Taming London (Warwick Dragons #1) - Milly Taiden Page 0,26

He was definitely an unrepentant fuckboy, but he had redeemable qualities. And he proved that further as he ran around the car to open her door once they arrived at his building. He even went so far as to offer her a hand to help her out of the car. It wasn’t easy, maneuvering around in a tight pencil skirt.

London led her into the building, placing his large hand against her back. Bethany knew that she should ask him to remove himself from her. It was hardly appropriate. But she found that she didn’t want him to move away from her.

In fact, if she was entirely honest with herself, she would have loved nothing more than to nestle into the touch.

Shit, I am in so much trouble, she thought to herself. I am not going to kiss him again. This is a strictly platonic dinner between two grown adults. I will remember that he is a fuckboy who would most definitely hit it and quit it.

That was the truth of it. London was only enticed by her because she had refused him. She could only hope that he didn’t think about that kiss she had laid on him as some sort of hope that she would succumb to his charms.

“Make yourself at home,” London instructed as he unlocked the door of his penthouse flat.

Bethany bit down on her cheek as she considered.

“Take the heels off, love,” London crooned from the other side of the hall, where he dropped his keys, phone, and wallet on the coffee table. Had he read her mind? “They don’t look comfortable, and we were racing around London all day.”

Boy, he wasn’t wrong. She had been racing around London all day. In more ways than one. Still, she was astonished that he had guessed at her hesitation. She hadn’t complained about her heels at all during their day together.

But other women must have.

Any of London’s conquests could have told him all about the pinched toes and aching arch high heels could give. With a shuddered breath, she kicked off the shoes and padded over to the living room.

The decor was muted, but no doubt expensive. Every single surface was a shade of steely gray and darker charcoal. There was not one splash of color, and that made her sad. London was a shifter, and he had been alive for a very long time. Did he always surround himself with such dull shades?

If it were up to her, Bethany would have brightened up the place with shocks of red. Perhaps ruby red silk cushions, or crimson-colored drapes on the large windows. She didn’t know why she associated that particular color with London, but she did.

“I’m starving, so let me get started on dinner right away.”

“I can help,” she said. “Put me to work.”

London shook his head. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re my guest, and you’ve been kind to me. I’m taking care of you tonight.”

Bethany was powerless against the shiver that ran up her spine. There was something subtly sexual in London’s deep voice. Especially when he assured her he was going to take care of her. Bethany balled her hands up into fists in defense against her melting resolve.

Why did London have to be so irresistible? From the soft brown facial hair that framed his delectable mouth, to his expertly tousled hair, and deep brown eyes, he was a walking sex dream. Add to it the powerful muscles that were evident in his forearms, and there was a recipe for singed panties and forgotten inhibitions. London had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, pale blue shirt, leaving his arms on display. The smooth, tanned skin was lightly peppered with hair, and Bethany had to strangest urge to pet it. Her fingers tingled with the need, until she had to smoother it by sitting on her hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, arching an eyebrow as he dropped two salmon steaks into a white oven dish. He then sliced up a lemon and gently placed the thin slices onto the salmon. His movements were sure and soft. He must be an attentive lover.

Stop, Beth. None of that. You’re a woman, not a piece of salmon.

“I’m fine,” she answered with a voice that was entirely too squeaky. “What are you making?” As if it weren’t obvious. She wanted to roll her eyes at her own silliness.

“Baked salmon with sweet potatoes and broccoli. How does that sound?”

Bethany and Eugenie pretty much existed on whatever takeout they got. She