Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.Finding London by Ellie Wade (best pdf ebook reader .txt) đź“–
- Author: Ellie Wade
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Book online «Finding London by Ellie Wade (best pdf ebook reader .txt) 📖». Author Ellie Wade
“I want to tell you something.” Releasing his arms, I place my palms on his cheeks, cradling his face. I stand on my tiptoes and pull his face down to meet mine. Our mouths are close enough that I can feel Loïc’s warm breaths on my lips. “I’m glad you didn’t,” I whisper before I push my mouth onto his.
Loïc’s body stiffens for a fraction of a second before it melds into mine. His hands wrap around my waist, sprawling across my back and pulling my body closer to his. A groan comes from deep within his throat as his initially tentative lips begin to move with increased fervor. His lips, so perfect in their execution, ignite my entire body with a hum of satisfaction.
I have to hold back tears as our kiss continues. I feel like crying, which doesn’t make sense, but each feeling within me is on high alert. His lips, our connection, bring every last one to the surface. I’m inundated with dueling emotions—happiness because this is happening, but sadness because I don’t know if it will happen again. Desire pounds loudly through my veins, but along with it is fear. For all the highs I’m experiencing comes equally impactful lows because, though I barely know Loïc, I know he’s broken. It’s too soon, and I can’t explain how I know, but I simply feel it down to my bones that, if this doesn’t work out, if I don’t get to keep Loïc, I will be left broken, too.
Eventually, LoĂŻc pulls his lips away. He leans his forehead down and rests it against mine. Our chests expand against one another with each deep breath we take as we work to calm our bodies and settle our minds.
Loïc’s gravelly deep voice breaks the melody of our entangled breaths. “I’m fucked. We’re both fucked. You know that, right?”
Startled, I take a small step back. When our gazes connect, his eyes darken. A myriad of emotions flashes through them, but I know he won’t share them with me. It doesn’t matter because I see them anyway, and what I see is enough.
I take a deep breath and grin. “Well, you know what they say. Better to have fucked and lost than never to have fucked at all.”
His frown morphs into a devastatingly gorgeous smile that leaves my knees weak. “Who says that?”
I shrug. “Not sure, but they sound very wise.”
He chuckles. “It’s not too late to back out. You can go back inside and forget all about me.”
I shake my head. “Not gonna happen.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He takes my hand in his, and we walk toward his truck that is parked on the street.
I’m giddy that he’s holding my hand and of his own accord. I feel like the nerdy girl in school who is finally getting the quarterback’s attention. It’s a strange place for me to be. I’ve never been that girl. I’ve always been the hot cheerleader whom the quarterback would beg to date. But, with Loïc, I feel lucky that he’s chosen me. He’s a prize, and I won him—or at least, I’m on my way to victory, and there’s nothing else more important to me right now.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve never met anyone like you, London Wright.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he says as he opens the passenger door.
I hop up into the truck, and before he closes the door, I respond with, “It will be.”
A small smile crosses his face as my door closes.
As I watch him walk around the front of the truck, I can’t help but ponder how serious this is—the start of this relationship or whatever it is that I have with Loïc. This is only our fourth meeting, and each time has been so deep and intense. Maybe that’s part of the intrigue.
But one thing’s for sure. I’ve never met anyone like Loïc Berkeley before either.
We’re in the truck for about an hour before we reach our date destination—a drive-in movie theater.
The drive consisted of a comfortable conversation. Okay, so it mainly consisted of me talking about myself. Loïc isn’t a huge sharer, but lucky for us, I am. I told him about my parents, Georgia, and of course, Paige—my sister from another mister. I informed him of all the places where I lived before college. I talked about my ambition to be a journalist.
Now, we’re parked with the truck bed facing the giant movie screen. Loïc transformed the back of his truck into a comfortable lounging area. We’re seated on several fluffy blankets, and he brought a handful of pillows to lean against. He packed a cooler of food and drinks. It’s adorable. All he’s missing are the rose petals and candles, and it’d be perfection.
I’m sitting, cross-legged, watching Loïc get out the food. We have over an hour until it gets dark, and the movie starts.
He looks up from the cooler. “What are you smiling about?” he asks playfully.
“You,” I answer simply.
“What about me?” The corner of his mouth tilts up.
“All this.” I motion to our surroundings. “It’s so sweet. I’ve actually never been to a drive-in movie before.”
“Yeah, there aren’t too many left. I found this one on Google.” He puts our sandwiches on plates. “I remember going to one with my parents. I think we were living in South Carolina at the time. We packed a picnic, similar to this one.” His smile falters. “It’s a good memory.”
“It sounds like it.”
He hands me a plate of food. “So, is sweet a good thing?” he questions with an effort to sound nonchalant.
My heart hurts for him because, behind his tough-as-stone persona, I think he’s a pretty insecure person. I can’t wrap my mind around that because…well, he’s gorgeous.
“Um, yes, sweet is an amazing thing.”
I can see the relief on his face.
“You wanna know a secret?” he asks.
“Yes!” I answer a little too enthusiastically. I obviously want him to be a sharer, too—apparently, more than I knew. I crave to know everything there is to know about him.
He chuckles. “This is the first date I’ve ever been on.”
“What? No!” I practically shriek, which makes him smile.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“I don’t believe it,” I argue.
“It’s true.”
I shake my head. “How is that even possible? I mean, look at you!” Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that last part out loud.
“You, London, are my first date.”
Joy expands in my chest at being the first anything for Loïc, but I still don’t understand it. “Wow. I never would have guessed…” My thoughts trail off to the how and why of this scenario. “I can’t believe you’ve never been with a woman. It’s just—”
Loïc laughs in his deep timbre. “I didn’t say I’ve never been with a woman. I said I’ve never gone on a date.”
I wrinkle my brow. “So, you’re not a virgin?”
He throws his head back, his wide chest vibrating with laughter. “Hell no. Why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve never been on a date!” I feel the need to defend myself.
“One does not have to date someone to screw ’em, London.”
My heart rate accelerates as those words fall from his lips—whether from jealous or lust, I can’t tell.
“Yes, I realize that happens, but you never took any of the girls you slept with out on a date?”
“Never.”
“And they were okay with that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I never asked any of them.”
“Out of curiosity, how did you avoid that conversation? Because I know girls, and most girls wouldn’t be cool with that.”
“Well, after we fuck, I usually don’t run into them again, and if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal anyway because they knew the deal.”
Realization dawns. “Oh, so you’re like a one-night-stand slut.”
“What classifies a slut, London?”
I throw a slice of cucumber from my plate at him. “Oh my God, you’re a man-whore!”
“And you’re Mother Teresa?” He chuckles.
“Well…no…” I stutter. “But I usually get to know the guy between my legs—at least a little bit.”
Loïc’s eyes darken before he closes them and leans his head back. Eventually, he opens them, and his stare finds me. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
I giggle. “What? The part about having a guy between my legs?”
“Yes, that part,” he growls.
“Why? You don’t like to hear about other guys doing things to—”
He cuts me off before I can finish, “Damn it, London! Eat your food.”
I’m sporting a giant smile as I take a bite of my sandwich. I swallow and then ask, “So, are we done with the slut conversation?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“One more question,” I plead.
His blues hold me, and my heart twists a little.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Why haven’t you ever dated anyone before? There has to be a reason.”
“I haven’t found anyone who’s worth it.” His gaze pins me with something serious.
I want to ask, Worth what? I want to ask if he thinks I’m worth it, but I don’t.
Loïc has shared a lot in this conversation. I have been gifted with one more piece to the puzzle that is Loïc Berkeley, and if I play my cards right, I’m hoping to gain another piece very soon.
LoĂŻc
“Fate is a fucking lie, and destiny is its bitch-ass cousin.”
—Loïc Berkeley
The conversation moves away from our sex lives, and for that, I am thankful. I barely know London, yet I have the incredible urge to pummel the face of every man she’s ever been with. A rabid beast has awoken in me, and I just want to hurt anyone who has ever touched her. I’ve never been possessive over a woman.
Why now? Why her?
I’m not sure of the exact answer. One thing’s for sure. London is different. From the first time I saw her face and heard her voice, I’ve felt something real for her. Maybe it’s an extreme version of lust. If I’m honest, it freaks me the hell out.
I’m in uncharted waters, and I want out. I don’t do well without control, and where this girl is concerned, I have very little. But I can’t stay away. I tried to cancel today’s date—she was right about that—but I didn’t have the courage to do it. I had to see her one more time.
I bag up the food we didn’t eat and put it back in the cooler. “Do you want more wine?”
“Sure,” London replies, handing me the cheap plastic wine glass.
It’s incredibly cheesy—the picnic, the plastic dishes, the bed of my truck made into some sort of chic country lounge—but she seems to appreciate it.
I pour her another glass of wine and grab a bottle of water for myself. We position ourselves against the pillows in the center of the truck bed.
“I’m surprised you’re not drinking. You could use your tipsy state to cop a feel and then blame it on the liquor.” She grins.
“And that move works?” I counter, raising an eyebrow.
“Depends on who’s using it, I guess.” She takes a sip of her wine.
I watch in awe as her cherry lips press against the glass, taking in the liquid. Gah, what the hell is wrong with me?
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