: Chapter 18

She wore the green top. This woman was killing me.

Sloane stepped out of the elevator and looked around the lobby. I stood just as she found me and couldn’t help but grin as she approached.

“Alright, alright. Don’t gloat,” she said. “I’m wearing the green because I like it best, and it’s also the most practical—not because you said it was your favorite.”

“Right.” My smile widened.

Sloane squinted. “You know, I can go back upstairs to change and keep you waiting another half hour, if you want?”

I caught her hand, weaving our fingers together. “Not a chance. You look gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tilted upward. She liked my compliments, even if she pretended she didn’t.

“Come on…” I tugged her along. “I have a whole day planned.”

The valet had kept my car waiting nearby. The kid jogged to get it and pulled it to the curb. When he got out, he went to open the passenger door, but I waved him off. “Got it.”

“Now this is more what I would expect you to drive,” Sloane said as she buckled in.

“Because it’s hot and sexy?”

She laughed. “Because it’s flashy and looks like it could get you in trouble.” She glanced to the center console. “It’s not a stick shift?”

I shook my head. “Are you asking because you want to drive?”

“Definitely not. I just kinda liked watching you drive the other one.”

I slipped the car into gear. “I’ll switch with my assistant permanently.”

She laughed like I was kidding. “So, what are we going to see first? The London Bridge? Big Ben? Buckingham Palace?”

“Actually, none of those. I thought today I’d show you my favorite places in London rather than the touristy crap. Tomorrow I’ll take you to all the sites where you can buy a snow globe and an I heart London T-shirt on the way out.”

Sloane rested her hand on my arm, and I felt a jolt. Damn … what would it feel like if she touched me a little lower, maybe on my third arm?

“Thank you for doing this,” she said. “All of it. The flight, the hotel, going shopping early this morning so I would have something to wear. It’s so thoughtful.”

And I was … thinking of her. I was up to my eyeballs in contracts, meetings, paperwork, and negotiations—so much so that I hadn’t slept that well last night because I kept remembering more things I needed to do and adding to my list. But right now, right at this moment with Sloane wide-eyed excited to see the city? I didn’t give two shits about any of that. I couldn’t even remember what was on the damn list now. That scared the shit out of me as much as I welcomed the break.

I winked. “The things I’ll do just to touch your underwear.”

The first stop on today’s sightseeing tour was my absolute favorite place in London. I’d never come here with anyone before, and as we approached, I started to wonder if it was such a good idea to bring Sloane. I couldn’t put my finger on why the place was so special to me, but I hoped she wasn’t bored with my pick. Though as soon as we walked into the park, Sloane’s eyes widened. She looked like a little kid walking into Disney for the first time, and whatever nerves I’d had about bringing her here immediately settled. It helped that the sun was hitting just right, making everything glow like the forest in Twilight.

“What is this place?”

“It’s an old church called St. Dunstan in the East. It was originally built in 1100 AD. It was damaged in the Great Fire of London in the 1600s and later rebuilt—only to be destroyed again during the Second World War. Now the ruins are a public garden.”

Sloane looked up at the remnants of the church’s stone walls. Ivy and creeping vines weaved through archways that had once held stained glass, but today sun streaked in from the other side, creating a magical feeling.

“Wow,” she said. “It doesn’t seem real.”

I smiled. “I know.”

She pulled out her phone. “This would be an amazing place for a wedding. I need to take some pictures.”

I shook my head.

“What?”

“Nothing. Take your pics.” I stood off to the side, watching Sloane smile as she angled her phone and snapped photos from all different perspectives. I never thought the day would come when a woman mentioned the word wedding and I didn’t break out in hives. And I certainly never imagined I’d take out my phone and sneak a few pics myself. But it gave me a warm feeling to see Sloane love the place as much as I did—a different warm feeling than I’d had a couple of hours ago picking out thongs. Which reminded me … My eyes dropped to her ass to see if I could make out whether she was wearing one I’d picked out. Sadly, I couldn’t.

We wandered around the small park for a long time, finding all the little hidden places and reading the informational signs I’d read a dozen times before. On our way out, Sloane stopped at the stone archway where we’d started. “What do you love about this place?” she asked. “I mean, aside from how beautiful it is?”

I shrugged. “That’s a good question. I don’t know really. I guess I like it because it’s been destroyed so many times, and yet it never falls.”

Sloane nodded. “Yeah. It feels … hopeful.”

Our eyes caught. I wanted so fucking badly to kiss her. I wasn’t a romantic guy—my idea of romance was drinking a little wine on the balcony off my bedroom before plowing into a woman on all fours on my bed ten feet away. But Sloane? I wanted to dip her in the middle of the ruins of a medieval church. Which meant it was most definitely time to get the hell out of here.

Stop two wasn’t as dreamy-eyed, at least not for most people. I took her to Wembley Stadium—the place I’d played for more than eight years. It was closed to the public today, but the guys in security all knew me, so they let me give Sloane a private tour.

We walked out onto the field through the tunnel I’d walked out of hundreds of times before, and Sloane looked up at the empty stands. “Wow. How many people does the stadium hold?”

“Ninety thousand.”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what this must feel like with all the seats filled and people cheering your name, wearing your jersey.”

I looked up, remembering those days. “It was great when I did well, but it was brutal when I had a bad day. Same fan cheering you on the way in could be throwing his empty beer bottle at you on the way out.”

“That didn’t really happen, did it?”

I pointed to the scar on my hairline. “Playoff game. Six stitches. It was the worst game of my career.”

“I can’t believe someone threw a bottle at you.”

“I deserved it. My head was up my ass that day.” I smiled at the stands, picturing them full. “There were more good days than bad though.”

“I bet you were the most popular player with the women.”

I wasn’t touching that comment with a ten-foot pole. “The fans were interesting. That’s for sure.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes and no. I took advantage of the celebrity that came with it—walking into any club I wanted, never getting in trouble for stupid shit I did—but after a while you start to realize none of it is real. People want to be friends with you for the wrong reasons, women want to be with you because of your name, not who you are. After you fall for it a few times, you start to retreat. I guess on the plus side, it taught me to value the people in my inner circle.”

“Like Andrew?”

I nodded. “He might technically work for me, but I need him much more than he needs me. I’d be screwed without him.”

Sloane smiled. “He speaks highly of you, too—in between the stories of what a jerk you are.”

I grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sloane pointed up to the rafters, to the six oversized jerseys hanging there. “Your jersey is still up there?”

I nodded. “They retired it the year after I stopped playing.”

“Wow. That’s a big honor, right?”

For a change, I downplayed the accomplishment. “I guess.”

We both stared up for a while. I didn’t realize I was smiling until Sloane interrupted. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like your thoughts are up to no good.”

I smiled. “I was just thinking, I’d love to see you wearing my jersey.”

She laughed. “I may have to, if they don’t find my luggage soon.”

I lowered my voice. “Well, if that’s the case, I was thinking just the jersey—no underwear, no bra.”

“Hey, Hayes! Can I get your autograph?”

I had my hand on the restaurant door, about to open it for Sloane, when a kid who was probably about thirteen or fourteen yelled over. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

I walked over to the kid and his friends. The one who’d yelled took off his sneaker and held it out to me.

“You have something for me to sign it with?”

“Shit. No.”

“Watch your mouth.” I thumbed to Sloane, who stood next to me. “There’s a lady here.”

The kid looked her up and down and grinned. “She’s hot. Is she your girlfriend?”

I chuckled. “I’m working on it. Maybe you can help me out? Tell her how good a player I was.”

The kid looked at Sloane. “He was great. The best. Except for that playoff game where you sucked.”

I frowned. “Thanks, buddy.”

The kid looked over his shoulder at his friends. “Don’t one of you have a pen?”

They all shrugged.

I shook my head. “Hang on a second.”

I went into the restaurant and asked the maître d’ to borrow something to write with.

Back outside, I uncapped the felt-tip marker as I spoke to the kid. “What’s your name?”

“Rinaldo.”

“You play rugby?” I scribbled my name along the side of his sneaker.

“Twenty-eight points so far this season.”

“Nice. How are your grades?”

The kid’s face fell. “School sucks.”

“If you’re lucky enough to make it to the pros, you get maybe eight, maybe ten years. School is what teaches you to make good decisions and not get ripped off. You can do well in more than one thing.” I handed him back his sneaker.

The kid looked back at Sloane. “School wouldn’t score you her. Rugby will.”

“Dude.” I shook my head. “She didn’t even know who I was when I met her.”

“Really?”

I mussed his hair. “Keep yourself out of trouble, huh?”

I noticed a few people starting to point and break out their phones, so I put my hand on Sloane’s back and guided her into the restaurant. We were quickly seated at a quiet table in the corner, and I ordered a bottle of wine and some appetizers.

Sloane smiled. “You’re really good with kids. Not just the boys outside, but your brother, my niece…”

“I get a lot of practice with kids, since I’m a big one.”

“You know, for a guy who came off as a cocky bastard when we first met, you’re pretty shy about taking compliments.”

“I’m not shy about taking them for the things I deserve to be complimented on—rugby, good looks, my talent in the sack…”

She chuckled. “Don’t ruin the moment, Hayes.”

I smiled.

Sloane sipped her wine and ran her finger along the top of the glass. “Do you want kids someday?”

I expected to hear sirens, the flashing of warning lights in my head. But it didn’t happen. That question should’ve scared the crap out of me more than the fact that I hadn’t checked my phone or thought about my new team since we sat down, but for some crazy reason, it didn’t. “I want a slew of them. All boys. Enough to build my own rugby squad.”

“You better watch it. God has a funny sense of humor when you say things like that. You’ll wind up with eight girls.”

I drank my wine. “What about you? You want kids?”

Sloane nodded. “I don’t know about a team of them, but yeah, I do. I loved growing up with my brothers.”

“Speaking of brothers, Lucas tried to talk me into flying Olivia out with you.”

“Oh gosh. She would’ve loved that. But she has school.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. “Plus, I wanted you all to myself.”

Her cheeks pinked, and I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. Her skin was so responsive, coloring when she was embarrassed or shy—what would it look like when I was inside her? Pouty mouth parted, skin flushed as I looked down at her, big, green eyes rolling back in her head as I sank deep. I wasn’t a missionary fan usually. I preferred a woman up on all fours, taking her from behind, or maybe a little reverse cowgirl so I could watch my dick slide in and out. But with Sloane, I knew I would want to watch her face.

Fuck. I shifted in my seat, feeling my pants grow snug at the thought of it. Sloane said something, but I had no idea what the hell it was because I was too busy trying to ward off embarrassing myself.

Grandma …

Missing the shot with one second left on the clock in the big playoff game …

7832 + 9408 …

The time I walked in on my father getting a blow job from his sixty-year-old girlfriend …

That did the trick. Except now I had no damn idea where we were in the conversation. I was relieved when the waiter showed up with the food we’d ordered, interrupting things. We both dug in, and it made me happy to see Sloane wasn’t a salad girl.

“So what made you finally decide to come early?” I asked. “Other than my charm and begging?”

Sloane laughed. “Actually, it was your friend Andrew.”

“Andrew?”

She shrugged. “Just the way he talked about you.”

“Ah…” I nodded. “He’s seen me naked in the locker room.”

“That wasn’t exactly what we spoke about, but close. Though I can tell you I’m already really glad I came.”

“It was the sexy shoes I picked out, wasn’t it?”

She smiled. “Those were beautiful. But the company has been better than any of the things you’ve treated me to.”

I tipped the bottle of wine into her glass, emptying what was left. “Are you up for another stop?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“One touristy thing. The London Eye is not too far. If we get out of here in the next half hour, we can catch the sunset over the city.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”

And I couldn’t freaking wait to show it to her. Plenty of my friends had come to visit and wanted to do all the touristy things, including the Ferris wheel. Normally, I’d bow out, tell them I had work to do and let them have at it alone. Yet right now, I was more excited to wait in line for an hour at a tourist trap, knowing I’d get to watch her face light up when she saw the city, than I would be finding naked triplets in my hotel suite—which did happen once.

I wanted to show Sloane Carrick everything—and not just London. The goddamned world.

Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

Suddenly, I’d turned into damn Shakespeare. At least in my head. Which I was glad for, because saying what I was thinking out loud would sound corny as hell. Even if it was true.

Sloane leaned forward in the car, absorbing the view from the top of the London Eye. It was a gorgeous, clear night with the majestic River Thames winding its way beneath us, creating a path to all the touristy spots—the bridge, the tower, Houses of Parliament—everything lit up and glowing. But none of that held a candle to the woman sitting next to me. I could’ve stayed up here all night, watching her take it all in.

“This is amazing, Wilder. This whole day has been like a fairy tale, like a dream come true.”

I smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

A brisk wind picked up a lock of her hair, pushing it across her face. I reached out and brushed it from her cheek. Sloane’s eyes dropped to my lips, and I would’ve bet my new team that if I’d leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, she wouldn’t have stopped me. And I wanted to taste her more than anything. But something kept me from doing it.

I could see in her face that she was waiting for it, too. I didn’t want to leave her hanging, so I felt the need to explain myself. I looked down at her lips again before meeting her eyes. “I want to kiss you more than anything. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She blinked a few times, then looked away, almost embarrassed. “Yeah, of course.”

I reached out and tilted her head back to me. “I feel like you’d kiss me back right now. Am I wrong?”

She diverted her eyes again. “Probably not.”

“This might sound stupid, but this day has been amazing—magical even. And right now, it feels like one of those big moments in a movie, the kind that’s easy to get swept up in. Do you know what I mean?”

“I guess.”

“And I don’t want you to kiss me because we’re caught up in some romantic moment. I want it to be about us, and only us.”

Sloane took a deep breath and sighed, but nodded. “I actually do get it. I’ve gotten myself caught up in more than one fairy tale.”

My eyes dropped to her lips once more. “But fuck, I want to bite your pouty mouth.”

She chuckled and shook her head. I had effectively ruined the most romantic moment of my life, and I was torn between being proud of myself for wanting her to want me for the right reasons and wanting to kick my own ass for not pouncing and taking advantage. Either way, the moment had passed, thanks to me, so instead of an epic romantic kiss, I put my arm around her shoulder and snuggled her to my chest, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

She looked up at me. “I am, too.”

An hour later, Sloane yawned as we pulled up to her hotel.

“Tired?”

“Yeah. And it’s weird because you would think I’d be wide awake since it’s only four o’clock at home.”

“Traveling takes a lot out of you. Plus, you probably adjusted last night after not sleeping on the plane.”

I opened the door to the lobby just as my cell buzzed. It was my assistant. I’d texted her earlier for an update on Sloane’s lost luggage.

“Not great news on your bag.” I put my hand out for Sloane to enter first.

“They didn’t find it?”

I shook my head. “They put a tracer on it, but they don’t even know what country it’s in.”

She sighed. “It could be worse. I could not have a fairy godmother who bought me a brand-new wardrobe.”

We walked to the elevator. “Do you mind if I walk you up?”

“Not at all.”

The doors slid closed, and a sudden wave of nerves hit me. I felt like thirteen-year-old Wilder. Should I try to kiss her? What if she invites me in? Are my palms freaking sweaty?

I didn’t get a chance to finish debating things before the doors glided open once again. Sloane’s room was a few doors down. She found her key in her purse and looked up at me, chewing on her bottom lip. “Would you … want to come in for a little while? Have a drink or something?”

I wanted to or something more than anything, but the nerves I saw in her eyes answered all the questions I’d been kicking around in my head. “I’d love to. But I’m gonna pass and head home.”

“Oh.” She looked down. “Okay.”

I slipped two fingers under her chin and nudged until our eyes met. “I’m saying no because you looked nervous that I might say yes. Not because I don’t want to.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Okay. Thank you.”

I kissed her forehead.

“You know,” she said. “I never would’ve taken you for such a gentleman.”

I leaned close. “Fair warning, Cupcake. When I come into your room—not if, but when—the gentleman in me will be staying at the door.”