My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon

 

 

KASSIDY

 

“Blimey,” a frustrated male voice permeates my ears.

Diners gasp, a notable change to the laughter which filled the room only moments ago. A strong hand wraps over my right shoulder, and an iron forearm braces my midsection pulling me upright, only milliseconds from cracking my head open on the display cabinet.

Grateful for being saved from a gash on the head and further unwanted attention, I’m torn between showing my gratitude and wishing the floor would open wide and swallow me whole.

Horrified I had caused a scene, my body shakes uncontrollably. More so due to the embarrassment of the situation than the shock or the cold.

Or is it the result of being trapped inside the arms of a stranger?

“Fuck, are you okay? Why the hell were you standing in the...” his voice trails off as I turn to face him.

My assailant and savior.

Deep brown eyes stare down at me with empathy and something else.

Heat.

Any trace of anger or frustration he first had is long gone.

“I… I’m sorry. So sorry.” Words fail me as humiliation sets in. Not only are the most gorgeous chocolate eyes tracing the length of my body, but his entourage of onlookers observe me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

“Trust J to cock-up a first impression,” one of his female friends scoff, her glare burning holes in my thick skin.

I blame lack of sleep, hunger, and mortification for the swell of tears building in my eyes. I act quickly to subdue them, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my forefingers as I glance at the door.

I can do this.

In seconds, I could be on the other side of that door. I should dash out of here as if nothing happened. Unfortunately, my legs are jelly and refuse to follow my mind’s lead. As if sensing the pique of my emotional crisis, the hot guy with his eyes on me curses his group of friends and directs them to a table in the far corner.

Each of them, the guy and the two women he’s with, respond to his instruction without question. He is the ringleader of their group. Oddly, he appears to be more like the black sheep, dressed casually in shabby dark denim jeans and bomber jacket as opposed to the business suits and professional attire worn by the others.

“Roman,” he calls to the good-looking, dark-haired man behind the counter who’s completely oblivious to our awkward situation. He raises his eyes briefly and nods to the guy in front of me as he serves a customer at the register. “Mind if my friend here stores her bag in your office while she eats?”

Wait, what? “Oh no, it’s not, umm—”

What’s his name?

“Sure, man, go ahead,” he yells, continuing to serve the customers while also ordering the staff around.

I remove my beanie and check my head—I must have a concussion.

Nope.

I’m confused and slightly delirious all on my own. Plus, I’m still standing in the same place I was knocked off-center only a few moments ago.

I’m a fucking accident waiting to happen.

“My bag is fine, honestly. I’m leaving now,” I tell him, pointing at the door. A quick glimpse of the snowstorm through the windows has me regretting the words as quickly as they leave my mouth.

The stranger, the sexy-as-fuck dark-haired stranger who has me scrambling for words, eyes me curiously. An I-don’t-believe-you-for-a-second expression spreads across his face.

Then he smirks.

Gah! One of those lopsided playful grins. The kind which makes single women like me giddy on the inside. “Sure, you are, sweetheart. You Australian?”

I nod feebly.

His smirk extends into a full-blown smile and, fuck!

I’m mush. Where am I?

“Here’s the thing. I nearly knocked you ass over tit. The least I should offer you is lunch.”

The least he should offer.

Hmm, what’s the most he’ll offer?

Wasting no time waiting on my response, he boldly slides the straps of my backpack from my shoulders. This guy is completely unafraid to be in my personal space. Is it weird that I’m onboard with this?

Goosebumps inundate my body as his fingertips brush my hands.

“Please accept. It’s my way of apologizing for the shambles.” He grins, throwing my bag over his shoulder. “Besides, denying my right to buy a beautiful woman lunch would be considered rude.”

I breathe through the urge to roll my eyes at him and smirk instead.

He nods at the menu on the wall. “Select what you want to feast on, and I’ll be out to take your order in a jiffy.”

I watch as he disappears with everything I own apart from my handbag. I use these few moments to gather myself and glance toward the corner of the café where, whatever his name is, banished his friends. They were happily engaged in conversation as if they never arrived with one extra.

I selfishly hope we don’t join the group. Exhaustion sweeps through my veins rapidly, and small talk with one stranger sounds like enough of a challenge for me today.

When the guy flippantly returns to my side, my curiosity peaks. “What if I’ve already eaten?”

He glances sideways at me. “You haven’t.”

His answer is sharp and short as he moves to the front of the line and orders for both of us. I’m too tired to care what he orders and allow him to remove my jacket and direct us to the bench seat adjoining the window.

My senses awaken as his palm settles over my lower back as he guides me to a table away from the crowd, his friends, and prying eyes. Not to mention the view of the snow-covered street through the window, and we’re close to the fireplace.

It’s perfect.

We climb across the bench seat, sitting side by side rather than across from each other. This way, we both have a street view and avoid awkward eye contact, and it will be easier when the conversation between strangers becomes dull or non-existent. There’s every chance we have nothing at all in common.

I instantly wish I had taken a few minutes to freshen up before leaving the subway. At this point, I can only hope I appear more put together and smell fresher than I am.

A young waiter arrives with a bottle of sauvignon blanc. I’m both pleased and slightly concerned. A cocktail of exhaustion, wailing emotions, and alcohol spells a recipe for disaster.

Now isn’t the time to be reckless.

All alone in a strange city.

Lunch and wine with a sexy-as-sin stranger.

Ugh, what could go wrong?

I’m ninety-nine percent certain I couldn’t say no to this guy when sober, let alone after a few glasses of nice wine.

Yes, it’s exactly what I want my days and nights to be filled with, but not in this order. First, I require a hot bath and sleep. I vow to sip my wine conservatively, at least to start with.

“I spotted you on the street, you know. You appeared to be intrigued by the snow. And dare I say, a little lost and disgruntled.” My head whips around in his direction, my mouth open, ready to set him straight. But he continues, not missing a beat, “You walked in here moments before we did.”

My gaze follows him as he fills our glasses.

“Quite intuitive, aren’t you?” I challenge. “It’s a shame you didn’t wait a little longer before following me in here. The shambles as you put it might have been avoided altogether.” I grin over the top of my glass.

He laughs. It’s a beautiful sound as if his accent doesn’t have me all kinds of twisted already. Those dimples and perfect teeth add to the package. And his Adam’s apple. I’m afraid my body will start to purr out loud if I continue to eyeball him.

“Funny. I assumed you stopped in here when you saw us heading this way.” He scoffs playfully.

My head falls back with an easy chuckle. “How conceited of you,” I tease.

Still smiling, he continues, “Café Zest is our usual meeting place for lunch with friends and colleagues.” He points over his shoulder at the table of three. “Normally, there’s a larger group of us, but a snowstorm on the outskirts of town last night kept a few people from making it into the city this morning.”

I admit I find it odd he’s happy to dine with a stranger instead of his group, especially if this is their weekday thing. But who am I to argue?

“So, you’re visiting from Australia. For how long?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows in question. “What makes you think I’m not staying here indefinitely?”

His head cocks to one side, his brows pull together, and his delicious lips twitch as he contemplates the question. “I’ll go with the limited luggage you arrived with.”

“So, you’re not psychic?”

It’s his turn to be miffed by my question.

“Psychic, wow. I’ve been called many things in my lifetime but never psychic.”

“Okay, let’s digress. First, you stage a knockout as you enter the café, knowing I was standing in that exact spot. Second, you realize I’m five seconds from falling apart, so you offer to buy me lunch, which I may have already eaten, but you’re certain I have not, and you know exactly what I want to eat, so you order for me.”

He chuckles, and we enjoy a sip of our wine. “I’m chuffed,” he goads me. “Am I the dog’s bollocks or what?”

I burst out laughing, “Dog’s bollocks… what… why? Please explain.”

Our laughter fills the café. Between him and I, we’re a comical mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his friends across the café are amused by our antics too. Well, two of them, anyway.

On a quieter note, he explains, “It’s like saying how awesome am I. British slang, you’ll get the gist of it during your stay.” It’s refreshing chilling out with a stranger who has entertainment value. As I finish off my glass, I circle back to the question he first asked. “I’m on my way home following a work conference in Prague. Five work-free nights in London is my treat to myself.”

“Five nights, huh?” He taps his fingers on his thigh. “I guess I’ll need to work quickly.”