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“Why do you want to know?” I shoot back.

This time he laughs. It’s soft and it’s brief, but it’s there all the same. “Because the nice man at the hotel needs to know what room to take your bags to.”

Oh god, of course. My cheeks immediately flame. “It’s Georgia,” I mutter. “Georgia Ingram.”

He tells them my name. Then murmurs a thank you before he ends the call. “They’ll be here in a couple of minutes. Go ahead and check in. I’ll wait with your bags.”

“But… how do I know you won’t walk off with them?” I ask.

He looks over at my broken suitcase then back at me. “It’s okay,” he says, deadpan. “I don’t think we wear the same size. Your clothes are safe with me. But if you’re worried, take a photo of my car number plate. It’ll be easy to trace if you call the police.” He leans closer, his voice softer now. “But honestly, I think you can take the risk.”

I nod. Mostly because I have no idea what else to do. I need to check in, I need to shower, I need to get some sleep.

But my legs won’t move. It’s like they – and the rest of my body – need to stay here. It’s so weird, but I like the way he’s looking at me. Not like he’s appraising me or figuring out how to appease me. It makes me feel… noticed. In a way I haven’t been noticed for a very long time.

“It’s just over there,” he says softly, his eyes still on my face.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I uh, I don’t know your name.”

“Theo.”

“Thank you, Theo.”

“Not a problem, Georgia. Have a good stay in London. Try not to get freaked out by all the cats.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “I’ll try.”

Before I can make a bigger fool out of myself, I turn away from him, straightening my cross-body purse, and head toward the private courtyard of The Hunt Hotel. The imposing nineteenth century pale stone building is lined with tall Georgian windows and topped with a green shallow roof that matches the color of the logo.

And at the front is a huge Christmas tree, lights twinkling against the lush green foliage.

“Well done, Georgia,” I mutter to myself. Because that wasn’t embarrassing at all. Jennifer’s going to have a field day when I tell her about this.

THEO

It’s almost midnight by the time I stop at reception. It’s quiet in here, though the bar is still open, the tables full of guests who aren’t quite ready to head to their beds yet, the lure of our extensive whiskey collection behind the bar more than a match for the two-thousand thread count sheets in their rooms.

It's been another long day. I worked into the night and missed drinks with friends, which I’ll never hear the last of.

And all the while I’ve been thinking about her. Georgia Ingram. The American who apparently can’t look both ways before she crosses a damn road.

The way I almost ran into her, even though I was only driving twenty miles an hour at the most. A stark contrast to the way I drive when I’m outside London and the thrill of the accelerator gives me the kind of rush most people look to narcotics for.

“Mr. Hunt, how may I help you?” The concierge steps forward. Mateo has worked here since my grandfather was in charge. From what I can tell, he’s only taken one week off in all that time, when he broke his leg painting his house.

“We had a guest check in this morning,” I say smoothly. “Georgia Ingram. She’d taken a fall. Do you know if anybody’s checked on her?”

Mateo nods. “Yes, sir. Alice went to do the turn down service in her room. But she was already asleep.” He flashes me a smile. “Jetlag, I suspect.”

It happens a lot. Whenever I travel, the jetlag hits worse flying east to west. “Did Alice ask how she’s feeling?” I asked the staff to keep an eye on her when I came into the hotel this morning.

Mateo gets out his log. It’s an A4 hardback notebook. No electronic tablets for him, even though I’ve offered him every conceivable option. He runs his fingers down the logs he’s made for the day.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Alice asked as you requested, but she’s fine.”

“And no one told her that I’d requested it?” Because the last thing I need is for her to know I run this hotel. Not just because the financial liability could be painful, but because I don’t need to be thinking of her any more than I have been today.

About the way the rising sun caught her platinum hair. The way she looked up at me with those wide eyes that made my body feel tight.