Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(11)

“Would you like to live in the country? You seem very…”

I arch my eyebrow. “I’m what? Stupendous? Devastatingly handsome with a sparkling intellect?”

“Makes you sound like a bottle of Prosecco. No, you seem very much a city creature.”

“I suppose I am. I love London. I love the galleries and museums and the history everywhere. Somewhere is always open, and the city has such a nice buzz. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, to be honest. What about you?”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Ah, I’ve lived in London a long while. I think I’ll stay.”

I stare at him. That’s it? “How long?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think I moved there when I was in my early twenties.” He offers me a practised smile.

I give up. He can keep his secrets. I hardly know him and it’s rude to keep questioning people.

“You must have seen so many changes if you’ve lived there since your twenties,” I say. “The Alexandra Palace going up, the abdication of Edward the Eighth.”

His laughter is wonderful, husky, and really amused, not simply a polite effort. I don’t think he laughs often, but being the cause gives me a happy feeling.

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” I say, sliding off my stool.

He looks startled. “What? Now?”

“No, when we’re back in London and really near a beach.”

“For such a sweet young man you’re rather sarcastic.”

“I’m twenty-six. You make me sound like I’m in the sixth form.” I pause, taking off my shoes. “You think I’m sweet?” I cover my shock by balling up my socks and thrusting them into my pocket.

He shrugs, his expression discomposed. “Yes,” he finally says, his voice low. “I think you’re a very sweet man.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Please don’t tell anyone. That would be the kiss of death for my Grindr profile.”

He comes closer. “And what is on that profile?” he says, his low, hoarse voice making me shiver.

I take off my jacket and leave it on a wicker chair. I step off the patio and onto the sand. It’s cool beneath my hot feet and I give a sigh of pleasure. “That’s lovely.” I arch one eyebrow at him. “Are you taking your shoes off in this millennium?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I must.”

“I’m not taking you rollerblading. Just a little safe walk on the beach, Grandpa.”

“You go rollerblading?” He joins me on the beach, and I don’t miss his sigh of happiness. I smile and he shakes his head. “Shut up.”

We set off down the beach. The breeze is warm, so I roll up my shirtsleeves and undo a few buttons at my collar. Once away from the lights of the hotel, it’s a place of magic. The sky stretches over us with a carpet of stars and a full yellow moon lighting our way. The faint sounds of the band playing “Moon River” blend with the sound of the surf.

“Rollerblading?” my companion says, nudging me.

“Oh no, not anymore. Not since I broke my arm.”

“Were you a kid?”

“No, it was six months ago.” He starts to laugh, and I elbow him. “My boss, Jed was not happy. It was at a wedding.”

“A wedding had rollerblading?”

“And fifties dress. It was an experience, I can tell you. Anyway, Rafferty and I—”

“Who’s Rafferty?”

He sounds suddenly tense, and I wonder what’s wrong with him.

I wait a second but when he just raises one eyebrow I leap to explain. “He’s one of the wedding planners at my company and my best friend. Anyway, we had a little too much to drink when we were cleaning up and he dared me to do a three-sixty turn. I agreed to it, but I think I probably only managed a twenty at the most before I fell over my feet and broke my arm.”

He laughs and seems to relax and we walk on, an easy silence between us. Eventually he stirs. “Back to your Grindr profile.”

I snort. “I wondered when we’d circle back to that.”

“It was as inevitable as the tide. What’s on it?”

“Well, I like long walks, the smell of fresh linen, and the sight of mountains in the distance.”

He shakes his head. “We’re a match made in heaven, princess.”

“I bet.” I turn and walk backwards slowly, looking at him. His eyes sparkle in the starlight and his mouth has a relaxed, warm curve to it. “Well, obviously my profile is cool and mysterious with absolutely no hint of desperation about it at all.”

“Of course. What’s your profile picture?”

I trace a hand down my front. “My abs running down to my groin.”

“Do you show your pubes?”

“Just a bit. A tease is always better than the whole shebang.”

“Show me.” His hands flex as I slowly unbutton my shirt and let it fall open. “Gorgeous,” he says. “What does your profile say?”

“I’m a bottom who prefers to be hosted, which if you saw my flat, you’d totally understand. Condoms are mandatory. I’m looking for fun and accept NSFW pictures.” I wink at him. “They’re the best bit.”

“Would you accept one from me?”