Hot Guy gave me a half-smile but no reply. Instead he sipped his whiskey, swirled the liquid around the glass. “Are you a member of the Sherlock Society?”
“I’m member-adjacent,” I said. “Not official. I do attend their meetings and lectures when I’m in London, however.”
“Here on business?”
“Of a sort,” I said. “So tell me, man-on-vacation. Do you think Doyle should have stuck to his guns and kept Sherlock dead? Or are you a fan of his triumphant resurrection?”
“I’m the minority opinion here, unfortunately,” he said. “I think he should have kept him dead.”
“Don’t say that too loudly in this room.” I took a step closer, bringing our bodies mere inches apart. Dropped my voice. “You could get us both killed.”
He cracked that half-smile again. “I’m not one to boast, but I feel confident in my physical prowess against Sherlock fanatics. What’s your take?”
I took another long sip of vodka. “Why would you have kept him dead?”
“Why did you evade my question?”
“Because I’m a woman of mystery.” I placed my arm on the bar, close enough to feel his body heat. “Would you like to buy me another drink?”
Sharp eyes on mine, he called my order to the bartender without missing a beat.
“Sometimes it’s best to say goodbye,” he said. “Sherlock Holmes was no longer serving him. Public outcry or not, I think Doyle should have kept him dead. Easier for everyone to move on.”
A martini appeared in front of me. I clinked it against Hot Guy’s glass. “To moving on.”
He studied me over his glass. His fingers were strong. Confident. Was he a source or a suspect?
“I would have kept him dead too,” I finally admitted. “Severed ties completely.”
When you had the kind of chaotic, ramshackle childhood that I’d had, letting go of dead weight always made the most sense. You couldn’t flee in the night unless you packed light.
“So we’re in agreement,” he said.
“Appears that we are, man-on-vacation.” I flashed him a full smile, teeth and all. “Are you used to traveling alone? Or are you not…”
“I’m alone,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “And used to it. Preferred, actually. Especially while traveling. There’s no better way to truly learn what you want, what you desire, than being on your own.”
I agreed again, held my tongue.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
I stepped closer, drawn into his orbit. “I am.”
He placed his glass carefully on the bar. “And what do you desire, Devon?”
I ran my tongue along my lower lip, just to gauge his reaction. Felt absurdly pleased at the severe clench of his jaw.
“To find what I came to London for,” I said. “I lost something a month ago. I’m currently trying to track it down.” It was a partial truth at best.
“What did you lose?”
“That’s not for the telling.”
“And why not?” he asked. There was no push to his words, only a strangely appealing curiosity.
“Would you be completely honest with a man who won’t even tell you his name?”
“Fair point,” he said. “Have you had any luck finding what you lost?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I slid even closer to this man, this complete stranger, heard his breathing hitch. The compulsion to kiss him crept into my thoughts, swept through the stress of this case, the fear of failure. Devastating. There’d never been a need for me to seek out a romantic partner in this world. My parents hadn’t been a model for love. And marriage itself seemed to combine the very dangerous elements of trusting someone with needing someone.
If you were alone, you could only disappoint yourself.
Sex was a necessity, but I scratched that itch with one-night stands or short-term flings, the less personal the better. Whatever was happening between this stranger and I didn’t feel like standard sexual attraction. It felt impulsive and primal.
“How long will you be in London, man-on-vacation?” I asked.
And his steel eyes blazed with a real hunger now. “For nine more days. My employees will fall to pieces if I leave them for any longer.”
“And you’re staying here at The Langham the whole time?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I pressed my body lightly against his surprisingly strong one. Tipped my mouth up so it danced close to his. He went still as a statue, like he was assessing me for risk.
“Maybe my luck is changing,” I murmured.
“How so?” His hand landed firmly on the small of my back, fingers spanning across my skin. Those same fingers roamed idly along my spine. A caress between lovers,