My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(81)

There was something about her. Something about that moment.

She could be married.

Uninterested.

Unavailable in a million ways.

Shoving her out of my mind as best I could, I answered a few emails from the board and took a call from my vice chairman.

Then it was time to go—I had a meeting to attend. A job to do. I was headed for the platform to catch the train when someone with a Book Besties shirt scurried past me then darted onto the train on the other side of the tracks.

My pulse raced unexpectedly.

My woman could be on that train. She’d been traveling with the Book Besties.

I gazed at the long line of blue and cream-colored cars.

My skin warmed. Possibilities flickered through my mind.

This was annoying, this reaction to a woman. This reaction to anything that wasn’t business.

But there it was, insistent, under my skin.

This was a moment. Because that was my train. My line. My choice.

And goddamn it, I was making it.

Purposefully, I crossed the platform and boarded the train to Barcelona.

Was I a stalker?

No, I wasn’t a fucking stalker. I was a man who’d spotted an opportunity. And while I could be patient, I also didn’t let a tantalizing chance pass me by. I said hello to the JHB Travel Manager, followed the blonde in the T-shirt, then scanned the car for the brunette I’d exchanged words with in the station.

If she was there, I could ask her a simple question.

That was all I wanted to do. Ask.

I headed down the first car, then the second. She was nowhere to be seen. This felt like a fool’s errand. Then I caught sight of chestnut hair and warm brown eyes. She was turning toward her compartment.

I kept going, closing the distance between us, and she stopped with her hand on the doorknob, pausing like she recognized me.

Remembered me.

Letting go of the knob, she stepped into the aisle, tilted her head, studied me.

I was caught up and determined all at once.

When I reached her, I didn’t waste time. I had a question to ask. “I’m J. Hudson Bettencourt. And it would probably be terribly capricious of me to ask you to dinner tonight, here in the dining car, but if you’re single and available, I’d love to take you out.”

Her smile was my answer. “Are you capricious?”

I arched a brow. “Right now, I am.”

She studied me a beat longer, her pretty pink lips parted in curiosity. “I’m single. And what do you know? I very much enjoy dinner.”

I grinned. “I, too, like dinner.”

It was simple. Unexpected. And the start of the best thing that ever happened to me.

I canceled my meeting in London. I had a new mission—get to know Amy. That evening over dinner, I learned more about her. She was clever, lovely, and a little wounded. Impetuously, I asked her if I could travel with her, and she said yes.

But truthfully, the request didn’t feel impetuous. It felt right.

The next night in her compartment, she told me about the end of her marriage, when her husband came out. “We’re still friends,” she explained with a small smile of acceptance. “We still support each other, and I want the best for him, but there was clearly no spark.”

“And how are your kids doing with that? The divorce, that is?” I asked, as we sat on the couch in her compartment. Though, I made a note that we needed new couches. This one felt like a stone.

“They’re young, so they’re doing well. I think. And Sebastian and I really want to make it work for them. I’ve got a very supportive family. I’m close with my brother and my parents, and they help with the kids.”

That warmed my heart. My family was gone, and I was glad she had hers. “That’s good. That you’re close with them, and that the kids are doing well.”

“What about you?”

I laughed. “I don’t have kids.”

“I meant family,” she said, gently correcting me.

I shook my head. “My parents are gone. It’s just me,” I said, and even though I was one man against the world I’d rarely felt lonely. I had too much to do. Too many places to go. Too many things occupying my days.

But I felt lonely at that moment. Because briefly, in my evening with her, I didn’t want to focus solely on the things that occupied my days. The meetings, the deals, the travel.

I just wanted more of this—this connection.

“I’m sorry they’re gone, Jay,” she said.

It was rare people called me by my first name. I was used to Mr. Bettencourt, or just Bettencourt.

“I like the way you say my name.” I was eager to move on from the loneliness. I wanted to feel unlonely. I wanted to focus on her lips, her hair, and her eyes. How her body might feel against mine.

“Do you now?” She licked the corner of her lips. Then whispered, “Jay.”

All seductive and inviting.

I growled, low in my throat.

Her eyes flickered with heat.

Then I reached for her hand, threaded my fingers through hers. A bolt of heat raced through me. I rose, pulled her up, then tossed a careless glance at the couch. “I’m not going to kiss you for the first time on that miserable couch,” I said, then lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, her jawline, then the corner of those lips.

She tilted her chin up, then said, “The first time?”