She smiled up at him.

“Me too.”

He couldn’t believe he’d finally gotten her back to his flat. They were no longer in public, or on the grounds of his employer, the places they’d been almost the entire time they’d known each other. Even her hotel, as nice as it was, still wasn’t actually private. But here, he had her all to himself.

He leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. She seemed as eager to kiss him, to be here with him, as he was to be with her. Her enthusiasm to spend time with him, to laugh with him, to talk to him, to make love with him, all matched his. He’d almost given up on the possibility of that ever happening.

And she lived over five thousand miles away.

No, that didn’t matter right now. She was here with him now, here in his flat now, here, kissing him now; that’s what mattered.

He backed her away from the window and fell with her onto his sofa. She laughed as they toppled onto it together.

“Is this what you do, hmm, Mr. Hudson?” She kissed his neck and unbuttoned his top button. “You bring women back to your flat and dazzle them with your incredible view and then tackle them onto the couch?”

Almost never, actually. It was rare for him to click with a woman enough for him to want her in his space. The last few women he’d slept with, he’d gone back to their places, and the relationships hadn’t lasted long enough for him to need to invite them over. He’d only had one other date here since he moved into this place, and that had been shortly after he’d moved in; before he realized it was better to keep his home to himself.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he said. She laughed and continued to unbutton his shirt.

When they finally surfaced, their clothes were thrown anywhere and everywhere, and they both had very satisfied smiles on their faces.

“You know what?” Vivian said. “I think I like London a whole lot.”

“Oh, do you?”

He rolled on top of her and tickled her, just to hear her giggle.

Chapter Eleven

Vivian looked in her suitcase to try to figure out what to wear for her surprise night out with Malcolm. He’d told her to wear something “smart,” which was sort of helpful, but not at all as specific as she’d hoped for. If Maddie was around, she would know what “smart” meant to a fifty-something-year-old black British man. But Maddie was back at home, plus Vivian only had a handful of options here in London. Thank goodness she’d overpacked for this trip. She went with a silky magenta wrap dress, black tights and heels, and crossed her fingers that would be both smart enough and warm enough.

After she put her lipstick on, she walked out of the bathroom into the living room to meet Malcolm. When he saw her, he stood up and bowed.

“You look stunning,” he said. He took her coat out of his hall closet. “Just incredible.”

He held up her coat, and instead of just handing it to her, he helped her put it on. He made her feel so taken care of. It felt unfamiliar and frightening and wonderful.

“Thank you,” she said. “You look pretty great, too.”

She picked up her new black clutch. Thank God she’d bought it when she and Maddie had done all of that shopping after they’d gotten to London, otherwise she’d be taking her enormous tote bag to wherever they were going tonight.

“Shall we?” He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

He seemed so excited about this surprise, but what if she hated whatever it was? Thank God she wasn’t afraid of heights, so she didn’t have to worry it was dinner on the top of a high building or something. But did he know she was claustrophobic? She should tell him.

“Um, I promise I’m not asking where we’re going, but, it’s not a tight space, is it? I can be claustrophobic at times—I’m not thrilled with the tiny elevators you have here in London.”

He laughed and took her hand as they got out of the elevator.

“I promise, it’s not. But if this is making you too worried . . .”

She shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. I promise.”

She hadn’t lied when she’d told Malcolm she trusted him, but that made her nervous, too—how did she have this innate sense of trust for someone she’d known for such a short time? That’s not how she usually was with people. But no matter how much she second-guessed herself about it, the trust was still there between them. She knew it deep down, and she was pretty sure he knew it, too. She was trying not to think about it, or question it too much, but at times she couldn’t help herself. The way they’d opened up to each other this morning, how comfortable she’d felt with him all day today—and really ever since they’d first met—how carefree and joyful and just plain great the sex had been . . . It was all like nothing she’d ever experienced. Why was this happening with someone who lived on another continent?

They stood on the street to wait for a taxi, and she made herself shake off all her feelings and just enjoy the night, whatever it ended up being. When the taxi arrived, Malcolm opened the door for her and tucked her coat inside the car with her before closing it again. When he got in next to her, he leaned forward and whispered something to the driver. Then he turned and grinned at her.

“This is killing you. Isn’t it?”