Nick didn't know any pubs in Mayfair, but he'd seen one around the corner on the way to the memorial. He gestured to the left. "It's this way, just down the block."
Rosalind nodded and fell into step beside him.
They didn't talk-she seemed lost in her thoughts. A couple minutes later, when he saw the white building come into view, he began to point it out.
She turned to him at the same moment, took his lapel, and reached up on her tiptoes as if she were about to kiss him.
His gaze fixed on her mouth. Lush. Dark pink. Parted. He wanted to taste her so badly.
But he couldn't. She was in mourning, and he was there under false pretences. Damn Summer. "Rosalind-"
Her lips touched his, and his heart stopped.
When it started beating again, it pumped furiously in a way he hadn't felt since the first time he narrowly missed crashing his race car. Unable to help himself, he slid his hand into her hair, needing to hold her.
She hummed, pressing herself against the full length of his body. Her hand eased inside his coat, paused, and then undid a couple of shirt buttons to snake inside. She hummed again as her palm roved up his chest.
Her touch on his skin was electric. He wanted to do the same to her. He wanted to push her hand lower, to show her what she'd done to him.
But they were on the street, and she didn't know who he was, so instead he gently disengaged his mouth from hers.
She drew away slowly, her eyes opening reluctantly. Her lips were red and glossy, and she licked them before she said, "I needed to do that."
"Yes."
"Maybe I should unhand you now."
"It's probably best." But she didn't make a move to withdraw, and it didn't help that he wanted to carry her off to the nearest bed. Drawing on his control, he brushed her hair back. "Maybe we should go inside and get you that drink I promised."
"It's probably best," she echoed with an amused smile. She slid her hand over his torso before she withdrew it and buttoned him up.
Nick took a deep breath and led her to the pub.
She looked up at the bar's sign. "The Red Witch. It's adorable."
To him, it looked like every other pub in London: white building, black trim, lanterns, and dangling pots with overflowing flowers. But if she was happy, that was all that mattered. He held the door open and let her enter first.
"I bet I know who the red witch is," she said, motioning to the tall woman tending bar.
The red-headed bartender smiled at them in welcome. "What can I be getting you?" she asked in an Irish lilt when they reached the bar.
"A shot of rye and a pickleback," Rosalind said.
The Irish woman shook her head. "A what?"
"A pickleback. Pickle juice."
"With whiskey?" he asked incredulously.
"Don't mock it till you try it." Rosalind grinned at the bartender. "How about Jameson's?"
"That I can do." She tucked one of her stray curls behind her ear as she turned to him. "And you, handsome?"
"The same." He set money on the counter.
The bartender poured them generous shots and gave him change. "There you go. My name is Niamh if you need anything else."
Thanking her, they took their whiskies to a private table in the back. "Pickle juice?" he repeated as he pulled out a chair for her.
"It's delicious. Much more civilized than a beer back." Smiling her thanks, she sat down and took a sip of her drink. She sighed. "This is exactly what I needed."
He looked at her lips, full and tempting as she licked them. He knew what those lips were capable of. He knew what they tasted like-like Heaven. Sweet and salty with a fiery kick.
"This pub is nice," she said as she looked around, oblivious to his lust. "How do you know it? Do you live in the neighborhood?"
"Actually, I live in Kensington. I have a house here, though until recently I hadn't been home much."
"Does being a lawyer require that much travelling?"
Nick cursed Summer for her scheming. "Work takes me to the continent a lot," he evaded. "Until just recently, I spent a lot of time in France and Italy. I came back to be near Su-Sara."
"You and Sara seem very close," Rosalind said, obviously fishing.
"She's like my sister," he answered honestly.
"She must be. Not many men would act as matron of honor."
"Yes, well, I love Sara." Even when he wanted to strangle her.
"That's sweet," Rosalind said softly.
Feeling uncomfortable with the lies, he changed the subject. "How long are you going to be in London?"
The worried frown returned to Rosalind's brow. "I haven't decided."
"You should stay a bit."
She looked at him with her clear, big blue eyes. "Should I?"
"Don't you want to?" he asked, instead of saying how much he wanted to see her again, which wasn't going to happen given the circumstances.
"I may have to stay with my mother for a while," she admitted. "She's taking my father's, er, death hard."
"You don't sound happy about staying."
"There's a reason I put an ocean between my family and me. Although mostly that was because of my father."
Nick treaded cautiously. "You didn't get along."
"Hardly." She downed the rest of her shot and set the glass on the table. Leaning in, she said, "Can I tell you something? It's confidential."
He'd barely met her, and he didn't think he could deny her anything. This was trouble. "You can tell me anything."
"I probably shouldn't, but you inspire confidence. It must be because you're a solicitor."
He was going to murder Summer when he saw her next. He downed the rest of his drink and signalled Niamh for another round.
Unaware of his dilemma, Rosalind said, "My father's will is missing, and I said I'd help find it."
He played with his glass, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "That doesn't sound too cloak-and-dagger."
"I didn't tell you what my sister wants to do with it." She smiled at Niamh, who quietly placed fresh drinks in front of them. She lifted the glass and inhaled before taking a sip. "You don't do criminal law or anything, do you? What's your specialty?"
"I, er-I've been leaning toward contracts," he replied as honestly as he could.
"Why contracts?"
"Why do you design wedding dresses?"
"My mother loves fashion, and I caught the bug," she replied too casually.
"I get the feeling that's not the whole answer."
"The whole answer would take all afternoon, and I need to get back." She finished her drink and stood. "Will I see you again?"
Standing, he left money on the table and gestured to the door.
"I'd like that," she said when he didn't reply.
Wanting to say yes to her, knowing he couldn't, he took her hand instead and tugged her back, pulling her into his chest for one more kiss.
It felt more intimate than the first time-more urgent. Her lips echoed the need in his, equally eager. He cupped her head, massaging the nape of her neck, feeling her purr and melt in his arms.
When their mouths broke away, they stood panting, staring at each other.
She licked her passion-reddened lips. "I hadn't expected this."
"Neither had I."
"I'm not complaining though." She lifted onto her toes and kissed him again, brief but equally powerful, before she broke away and left the bar.
He watched the confident sway of her hips. They beckoned him to follow. He would have, too-followed her to the ends of the world just for another kiss.
But it was better this way. He'd never see her again-not under any good terms once she found out who Summer was. It was better that he let her go. Maybe one day he'd even make himself believe that.