He had no idea what madness had forced him to stop and open his bloody mouth. He was bent on going to the nearest pub, have a pint or two, then head back to his flat and call it a night.

Instead of making good on that very solid plan, William found himself standing in the shadows like some creep, the words spilling out before he could do the proper thing and stuff them down.

“Are you planning to come to the official opening?”

The brunette spun around, her pink Sobranie letting a trail of smoke to coil through the air. Her eyes widened, and William couldn’t help noticing they were the most entrancing shade of green he’d ever come across.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The opening of the Biennials tomorrow night. Do you intend to go? I saw you earlier at the press conference, so I thought I’d ask.”

Ah, balls, there he went again. Speaking instead of getting his ass out of here.

But unlike the beehive back on the gallery terrace, he actually felt like engaging in some conversation. However short it might be.

“The tickets sold out a while ago.” She flicked her cigarette, ash scattering across the asphalt, and batted her lashes as she shied away from his gaze. “I was thinking of coming another night. When the hype cools down a bit, you know?”

Her voice was melodic and sweet, but with just the right amount of husky around the edges to give off a serious air of sultriness. His cock twitched, and all of a sudden William was extremely grateful he’d gone for the long woolen coat rather than his trademark leather jacket. Getting a hard-on in the middle of a parking lot was bad enough. Flashing it around…

Fuck. That rank excuse of a pub he frequented seemed like a bloody brilliant idea.

He should go. Now. This was enough embarrassment for one evening.

The young woman clearly wasn’t interested—Christ, had he even been hoping she were?—and he’d taken up enough of her time as it was.

But, again, his mouth seemed determined to act without giving a rat’s ass about his wishes.

“I have a few spare tickets. I could leave one for you at the door, if you’d like to come. Your friend, too,” he added as he noticed a blonde making her way towards them, two glasses of wine in her hands.

“I—I’d love to.” That flash of light in her eyes was worth the awkwardness he seemed unable to shake. “And I’m sure Audrey would, too.”

“Audrey.” William glanced at the other woman, now able to make out a faint outline of her features and the leopard pattern of her coat under the weak artificial light.

She appeared to be in her very early twenties—much like the brunette before him. But not even that somewhat unnerving fact could persuade him to sod off now.

“And you are?” he asked, a single corner of his lips tugging up.

“Lily.” She extended her hand. “Lily Summers.”

“William Charleston.”

Despite the bloody cold, her skin was warm, and—being the asshole that he was—he couldn’t resist holding it for a moment longer than was necessary. Then again, Lily Summers didn’t seem in a hurry to break off the contact, either.

It was a struggle not to draw her closer, run his fingers through those warm brown strands.

He let her go before the urge turned impossible.

A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she shifted her cigarette from her left hand to the right once more. Then, locking her gaze on his with newly found courage, she took a drag, those nude-painted lips that wrapped around the gold filter giving him ideas no respectable man his age should have about someone this young.

Fuck.

He wasn’t that kind of bastard, fantasizing about someone he’d just met.

Those days were long, long gone. Besides, not even then had he ever contemplated how a woman’s lips would feel wrapped around his cock before he’d at least bought her a drink.

To be honest, he’d never been at half-mast upon meeting someone, either.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him?

He seriously needed to get out of here before he would do something he’d regret later. Like ask her out, knowing there was no possible way things could work out between them.

A voice inside him nagged that that particular ship had already sailed. Might as well do his best now.

Or worst, he thought bitterly.

“Well, then, that’s settled. There will be two tickets waiting for you tomorrow in my name, Lily.” He offered her a smile. “I hope you and your friend enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Contrary to his previous beliefs, William skipped the pub entirely and went straight home instead. The ale in the fridge had a lot more appeal than sitting in a crowded place—especially now that his apartment was finally devoid of his ex and her poisonous glares that had followed his every move.

William winced, then eased himself into the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window. London’s skyline spread before him in a spill of lights, augmenting the silence.

He’d sworn to himself. No more women.

Until tonight, it had proven to be an easy vow to uphold, given he had no desire to get tangled up with anyone after Trisha had blatantly ignored his wish to relocate to his homeland. Alone.

Oh, you sorry sod, he thought to himself, feeling the flickers of anger kindle low in his gut.

Flickers of guilt, too.

He clamped down hard on the impulse to defend his ex.

Christ, he’d gone through the same argument numerous times just to return to it yet again whenever he thought of her. Passing the blame like it was a ball in a bloody perpetual tennis match.

Her fault, his fault. Hell, it was all one massive Gordian knot.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Still, he should have done something the moment Trisha had dragged her suitcases inside. But truth was, when he’d told her he wanted to end things between them, she had flat-out refused. There were far too many blanks in his memory to even recall all the shit times, but the gist of it was that the woman had sunk in her claws.

For fuck’s sake, she’d been seeing other men behind his back… He hadn’t known that at the time, but now that he did, it made even less sense. Why on earth had she preferred to carry on taunting him for what a bloody worthless partner he was than simply break up with him?

Wasn’t it that people usually cheated because they had no desire to be with their significant other?

No wonder a part of him was still torn.

William shook his head, sighing deeply, and opened the bottle of ale. He filled the glass to the brim, watching the dark liquid settle.

No more women. That was what he’d promised himself the moment he finally pried the keys from Trisha’s grabby, vicious hands. He just didn’t have the energy left in him to deal with that kind of stress.

So why had he stopped in the parking lot? What was it about Lily Summers that made him want to see her tomorrow night?

Christ, the woman probably wasn’t even half his age, and he was certainly in no condition to plunge into another relationship. Casual sex… Well, he’d had his fair share in his earlier years before deciding it just wasn’t his thing. Too impersonal and not nearly relaxed enough. Not to mention that it tended to make him feel like shit afterwards.

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, then took several swallows of the cool, frothy ale.

All he promised her were tickets. Not a date or a roll in the sack.

But something inside him crooned that he was bullshitting himself yet again.

Lily Summers had charmed him the instant he saw her arch an eyebrow while one of his colleagues had been going on and on about how he approached an award-winning author he was to photograph and asked him if he didn’t feel as if he were supporting colonialism by writing in French rather than his mother tongue.

Which was French, by the way.

Yeah, Theodore Sallows was that kind of asshole. And Lily Summers had seen right through it.

William couldn’t help loving her a little for that.