it? I don’t wear it for work in case it gets damaged. My hands are in and out of hot water too much and I have to move the furniture to mop the floors.”

  “Good girl. Practical too. Nana Norma would love you to have it.”

  “She sounds amazing.”

  “I’m sure she exaggerated half those stories, but they entertained the boys when they were growing up.” The older woman walked along the room peering at the shelves of fabrics and patterns. She beamed at the wedding dreams vision board and nodded as if she’d found a clue in a puzzle.