Page 23 of An American in London

Sitting on the bed while I wait for Ben to finish in the bathroom, I take in the blue silk wallpaper.

I can’t believe I get to sleep in the bedroom where Daniel De Luca kissed Avani Tudor in A Duchess for a Duke .

It was such an iconic scene because it was the first time the duke let his cold exterior thaw a little.

The thaw quickly became a flood, and he kissed her.

Daniel De Luca and Avani Tudor’s chemistry was electric in that movie, and there were lots of rumors swirling during filming that the two of them were having a torrid affair.

If they weren’t, they should have been. I love to imagine the sparks between the actors on screen spilling over to real life; it makes watching so much more exciting.

I’m still convinced Josh Lucas and Reese Witherspoon are destined to be together.

The bathroom door opens. My gaze falls on it like I’m lost and Ben is a homing beacon, but he doesn’t come out right away.

My stomach flips in anticipation.

I really didn’t think this through. Wearing a white tank top and white sleep shorts, I feel entirely naked.

I hop into bed and sit up against the headboard, but I pull the covers over my bare legs just as Ben comes out of the bathroom.

He definitely planned better for this moment, because he’s fully covered in navy PJ bottoms and a tight white T-shirt, which I’m appreciating the hell out of.

Any stranger seeing Ben in street clothes could tell his chest is broad, but seeing it like this is a treat. He’s gorgeous.

“You’ve been making use of that home gym, I see,” I say, and then immediately want to die. I’ve basically just told him I’m ogling him.

The corner of his mouth lifts. I’m not sure if he’s pleased at the compliment or trying to cover a cringe. Maybe both.

I just can’t stop digging. “We had a gym in the basement of the apartment complex, but I was convinced it was a home for serial killers and therefore, quite logically, refused to go.” I need to get off the subject before he starts checking out my lack of abs. “Anyway, how was dinner?”

“We?” he says, pulling a couple of the pillows from the bed and a comforter that’s arranged across the end of the mattress and tossing them onto the couch.

“What?” Not for the first time, I’m not following his train of thought.

“You said, we had a gym. You and Jed?”

I sigh. “Yeah, me and Jed.” When I left New York, the breakup was so fresh it felt like a big gaping wound that would never heal.

Now, the pain has subsided quicker than I expected.

What’s weirder is my memories of him and us and our life together are .

.. blurry. Like one of the watercolors that line the walls of this very grand house. Maybe it’s the ocean between us.

“Do you miss being a we ?” he asks, and even though he’s asking me about my feelings, it’s like we’re studying facts on our questionnaires. He’s so focused on the answer.

“Not here in England,” I say. “You’re my we here.” My heartbeat trips in my chest at what I’m saying, not because I’m embarrassed but because it’s true. Ben and I feel like a we . “I should be asking you if it’s weird being a we . I know you don’t typically like a girlfriend cramping your style.”

I don’t expect him to answer the question, but he does. “It’s not as weird as I thought it might be.” He sits on the couch, his legs apart, his arm draped across the cushions on the back. I follow his movements, unable to look away from the lean, long lines of him.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I say, and I tilt my head, wondering what his lips would feel like on my neck.

He nods but doesn’t say anything. I wish, not for the first time, that I could read this man’s mind.

He has such a physical effect on my body, like I’m a firework waiting to light up whenever he’s around.

I’m drawn to him—the sea pulled toward the moon.

I want to know if he experiences the same reaction to me.

“Do you think you’ll go back to the US?” he asks.

I let out a small, nervous laugh. “Of course. The position at the bank here is just for five weeks. It’s an opportunity to impress the CEO.

Besides, where else would I go?” My friends are there.

It’s the city I call home. “Anyway, I want to know what happened with the duke when I was gossiping to the duchess about Daniel De Luca.”

“Right.” He pulls back the comforter and settles down on the couch.

“So?” I ask.

“Ray?” he responds, and I’m flummoxed for a second until I realize he’s trying to make a joke.

“Nope.” I clear my throat in preparation to sing—or make the noise that, for me, approximates singing. I’m a horrible singer. “ La, a note to follow So, Ti, a drink with jam and bread. That will bring us back— ”

“Please stop that.” He winces in a brooding, hot way.

“Only if you tell me what happened with the duke. Is he going to sell?”

He tucks an arm behind his head, and I try not to swoon at his flexed muscles.

He’s not one of those gym types who train twice a day and have a weakness for steroids.

He’s not bulky, just tall and broad and .

.. I need a cold shower. I look away, afraid he’ll be able to see what I’m thinking in my expression.

“Too early to say. He likes you.” He glances at me and his mouth curls up slightly in an almost-smile.

I pause, wondering if Ben likes me too. Because I’m beginning to really like him. “He’s more charming than I expected,” I continue. “He definitely has some grump to his personality—maybe that’s a nationwide British thing—but he’s ... less formal than I was anticipating. Lighter than—”

“Than me.”

It’s an unspoken question he’s not looking to have answered, but I give him one anyway. “I don’t think you’re heavy.”

He raises his eyebrows in silent accusation.

“I’m serious. You’re not heavy. You’re .

.. taciturn, certainly. But when we were at your house, you .

.. I don’t know how to put it.” I think for a while, aware he’s watching me as I stare out the window, waiting for my words to come.

“You don’t let the world see all of you.

There’s a layer underneath the surface you don’t reveal very often. ”

He looks away as I turn back to him, like I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t. It’s all the confirmation I need that I’m right.

“You seemed a little upset at the dinner table at one point. What was that about?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

“The duke was talking about his father,” I press. “About wanting to make him proud. Do you feel the need to make your dad proud?”

“I know he’s proud of me. Can we drop this?”

His expression isn’t harsh, but I can see pain in his eyes. Whatever upset him is firmly embedded in that layer he doesn’t want to show me. I don’t push any harder. There’s no need to upset him or remind him of his pain.

“There’s darkness in everyone. But there’s also plenty of lightness in you,” I say. “I’ve poked a few holes in that armor of yours. I’ve seen it.”

He lets out a half laugh. “You might be right.”

“I’ve seen you without a tie already. Give me a couple of months and I’ll have you lip-synching to Taylor Swift songs and driving with the windows down.”

He growls as he stares at the ceiling. “I’m focused on the end goal.”

“Sometimes you have to have fun on the way.”

“So they say. My fun is achieving what I set out to do.”

He’s so driven. So focused. I try to think about whether Jed was like that. He was certainly ambitious, but he never seemed so ... determined.

“I get that. But do you ever just kick back and relax? Do you ever call in sick and stay in bed and eat popcorn and watch movies all day?”

“Who would I be calling in sick to?”

“Hmm, I suppose that doesn’t make much sense when you’re the boss. But doesn’t it just mean you can do it more often? We should try it when we get back to London. I’ll tie you to the bed and force-feed you hot buttered popcorn and Daniel De Luca.”

“Not my kink,” he replies dryly.

Tiny explosions start going off in my shorts because I can’t help but wonder what his kink is. Does he want me to ask? It’s like he’s left a door ajar, and I can’t tell if he’s being deliberate or oblivious.

“Hmm. Maybe more of a Timothée Chalamet fan?”

Ben chuckles. “Definitely not.”

He’s not giving much away, but now I can’t help myself. “So what do you like?”

“I don’t watch many films,” he says, and I don’t respond because I know this already.

It was on the form. I want him to give me more without being pushed.

I’m not sure what I’m asking for. I don’t want to know his favorite sexual position—or maybe I do—but I want to know him better.

I want to know all of him. “I like to work out and make myself cheese on toast when Lera is off.”

“Toast in bed could create a crumb catastrophe.”

He smirks. “Every now and then, I’ve been known to watch a little ... Strictly Come Dancing .”

I’m mentally deep diving into my Anglo-American dictionary, trying to figure out what he’s saying. “The show? Like Dancing with the Stars ?”

“My mum was a dancer. When I was a kid, I used to take Latin and ballroom classes.”

My ovaries switch into hypersonic overdrive. “You can dance ?”

“A little.”

All I can focus on is the thought of his hand on my back and hips pressed against me, his thigh sliding against mine. “Holy shit.” It’s the only appropriate response. A man like Ben should be strictly a dad dancer. There’s no way the women of the world are ready for this man being able to dance.

“Well, that’s settled. Cheese on toast—whatever the hell that is—plus Dancing with the Strictly Stars . In bed. You deserve a day off when we get back from here.”

“You’ve decided that’s what I need?” he asks. “You’ve diagnosed my problem, and high-fat foods and shit TV shows while bedridden is the prescription.”

I sigh and flop back onto the bed, propping my head up with my hand so I can still see him.

“It’s pretty much the solution for every problem I can think of.

I swear, all international diplomatic relations should be conducted from bed.

The UN should rip out the seats from the Assembly Hall and replace them with beds with a built-in wide-screen.

The world would be a better place for it. ”

“You’ll have to police me,” he says. “I’m not sure I’ve got the staying power to last a day in bed.”

“Police you? Not my kink.”

He chuckles, reaches for the eye mask on the table, then turns off the lamp next to the couch, sending the room into darkness. “No costumes required. Just a partner in crime.”

“Maybe you haven’t had the right incentive to spend the day in bed before?” I suggest.

“You’re right,” he says. “Maybe you’re what I’ve been missing.”

I pause, waiting for a sarcastic follow-up, but it doesn’t come.

“I need to state for the record, I’m entirely onboard if you’re offering snacks and trashy TV.” And a day in bed with you, I don’t add.

“Good night, Tuesday,” he says.

It’s one of the few times he’s used my real name, and the sound winds around my body like one of his large hands sliding around my back, readying us for a waltz.