‘Girl talk.’ I lean up and plant a kiss on my hottie’s cheek. ‘Race you!’ I set off running up the hill before he answers but it only takes him a second to catch up. He sweeps me from my feet without breaking his stride and keeps running up the hill. Hisbreathing isn’t even laboured when he puts me down just shy of the top. Then he takes two more big steps to make sure he reaches the peak before me.
‘You cheated! I would’ve won if you hadn’t picked me up.’
‘Get here.’ Those magnetic, brown gems burn into mine. I go to him and let him wrap me in his arms. ‘How did I find you?’ He drops a kiss on my brow, then turns me, dropping his arms over my shoulders, pulling my back into his chest. We look out over the city in the quiet calm of the hilltop.I’ll make you fall in love with me,Ryans.I pull his arms tighter over my shoulders and drop my head onto his forearm.
‘That’s the zoo,’ I say.
He nods his head, then drops his mouth to my neck, inhaling deeply.
‘And Canary Wharf.’
His lips gently suck my skin.
‘St Paul’s Cathedral.’
His tongue slides up to my jawline.
‘The Gherkin.’
He kisses my lobe.
‘The London Eye.’
He draws a line of kisses along my jawline.
‘And that’s home,’ I say, looking at the Shard.
He twists my head to face him and covers my lips with his. I shift into his chest and wrap my fingers through his hair as I breathe in his rich, fresh scent. He pushes my hair over my shoulders and his fingers gently tug me into his body.
He turns us slowly on the spot, faster and faster still until my lips peel away from his and I throw my head back, giggling, my arms outstretched above my head. A moment of total and utter happiness amongst our anguish.
He slows our turns, then spins us once in the opposite direction,which makes me smile. My dad used to say that was the only way to counteract the Dizzy Duck Effect created by spinning over and over in one direction. This is exactly where I want to be. In this moment, nothing else matters except Gregory and me. The thief who stole my heart, me his accomplice and willing victim.
He slides me down his body to my feet then strokes my hair back from my face and pecks the tip of my nose. ‘You’re cold.’
I shake my head. If I am, I’ll ignore it because I don’t want to go. I don’t want our bubble to burst.
‘Let’s get coffee.’ He lifts my hand to his lips then guides us down the hill.
We take two stools in the window of the French bakery. ‘We’re going to need lots of fresh baked bread,’ Gregory says to the waitress as we take off our coats. ‘And two coffees. Americano for me: black, no sugar.’
‘Latte for me, please.’
‘Would you like anything with your bread?’ she asks with a gentle French lilt. ‘Cheese, olives, oil and balsamic, meats?’
‘All of that.’ Gregory’s polite but distracted. I have his complete attention. He pulls my stool towards him so my knees are pressed between his thighs. We eat and talk, we laugh, in this exact position for almost two hours. It’s easy and right. We talk about everything and nothing of consequence. Gregory rubs a rogue drip of balsamic from my chin when it falls and pays the bill without entertaining my protest.
Dusk is already descending when we leave the café and stroll arm in arm back towards the car.
‘Oh, I love this bookstore.’ Slipping out of his arm, I go into the traditional store, every wall lined with hundreds of books, and head straight to Classics. ‘This is my favourite of all time,’ I say, holding the book in front of my chest.
‘The Count of Monte Cristo?’
‘Yes, it’s so wonderfully tragic.’
‘Agreed.’
I cock my head to one side with a raised brow. ‘You’ve readThe Count of Monte Cristo.’
