I chuckled at the memory, then realized my eyes were moist. I had to breathe in some air as the full force of jet lag hit me-or maybe it was simply the acceptance that Abraham was truly gone. Either way, it was time for that nap.
Without warning I was grabbed from behind, lifted off the ground and twirled around.
I screamed and swore loudly at my assailant. Then I realized who it was and swore even more.
“Despite that mouth of yours, you’re more beautiful than ever,” he said.
“Kyle McVee, you idiot!” I cried, and hugged him hard.
“Ah, you’ve missed me,” he crowed as he held me snugly in his arms.
“No, I didn’t miss you,” I said, burying my face in the crook of his delicious-smelling neck. “You’re a cad and a rat fink, remember? The Bad Boy Bookseller of Belgravia. I curse your name every morning.”
“I love you, too, my sweet,” he said with a laugh. “Besides, I’ve mellowed.”
“Really,” I said.
“Yes, I’m quite housebroken these days, not a rat at all.” He kissed me full on the lips. “Mm, you’ve still got the sexiest mouth on four continents.”
“Oh, stop it.” I stood back and looked at the man who’d broken my heart three-or was it four?-years ago. My breath almost caught as I stared. Kyle McVee was simply beautiful. Tall, elegant, with a wicked grin and dark eyes that sparkled with charm and humor, he had the look of an angel but was an unapologetic devil through and through. He was yet another living example of my pitiful taste in men.
Maybe I did have a sad habit of picking the most unsuitable men, but I certainly chose the prettiest ones.
“It’s wonderful to see you,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “Mmm, and you smell good enough to eat. Let’s go back to my hotel room, what do you say?”
“In your dreams,” I said with a laugh. “How dare you proposition me in the middle of the street?”
“Because you’re still a darling girl,” he said, then backed up and looked me over.
I straightened my shirt and jacket and tried to find some trace of decorum, but it was useless. My cheeks heated up at his blatant perusal. I tried to remind myself that if I’d been so darling, why had he felt so compelled to cheat on me more than once during the six months we dated while I lived in London? A simple question.
I knew the answer: He couldn’t help himself. Kyle came from money, lots of money. Among other things, his family owned a respected London book publishing company. He had a collection of rare books that matched any museum collection in the world. He enjoyed the business of buying and selling and trading, and especially enjoyed the bed-hopping and screwing around that came with being the prettiest, wealthiest man in a business that catered to smart, wealthy people.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“I was enjoying a quiet walk to the castle.”
“How boring,” he said, pulling me across the street. “Join me at the pub and we’ll have a snug chat.”
“Hmm. Thanks, but no.”
“Come on, babe. It’s been too long. We’ve got catching up to do.”
“Don’t you have someone else to torment?”
“There’s no one more fun to torment than you.”
“Oh, don’t I feel special,” I said.
He leaned closer. “Besides, I’ve something to show you that’ll knock your socks off.”
“I’ve already seen it,” I said dryly.
His eyes widened. “Minx! Damn it! I insist we skip the pub and go back to my room.”
“You haven’t changed,” I said, reluctantly enjoying his silliness.
“Why should I?” he said with a wink.
I laughed again and realized I’d missed him. He’d always been a relentless charmer. It had been my mistake for thinking he’d taken our relationship seriously, my mistake to allow the pain to overwhelm me. I’d felt so betrayed, it had taken me months to get over it. And now, gazing up at him, trying to recall the pain and anger, I couldn’t. Truth be told, he was just too adorable to hate.
“Come on, now,” he said, pulling me closer to the pub’s doorway. “I really do have something to show you. It’s fate that I stumbled upon you here.”
“All right,” I said, as if it mattered what I thought, since we were halfway inside the Ensign Ewart pub.
I’d been inside the pub before, three years ago. It was a serious drinking spot for locals who showed up to enjoy the traditional music the bar featured several nights a week. Despite its location directly next door to the castle, the pub didn’t cater to tourists, much to the dismay of anyone who might wander in after a day of sightseeing and expect a charming Scots welcome.
The room was relatively small and cozy, with dark wood posts and beams across the low, flat ceiling. Kyle ordered two pints at the bar, and we found a quiet corner nook and sat side by side. Kyle removed his gray cashmere sports jacket and laid it on the bench next to him.
I stared at the pint. “I should’ve had a Pepsi.”
“Heresy,” he said.
“Jet lag’s catching up to me,” I explained as I settled into the small space. “But you’re right. It would be a waste to drink anything but beer in a place like this.”
“That’s my little soldier.”