Page 21 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

I got the feeling he was trying to apologize for earlier. “Well—all right then.”

I followed him up the steps and into his house. I watched while Sean dealt swiftly with his alarm.

“I wish I was as quick with mine,” I said, looking around me. “Damn thing’s got a mind of its own.”

Sean’s house—much to my surprise—was decorated in warm and lively colors and had quite an exotic feel about it.

Some of the influences seemed to be African, some Indian, depending on which room you were in.

Big comfy-looking settees were adorned with cushions and throws, and everything was set against terracotta and sand-colored walls.

“I like your decor,” I said admiringly. “It makes Belinda and Harry’s look stark in comparison.”

“I think your home is as much an expression of who you are as your clothes,” Sean replied. “Maybe that means Belinda and Harry are stark and uninteresting people.”

“Well, they’re your neighbors.”

“Doesn’t mean I know them. This is Notting Hill, Scarlett—not Albert Square.”

I laughed. “So if everyone who lives here is stark and uninteresting, why are you here?”

“So I’m not stark and uninteresting, then?” Sean said, raising his eyebrows. “I thought I was a geek earlier?”

“I didn’t say that. I said you were a walking encyclopedia—and I can see why now.” I stared at Sean’s book-lined walls.

“Nothing wrong in improving your mind with a bit of light reading. Take a look while I get us something to drink. I’ll be right back. ”

While Sean was in the kitchen I cast my eyes over his bookshelves.

Light reading? It was like entering a library.

There were books on everything—from the history of art to travel guides, to cookery; from crime novels to the classics—Shakespeare, Dickens, Austen, and Bronte…

wait…Jane Austen? Charlotte Bronte? Did Sean actually read these?

And then I saw it sitting there like a beacon shining out at me from the shelf: Love Letters of Great Men —the very same book that Carrie Bradshaw reads in the Sex and the City movie.

There was no way Sean would read this—was there?

“Wine OK?” Sean asked, returning. “Ah, I see you’ve been inspecting my library.”

I jumped and turned away from the bookshelves. He held two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.

“Yes, lovely thanks,” I said, quickly sitting down on one of the sofas, while Sean poured the wine. “So have you actually read all these books?”

“Yep, every last one. Why?”

“No reason, I just wondered.”

“Wondered if they were just here for decoration, I bet. That would be like you having DVDs in your house that you haven’t watched, and you just keep them out on show to impress people.”

Sean sat down next to me. “Anyway, before we get into another argument, let’s concentrate on your problem.”

Which one? I thought. The fact that I’m deceiving my family by not telling them the true reason I’ve come to London for a month?

The fact that the only person that can help me find my mother could be dead from flu by the end of the week?

Or the fact that when you sit this close to me my stomach starts doing its Olympic gymnastics routine?

“Hmm…” Sean looked deep in thought.

I tried hard to think about Fenwick’s and Bill.

But my mind kept overriding these thoughts, and chose instead to think about Sean and what it might be like to kiss him…

His kisses would be firm and powerful—the sort that took your breath away.

Not weak and wet, and leaving you wanting to rinse your mouth out with antiseptic.

Oh my God, get a grip, Scarlett—what the hell are you thinking that for? You’re engaged to David, for heaven’s sake. Plus you barely even like Sean—why on earth would you want to kiss him? You must have thought about him as Brad Pitt once too often. Yes, that must be it.

I took a large gulp from my wine glass.

“So, what do you think?” Sean asked.

“Hmm?” My mind floated back into the room again as I realized Sean was talking to me.

“My idea—what do you think?”

“Run it by me again?”

Sean sighed. “We go into the store with stockings over our heads and hold up the manager at gunpoint until he gives us Bill’s address.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Sean raised one eyebrow at me.

Oh God, my stomach must have won a medal—it’s doing a lap of honor now.

“Yes, of course I’m joking. Are you OK? You haven’t been listening to me, have you? ”

No, I’m not OK. I’m engaged. I shouldn’t be thinking about you in this way. He’s not Brad Pitt, Scarlett. Or Ewan McGregor or Jude Law or any of those movie stars he might have a passing resemblance to—he’s Sean, your temporary next-door neighbor.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, trying to pull myself together. I took another large gulp of wine. “I was just, er, deep in thought and didn’t hear what you said, that’s all.”

“I said, we’ll both go over to Fenwick’s tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can use my natural charm to persuade them to tell me more about Bill.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“OK—now I know something is wrong. I fed you a great line there, Red, and you chose not to make a sarcastic comment about me?”

“Oh yes, sorry. Do you know something, Sean? I’m not feeling that great—I think I’d better go home.” I stood up and made a bolt for the door. “It’s a great idea though,” I said, peeping out from behind the doorframe. “What time do you want to meet up tomorrow?”

“Ten?” Sean suggested. “Look, do you want me to help you back to your place—tuck you up in bed, that kind of thing?”

“No!” I insisted a bit too loudly. “No, thank you, I’ll be just fine. You stay right here…with your wine…alone. And I’ll be next door…in my bed…alone.”

“Right…” Sean said, sounding mystified. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, at ten.”

“Yes—ten,” I said, disappearing backward out of the door. I ran down Sean’s steps, back up my own, and in through my front door again. And Buster the burglar alarm must have sensed this was not the time to play me up, because for once he behaved impeccably.

It was just as well one of us did. Because I feared if I’d stayed any longer at Sean’s tonight my own behavior might have been far from impeccable.