2. What’s Your Hurry?

TWO

WHAT’S YOUR HURRY?

Xavier

S he had me there for a moment. Started talking about Frankenstein, the one book I’d actually read at Eton, and suddenly I was sixteen again, an angry, too-tall monster of a kid who’d just lost his mum, Rupert Parker’s bastard son who was just chucked into school with every son of the peerage in England. Back then, my speech was still slathered with South London, but forced into that uniform, I was the monster in the book, watching the students from the back of the classrooms like Frankenstein’s creature had watched the cottagers from the abandoned shack next door.

Hoping to God that once I did try to speak to them, they wouldn’t hate me as much as the De Laceys hated Frankenstein’s creature.

I should have known it was as hopeless for me in that prison as it had been for him.

I shook away the memories and brought myself back to the here and now. Back to this unremarkable little pub, to the girl who had entranced me outside when she’d walked in with her friend.

Jagger, my best friend and CFO of the restaurant group we founded, was sitting in the back corner, chatting up Francesca’s friend. I knew he wasn’t interested in the mousy girl, but like a good mate, he was buying me time to talk to Francesca.

We were in town courting investors for our planned expansion. In all honesty, the Parker Group was barely a group. It consisted of two small restaurants in England—a tiny pub given to me by my father as a bribe to keep me in Kendal, and the other a small, but successful izakaya in East London. Neither was anything flash, but they were successful enough that I wanted to see what else I could make happen without my family’s shadow.

After three weeks, I was starting to appreciate America—or more specifically, New York. Unlike back home, where the paparazzi descended on me like I was actual royalty, at least here I wasn’t constantly hounded.

It all started when it came out that the Duke of Kendal had a half-Japanese lovechild who happened to be his heir. The media had been eating it up for over seven years now; although it got me free publicity for my business ventures, as far as I was concerned, the rest of it could go take a flying leap.

Francesca caught my attention again, and I realized that I had been staring off into space. The way she looked at me made me feel like the sixteen-year-old boy I used to be. She was stunning, with curves that seemed to go on forever and a natural grace to her movements that made me want to watch her all night. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her full lips were painted a deep shade of red that matched the tiny shirt that revealed just enough of a tight little body I had every intent in making my own.

I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“So, Sato,” Francesca said. “That’s an Asian name, isn’t it?”

I nodded. No need to tell her Sato was my mother’s name. I used it here so people wouldn’t know who I was. “Japanese, yeah. My mum was from Okazaki.”

“Was?”

Fuck. “I—yeah. She passed when I was sixteen.”

Immediately, her gorgeous green eyes clouded with sorrow. Fuck me, that wasn’t what I wanted. I had no interest in being that kid anymore either—poor Xavier, half an orphan, dead mum, and a dad who didn’t care a thing for him.

“It’s fine,” I said. “It was a long time ago.”

“It’s not fine,” she said quietly. “It’s never fine, I don’t care how long it’s been.” Before I could argue, she reached out and set her small hand atop my much larger one and squeezed. “I only say that because I know. My dad died when I was five.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. She did know, then. Probably better than anyone I’d ever met.

Francesca’s eyes never left mine as she sipped her drink, her ruby lips parting slightly as she swallowed. I couldn’t help but imagine what those lips would feel like on mine. I leaned in closer, the scent of her perfume making my head spin.

“You know,” I said, “People say that Frankenstein is more about the creator than the monster. But I think it’s a warning.”

She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. She liked it when I talked about books. Normally, I’d never, but it was one way to make her stop feeling sorry for me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the memories from my youth in Eton lifting off my shoulders. “Sometimes we don’t want to be the labels people put on us, you know? The monster didn’t have a choice but to be a monster. But he wanted more. Everyone should have a chance to be something more than what’s forced on them, don’t you think?”

She pursed her full, red lips. “I—yes. I do.”

I finished my beer. “Thought you might.”

Then, without another word, I set the empty bottle back on the bar top, stood up, and offered her my hand.

I felt like an idiot. Like one of them poncy escorts at a season ball.

But Francesca was more a lady than any girl I’d met at those horrible affairs. I had a feeling she’d never been treated like one.

“Dance?” I asked.

She looked around nervously. “Um, no one’s dancing.”

I shrugged. “There’s space by the jukebox. Come on, babe, I’ll put something on. Let’s do something...unexpected.”

She still looked nervous, but a new mischief danced in her eyes.

“All right,” she said and set her hand in mine.

I led her to the jukebox in the corner of the pub and scanned through the selections. Most of the choices were typical pub fare, but buried in the menu, I found what I was looking for.

“Here we go,” I said, scrolling to find the song. “This should do the trick.”

I punched in the numbers and stepped back as the machine whirred to life. The familiar opening chords of Adele’s “Someone Like You” filled the room, and I turned back to Francesca, a sly grin spreading across my face.

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed. “Adele, really? How British are you?”

I took her hand, pulling her towards me, and we started to move to the music. “As British as they come, babe.”

Over her shoulder, I caught Jagger glance up from his conversation and give me a thumbs up. I winked, and as if he knew exactly what to do, he popped up with Francesca’s friend and went to the jukebox to load up a few more songs, after which they joined us dancing—but not too close.

“Frankie!” the girl gasped with a silly grin.

Francesca just blushed and smiled before allowing me to turn her away. Not that it mattered. Her friend was clearly more interested in Jagger’s devil-may-care smile than in the fact that we were making a spectacle in the middle of the bar.

Or maybe not. They were flopping all over the place, but Ces and I only moved in a soft, slow circle.

I could feel her body heat through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her curves were pressed against my chest, and her breath was warm through my t-shirt. She was short—almost a foot shorter than me, even in her heels. But something about the way my hands fit perfectly around her waist, the way her curves molded themselves to my body made it harder to concentrate on the song, let alone conversation. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss her.

I started to lean in, but she pulled away suddenly, looking down at her feet.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” she said, but her voice was shaky. “I just...I should go. It’s getting late.”

I had to act fast. I caught her hand and spun her back towards me, looking deep into her stunning green eyes.

“Stay,” I said. “Please. Just another dance.”

She hesitated, but eventually nodded as another ballad, this one by Beyonce, started through the room.

We danced for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. Jagger had done right, lining up at least ten songs that varied in tempo, but never strayed from a solid set of what he called “pants droppers” when we went out to pubs back home. Crude, maybe. But generally effective.

Right now, though, I was as affected by these sappy lyrics as my date. It was as if we were the only two people in the room, and for the first time in a long time, I felt truly alive.

As another song ended, I pulled back slightly, and Francesca looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and desire.

“This was unexpected,” she said, her voice low and sultry.

I leaned in closer, my lips hovering just inches from hers. “I’m full of surprises,” I murmured.

For a moment, we just stood there, our breath mingling together in the warm, dimly lit pub. Then, without warning, Francesca reached up and pulled my face down to hers, her lips finding mine in a searing kiss.

I moaned, my hands sliding down to take hold of her hips as I pulled her closer.

She arched into me, her fingers slipping into my hair as she tilted her head back. Her lips were even softer than they looked, and at that moment, I didn’t care that we were surrounded by a room full of strangers. I didn’t care that I’d just met her, or that come tomorrow, there would be an ocean between us.

I didn’t care about anything but this moment.

Francesca’s lips slid open, and her tongue danced with mine. I felt her sigh as she pressed her body against me, and I knew that it wasn’t just a kiss, but an invitation.

I couldn’t remember ever being so worked up. Her hand slipped from my hair, brushing across my shoulders and down my chest until it rested on my belt. My cock was hard and pressing against the zipper of my jeans, and I had no doubt that she could feel it.

Someone gasped behind us, and I heard a few other people laughing, but I didn’t care. I just wanted her.

She pulled back, a small moan escaping her lips, and I groaned. “Don’t stop,” I begged.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”

My hands slipped lower, pulling her ass into me, and she gasped. “Xavier, let’s go...somewhere. Now.”

I grinned. “Never been one to pass up an order. My hotel?”

I kissed the clear surprise off her face. Kissed her until we were both breathless and back to ignoring our audience.

“Please,” I growled against that sinfully plump mouth when she didn’t reply. “I’m begging, Ces. Let me taste you. Let me make you feel better than you ever have before.”

She kissed me back, but something about her still. “I—not—not yet.”

Not what I was expecting. Nor was the moment when instead of going back to dancing away my insane hard-on, she grabbed my hand and towed me through the small crowd toward the back of the pub. She glanced around, but no one noticed us. They were all too far gone in their drinks to care about a couple of randy kids clearly looking for a feel in the dark.

Or at least, a man could hope.

The hall ended near a back entrance that likely led to an alley, where the staff came and went or took out the rubbish. Either way, it was shrouded in shadows, perfect for yanking her body back into mine and crashing my mouth to hers.

She was a live fire.

All I wanted was to set her ablaze and watch her burn.

I lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I plunged my hands into her hair, kissing her deeply. Her arms tightened around me, her mouth open and hungry against mine. I had no idea what I was doing, or even where we were going, but I didn’t care. I’d never needed anything so much in my life.

I yanked on her hair, spinning her around and pressing her against the brick. I could feel her body through her thin shirt, and I knew what I wanted.

“Francesca,” I panted. “Ces, fuck me, that’s a mouth on you.”

“Is—is it?” It didn’t escape me, the way she stuttered around the words. “I—oh!”

My hands slid beneath her tight denim jeans, taking handfuls of soft flesh that made me throb. “Christ, you feel good.”

“Xavi,” she whispered, using that nickname like she couldn’t help it. No more than

We weren’t strangers anymore. I barely knew this girl, but in the space of an hour, she somehow felt more familiar than anyone I’d ever known.

I chuckled, running my nose up her neck to bite her ear. “I bet. I’m a bad boy, aren’t I?”

She gasped when I worried the lobe between my teeth. “Something like that.”

Her hands found my belt, and I groaned as she fumbled with the buckle. I held her lips against mine, feeling her body rub against mine as she worked.

“God,” she whimpered as I ground between her legs.

I nearly came as her warm hands unsnapped my jeans.

“Let me down,” she whispered.

I couldn’t do anything but obey.

And then I watched as sweet, supple Francesca sank to her knees right there in the club, then slipped her hands up my jeans until she was able to take hold of the zipper and began to pull down.

After which, I fucking surprised myself by stopping her.

“No,” I whispered as I pulled her to her feet. “You first.”

She looked up at me, confused. “I—what?”

Even in the dark, her green eyes sparked. With eagerness, yes. Lust, absolutely. But something like worry. Fear, maybe. Nothing I wanted to see.

Feeling like a man out of body, I dropped to my own knees, peeling the tight denim of her jeans and the cotton underpants with them. She sucked in a breath, suddenly bared to me in the dark. A perfect triangle of black beckoned me between her legs.

I pressed my nose there, hardly believing she was letting me do this. On my knees. For her.

Only her.

Fuck, had I really just thought that?

“So beautiful,” I murmured before kissing her softly on each thigh, then pressing another directly between her legs.

She shuddered, then threaded her hands into my hair. “I—Xavi, we can’t?—”

“We can love.” I kissed her again, slipping my tongue over her clit while moving my hands around to take her arse in my palms.

She shook against my mouth. “Oh.”

I licked her. Nipped at her. Resisted the urge to eat her alive right there in the hall, where anyone might find us. Her friend might come looking. Another patron might come searching for the loo. But I couldn’t think of anything. Just her taste, her sweet scent, the nectar on my tongue as I sought pleasure again and again, right there between her legs until she began to quake and writhe, eventually crying out over the thankfully loud music pouring out from the bar.

Home. This was home.

It was all I could think as my thoughts eventually returned, as her breathing began to regulate, as I pressed my nose to her thigh and tried to remember anything I had ever wanted besides this moment in time.

Eventually, I did. Another room. A private space. Somewhere I could treat her like the lady she was.

Because this girl wasn’t made for alleys or dark corridors. Certainly not meant to be on her knees in the back of a pub.

She was made to be worshiped.

And for the first time in my life, that was exactly what I wanted to do.

“Come back to mine,” I said as somehow I managed to rise from the floor, taking her jeans back up and helping her right herself. “Let me treat you right.”

I buried my nose behind her ear, taking long whiffs of her scent all over. God, I was hard. Like a fucking statue.

But I needed this to be right more than I needed to get off.

And so, it was to my complete and utter fucking relief that she nodded slowly.

“All right.” Her voice was low, quiet. But certain. “Please. Let’s go.”