Page 35 of An American in London

I don’t know how to tell Ben I’m about to ruin his life. Probably the same way Jed told me he was in love with a ballerina and going to live in Iowa. Quickly. And without mercy.

“Things have gotten out of control,” I say to him as he slides into the car next to me. “The duke and duchess are lovely people, but I feel ...”

“Like they want to adopt us?” Ben shoots me an amused look, instantly popping the balloon of anxiety that’s been building in me all evening.

“Exactly.” I glance out the window, back to the duke and duchess’s town house.

I don’t know if Ben told his driver to go back to his place or to my hotel.

And I’m not sure where I’d prefer to be.

I need to focus on my future and my career, not getting naked with a man who I won’t see again after I take off for New York.

Don’t I? Ben is going to be an ocean away in just a couple of weeks.

I’m already in up to my neck in emotions . .. Why make things worse?

At the same time, the pull toward Ben is so intense.

I want him. Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the half-truths we just told at dinner that had me imagining I could actually be Ben’s fiancée.

But that’s a fantasy, and holding on to Ben when I know it’s going to be over so quickly seems like drawn-out torture.

Isn’t it better to rip the Band-Aid off and go our separate ways?

“I hate lying to them.”

“I know,” he says. His tone turns somber. “I hate lying to them too. They’re good people.” His frown has returned.

“I’m leaving for New York in just over two weeks. They’re going to find out we’re not engaged.”

Ben pulls in a breath, and I try not to focus on the rise of his chest and what’s underneath his shirt. Things have gotten so messy. I don’t need to make things worse. Better we have a clean break. Okay, so we gave in and had sex, but it was a one-off, right?

“I know. I knew I was going to have to put a stop to things when the duchess mentioned staying with them in Cannes.”

“Frankly, that’s almost worth getting married for.”

Ben almost smiles. Oh, dimple, how I love thee. “I’m going to have to explain.”

“Two weeks is going to fly by.”

Ben clenches his jaw and I pretend for a second that it’s because he’ll be sad to see me go, and not because my departure means his plans are going up in flames.

“Even if I was staying the year—”

“It’s not right,” he says. Then rushes to add, “The lying. Not the bit about you staying the year.” He pauses. “Have you thought about extending your trip?”

“I’m here for work, Ben.” I let out a small laugh of panic. So much has happened in London that I’ve been able to avoid the wreckage of the life I left in New York. But the second that plane touches down, I won’t be able to dodge reality any longer.

“Right,” he says. “I’ll tell them.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You never told me why the hotels were so important to you. Was it just about the money?”

“No,” he says simply. “I have a personal connection. I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

My limbs feel heavy. I feel terrible that Ben won’t get the hotels he obviously wants so badly. “I’m so sorry,” I say. I wish I could speak to the duke and duchess, convince them Ben is a really good guy.

“Don’t be. You’ve done more than I asked of you.” He sounds so sad. I wish I could take it away.

“I could talk to them,” I offer. “I could explain—”

“You don’t need to think about it. I’ll figure this out. It isn’t your burden.”

I turn and place my hand on his, trying to ignore the spark of electricity I feel every time we touch—even now. “Let them down gently.”

“I’ll say we’re taking some time apart. I may wait until you’re back in the US. Say you went home to care for”—he glances at me—“someone. And then maybe the distance takes its toll?”

“You’ll have to maintain the facade without me for a few weeks, then.”

He groans. “You’re right. But I’m not sure I’m capable. Better to come clean straightaway. I’ll say we’ve decided to call off the engagement. The reality of wedding planning showed us we were ... incompatible.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention at the idea I could be incompatible with Ben.

I’ve never felt so completely compatible with anyone.

But it’s a good explanation. “We’ve had some disagreements over the long hours you work and how it wouldn’t be compatible with family life,” I suggest, my fingers tapping against his knuckles as I think to myself.

Ben’s frown deepens. I swear I can see the faces of at least four presidents carved into the crevices of his forehead. “You think I work too much?”

“No,” I say, surprised he wants my opinion.

“Because if I were married, I probably wouldn’t work such long hours.”

“Ben, I almost married a corporate lawyer. The fact you leave the office to sleep in your own bed makes me think you’re practically unemployed.”

He nods but it’s not convincing. “And if I were a father, I would want to ... you know, really spend time with my kid.”

He’s so adorable and perfect and wonderful. I want to squeeze him. “You gotta work harder on your I’m a ruthless uncaring businessman persona. It doesn’t take too much to scratch the surface and get to the goo underneath.”

He growls, and I pretend not to feel it in my vagina. “There’s no goo in me. I just want to take an active role in my kids’ lives.”

I pull my hand away. “Code red, code red.” I make to open the car door. “Red-blooded, rich, handsome man wants kids. I gotta go or my ovaries are going to make me do things to you that would make you blush.”

The dimple is back with a vengeance. “You’d be surprised what I can cope with without any embarrassment whatsoever.”

And then it’s me who has to worry about covering my blush.

I clear my throat dramatically in an effort to neutralize the bubbling chemistry between us.

Rip. The. Band-Aid. Off. “So, the duke and duchess. You’re going to say we’re splitsville.

Planning the wedding for people on two continents made me realize I couldn’t cope with being so far from my family. ”

He sinks back into his seat like a boxer who’s ten rounds in and knows he’s going to lose.

“Sounds like a plan.” His voice is dull and flat, his dismay palpable.

I wish he’d tell me why the duke’s hotels were so important to him, but maybe it’s better he doesn’t.

He’ll probably have to kiss that dream goodbye forever.

Even though he’s reassured me I can’t do anything to help, guilt still clings to me. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to miss being your fake fiancée.”

He looks at me, his expression is so soft it’s like falling back onto a blanket of freshly fallen snow. “I’m going to miss that too.”

“Maybe we should ... catch up when you’ve had a chance to tell them,” I say.

Even though I know I shouldn’t wade into waters that are already too deep, I can’t leave London without seeing him again.

“Just so I’m fully aware of what you’ve said in case I run into them.

I can ... corroborate your story.” The excuse is so flimsy, I’m surprised the words don’t form a puddle at my feet.

When would I run into the duke and duchess?

He starts to say something but stops himself and nods. “Drinks, maybe.”

“Dinner even,” I say. “My treat. I’m feeling pret-ty flush right now.”

He bites back a smile, and I bask in the sunlight of his amusement.

The car arrives outside the hotel, and my heart dips with disappointment. But why? This is better, isn’t it? I can’t let the waters get too muddied.

“Great. Not great. I mean, okay.”

He pauses and smooths his hands down his trousers several times. “I have a meeting scheduled with the duke on Friday. We could do dinner Saturday night. That is, if you’re not out stalking someone.”

“No stalking in my plans,” I say. “I’ll leave that to you. I know what you’re like in coffee shops.”

“I’m giving up stalking. No one could compare to my most colorful stalkee—a New Yorker with a penchant for Daniel De Luca.”

I want our back-and-forth to continue, but I know it can’t. Not for long, anyway.

I enjoy the space he leaves in our conversations for me.

I enjoy the way he’s so considered and considerate in what he says.

I enjoy being with him .

But our fake fairy tale is over. And real life involves me leaving the country in two weeks.

I go to open the car door, but I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to walk away from him. I’m not ready.

I turn to him and he’s staring at me, his eyes hooded and intense, like he wants to devour me. “Wanna see the flowers you sent me?” I ask, not quite sure how to ask a man up to my hotel room.

He shakes his head and doesn’t offer any further explanation.

“Oh,” I say. “You probably need a good night’s sleep.”

He shakes his head.

“You don’t need sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he says. “But what do you need, Tuesday? Do you need sleep?”

It’s my turn to shake my head this time. What I need is him. “I’d like some of this cake you like to give out so much.”

A grin curls his mouth. In record time I’m in my hotel room, my back against the door, my skirt up around my waist, and Ben’s face between my legs.

As my orgasm rockets through me, I crumple around him. He scoops me up and carries me the few steps to my bed.

“You give really good cake,” I whisper. I’m exhausted already.

“I like making you come,” he says matter-of-factly as he pulls my dress from my body. “And I think you like it too.”

Flutters of longing scatter through my body. How can I keep wanting more of this man? It’s like no matter how much of him I gulp down, it doesn’t quench my thirst. Is it because time is running out for us? If I lived in London, would it still be like this?

“It’s okay to ask for cake, if cake is what you want,” he says as he lies down next to me on his side, fully clothed. His hand skates over my skin, between my breasts and down between my legs.

“What about you?” I ask. “I just got cake. What do you want?”

He shakes his head. “At this moment, Tuesday, I’ll take anything you’re offering.”

And at the moment, I want to give him everything.