Page 14 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“You’re okay to drive?” she asked, clicking her seatbelt.

“Absolutely. Other than Coke, I haven’t had a thing since Eddie’s. You drank my Scotch, remember?”

“Oh, right.” She smiled, sheepish.

“Are you still up for dessert? You did say you never turn down something sweet.”

“At this hour? Everything’s closed.”

“Except my place. My freezer’s the British equivalent of Baskin-Robbins. You like ice cream?”

Natalie eyed the glowing digits on the dashboard clock. Midnight had come and gone, but she had no urgent reason to go back to the hotel. Her flight wasn’t until late in the afternoon.

And who wouldn't want to eat ice cream with this guy?

“Again, no pressure. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“I’m in, but only if you can guess my favorite flavor. Three tries.”

He looked straight ahead, thinking. After a moment, he buckled his seatbelt and gunned the engine. He turned to her with full-throttle confidence. “I only need one. Coffee.”

Natalie’s jaw dropped. “There’s no way. How could you possibly know?”

He leaned over and touched the pendant resting against her collarbone. A silver coffee-bean charm on a slender chain. A Christmas gift from Kate from years before.

“Context clue,” he said.

He held his finger there for several seconds, rolling the tiny pendant back and forth across her freckled chest. That small touch made her insides tingle.

With a smile, she said, “Oh, you’re good.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He winked.

With her hand draped over his on the gearshift, he drove through a collection of quiet streets. Every turn revealed wealthier neighborhoods. Moonlight waltzed across the surface of the Thames—a body of water that, in her opinion, wasn’t that impressive during the day but looked amazingly good at night.

“Is your place on the river?” she asked.

“It is. We’re almost home.”

He said it as though this were their real life. Amelia Earhart and Thomas Crown, a happy couple who’d enjoyed a night on the town and were now going home. Together. As if they’d done it for years. That kiss felt like it changed everything. And nothing. She’d still be on her flight tomorrow.

He made one last turn toward the river. The road came to a dead end at a stately building on the edge of Chelsea Harbour. Stately meaning hella expensive. A monolith of stucco and brick surrounded by lush gardens. The main entry boasted a massive circular drive and a wall of glass with two sets of double doors.

Bypassing the front driveway, he continued around to the side of the building. Natalie shivered with nervous anticipation as Mr. Crown eased into an underground garage. He carefully inched the sports car into a tiny space—number 34—which happened to be her exact age. A little jolt of adrenaline pulsed through her, a clear sign of good things to come.

He typed a code into a keypad and a private elevator whisked them to the top floor. Steps inside his dark penthouse, she turned to him, eager to toss propriety and clothing aside and feel every part of him against her. Their bodies snapped together like two Lego bricks. Her mouth went hard on his, exploring every inch while her fingers swam through the waves of his dark hair. The dancing, the laughter, the playful banter—all a prelude to what she really wanted.

This wasn’t kissing.

This was something else entirely.

Internal fireworks.

The fourth of fucking July.

A level of wanting Natalie had never experienced.

She shoved his jacket down from his shoulder with one hand and fumbled with the clasp of his belt with the other.