London Falling (Falling #2)(50)

I had no chance of surviving this woman. Everything I ever knew or thought I knew about how women acted and reacted flew out the window. London Kelley was the exception to all rules.

Finally, she removed her hand after one last teasing squeeze of my rigid cock. Christ, the woman would test the reserve of a celibate monk.

“Alright lover.” Her eyebrows rose into pristine triangles. “I’m all yours.”

“Not now, but you will be.” I grinned and grabbed the handle of her bag in one hand and her hand in the other.

After the twenty minute drive in an easy, comfortable silence, I pulled up to Ma Limbardi’s. It was a hole in the wall pizzeria that specialized in thin-crust, melt in your mouth bites of nirvana. All ingredients were fresh, produce bought daily and Ma’s sauce was to die for.

“A pizza parlor?” London smiled as I placed a hand to her lower back and led her into the brick building.

A young girl with dark skin, hair, and eyes welcomed us. Her name tag said “Jo” which I’d bet a few quid was short for Josephine. Her Italian heritage was prevalent in her coloring and her small stature. When I gave her my name, her eyes widened and she led us through the throng of patrons, past the bustling kitchen where you could hear a woman shouting in Italian and a male shouting back, then to a door leading to a small patio alcove.

A brick oven sat in one corner. The fire within was bright and crackling. Two heat lamps warmed the outside area, even in the late Fall in New York City. Twinkling lanterns lit and lined the perfect square. In the center was a lone table, complete with a red and white checkered table cloth.

“Collier, this is…it’s magnificent?”

“Simple elegance.” I smiled and held out her chair. She sat and looked up into the sky. We were surrounded by skyscrapers but the windows didn’t face our little space in the universe. We had a clear view of the stars above, glittering the night sky with light.

“It’s amazing,” she whispered.

“Stunning,” I said, but was looking at her, watching her, soaking up her beauty. Her gaze came down and she noticed I wasn’t talking about the sky. A rosy hue flooded her cheeks. “You’re lovely when you blush.”

London rolled her eyes and leaned her head on her hand, elbow on the table. The candle light from the centerpiece bounced off her eyes, accentuating their unique color. In that moment I knew, I just knew, she was going to break me, ruin me for other women. She licked her lips and was about to say something when we were interrupted by the waiter.

“Tonight, you will start with vino, yes?” said the older waiter with a thick Italian accent, a round belly and a jolly smile.

“Yes, thank you,” I agreed.

“This is Villa Sandi Prosecco from my hometown in Italy. It is magnifico with my wife’s pies. You will try, yes?” His accent was heavy but easy to understand. Then again, I wasn’t one to throw stones. Even my own staff had trouble with my English accent.

“I am Anthony.” He pronounced it ’An-toe-knee.’ “And I will be providing you eccellente service. You need. I get for you, yes?”

“Yes,” we both said and smiled.

“Tonight, you will be choosing your own condimente…eh, you say, toppings.”

“That’s what I had planned. Do you have a list?”

“No, no, no, no, no. “ The man shook his head. “You tell me what you like to taste, I make for you. And I make even better. We add a little of this, a little of that…“ He pinched his fingers together and kissed it, pulling it away with a flourish. “Perfecto! Yes?”

London looked at me, eyes bright, lips smiling. We both shrugged and nodded.

“Signora, what you normally like on shifoso, eh? How you say, lousy pizza?”

London’s head fell back as she laughed. “Pepperoni, cheese, veggies, but no onions!” She crinkled her nose and grimaced.

“Si, si. And Signore? For you?”

“Same. Surprise me. But no onions.” I nodded to the pretty woman across the table and blew a kiss.

“Good,” Anthony winked. “I make for you best pie ever. Yes?”

We both said, “Si,” in unison, then laughed.

The waiter, which I’m pretty sure was the owner, waddled away, his round belly leading him.

I lifted my glass of wine in cheers and London clinked our glasses. “To the best pizza ever.”

“To the best date, ever.” London surprised me with her words. We both sipped. The berry and plum notes burst in my mouth. London nodded. “Amazing wine. So light and fruity.”

“Tell me more about you.” I was dying to glean more information from the sexy enigma.

“Well, you already know the deep, dark part about why I’m a widow. What else do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your job. I want to understand why you feel you need to move in with your clients. Why that unconventional approach?”

She sipped her wine and clasped her hands together, leaning her chin on them. “Some would say I’m not only a designer but a life coach.”

“How so?”

“When I move in with each client--”

I tried not to stiffen but she noticed my change in body language instantly.

“Relax. I stay with them but that doesn’t mean I sleep with all of them.”