London Falling (The Falling Series)

by Audrey Carlan

  London Falling

  by Audrey Carlan

  dpgroup.org

  Text copyright © 2014 by Audrey Carlan

  ISBN Electronic

  ISBN-10: 0991535138

  ISBN-13:978-0-9915351-3-2

  Print ISBN

  ISBN-10: 0991535146

  ISBN-13:978-0-9915351-4-9

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic format without expressed permission by the author.

  dpgroup.org

  Dedication

  Jeana – Michele – Denise

  No matter what happens in life, we will always have each other.

  We’re bound by blood, our memories, and love.

  I’m blessed to call each of you my sister.

  I love you.

  Namaste

  dpgroup.org

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter - 2

  Chapter - 3

  Chapter - 4

  Chapter - 5

  Chapter - 6

  Chapter - 7

  Chapter - 8

  Chapter - 9

  Chapter - 10

  Chapter - 11

  Chapter - 12

  Chapter - 13

  Chapter - 14

  Chapter - 15

  Chapter - 16

  Chapter - 17

  Chapter - 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Bad Ass Blogs & Authors

  Audrey Carlan Bio

  Books and Coming Soon by Audrey Carlan

  Prologue

  Life is not fair. The moment one believes in total bliss, it gets shredded by circumstance and unforeseen accidents. This cannot be my life. It just can’t. Shit like this does not happen to good people. Not to someone like James, a man who represents everything good and right in the world.

  The words filling the room can’t be real. Even as the doctor repeats his prognosis it’s muffled, strained, said through a long, dark tunnel. The space around me turns fuzzy, its edges softening like a wall of cotton. I don’t know which way is up or down. Tears stream down my face like rain drops in a race to see which can fall the fastest. The severity of what the doctor said hits me. Hard.

  “What do you mean less than twenty four hours to live?” The words leave me in a drawn out screech.

  “Honey, calm down. We knew this was a possibility. My liver…it’s just too far gone and without a donor …”

  “Take mine!” I scream at the doctor. A long time ago I watched a television program that said a healthy donor can donate three-fourths of their liver and still live. I hold on to that piece of trivia like a talisman.

  “London, you’re not a match. We’ve been through this.” James’s tone is calm, collected. I don’t know how he is holding it together but the cracks in my armor have grown into giant gaping holes. That monster within, the raging scared, psychotic wife is about to break free--until his cool hand grasps mine. “Look at me, I want the last thing I see to be your beautiful face.”

  I shake my head repeatedly. If he can’t look at me, he can’t leave me. It’s a ridiculous theory but it’s all I’ve got.

  I hear the doctor give his condolences to James and promise that if a liver becomes available from a donor match that he’s first on the list.

  Shivers of grief rip through every nerve ending as I lean over to pray. It’s probably a cardinal sin to wish someone else would die but I’m not capable of caring.

  God, if you’ll just use your mercy and find my husband a liver, I’ll be the best human you’ve ever made. Please. Please don’t let him die. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Be nice to my mother? Done. Volunteer? Consider it my next full-time job. Please, oh God, please bring us a liver. You can do that, right? I know you can. You save people unworthy all the time! Please, please just save James. Take me. Spare him.

  “Just take me,” slips across my lips. My eyes are closed tight, fingers clasped in prayer.

  A tiny, feather light caress runs across my cheek. “My love, never you. You’re meant to do great things. You have to do them now. Not just for you, but for me, too.” His voice cracks and a tear slips down his face.

  Seeing the love of my life cry, the strongest man I’ve ever known, breaks me. Visibly, I shake. The shock of the situation is setting in and a deep chill rips across my skin. Bone-chilling cold.

  “Come here.” James pulls back the blanket, inviting me in to what will likely be the last bed we share. A hospital bed.

  Crawling in, I settle next to his warmth. “How can I ever be without you?” Thoughts of the life we planned, the children we’ll never have, the things we never had the chance to do together pour through my mind like sands through an hourglass. Regret swirls around us, thick and heavy.

  “It will be like before, when we were just friends.” He laughs and I snuggle in deeper.

  It will never be like before and nothing will ever be the same again. Internally I know this, but choose not to share it with him. He’s dying. The only man I will ever love is dying. He has less than twenty four hours.

  Oh God, Jesus, please! Please.

  “One day my love, you will realize that this was meant to be. We don’t get to decide. It’s all decided for us.” Fate and James. Forever the believer in one’s destiny. “I was just your act one, Sweetie Pie. Someday, you will find love again.”

  “Never.” That five letter word seems to pound through my body like a heartbeat. A proclamation. It’s as if my heart and brain made a pact, then signed a contract sealing the deal. James will always be the end all, be all.

  “Oh Sweetie, don’t say that. I’ll never rest in peace knowing you’re torturing yourself. Promise me. Promise me, when the time is right, you will accept it and not run?”

  “How can you ask me this? You’re leaving me!” Huge sobs soak his hospital gown as I cry a river.

  “Not by choice, London. You know that. If I could, I’d grow old and gray with you just like I promised you on our wedding day four years ago.” The image conjures a new bout of Hell. Him in a crisp tuxedo; me in the biggest, most poufy princess wedding dress the world had ever seen. The best day of my life. “I will always love you, London. And one day, years down the road, when I’m just a memory, you will be loved.”

  We kissed one last time. It was everything and so much more. I put a lifetime of lost kisses into that press of lips against lips. Heart to heart. Soul to soul.

  When he left me, I felt my soul crumble into miniscule pieces of nothing.

  James was wrong. I will never again be loved, because I’ll never, ever, let myself fall.

  Chapter - 1

  “Bridge, it’s time to go. Get that fine ass out here. If I miss out on hot hors d’oeuvres, you’re a dead woman!” Tripp’s voice jangled through the open doorway. Placing a sheer line of gloss along my lips and with one final flip to my hair I was dashing toward him.

  He held the door open as I ducked under his outstretched arm. His cologne swirled in the air around him making me want to stop and hug him, rub my body against the heady scent. Inhaling deeply, I passed by him. A stinging smack to my ass jolted me into motion. It burned and I rubbed it soothingly. The champagne colored slip dress rubbed against my heated skin enticingly.

  “You wanna follow up on that promise?” I asked cheekily.

  He rolled his eyes and pushed me toward the elevator with a firm hand to my lower back.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing your latest work.” Tripp smiled and hugged me to his side. “I’m guessing by the client, you went with an Asiatic theme?”

 
My lips twitched into a smile, knowing how much he loved to play this game. I shook my head and he frowned.

  “Middle Eastern?” His dark eyebrows rose as he tilted his head to the side smiling. “No? Huh.” He looked perplexed. Tripp Devereaux was a gorgeous man. Tall, dark, handsome, a little lost soul that I couldn’t live without and I couldn’t fix.

  “Stop guessing. Part of the excitement for me is seeing your face during the reveal.”

  We arrived at the client’s home, nestled away in the upper-class Park Avenue neighborhood. Tripp clasped my hand and led me up the walk and into the building. Soft music was streaming through the door as we entered.

  “London! The woman of the night is here!” A voice bellowed from across the room. In a few long strides my client Maxwell reached out and smoothed his hands from my shoulders and down my arms until he gripped my hands. That feeling of gratitude hit me hard and washed over my soul like a healing balm. “I have someone I need you to meet,” he said, his voice lowered an octave.

  It had been two weeks since I left him to move on, to make right what went wrong in his life. I knew instinctively who he’d be introducing me to. He led me over to a pretty blond who had large brown eyes only for him. I smiled warmly at her, feeling no inner conflict. This was who he was meant to be with.

  A fluttering memory rose to the surface sending me back to when Maxwell and I ended our time together.

  Strong arms encircle my waist. His chin settling against my neck. Large hands slid up my back, pressing me closer to him. The scent of his aftershave was intoxicating but that’s not what made my heart thump. It was gratitude. The waves of appreciation that leapt off him crash against my soul, bringing with it an incredible sense of peace. That hum of forgiveness, the newfound resolve to fix what went astray and mend his heart, was overwhelming in its goodness. I close my eyes and pull his form tightly against mine, realizing it would be our last real embrace.

  “How do I…” His voice cracks and brakes off.

  “You love her…you love her greatly,” I whisper against his ear. He nods and I could feel when the moment changes, sizzling with tension when his soul pulls away from mine. It hurt, but it always does.

  “Michele, this is London Kelley, designer and life-coach extraordinaire,” he beamed. The blond shook my hand.

  “It’s good to meet you, Michele.” I shook her hand and that tingling essence unique to her soul passed through to me. She, too, was grateful, with no concerns about my stay. Sometimes it was difficult when I moved in with my client and his girlfriend didn’t live with him. The green-eyed monster often made itself known and that bitch had serious claws. To my great relief, Michele wasn’t the catty type and technically they weren’t an item when I stayed or I wouldn’t have slept with him.

  “You have a gift, Ms. Kelley. Truly beautiful work,” she said while glancing around the open space. I had chosen to bring earthy warm tones into the stark white and black space.

  Max lived like a bachelor before I entered his world six weeks ago. He was unhappy, lost in what to do next with his life. He was good looking and extremely successful; only individuals making six figures could afford my design services. Even with all his success, he was desperate for something he couldn’t quite name. I was able to lead him to what his heart desired.

  I thought back to when I first moved into his home, setting my luggage on the bed.

  “Will we be sleeping together?” he asked uncomfortably.

  “I am not a highly paid hooker, Max.”

  “No, no, I didn’t think you were. I just…you’re moving in, sending me signals that you’re attracted to me.” He shuffled from foot to foot. “I don’t know, I just …”

  I cut him off. “I understand. And yes, I am attracted to you on a physical level and that connection could very well manifest during our time together.” I shrugged and continued unpacking. “My methods are unconventional. You will understand by the end of my stay.”

  Back to the present, I watched Max tuck the petite blond to his side. It made my heart fill to bursting to see him opening himself to the one thing that would make him happy and fulfilled. Michele looked into his eyes adoringly. He needed this woman like he needed his next breath.

  “I can’t thank you enough, London,” he said to me as he squeezed the lovely woman more tightly against him.

  “What can I say? I’m good at my job.” With a wink, I excused myself to enjoy the party.

  Tripp was at the food table loading his plate with crab cakes and puffy morsels of filo dough filled with cheese. I grabbed one off his plate and popped it in my mouth. The gooey mixture of cheese and spinach was warm and salty. He handed me a glass of white wine. It was perfectly paired with the food. Being a bartender at a gourmet restaurant in downtown New York City had provided Tripp with the training for incredible skills in the kitchen. He instinctively knew how to pair a meal with the perfect wine.

  We ate in companionable silence for a few moments. “So what do you think?” I asked him.

  He crinkled his brow and scanned the room. “Could have been better.” His tone was serious with a hint of boredom. I knew by the sliver of a grin across his beautiful lips that he was joking. I pushed against his shoulder and he laughed. “Seriously, Bridge.” Tripp always used his pet name for me. London Bridge is Falling Down. When we met years ago, I was falling down. Crumbling into small bits of nothingness. “You’re incredible. You turned a boring man-cave into a home, something a man could invite a woman into.”

  “That’s exactly what the plan was.” I looked over at Maxwell and Michele. Even their names together sounded sickeningly sweet. “He needed her.” I gestured to the couple. Tripp studied them and nodded.

  “A complete redesign of the house didn’t hurt either. I love how you went with the large puffy couches with a million pillows. And the bed you chose for the master bedroom? It’s magnificent. Where did you find that?” he asked.

  “He needed a place where he could be in touch with his feminine side.” I lovingly trailed my fingertips along the couch pillows and led him toward the bedroom. Once there I patted the bed and Tripp sat down next to me. We both tumbled backwards, holding hands. “The gigantic bed was designed to empower his ego, make him feel he needed a woman to share it with. Otherwise being in here alone would feel too encompassing and lonely.”

  We tilted our faces to the side to look at one another. “Bridge, I meant where did you get the bed, literally? Not your psychobabble shit about his inner most desires.” His face twisted into a grimace. “I don’t want to know that about him, especially while laying on it with you.” He rolled over me and straddled my hips. He nuzzled my neck and kissed my cheek. “You did a good job,” he said softly and pulled me up into a sitting position. I gripped his outstretched hands. “Let’s go enjoy the fruits of your labor. You’re moving in with your next client in two days and I want to spend some quality time with my girl.” The smile I gave him was huge as he hurled me back into the party.

  ***

  My stomach growled loudly as I caught sight of a stunning dark haired beauty across the room. She sashayed, practically glided, from the bedroom toward the kitchen, stopping at the drink service. I watched her laughing, dazzling crystal blue eyes alive with joy, her arm hooked in the crook of a man’s arm. Small hands slid over her hips, then adjusted the tiny straps of her barely there dress at the shoulder. She pulled her long black hair to one side and brushed her fingers through the shining locks as she waited for a drink at the bar.

  She took my breath away.

  Petite and lean with a perfect hourglass figure, her rounded breasts weren’t huge but large on her small frame. My hand gripped into a fist imagining squeezing the firm globes, her nipples scraping against my palms.

  I shook my head. My immediate desire for this woman, a stranger, was confounding. I hadn’t felt such an attraction to a woman since my last torrential cock up with my wife, technically ex-wife of five years.

  “See something you l
ike, Collier?” My business partner and best mate gestured toward the woman I’d been watching, rather stalking with my eyes.

  “Who’s the bird?”

  “That’s London Kelley, she’s the reason we’re all here,” he said mockingly.

  “The interior designer?”

  “One and the same. I’ve had dinner with her when she was staying with Maxwell,” he finished.

  “She lived here?”

  He nodded.

  “But I thought he was in love with her.” I pointed to the pretty blond attached to Maxwell’s hip.

  “He is. He wasn’t in a relationship with London; she just lived here while she worked. It’s part of her agreement. She’s highly sought after,” he continued.

  My eyes traced over her curves. “I’ll bet.”

  He clasped me on the back. “Not like that. Blimey! She’s the most pursued interior designer in New York City. Everyone wants her to redesign their home. Her waiting list is a mile long and she charges a pretty penny. She’s going to redo my flat in six weeks’ time,” his British accent and perfect English comforted me when the entire city seemed to survive on colloquialisms and bad syntax.

  Nathaniel Walker was my best mate and half-brother, sharing the same mother but different biological fathers. We left our parents and old lives back in England to open a New York office of Stone, Walker & Associates five years ago. Our law offices touted clients with recognizable names such as Trump and Gates. We handled everything from extremely public celebrity breakups, to million dollar company embezzlers down to the legalities involved in major corporate acquisitions. Our top clients graced the telly, the big screen and the leather seats of high-rise offices across the globe.

  “So will she be moving in with you, then?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Part of the contract.” He took a sip of his wine.