London Bound Read online

  London Bound

  A Bound Book

  Jessica Jarman

  London Bound

  Copyright © 2015, Jessica Jarman

  Edited by Chris Allen-Riley and Paige Prince

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Published by Jessica Jarman

  Released March, 2015

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Jessica Jarman.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  London Bound

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Enjoy an excerpt from the next Bound book

  For Chris and Kris. For the support, the ass kicking, and the much needed reminders to trust the story. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  For Paige. Yours is coming. Eventually.

  For Jenny, a true friend and someone I’m proud to have in my life.

  And for Brian. Always.

  Chapter One

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  Meg Stevens leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the door, resisting the urge to kick the solid wood and wondering why she was even here. Not back home, curled up in bed, with a glass of wine and a good book.

  She straightened and looked at the line of buzzers at her left. With a sigh, pressed “#1” and waited, knowing it wasn’t actually an intercom system. It simply alerted the resident there was someone at the front door. After a while, she tried “#2”. This went on until her finger hovered over “#4”. She really, really didn’t want to hit that button, but the cold was seeping through her thin clothes and into her body with a vengeance. With a muttered curse, she jabbed the button. Both wishing she’d see him come around the corner from the stairwell and hoping he wouldn’t.

  Just when she was about to give up and resign herself to waiting for someone to get home—and probably freeze her ass off while she did so—he came into view. And she promptly lost her breath.

  Who the hell came to answer the door in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs?

  Unable to stop, Meg took in the sight of him as he walked slowly to the door, fingers shoved in his messy blond hair. Her gaze ran over his chest—lightly dusted with golden curls that looked like they’d be soft, or maybe they’d be coarser and scratch ever so slightly as she ran her palms down... What the hell was she doing?

  Meg’s head snapped up, just as he unlocked and pulled open the door. His blue eyes, heavy lidded and hazy with sleep, blinked at her.

  “Yeah?” The word was slightly muffled as he dragged his hand over his mouth. The soft sound of his short, neatly trimmed beard scratching against his skin sent her insides fluttering as she imagined the sensation on other, more sensitive parts of her body. Oh, God...

  “I forgot my key,” she blurted. “I took the garbage out and didn’t realize until the door shut behind me.”

  His brow furrowed then smoothed when understanding filled his face. “Oh, right, you’re the lady renting the flat upstairs?”

  She nodded, muscles shivering violently. From the cold, obviously. It was not from his accent rolling over her in that deep and sleep-rough voice.

  “Sorry for bothering you so early in the morning.” Stepping forward, she placed her hand on the door, hoping he’d take the hint and move so she could come inside.

  Shaking his head as if to clear it, he backed up then turned. Without another word, he walked away.

  What an ass. Meg shut the door, making sure it latched before starting up the stairs. And she wasn’t talking about the one hugged by blue cotton. The man himself was a rude son of a bitch. She’d run into him a couple of times before, and her opinion of him hadn’t changed. The first time had been on the day she’d arrived. She’d been struggling to get her heavy suitcase up the narrow flights of stairs. It was just her luck she was in number five, the apartment on the very top floor, and there was no elevator. She hadn’t even made it halfway up when someone—that man—had squeezed past her without so much as an “excuse me” and certainly no offer to help. He’d disappeared into the apartment one flight below hers.

  She didn’t even know his name, because the other times she’d seen him in passing, he’d barely acknowledged her, let alone introduced himself. It was just as well, Meg reminded herself. This trip wasn’t about meeting people and definitely not about getting to know handsome men who clearly didn’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. No, she was here to prove to her kids that she was okay. She was fine on her own, and they didn’t have to worry about her. That was the point, and she needed to remember that.

  Letting herself into the tiny studio apartment she’d be calling home for the next five weeks, Meg sighed heavily then crossed to the sofa and sat. It wasn’t much—one room with a bed and couch, a miniscule kitchen off to the side, and a bathroom she had to squeeze into—but it was enough. It was just her, after all. Hell, it probably made more sense for her to be in a place like this than the large house back home. She certainly didn’t hang onto it for the space. No, it was for the kids, and because it’s been her and Scott’s house—their family’s home.

  The ping from her laptop, signaling an incoming video chat, pulled her from her musing. A blessing, she thought. Dwelling on that shit didn’t do anyone any good. She leaned over and clicked the accept button, and couldn’t hold back the smile when her seventeen-year-old daughter’s face filled the screen.

  “Hey, Mom!” Emily said cheerfully, waving.

  “Hey, honey.” Meg glanced at the clock and frowned. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “What are you doing up so early?” Emily shot back then laughed. “It’s only just after midnight, and it’s the weekend.”

  “Just after midnight, my ass. It’s five to one. Weekend or not, you need sleep. Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Nope. And I’ll sleep. Besides,” she batted her big brown eyes, “I stayed up just so I could talk to you.”

  Meg snorted. “Sure, you did. What show are you marathoning on Netflix this time?”

  She heard her son snort off screen. “Told ya she wouldn’t fall for it, Em.”

  “Shut up, Aaron.” Emily scowled. “We may be watching Doctor Who, but I did want to stay up and talk to you. How’s your trip?”

  Meg forced a smile this time. “It’s lovely. I miss you, though. Both of you.”

  “Miss you, too.” The teen blew a kiss. “So, what are your plans for today? Going to see anything good?”

  “I haven’t made any specific plans for today. I’m going to play it by ear.”

  Emily frowned then shifted to the side as Aaron flopped beside her, green eyes narrowed.

  “What have you done so far?” he demanded.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been there for a week already; where have you gone? What have you done?”

  Cursing that he was always too damned smart for his own good, Meg shrugged. “I’ve explored the
village around the apartment, walked in the woods nearby—it’s beautiful—did some shopping.”

  “Mom.” He sighed. “You’re in England. London. You should be out there doing things, not holed up in that tiny place.”

  “I—”

  “He’s right,” Emily said quickly. “You’ve always wanted to go; that’s why we gave you the trip for your birthday. Don’t spend the whole time locked up.”

  “Just because I haven’t done all the sight-seeing and tourist-y things doesn’t mean I’m locked up,” Meg protested. “I had to adjust to the time difference and settle in. I’m going to do all that stuff, had planned on it even without your nagging. You sent me away for six weeks, for crying out loud. I have plenty of time.”

  Aaron’s lips twitched at her teasing tone. “I hope so. We want you to have a good time, Mom. That was the point.”

  “I will,” she assured them. “Really. In fact, I was thinking that, tomorrow, I’d go to the Tower of London.”

  “Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Emily said quickly.

  “Fine.” Meg laughed.

  “And today?” Aaron asked.

  God, he was relentless. So like his dad.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’ll go out, do something fun, have dinner and a pint at the pub.”

  “Find a cute guy, flirt a little bit,” Emily suggested, wiggling her eyebrows, and her brother rolled her eyes.

  “Not against that,” he said. “But please don’t share pictures if it happens.”

  Not going to happen, but Meg wasn’t going to get into that conversation with her kids, certainly not with thousands of miles separating them.

  “All right, go on back to the Doctor, but don’t stay up all damned night,” she said sternly.

  After a flurry of begrudging agreements, blown kisses and goodbyes, Meg disconnected and sat back wearily. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed, to be honest, but she’d go just as she promised. If playing tourist and sending hundreds of photos to her kids was what it took for them to realize they could live their own lives and not worry about her, she’d damned well do it. And pretend to love it.

  * * * * *

  Nathan Harris strode through the crowded pub to stand at the bar, nodding to Georgia who was helping someone farther down. He drummed his fingers on the worn, polished wood as he waited, glancing around the room, searching for a familiar face to share a pint with. When his gaze landed on the booth in the back corner, he froze. The lady from upstairs. And she had company. A stocky man stood close to her, crowding into her space as he spoke. Unwelcome company, Nathan thought as she leaned to the side and practically flinched away when the man ran a finger along her auburn hair.

  “Didn’t know you were back.” Georgia stopped in front of him, drawing his attention.

  “A week ago,” he said with a shrug before returning his gaze to his temporary neighbor.

  How the fuck did that guy not have a clue she didn’t want his attention? Nathan didn’t even know her, and he could tell from across the room. Her posture, the slight frown that furrowed her brow, her refusal to meet the man’s eyes. Obvious.

  “Your usual?”

  “And a glass of whatever she’s having.” He nodded, indicating the empty wine glass that rested in front of the woman he watched.

  “Oooh, going after the American tourists now, Nate?” Georgia teased as she got the drinks. “Better hurry; you’ve got competition.”

  Nathan snorted and took the offered glasses before striding confidently toward the rear of the pub. Shouldering the other man aside, he set the drinks on the table then slid in beside the surprised woman. He ignored her gasp and leaned in to buss her cheek.

  “So sorry it took me so long, love; it’s mad in here tonight,” he said loudly and wrapped an arm around her slight shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” the dumbass asked. “Who’s this?”

  “I think I should be asking that.” Nathan cocked his head to the side and met the other man’s gaze full on. “You’re the idiot chatting up my girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” the man gaped. “She didn’t say she had a boyfriend.”

  “She does,” Nathan said simply. “Go away.”

  “Now, hold on!”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself. Fuck off.” He turned away and faced the woman beside him, who stared at him with wide chocolate brown eyes. Tightening his arm around her, he pulled her close and dropped a kiss on her temple.

  “What are you doing?” she said softly after her unwanted visitor walked away, grumbling.

  “He was bothering you,” Nathan said.

  “I could have handled it,” she protested. “I didn’t need—”

  “No doubt you could have.” He lifted his pint and took a long drink.

  Head tilted back, she studied him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Nathan.”

  She pressed her lips together, as if she were trying not to smile. “Well...thank you, Nathan. I could have dealt with him, but you managed it far more quickly.”

  “And your name?”

  “Meg.” She shifted slightly. “He’s gone now; you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

  He dragged his thumb along her the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the way her body shivered as a result. “Enjoying a pint with a beautiful woman; who’s pretending?”

  She let out a shaky breath and reached for her wine. Her fingers trembled as she brought it to her mouth. After a quick swallow, she set the glass down with a clank. Nathan bit back a groan when her tongue slid along her full lower lip.

  “I’m sure there are no shortage of beautiful women you could enjoy a drink with, who would be more than happy to do so,” she murmured.

  “Are you saying you aren’t happy to?”

  “”I think you can find a better target for your attention,” she said, gaze focused on the hands she now clasped in her lap. “Better than the lady upstairs you couldn’t give the time of day to until now.”

  Well, ouch. Nathan frowned, thinking back over the last couple days, over the instances he’d seen Meg. Obviously, this morning when she’d locked herself out. Granted, he hadn’t stuck around and chatted with her, but he’d just rolled out of bed and had been anxious as fuck to get back into it. Before that... They’d passed in the hallway or on the stairs a handful of times, but she’d always been quick to skirt past him to get out the door or back up to her flat. Or he’d been on his mobile or in a hurry himself or so wrapped up in the drama of his family that he couldn’t be bothered to get to know the woman who would likely be gone in a matter of days.

  Her knuckles were white with how tightly she gripped her hands together, and her body was tense, though she made no move to put any distance between them. Her warm, soft body pressed his from hip to shoulder, fitting against him perfectly.

  Nathan bent his head until his mouth was next to her ear then, careful to keep his voice calm and level, said, “I’m right where I want to be, but you didn’t answer my question, Meg. ” Satisfied with her sharp intake of breath, he let his lips brush against the soft, delicate lobe.

  “W-what question?”

  “You’re not happy sharing a drink with me?”

  She snorted. “Sharing a drink isn’t the problem.”

  “So, what is the problem?” When she didn’t answer, he tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin. “Meg? What’s the problem?”

  “It would only be a drink,” she said in a rush, and even in the dim lighting of the pub, he could see her cheeks flush. “I can’t offer anything more than that.”

  “And you think I’m angling for more?”

  “Handsome young man in a pub on the weekend...” Her shoulders lifted in jerky shrug. “I can’t even begin to offer what you must be looking for.”

  “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions about me. Drink in a pub doesn’t have to be anything more than a drink in the pub.” He leaned back and grabbed his pint. Sip
ping, he waited for her speak.

  After a moment, she turned slightly on the seat to face him. His palm slid across her upper back as she moved, and wanting to give her a bit of space, he pulled his hand away and let it rest on his thigh. He continued to wait as she took several deep breaths and seemed to be preparing herself for battle. Finally, she lifted her eyes and met his gaze.

  “I’m married. I was married,” she clarified when he glanced down at her bare ring finger. “I was with him...Scott...for over twenty years, and...” she inhaled again, shakily, “he died. And I don’t know the first thing about drinking with other men in a pub half a world away from home.”

  Nathan’s chest hurt as he watched and listened to Meg. If anything, hearing this made him even happier that he’d sent the twat bothering her on his way.

  “How long?” he asked, reaching over and taking one of her hands.

  She shook her head. “Sorry?”

  “How long has it been? Since you lost him?”

  “Oh. Um, six years. Don’t worry, Nathan,” she said with a smile. “You’re not about to have a weeping widow on your hands or anything. I’ve had my time to grieve and move on. Despite what some people in my life think.”

  “Hmmm.” He swallowed a mouthful of ale.

  “I have moved on,” she said firmly. “I’ve accepted Scott is gone. Just because I’m not out dating or sleeping around doesn’t mean I’m still hanging on to his memory. Maybe I just don’t want to get involved with someone. Maybe even when I got past the grief, I needed to focus on making things okay for our kids. Maybe I just... Oh, God, why am I talking?” She put her free hand to her forehead. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

  “No need,” Nathan assured.

  “Like you want to be hearing any of this.”

  “Do you see me running away?” He squeezed her hand. “Tell me about him, about Scott. Or about your kids. Or why you’re in England, all by yourself. I have all night.”

  He could feel her stare as he looked at the bar and signaled to Georgia to bring them another round. When the bartender nodded, he turned back to Meg, who was shaking her head. He was struck by just how beautiful she was—pale skin, big brown eyes, dark hair falling around her shoulders. He knew from seeing her before that her body... Well, he’d looked his fair share more than once, and ached to feel it against him again. But, he could control himself and do without that, because something about her—something beyond simply her physical appeal—intrigued him, pulled at him.