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  Parker stands in front of the entrance to a pub. He looks perfect, as always, in a dark navy suit and a white shirt with cufflinks.

  “Which direction did you come from?”

  “Oxford Circus.”

  “Bond Street station is closer.”

  “I wanted the longer route, to take in all this... Britishness. Puts me in a great mood.”

  “I can see that. Your smile takes up your entire face.” He pointed at his face. “Look, your enthusiasm makes me smile too.”

  “Aww, is my enthusiasm rubbing off on your stick-in-the-mud British ass?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “So, this is where we’re getting coffee?”

  “Yes. It’s a pub, but their coffee is great. Better than that overpriced stuff they sell at Starbucks or Costa.”

  Parker walks to the door and then pushes it open. "After you."

  The smell of coffee and beer fills my nostrils once I’m inside. The place has an old-world feel with wooden chairs and tables, and the counter seems to be placed on old beer barrels. Several other beer barrels decorate the walls, with the words beer or ale on it.

  "What do you want?" Parker asks.

  "Hmm...now that I’m here, I think it’s too late for coffee. I’d go with a beer, though I don’t really like the bitter taste.”

  “Go with a brown ale then. It’s not typical for London, but they’ve got a few good ones. It’s not that bitter. Fewer hops.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Go sit at a table, and—”

  “No, no. I want to order.”

  “I want to order.”

  I want to be as British as possible and order my own ale.

  The man behind the beer drafts looks at me as soon as I approach the counter. He talks first, and my smile freezes a bit, because from his long sentence, I only understand the word lass. Shit, the guy’s Irish, and the accent kills me. Sexy as hell, but I don’t know what he’s saying. Sounded like a question, though, so I just answer, “Yes.”

  The guy cocks an eyebrow. Next to me, Parker tries to disguise his laughter as coughing. I elbow him, and he clears his throat.

  “Excuse my American friend. She has a little problem with accents.” To me, he says, “He just asked what you’d like to drink.”

  I won’t let this setback keep me from feeling British.

  Straightening my shoulders, I say, “Brown ale, please.” Then, as an afterthought, I add, “A pint. A pint of brown ale.”

  There. Doesn’t get more British than that. I’m feeling quite good about myself by the time Parker and I go to a table with our pints. At the far end of the room, there are couches. I sit on one, and Parker sits on the stool on the other side.

  “Mmmm, this is really good. Maybe it’ll replace tequila as my favorite drink.”

  "Ah, it’s good, but I don't know if it can match Don Julio or Señor Rio," he says and I immediately recognize the brand names.

  "Jose Cuervo," I say. "That's my favorite guy."

  Though I don't remember Jose Cuervo ever giving me shattering orgasms, so that puts Parker at the top of the list. He unbuttons his coat, putting it on the back of a chair. I allow myself a minute to indulge in the godly sight in front of me. The shirt he's wearing has a slim cut, accentuating his toned body. I imagine what it would be like to open the buttons of his shirt. I'd do it one by one, enjoying every freshly revealed inch of his skin.

  Parker snaps me back to reality. "You want to tell me why your day has been so awful?"

  He stares right at me, his blue eyes boring into mine, as if he's determined to crack open my darkest, oldest secrets.

  I lower my eyes to my beer. "My bo... my boss isn't really pleased with my . . . umm . . . job performance."

  In a split second, Parker isn't sitting on the chair in front of me anymore, but on the couch right next to me.

  "Tell me what happened," he says. His voice is steady, even soft.

  I suddenly feel ashamed. He's the CEO of a company, for God's sake. How should I tell him I got shouted at for not putting a decent report together?

  As if reading my thoughts, he says, "I wasn't born a CEO, you know."

  I smile. "Nothing major happened, really. He shouted at everyone in the office today, not just me. Guess he had a lot on his mind today. Though he was this short," I say, keeping my thumb and forefinger barely apart, "of having a severe case of blue balls. Literally. I wanted to hit him in the groin."

  Parker lets out a sharp chuckle, and I relax a bit. He doesn't take his eyes off me, though. "If he's a jackass," he says, "you should consider quitting and finding a new workplace.”

  I shake my head. "No way. I don't have a lot of savings, so I can't afford sitting on my ass while I find something else."

  "I can help you with that. I know the directors of half the museums in London. I make donations to them on a regular basis. It would take a few days at most to find you something else."

  "No, I want to do things on my own.” I want to feel that I'm worthy of something. That I'm not just a big, fat disappointment to everyone. I can imagine how the phone call to my parents would go if I told them I'd quit my job.

  "It was just a suggestion, Jess. I don't want you to be miserable."

  "Why are you so supportive? I remember you telling me once I should get my act together and be more responsible."

  Parker's expression is unreadable. But I can see it in his eyes that he remembers that well. How could he not? After the fight that gave him a black eye and me a broken leg, he reminded me of how irresponsible I was.

  That whole incident was more or less my wake-up call that I couldn't continue down the same path. My job search had been one of the only things I took seriously. I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I was capable of more than talking my way around entry lines to clubs or flirting my way to pretty much anything.

  "And you did. You came here on your own. That's not an easy thing to do."

  "Well, I need to work harder if I want to continue staying here. So I will. You don’t look too cheerful yourself.”

  “What gave me away?” Parker asks.

  “My radar is on today. Being a CEO isn’t what they make it out to be?”

  “No,” he says. “Being the CEO of this particular company isn’t.”

  “So why are you doing it?”

  “Because I have to.” Looking up at me with a sad smile, he adds, “I don’t really want to go into detail about this right now.”

  “Okay.” I shift closer to him, and his scent seduces me. “But you told me once that the only things we absolutely have to do are the ones we can’t live without. That we owe it to ourselves to do those things, but nothing else.”

  Parker’s voice seems to have dropped an octave when he replies. “You remember that?”

  “Yeah.” As if I could forget it. While I was confined to my apartment in California with my leg injury, I had a particularly unpleasant conversation with my father on the phone. He reminded me—again—that my choice of major would set me up for a lifetime of low pay. I usually brushed off his comments, but I let doubts get the better of me then. Parker visited me shortly afterward, and I brought the issue up with him, though I didn’t explicitly mention my dad. Parker’s response helped me shake off any doubts.

  “Well, let’s just say, if I don’t do this, I won’t be able to live with myself,” he says. “Now, let’s not make this about me. It’s about you.”

  “I don’t want to think about today.”

  He takes my hands in his in a gesture so tender I cannot help remembering what happened between us last night.

  "Then don’t. What you need is a change of scenery. Let's go away for the weekend," he says in a low voice. "A cousin invited me to her estate in Worcester. Dani has agreed to come, too. "

  As he plays with my fingers, I look up. Our gazes cross, and the same craving from last night hits me again.

  "If you won't let me help you, at least let me enterta
in you."

  I turn, locking eyes with him. "How exactly would you entertain me?"

  "Just come with me this weekend. There's a lot we can do there. Horseback riding, if you're into it.”

  “Hmmm... what else?”

  His eyes flash. “I’ll be there.”

  “You’re using your stick-in-the-mud ass as a selling point?”

  “As I said, you’re rubbing off on me, so don’t count me out yet. Besides, after last night, I have a feeling that I’m a great bargaining chip.”

  I smile, sipping from my ale. “Fine, Mr. Blakesley. Knock my socks off.”

  He offers me a full-on grin, and I have a feeling that he’d going to do away with more than my socks. Bring it on.

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica

  "How was work today? Your boss returned, right?" Dani asks me two hour later, when the three of us are inside Parker's car, speeding on the highway toward Worcester.

  "Crappy," I answer. Thankfully, she doesn't ask anything else. Parker doesn't look at Dani or me at all. He hasn't spoken one word to us since we started the trip, except to remind us to fasten our seatbelts. Which is good, because he's driving like a freaking maniac. Who would have thought Mr. CEO—whose shirt doesn't have one single wrinkle and whose car shines on the inside and outside like it's nobody's business—has such a disregard for driving rules? I wonder what other rules he ignores.

  "You drive worse than James," Dani shrieks when Parker accelerates again, narrowly avoiding hitting a truck. I cover my eyes with my hands by instinct, my heart thumping so violently I think I might throw up. I turn to look at Parker and find that focusing on his features eases the anxiety about his driving. But it fills me with a different kind of anxiety altogether.

  "Well, I'd say I drive better than James. I actually beat him at quite a few races."

  "You raced cars?" Dani asks, suddenly grinning.

  That brings a smile to Parker's face. The three of us make small talk for the next few hours. At some point, Dani falls asleep, then so do I.

  When I wake up, Dani and Parker are chatting animatedly and my left leg is completely numb. I rub my palms on my thigh, while taking in my surroundings. We're no longer on the highway; freakishly green fields have replaced it.

  I rub my eyes and look out the window again. The fields look even greener, if that’s possible. The kind of neon green that looks almost fake in movies. I'm tempted to roll down the window and check whether the air smells green as well.

  "How long until we get there?" I ask.

  "About ten minutes," Dani answers.

  "You've been here before?"

  "Sure. I spent some summers here when I was little."

  Parker chuckles. "Then she outgrew Worcester, announcing it boring when she turned fourteen."

  "Well, it is kind of boring," Dani says defensively, then quickly adds, "but it's nice for a weekend." I catch her eye in the rearview mirror and we both smile. Dani told me before, when Parker was out of earshot, that she wants to go to a party some of her friends are throwing tomorrow evening and is looking for a good excuse to return early. So far, neither of us has come up with a good enough reason not to activate Parker’s overprotective gene.

  "Kids these days," Parker says with fake dismay.

  When we arrive at our destination, I let out an appreciative whistle. A small castle—built sometime at the end of the eighteenth century judging by its architecture—surrounded by green fields as far as my eyes can see lies in front of us. Stepping outside the car, I take a deep breath. I swear to God, the air smells green.

  "You're grinning," Parker says. He chuckles, unloading the three bags from the trunk, and we each sling one over our shoulder. As I step into a puddle that soaks my left foot, I mentally thank Dani for making me pack a pair of boots. I watch with awe as Dani aptly navigates her way through the puddles, not stepping into any. Then I remember she's had more experience than me with Worcester. She walks toward the house to meet two tall women, one strawberry blonde, the other with a caramel shade of brown. I recognize both of them—they appeared often at Parker's side in the newspaper pictures I found last night. Only one of them is his cousin, but I don't remember which one. Relief washes over me as I watch both women welcome Parker with a warmth that speaks of friendship and familiarity; nothing hints at a sexual or romantic connection. I'm elated.

  "This is Jess," he says. "Dani's flatmate and a dear friend."

  A dear friend? I like the sound of that.

  "I'm Helen," the strawberry blonde says with a smile. "Parker's cousin."

  The other woman waves at me. "And I'm Tara."

  "Nice to meet both of you."

  When we step inside the house, I take a moment to admire its beauty. The furniture is so exquisite it could be in a museum. The walls are covered with wallpaper depicting various nature-inspired images, and the wood-paneled ceiling gives the room a warm glow.

  "Let's have something to eat," Helen says. "The three of you must be famished."

  "I actually need to change first," I say. "I stepped in a puddle."

  "Of course, dear," Helen says sympathetically. "I'll show you where your room is."

  "I'll do it," Parker says. "Which room is hers?"

  "It's the one next to yours."

  Parker nods.

  "I think I'll go change, too," Parker says.

  I follow him silently through the house, and when we stop in front of the door to my room, Parker opens it. I step inside quickly, throwing my bag on the gigantic four-poster bed.

  Behind me, I can still feel Parker lingering in the doorway. "You have a fireplace.”

  “God, I love this room. I feel like I’m on a historical TV show. In a royal court or something. Can we go into town tomorrow? It looked great when we passed through it.”

  Parker chuckles, walking to me until he’s only inches away. His hand holds up my chin so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. My skin starts to tingle dangerously.

  "You’re so beautiful, Jess. Inside and out.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Because that enthusiasm comes from inside.”

  “Parker... I... I have to ask. What’s going on... I mean what is this between us?” I feel vulnerable asking him, but I want to know where we stand. He leans into me, bringing his lips close to my ear.

  “I want us to get to know each other. Spend time together. Do you want the same things I do?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Then I think we might be onto something beautiful." He kisses my forehead, murmuring, “I’ll leave you to change.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jessica

  Ten minutes later, I go downstairs. I follow Dani's voice and soft laughter—possibly Helen's—along the corridor until I find the living room. Everyone is seated on the couches in front of the fireplace, and I breathe in relief when I realize they are all wearing casual clothing. I feared there would be some dress code required, something to match the flair of the elegant castle. Helen and Tara were wearing long cloaks when they met us, so I couldn't tell what kind of clothing they were wearing.

  But everyone—Parker included—is wearing jeans. He's also wearing a navy sweater, his favorite color it seems. When his eyes meet mine, I blush.

  "Jess, we were just waiting for you to get started on some drinks before dinner," Helen says.

  "What do you want to drink?" Parker asks, rising from the couch.

  "Whatever everyone is having," I answer.

  "I want some kind of fizzy drink," Tara says.

  I settle on the couch between Tara and Dani. Helen sits in a chair by the fireplace, lazily pushing the wood around with a poker. A few minutes later Parker brings each of us a gin and tonic.

  "So, Jess," Helen says, “Dani tells me you are best of friends with the famous Serena, the woman who finally bagged James. I must admit, no one saw that coming. We all thought he'd be an eternal bachelor. Unless I bagged him, of course," she says joki
ngly.

  I frown. "Aren't you James's cousin?"

  Helen laughs softly. "Nope. Parker and James are related on their mother's side, and Parker and I are related on his father's side."

  Parker seems to freeze for a fraction of a second. Then he turns around flashing a wide grin. "That's right. Helen and I have a truly enviable pedigree. Two-hundred-fifty-sixth in line for the British throne."

  "I think you just became two-hundred-fifty-seventh," Helen corrects him. "Aunt Audrey had a baby."

  "Damn," Parker says, shaking his head with mock disappointment.

  "So how is Serena?" Helen asks me.

  "She's working like a slave. I rarely get the chance to talk to her. Investment banking."

  "Oh dear," Tara mutters.

  "This is wonderful. I was dying to meet someone who actually knows Serena well. So, tell me, Jess, do you share Serena's talent to catch . . . uncatchable men? Please share the secret. I seem incapable of catching anything aside from fish," Helen says.

  Everyone bursts out laughing, and Parker gets up, texting on his phone, subtly withdrawing himself from the discussion.

  "That's not true," Tara says. "I'm sure you will find someone."

  "Easy for you to say," Helen replies. "You're engaged. So, Jess, any secrets to share?"

  "Afraid not. For what it's worth, I can't even catch fish."

  This brings another round of laughter from the girls. I'm surprised how easy it is to talk to them. After seeing their pictures with Parker—they looked like they were about to attend an Oscar ceremony—I expected them to be at least a bit arrogant.

  "Do you live here, Helen?" I ask.

  "God no. I'd get bored here. Tara and I both live in London. My parents live here, but they're in the south of France right now."

  Tara's phone beeps. "Oh, the duck is ready," she says, hurrying to the kitchen.

  The rest of us head to the table. Behind me, I hear Helen say to Parker, "I'm so glad you returned from California. I didn't expect you to be gone for so long."

  "How come you were in the US for almost half a year?" I ask Parker when we're seated at the table.