London Prep: Book Three, page 15
“Oh …”
“We’re best friends. He knows me better than anyone. And I know him.”
“I know you do.”
“What are you thinking about now?” Noah asks, his lips pulling to the side.
“About?”
“About Harry. About love,” he says.
My eyes go wide, and I let out a nervous laugh. “So many big questions tonight. Uh … honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’m worried. I could let him in, Noah. I could really let him in. And I could fall for him. I already am.” I shrug. “I care about him.”
“I know you do.” Noah nods, sucking in his cheeks.
“But I’m not sure if I should. You told me I would get hurt. That I would hurt him. I’m scared of that. Of moving too quickly. Too slowly. Sometimes, it feels like I’m scared of everything. Everyone always thinks I’m this strong, no-bullshit person.”
“You sort of are.” Noah grins.
“But I have doubts. I get scared.”
“Do you feel like you have to pretend with other people?” Noah asks.
“People are always going to see what they want to. I don’t care what people see. I guess I do care though about … who sees me. If I really let someone in, it’s a big deal.”
“You’re not alone in feeling that way, Mal. Everyone gets nervous about rejection.”
“I guess you’re right. Our actions can’t be taken back. The things we do and say, they mean something. Your dad was right yesterday when he said everything had an effect. It has a cause, a reaction. It has meaning.”
I watch Noah run his palm across his thigh, his hand shifting back and forth.
“Maybe you need to let go of that a little. It sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It sounds like the human reality,” I disagree. “At least, it’s my reality.”
“You really do worry about a lot,” he says, his lips pulling into a smile.
“Sometimes, I think you don’t worry about anything,” I offer.
“Do you really believe that?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, tell me something you worry about. Enough about me.” I sit back down on the bed, ready for this conversation to focus on Noah.
“I’m worried that this conversation hasn’t helped you.”
“It’s helped me go in a circle,” I tease.
“Has it?” Noah asks, his eyes squinting closed as he grins.
“No.” I shake my head. “It has helped. You’re easy to talk to—for the most part. And you’re right. I build this stuff up in my head. I layer on so many fears and future meanings that I probably get lost in the simplicity of it.”
“Look at you, boiling down a whole conversation into a sentence,” Noah teases.
“Tell me something you actually worry about,” I push.
“What fun would that be?” Noah says, his eyes meeting mine.
My mouth falls open. “Noah! You’re telling me you get to ask me all these questions, making me go search through my heart and all these locked-up boxes to come up with an answer, and you won’t even give me surface level here?” I ask pointedly.
“Annoying, isn’t it?” Noah says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You. Are. Infuriating,” I say, picking up one of my pillows and smacking his arm with it.
He holds up his hands in defense, but I keep swatting him with the pillow. A second later, he takes the pillow out of my hand and tosses it off the bed.
“Hey,” I scold, reaching for the pillow with a grin.
But Noah grabs my arm, pulling me away from it.
I try to wiggle toward it, but he holds both of my wrists in his hands, stopping me.
“I was having fun,” I say, wanting him to let me go so I can keep hitting him with my pillow.
I try to pout but end up grinning at him. Because playing with Noah makes me forget about everything going on in my head.
“I could tell,” Noah says, his face softening.
“I promise to be gentle,” I tease.
“I have no doubt you’d be gentle,” Noah replies in a sultry tone.
His voice captures my attention, and I connect my eyes to his. They’re darker than before, but they have a sparkle of playfulness in them.
“But then again, you’re always misbehaving.”
“Am not,” I argue, feeling breathless.
“No?” Noah asks, tilting his head to the side, not looking convinced.
“No. I’m always well behaved. You know that.”
“Sure, out there you are,” he says, nodding his head toward the door. “But in here, I’m not convinced.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“No challenges.” Noah smiles. “I just know you. You have very good manners.”
“Thank you.”
“You feel a lot though, Mal. And I think anyone you’re with can see that. You’re usually pretty good about staying in control. Obviously, not all the time. You do have your moments.” He chuckles.
“I feel like I could say that about you though. Under your buttoned-up exterior, there’s a lot of emotion. Passion even.”
“Passion?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s obvious with things you care about. Or with your strongly felt opinions. You’re usually very open to listening and not judging. You’re a great listener. But I think there’s also a huge vat of pent-up and held-back emotions and thoughts just waiting to explode.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant,” Noah says, his eyes flashing. “But you don’t have to worry about that. I’m always in control.”
“Mmhmm,” I say, not convinced.
Because we both know he’s not. And he especially wasn’t on Friday night.
“If that passion were given,” he says softly, “what do you think would be the result?”
“Well, that’s a hard question. But in general, I think you shouldn’t be so scared to show your passion. Because anytime you do, it’s really beautiful. Like with football. Everyone watching can see how much you care. It’s mesmerizing. Or like in art. I think your passion can inspire.”
Noah scrunches up his nose. “Mesmerizing, huh?”
“Blinding,” I emphasize, making myself sound even more dramatic.
“I’m glad we talked,” Noah says, getting up.
“Me too.” I smile. “Now, shoo. I need to finish getting ready for my date.”
Mr. Brooks
7pm
When the doorbell rings, I check myself in the mirror, adjusting the dress at my shoulders. I turn to my side, running my hands down over the fabric before walking out of my bedroom and down to the front door, which Gene is in the process of opening.
“Hello, Harry,” Gene says, his back to me.
“Hey …” Harry starts. But he quickly goes silent. His eyes drag their way up my legs and over my torso and chest, meeting my eyes.
Gene turns, following his gaze.
“Well, you look lovely this evening, Mallory.” Gene smiles but then turns back to Harry, flustered. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m afraid I’ve just nicked your line.”
Harry’s lips pull into a smile. His eyes briefly flick over to Gene before returning to me again. “Don’t worry, Mr. Williams. A girl can never be told she’s beautiful too many times. Mallory, you look absolutely stunning.”
My heart practically stops at his words.
Because Gene has finally shifted out from between us, and I take in all of Harry.
He has on a three-button suit that is perfectly tailored to fit his long, trim figure. Under the suit is a blue and gray striped spread-collared shirt that makes his blue eyes look even more brilliant.
Between his slicked back hair and strong jaw, I find myself conflicted on what part of him to admire first.
Which piece of his skin is more daunting.
I flush, knowing that I’ve been staring at him for a little too long.
And Harry knows it. His eyes have been locked with mine.
They’re magnetic tonight, and even as I thank Gene, I can’t seem to break his gaze.
Harry wraps his arm through mine when Helen’s voice echoes in my ears. I turn back toward her, not sure what she even said.
I glance up to Harry, wondering if he knows, but he’s just smiling back at me.
“Mallory?” Helen says.
“Yes?” I turn myself toward her, willing myself to focus on what she’s saying.
“I said, I’d like a photo,” she states like she already said it before.
And she probably did.
“Yeah, of course,” I agree, looking up to Harry to make sure he’s okay with it.
But his focus is on Helen.
“Helen, they aren’t off to formal,” Gene objects.
“Hush,” she says, her fingers messing with the screen on her phone.
“A photo would be great,” Harry says.
He pulls me close against his side, and I can’t help but stare at him as the flash goes off.
“One more,” Helen instructs.
I turn toward her and smile because I know that’s what she wants.
“All right, you two should be off,” Gene says, moving between us and Helen.
“Bye,” I mumble as Harry takes my hand, opening the front door again.
“Look at them, so lovely,” I hear Helen say as I step outside.
And before I know it, a car door is being opened.
“Harry?” I question, glancing between him and the driver.
“I want to take you somewhere special,” Harry replies, walking me to the car.
I slip into the seat, and then the door shuts, Harry moving around the car to the other side.
“This is too much,” I insist as he slides in next to me.
Because I’m already feeling light headed. Harry looks beautiful.
Like unworldly beautiful.
He’s put together in a way that I’ve never seen before.
And there’s a different energy about him tonight.
He’s quieter. Sexier.
Something is radiating off his skin that I haven’t felt before. He’s not bantering back and forth with me. Making silly expressions.
Making jokes.
“It isn’t,” he disagrees. “It’s time you’re taken for a proper night out. I want to show you how important you are to me. I want to let you in more, into my world.”
I search Harry’s eyes, trying to make sense of this.
“I thought we were going out for a simple Sunday night date,” I reply as the car starts moving.
Harry shakes his head, taking my hand into his. “We ate at a modest Italian restaurant. We ate dessert at a diner. We rode on a tour bus. We’ve done simple. And it was fun. But I thought it was time for something different.”
“Well, I like different.” I smile, running my hand across his jacket. “And I especially like this suit.”
Harry’s lips pull into a smile. “I had a feeling you might,” he says, dropping his lips down onto mine.
It’s a soft kiss, and my fingers glide across his shoulders.
He brings his hand onto my cheek, and I want to deepen our kiss, opening my mouth to him.
Harry doesn’t miss my invitation. He tilts his head, letting his tongue dance with mine, his fingers falling from my cheek to my exposed neck and shoulders.
I try to kiss him harder, but he keeps his mouth gentle on mine.
His fingers lightly graze across my skin, making each movement feel more intense.
Every piece of skin he touches, from the center of my throat to the tip of my collarbone, tingles with energy. Goose bumps rise on my arms, sending a shiver through me. And I know that Harry feels it. Because his fingers stop.
His hands slip up into my hair, and his lips get more frantic.
“I’m not sure we’re going to make it out of the car,” Harry whispers in my ear before trailing his mouth down across my neck. He sucks against my skin, causing it to flush.
“I think we should skip dinner altogether,” I insist, biting my lip. Because I want to be out of this dress.
There’s too much fabric between us, and my whole body knows it.
And it’s revolting.
I can feel in the pit of my stomach what my body wants.
And that’s for Harry’s hand to trail up my legs.
For his hand to slip across my exposed ribs.
“I think you’d let me deflower you right here and now,” he teases, his lips moving back up my jaw.
“It would make for a good story,” I insist, closing my eyes as he tugs at my lip.
“I’m not sure how I’d feel about having a third party present,” Harry counters, his eyes flicking up to mine.
I glance toward the front of the car, feeling a little guilty for being so hot and bothered with Harry’s driver present.
I groan, letting my shoulders droop. “I can’t help it. Your lips do something to me. And my body just reacts.”
Harry chuckles, his blue eyes shining. “Do you think your body can behave itself long enough to make it through dinner?”
I roll my eyes, pressing my hand against his chest. “If it’s forced to,” I mumble, looking away from him.
But Harry brings his fingers to my chin, turning my face back to his and pressing his lips against mine.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been in the car for or when it even stopped, but Harry breaks his lips apart from mine.
“I think it’s time to get out of the car now,” he whispers as the door opens.
A second later, I’m being helped out of the car, and Harry is back at my side, taking my hand in his. I pat my hair down with my free hand, knowing that it probably has been, at the least, mussed from Harry’s hands constantly in it during the ride. My hand slips down onto my lips, tracing around them.
I feel like I’ve been lying out in the sun for too long.
Everything seems out of focus.
The colors off. Too bright.
I tilt my head back, looking up to take in the building that we were dropped in front of. Exposed brick encases oversized windows, and industrial metal reflects out from behind the glass walls that make up the front of the building.
“Wow,” I gasp, appreciating the architecture of the place.
“It used to be an old hotel,” Harry says, hearing the admiration in my voice.
“It’s beautiful,” I reply.
It’s classic Chelsea architecture.
A doorman opens the door as Harry escorts me inside.
The restaurant gives off a warm glow, the deep red brick closing in the large interior. Three large light fixtures break up the dining room, the circular lights illuminating the space. There’s a staircase that leads up to a loft, the rich wood looking like a remnant from the hotel that was too beautiful to get rid of.
I gawk at the space.
“I’ve seen a lot of beautiful restaurants, Harry, but this place is really something,” I whisper, leaning into his arm.
“It’s a great place,” he responds, easily pulling me in the direction of the hostess.
But when we get to her, he doesn’t stop. He continues walking past her. She glances at us, her narrow eyes moving to his lapel, and then she picks up the phone, tipping her chin in acknowledgment.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
I look around, wondering if maybe he reserved a special table.
But wouldn’t we still have to check in with the hostess to be seated?
I glance at his lapel, noticing a pin on it that I must have missed earlier.
“The restaurant isn’t the only cool part,” Harry says as we walk down a long hallway, up a set of stairs, and around a corner. “This place also happens to have one of the top wine bars in all of London. But those are just the parts of it that are open to the public.”
“The public?” I ask as Harry stops us in front of a thick, engraved elevator and presses a button.
“Yes, you see, upstairs, hidden in plain sight, is one of the most exclusive clubs in London.”
I furrow my brow at him as the elevator chimes, and the doors open.
“Welcome, Mr. Brooks,” the elevator attendant says, startling me.
I glance over to Harry, not believing this is actually happening.
Mr. Brooks?
I stay silent as we ride in the elevator, wanting to talk in private without someone else a foot away from us.
Harry squeezes my hand as the elevator chimes again, the doors parting.
“Welcome to The Arrington.”
I take in the wood-paneled room as we step off the elevator. There are numerous tables and chairs with fragrant floral arrangements on every available surface.
“The Arrington?” I ask, wishing Harry would just explain.
“The Arrington is a private club that my family belongs to. Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”
I want to respond to Harry, but there is so much to take in that I don’t have time to say anything. One moment, we’re in what looks like an oversized sitting room, and the next, he’s leading me into a cozy room, featuring leather couches and a long, formal bar.
“There are numerous rooms and endless corners of this place to explore. This is the private bar,” Harry says, motioning around him.
“How many rooms are there?” I ask, glancing to a group of men seated on the couches, heavy crystal glasses resting in their hands.
Harry blows air out of his mouth, his eyebrows rising. “There are endless rooms. There’s a billiards room, a smoking room, a space for dining, a game room. There are multiple floors, and each room is unique. The rooms can be used freely or rented out by the club members for private events.”
“Do you come here often?”
“I like to when I can,” he says, taking me into another room. “There are books and drinks and always interesting, high-profile people here. It’s my oasis.”
“I thought that was Marco’s place?” I ask, thinking about his secret Italian hideaway.
“It is. But it’s sort of a two-worlds thing. I’m just regular Harry there,” he replies, his eyes on me.
“And here?”
“And here, I’m Mr. Brooks, the son of a shipping tycoon, set to inherit everything.” Harry searches my face, his lips twitching at the corner. “I’ve made us special dinner plans, but we have time for a drink first.”
