“I never said good looking; my exact words were cute,” I correct him, and he pretends to stab himself with the butter knife.
“You’re as cruel as you’re beautiful, Graciela,” he says, making everything in my body vibrate.
Henry is the only one of my friends who calls me Graciela, and I love the way my name falls from his lips. There’s little effort and only a deep voice and that Scottish accent which drives me wild. When I’m with Henry, I always think about the things my mother warned me against. Tall, ginger, Scottish men didn’t make her list, but I’m sure if she knew the depths of this relationship, Henry would be at the top of her list.
“You love me just the same,” I reply with a grin, which he mirrors while pouring the golden liquid in his flute. “So… what are we doing tomorrow?” I ask, because so far, he’s refused to tell me.
“Come on. I told you, we have weeks before your birthday and that means loads of surprises,” he answers. “Stop being so nosey.”
“I’m not… I hate not knowing.” I pout. Undeterred, he leans over and kisses me, sending my hormones back into a race.
“That’s the fun part,” he lifts his glass and looks straight in my eyes; the emptiness in my stomach returns. “To your thirty days of thirty.”
“Thank you, Henry.” I clink my glass against his. “I’m sure it will be awesome, whatever you’re planning.” My voice is full of resignation, though I’m still hoping to find out what’s up his sleeve.
“Indeed.” He points to my dessert. “Now, eat. I don’t want you passing out in my bed; at least, not while I’m eating you.” The sly grin on his face makes me choke on my drink.
Subtlety has never been his forte.
After dessert A, as Henry’s calling the lemon tart, he turns to me. “You’re dessert B.”
The craving through my body is assuaged only by Henry’s touch. He leads me to his bedroom, pushing the door open and letting me walk in first. The room is covered in LED candles placed all over the place. Their light gives the bedroom a beautifully romantic aura I can’t help but swoon in.
“Very safety conscious,” I tease him before he closes the door behind us.
“Is that all you have to say?” He asks and I follow his gaze to the bed. The usual black silky sheets are gone. Instead, white linen sheets cover the bed and over them there are white and yellow rose petals sprinkled over it. My eyes follow the trail back to the door, and I know then that my heart truly craves something I know we can’t have.
“You’re upping your game for this month.” I reach my hand to his chest, needing his touch. Henry’s left arm pulls me closer, cradling me gently before his lips capture mine in a painfully slow kiss.
The taste of him is intoxicating. Every time we kiss, I know I can’t get enough. This is both my salvation and my damnation. And the moment our tongues spar, my hands move down his chest and up again to push his jacket off his shoulders. A growl of protest escapes his lips. I’m fidgeting too much and he can’t undo the zipper of my dress. Without thinking twice, he rips the fabric.
“Henry!” A breathless gasp leaves me and my eyes move to look at the torn fabric. “You’re so replacing that,” I mumble, but soon lose my trail of thought. His lips move to my neck, alternating between kisses with bites, and I still haven’t had enough of him when a soft approving moan escapes my throat.
“We need to work on the amount of clothes you wear,” he teases me once his body pins me against the door. Slowly, he pulls my legs up to wrap around his waist. My arched back presses against the door and my eyes hold his before the mischievous light in his eyes shines brighter. After sprinkling my naked skin with his kisses, he settles me down for a moment. A groan of protest escapes my lips but he’s unconcerned.
“I don’t wear that many clothes,” I protest when he pulls away and pushes the last of the fabric out of the way. His hands move slowly down my back, and before I can even respond, he’s thrown me over his shoulder, and then drops me hard in the middle of the bed. “How rude!” My giggles are soon extinguished by his mouth, as desire and need intermix, pulling me closer to his body. With a ragged breath, Henry pulls away, his eyes meeting mine with a new kind of passion which commands my full attention.
Henry wears that intense guise so well; it comes and goes whenever we’re alone in bed. Almost as if he’s about to say something that can change everything. I’ve often wondered about it. However, it’s fleeting; just as it appears, it’s gone. The worst is that it pulls at something in me that makes me want to let all these feelings break free, but rather than having my heart broken and my feelings wrecked, I tell myself this is enough.
His ragged breathing makes a smile appear on my lips as he takes the time to let his hands move over my body. The torture is only starting when his fingers rake every inch of skin. A trail of kisses moves down my chest to my stomach as my eyes follow him. I twirl his hair around my fingers, forcing myself to concentrate on the moment. Henry presses his cheek against my thigh, his long fingers caressing my skin as our eyes meet and the last of the air leaves my lungs.
Everything else fades when his lips move in the most teasing of ways against me, sending me straight up into the clouds of wanton lust. “You’re not ditching me tomorrow afternoon for a date with that French twat,” he whispers, but I can’t process anything. I’m too far gone into the waves rocking my body.
Chapter Sixteen
His mouth brushes across my hipbone before biting into it. I lift my hips involuntarily, and see his eyes burn with desire. “I’m pretty sure you might not be able to walk tomorrow.”
“I hope so.”
When I’m with him, I feel safe in the most vulnerable way that makes me question everything else. However, I keep those thoughts about the future under lock. I just can’t face reality, I can’t think of the day when we can no longer be like this: lost in each other’s bodies, my heart so full of something that I can’t even describe and will never be mine.
His mouth changes direction and everything running through my brain vanishes when his tongue teases my body. Soon, pleasure replaces every single coherent thought.
The fog of thoughts leaves me as he drives me almost to the brink and then pulls slowly away. “You evil man.”
“I can’t give you everything that you want now.” He smirks, kissing up my body before I pull him closer, letting those words sink in.
The kiss is brief and he pulls away to undress as I ogle at him without a single shred of decency.
Henry’s naked body is a work of art. He moves around the room oozing confidence and I let my eyes wander around his strong arms, his abs, and the v shape that drives me crazy.
“No drooling in bed.” He pins me down. The kiss deepens as his body covers mine and my legs wrap around his waist.
“I don’t drool,” I counter as he guides himself, claiming my body while he presses his forehead against mine. He looks right into my eyes and the connection is instant.
“We’ll see.” He showers my neck and shoulder with tiny kisses, moving deeper within me. “All weekend…”
“All weekend,” I repeat as his hips’ movements set me off.
***
The duvet drapes across his lower back, covering his amazing buttocks. I take a quick peek under, my heart racing like I’m about to get into trouble. My hand lifts up, and then my fingers skim his skin, following his spine. A smile forms on his face the lower my fingers move down his back. Outside, the world is waking up; the sun’s light is slipping unannounced through the curtains, but inside these four walls, time has stopped. I lean closer and nip at his shoulder before Henry lets out a soft chuckle.
“You didn’t get enough last night?” The cockiness in his voice makes me pull at the covers before smacking his ass.
“I’ll go get breakfast, and you can tell me where we’re going.”
“Nope.” He wraps his arms around my body. “Breakfast is sorted, but we need to get dressed and take the picnic basket that is in the
kitchen.”
“Picnic… basket? You … Did you really say picnic basket?”
“It’s nothing, just something I put together whilst you slept, exhausted,” he says, and I’m sure that if he could high-five himself, he would.
“Well, yesterday, I had a long day at work,” I say, sticking my tongue out before he pulls me closer and kisses me deeply.
“Shower?” he asks, getting out of the bed and walking to the en-suite as I stare at him. “Or you can stare at my arse all day.” He smirks.
“I hate you!” I call from under the covers. The taps open in the bathroom and I groan.
“But you love my arse. Come on, Graciela… shower time.” I pull the covers closer to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch him leaning against the door frame as one thought runs through my mind.
He’s without a doubt the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.
After possibly the longest shower in human history, Henry dresses in comfortable jeans and a long sleeve button-down black shirt, over it goes a burgundy thin sweater. He hooks his finger around the belt loop of my jeans before pulling my back toward his chest.
“Why can’t you tell me where we’re going?” I ask once more, because frankly, I’m sure that I’ll wear him down soon enough.
“Because it won’t be a surprise. Come on, we’re driving there.”
“Driving?” I repeat, following him out of the room. He hates driving in and around London, mainly because he hates doing it himself. This one tiny detail lets me know all I need to know about today. It must be a rather special outing.
After putting my things away, I find him in the kitchen. He’s got a giant picnic basket in one hand and his keys in the other.
“Wow…” I bite my lip as he groans.
“Don’t do that… or I’ll take you back upstairs.” He warns before kissing me softly.
***
The drive away from West Hampstead has my heart thudding with anticipation. The radio blasts Dissonant Anonymous’ “Later Love” while we sing along. The sky above is dark, and I silently pray that it doesn’t rain in case we’re off to some romantic picnic in one of the parks.
“Where are we going?” I ask once the song ends and we leave behind the familiar surroundings of his neighborhood.
“Twenty minutes,” he tells me. When he glances my way to make sure that I’m not going to say another word, I pretend to zip my mouth.
Henry concentrates on the road ahead, answering his phone through the hands-free option in his car when his secretary calls. This reminds me to check my phone. I definitely don’t want the Trinity or Sebastien interrupting today. I decide to check my own messages while he’s on the call.
There’s a text from Leticia, who wants me to call her back as soon as I can, but not if I’m busy. The fact that she’s added two smileys winking lets me know that it’s really not that urgent. Once I’m home, I’ll give her a ring. I scroll through the rest of the work-related messages before checking my voice mail.
The only person that needs to be emailed straight away is my mother. I know ignoring her will prompt her to call Interpol or MI5 and she’ll tell them that I’ve vanished without a trace.
When I look up, the car’s parked in a leafy parking lot. We’re in one of the London parks. Henry climbs out and grabs the picnic basket from the back seat as well as his coat and mine. I take this as my cue to power off my phone.
“Wait.” I scramble out of the car and look around. “Ally Pally? Ally Pally!” My voice goes from unsure to full of excitement in half a second. There is a park right next to his house and my flat, Hampstead Heath, I think while I look at the building. There’s only one reason to come to Ally Pally. I bite my lip watching Henry with an arched eyebrow.
“Come on,” he says, leading the way, his hand sticking out for me to take.
“Why are we here?” I try to keep my voice even.
“You must have been really annoying at Christmas time when you were kid, huh?” He glances my way.
“You’re so mean,” I counter with a pout. Henry stops walking right in front of me before leaning closer, so that I can’t look anywhere but in his eyes.
“I’ll make it up to you again tonight.” He silences me with a simple promise.
Chapter Seventeen
Inside of Alexandra Palace, my eyes go to the amazingly huge windows and the beautiful ice rink that covers most of the space. The irritatingly nasal voice of a woman makes me turn her way.
My eyes move to Henry first, who is leaning casually against the counter as she flirts outrageously with him, laughing and tucking her hair back as she looks him over. A stab of jealousy cuts through my side, which prompts me to clear my throat louder than I intended. It’s obvious she hasn’t even noticed me, so I decide to stand near Henry, snaking my arm around his and fixing her with what I hope is a death glare.
“Mr. Huntingdon, I thought it was you when you called to book the rink.” She grins before glancing my way. “And guest,” she adds, making me feel like a footnote in her morning.
My eyebrow shoots up at the ease with which she talks to Henry, though his polite smile and lack of response lets me know that she might be one of the few women he’s not nailed in London. My eyes move to the ice rink, which is empty, then to Henry. Book the rink, the words echo through me. I notice the few workers not far from us. However, for a Saturday, the place is deserted. My brows pull together while I turn to look at Henry.
“Wait…” I try to not sound over excited. “You don’t ice skate.” Henry rolls his eyes and settles the picnic basket on the table beside him.
“Morning, Mr. Huntingdon, Miss,” a man in his late sixties joins us. “Here you go, sir,” he says, setting two boxes on the table beside the picnic basket. One of them is wrapped in a pink paper — my name is written on the tiny envelope on top of it. I recognize Henry’s penmanship quickly. The man should have been a doctor. “Have fun,” the old man calls over his shoulder once I see him walking away. My eyes return to the box.
“Henry?” His name falls from my lips, not louder than a whisper. Henry lifts the wrapped-up box for me to take. “What’s that?”
“The first of the month’s presents. Come on.” He trains his eyes on me while I unwrap the box. Inside it, there’s a pair of pink ice skates nestled comfortably in the center of the pink tissue paper. My name is embroidered on the side of each boot. “What?” he asks, leaning close to me before brushing his lips against mine. A shaky breath escapes me before I hear it. A familiar sexy voice fills the air around us and my heart hammers harder against my chest.
My head turns sharply to look at the huge screen on the other side of the rink. On the screen there is my favorite actress from the forties and one of my first clients until she retired, Mabel Lancashire. She fills the screen with beauty and magic even if she was only around six years old. And then I watch it, my favorite scene from The Rink, the ice skating scene.
“What did you do?” I ask, breathless. Henry’s undeterred. He holds the skates up for me to take before shrugging in a casual way. “You hate skating.” Swing music begins to play as I stand.
“Well…” He swallows. “I do love you, Graciela.” There’s a pink tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks, which makes me want to reach out and touch him. “I want you to have the best time and that includes ice skating, right?” he adds.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling away, but before I can go too far he snakes his arms around me and brings me closer for a kiss.
We enter the rink; the music is picking up, and though I expect Henry to be holding on to the railings, he’s looking as confident as ever.
“You cheater,” I call out to him when he zips by me to the other side.
“I never said I didn’t know how to skate… and I never said I hated it.” He shrugs. “I just don’t enjoy it like you do,” he shouts over the music. I gather speed, moving down the center of the rink.
The smoothness of the ice propels me forward at
top speed before I turn. My body’s ready for it. I prepare myself for the lift off and find Henry’s eyes on me as everything else fades away and there’s only him and me.
My body soars through the air before I land perfectly on my foot. When I look up to find him, Henry’s on the other side of the rink offering one of those half smiles that melts my heart.
“Now, who’s the cheater?” he asks and I get ready to do another axel. “You said you took classes, but never said you were almost professional.” He gathers speed before he’s right beside me.
“My grandmother, Graciela, was a figure skater,” I explain. He reaches out for my hand and I surrender it to him. “She even went to the Winter Olympics in 1952 in Oslo.” Henry pulls me closer and my body glides over the ice next to his.
“Did she train you?” he asks.
“She trained all the kids in the family,” I concede, trying to remember that we’re in a public place. “And most of the neighborhood kids, too.”
His eyes darken as I bite my lip. “Hungry?”
“Yes… You?”
“Yes, but I can wait till we get back to the house.” He smirks, leading the way to the exit of the rink.
Henry hands me a nice and still somewhat warm baguette with my favorite cheeses; gruyere, mozzarella, and pecorino, thin sliced tomatoes, basil, and olive oil.
“Did Mrs. Watson make these, too?”
“No, I did. Whilst you were sleeping, I ran to Waitrose to get the stuff I needed, then came back and slid back in bed next to you,” he explains, touching the tip of my nose before he picks his own sandwich up.
“Are you dying?” I ask.
“What?” He coughs through his words.
“The flowers and candles… and this…” I wave my hand around while his forehead crinkles in confusion.
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