Thirty-Eight
Tarquin didn’t push Alex for answers. Driving across London, he kept his attention on the road, leaving Alex to her texts with Lucy. Once at his building, he carried her high heels and followed her into his private elevator. The floor numbers counted upwards…two, three, four…but nothing seemed to lift the distant look in her eyes.
The door slid open to his four-bedroom penthouse on the tenth floor, and Alex strode in, past Tarquin’s framed medals from the London and New York City marathons and photos snapped atop mountains and inside caves. She turned left into the living room and headed straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Tower Bridge, all lit up and commanding attention like London’s biggest showoff.
“I’ll get you a drink.” Tarquin set down her shoes and kicked off his own before walking into the kitchen. Removing two glasses from a cupboard, he set them on the counter, free of crumbs and dishes. His place resembled one of those impossibly neat apartments showcased in glossy home décor magazines.
Alex rushed past his life-size Stormtrooper and took up residence in front of his London telephone box, filled with biographies and reference books, listening to a message on her phone. A minute in, she slowed down her pacing, lowering the phone from her ear. Oh. My. God.
“Everything all right?” Tarquin handed over a vodka and orange and took a sip from his boulevardier.
“Better than all right…” She set her clutch on a table beside the window and with a smile, downed a large mouthful. “Do you know I made a checklist for tonight?”
“You know I love a good list. Go on, then, what was on it?”
“Number one: get through it, stay calm, don’t panic. Number two: make sure to talk to new people, new theatre contacts.” She grinned. “Not only did I not get overwhelmed, but my phone is stuffed with contacts.”
“I couldn’t have played it better myself.” He laughed and leaned against the window in front of Tower Bridge. “What else was on that list?”
“Only one more: prove that Thirteen wasn’t a fluke. My scene flew by so quickly tonight, but the audience loved it—Pete and Sara bowed four times. I don’t know if my former agent was there, but even if she wasn’t, I felt vindicated, and people at the party kept coming up to me. Tarq, they didn’t forget me or Thirteen.”
“Didn’t I say you would boss it?”
“I had one wobble…” She gulped her drink. “Seeing Mark…it was like the previous three hours didn’t count—the previous six months of healing didn’t count. That broken girl from the Dublin hotel room was stood in front of him again, Mark and his Coen Winkler-approved career makeover, yanking me back down.”
She set her glass beside her clutch. “But then I became so fucking furious that I could barely see straight. It all came flooding back: why I left him, how he’s changed, why I deserve more. At that very moment, everything became clear. I knew what I needed to do. I felt empowered again. And then you arrived—”
Tarquin raised his glass with a grin. “How was my timing, good?”
“Impeccable.” Alex tapped into her voicemail. “I crashed into Mark’s friend because I was distracted by my phone ringing. I let it go to voicemail and forgot all about it until we got here and I had a listen…check this out.” She put her phone on speaker.
Good afternoon, Ms. Sinclair. It’s Peggy Ward calling from the 59E59 Theaters in New York. It’s four fifty P.M. Eastern, nine fifty British time. I’m calling regarding Thirteen. We love it and want to arrange a meeting with you in New York. Please call us at your earliest convenience at 212-555-5959, or just reply to the email I’ll be sending shortly. Okay, look forward to chatting soon. Thank you, bye.
Tarquin’s jaw dropped “You sly fox! You did send it?”
A grin stretched her cheeks. “To an off-Broadway theatre, four months ago—the morning after I fainted.”
“Blimey. Talk about picking yourself up after a fall. Well, I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations, Lex!” He raised his glass in her honour.
“Let’s celebrate…” Alex took the glass from his hand, leaving it on the table beside her drink. “…properly.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking! Champagne, it is. Moët or Veuve—”
Alex grabbed his belt, yanking him close and forcing his shoulders to bend towards her. She stretched up on tiptoes, her mouth delivering an unexpected answer.
He leaned forward in shock, but the urgency of her lips woke his senses. His hands rose to her face, cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer.
His kiss was warm and persistent but undemanding, waiting for Alex to decide where it would go next. This restraint was not what she expected, not after his banter with Harry. Tarquin was letting Alex take the lead; it was sexy and respectful and made her want him even more.
To her annoyance, it also made her think of Mark. She thought of their kisses, perfect in their impatience and unforgettable in their desperation, the type of kisses that inspire love songs, the type of kisses against which all kisses were measured—and measure, she did. Comparing Tarquin—available, caring, smitten Tarquin—to Mark, the man who spent more time away from her than with her, who took almost two years to introduce her to his family, who cheated on their anniversary. Who was being cruel and unfair now? What was she doing? Was Tarquin’s only crime that he wasn’t Mark? It didn’t make this kiss wrong or unwanted. Mark had moved on; it was time she did, too.
She threw her arms around Tarquin’s neck and slipped her tongue between his lips, exploring his mouth with abandon. He tasted spicy, the rye from his cocktail lingering on his tongue.
Tarquin responded to her invitation, kissing deeper, urgently, with a passion he could no longer fight. His hands slipped from her face to her waist, his fingers hitching her dress up her thighs.
She widened her legs and pushed closer. Following her cue, Tarquin’s hands roamed to her hips, lifting her off the ground, the subtle shift up against him causing a gasp to escape her lips. His body…felt so damn good.
Tarquin reluctantly tore his mouth away, his breaths coming hard and fast. “Alex…are you sure?”
Pressed against his trousers, Alex could tell Tarquin was very sure.
She opened her eyes, taking him in. His smouldering gaze silently beckoned, like he hoped Alex wanted him as much as he wanted her. Patient, unselfish, empathetic Tarquin—never pressuring her, never living up to his wild, womanizing reputation. How her perception of him had changed since the day they met.
Catching her breath, a naughty smile lit up her face as she wrapped her legs around him. Her hand slipped down his neck and underneath the placket of his shirt. His pecs were firm with a trace of fine hair. Lucy had been bang on: swipe right. She stroked his chest, desperate to feel him, to break down the final barrier between them. Under her hand, his heart pounded as hard as hers, and in his eyes, she saw lust, but also tenderness…respect. For the first time in months, Alex didn’t care about Mark. She didn’t care if tonight was a one-off or something more. Feeling safe, desired, turned on…paired with tonight’s successes—it was all too heady a cocktail to resist.
“I want you. I only want you—”
She claimed his mouth, kissing him recklessly, her tongue encouraging him, taunting him, rewarding him for waiting…for her.
He pushed her backwards against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames. Locked against the glass, she grasped the back of his neck, forcing his kiss deeper, showing him that she had no doubts. She needed him as much as he wanted her.
With each passing minute, their kisses became more bold and urgent. Hands explored, lips travelled, and the couple slipped to the floor, joining Tarquin’s shirt. The hem of her dress flirted precariously high, coming close to giving the tourists snapping photos on Tower Bridge a souvenir worthy of a visit to a Soho peep show.
Tarquin breathlessly broke away, glancing past Alex at the glittering city below. He straightened the skirt of her dress, covering her thighs again. “Lex, snogging in public is totally hot, but…” He squeezed her hip, his eyes flitting over his shoulder.
“You’ve read my mind.” Alex pulled him back to her mouth, their kiss dissolving into a mutual laugh. He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom.