Chapter 19

19

A fter a short walk and the most sexually charged elevator ride ever, they were both standing on Sol's rooftop terrace surrounded by the flickering city lights.

"I feel I should offer you something to drink," she said, facing him. There were still only a few centimeters separating the two of them as their bodies didn't seem to want to get any farther after their confined trip inside the elevator. "But I only have water, unsweetened almond milk, and an opened bottle of white wine that's been sitting in my fridge like that for at least half a year."

"Saving it for a special occasion?" he teased.

"Haven't had many reasons for celebration lately."

How did Luke manage to loosen all her inhibitors? She couldn't refrain from revealing too much about herself.

"I presume you also have tea," he continued, his gaze fixed on her.

"Breakfast tea." With that admission, she lifted her fingers to his face, tracing the line of his unshaven jaw, the profile of his nose, his full lower lip. "Is this okay?" she asked, her heart pounding.

He nodded, smiling as her fingers descended. She took her time caressing his neck, the naked part of his collarbone. And even though his eyes were hungry, he seemed to understand that she needed to get acquainted with his body slowly.

As her hand lowered to his chest, over his T-shirt, she sensed his desire. She stepped on her tiptoes to approach his lips, urging his mouth to open to hers. He tasted like beer but also chocolate and something salty that made her smile. It was almost fitting that his flavor reminded her of the sea.

"May I?" His whisper sent a tickling sensation all over her body.

She acceded with an almost pleading stare and realized how much they'd said that night without actual words.

One of his hands was on the small of her back, almost burning to the touch even through the fabric of her black pencil midi dress. He pressed her against his body. His other hand had taken hold of her face, his thumb carefully caressing the sensitive area behind her earlobe.

They kissed under the Barcelona night sky. She reveled in the spontaneity of the moment. Her right hand made bold progress through Luke's anatomy when she felt something frantically vibrating in the back right pocket of his jeans.

"Your phone is…" she said, momentarily disentangling her mouth from his and about to succumb to the urge to bite his lower lip.

Yet she wasn't allowed to act on that yearning.

Even though Sol thought Luke was as much into kissing her as she was into him, he detached himself when he grabbed his vibrating phone.

"Shit!" He sounded and looked frustrated. Or perhaps Sol was projecting her own thwarted sensations. "I need to go."

"I'm sorry?" She was convinced she had misheard that last bit. It happened sometimes—English as a third language and all that. Plus, Luke's London accent could be thick and she had always been better with a Californian drawl than any other English variant.

"My very annoying boss called, and he'll probably call me again in a minute," he said, not making eye contact and looking at his phone's screen. "I need to go deal with him and my trip tomorrow."

"Right, you're leaving tomorrow," she said, both processing the information and giving him an easy way out.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he repeated absent-mindedly.

Sol walked him toward the entrance door to the apartment. She opened it with her best Californian fake smile.

"Is it alright if I text you?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't it be okay?" The smile was still plastered on her face. She pretended that a mere minute ago she hadn't been making out with the guest who was now about to leave.

"Will you answer?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she replied. The thing was though, it was getting late and her facial muscles were sore from all the faux grinning. She needed Luke to be gone , stat.

"Sorry I have to leave in a hurry," Luke started, and Sol really wasn't looking forward to whatever conversation he seemed to want all of a sudden.

"We all have things to attend to in the morning," she said. Her fake smile took on the cold-hearted glacial civility she knew she excelled at when needed. And the occasion screamed for Ice Queen Sol.

"Right, sorry to keep you waiting. Good night I guess, and thanks for showing me arou?—"

"Good night!" Sol closed the door in his face.

What the hell had happened?

First, they were on top of one another. Was she so old, horny, and wrong in her reading of the situation? Because she thought they both wanted to have sex.

But then he had to leave in a hurry, only to decide right after that he wasn't actually so pressed for time and wanted to chat.

Perhaps she hadn't been thinking as sensibly as she normally would have done. But a lot had happened to cloud her judgment. First there had been a husband who had made her believe she wasn't enough. That was followed by the big fortieth anniversary and realizing society assumed her best days were behind her. Then she was laid off and there was nothing more grievous—and vexing—than having to answer the customary What do you do? after being fired. After that, her parents had told her they weren't as good at investing money as she always thought, and they'd somehow gambled with her security blanket. No wonder she'd been toying with the idea of shagging a perfect—if objectively gorgeous—stranger.

One thing was clear to Sol: Luke had never been interested in her in more than a friendship-light capacity. And that was precisely why she had a great number of friends and acquaintances whom she liked or in some cases tolerated, a diverse collection of sex toys, and no real desire to ever try combining the two of them again.

By the time Luke made his descent to the street , Thompson had called him a second time and given him the details of his flight for the following day.

He'd even dictated the six-digit confirmation code of the reservation, which forced Luke to stop and make a note on his phone and ask his manager to repeat everything twice.

After that, Thompson hung up. He wasn't interested in Luke sharing his findings about Sol. But he wanted him back in London the following day.

Why had Thompson decided to ring him when an email would have made the most sense? Especially considering Thompson hadn't even booked the flight. Luke knew Thompson's assistant would have done that, and he could have easily sent Luke all the details.

But precisely because a call in which you dictate a code was illogical, that's what Thompson did. By now, Luke knew T&T wasn't the well-run, slick detective agency it aspired to be.

It hadn't taken him that long to comprehend that the agency's founders and managers only made it in the business due to an equal-parts combination of luck and the right family connections.

But even if he was cross with his boss for the interruption, he was somewhat reluctantly pleased, even thankful, about it. Luke could have shut down his phone and ignored the call—but he didn't.

He liked Sol, more than he was ready to admit to himself. Lying to her about his profession and the reasons he was in Barcelona wasn't the best way of attempting to start something with her. In case she was interested at all, which—after that icy goodbye—he was seriously doubting. The woman could turn from Mediterranean warmth to glacial cordiality in a matter of seconds.

The best course of action was to return to London, hope for a fast wrap of the case of the stolen script that wouldn't get Sol implicated in any way, come clean with her, and keep his fingers crossed that she wouldn't be too cross with him about the whole duplicitous affair.