One Hot Chase (Hot Brits #12)

Chapter Ten

Declan

Finding Bree is like trying to capture a particularly slippery fish with my bare hands. One moment, I thought I had her in my grasp, the next she'd flitted away, leaving only a ripple in the water. Who knew chasing after an American woman would become the most difficult task I'd ever undertake?

Where might a tourist go? She is a tourist, after all, though her holiday in London involves searching for a man. Or perhaps many men. Honestly, I don't know enough about her to understand her reasoning or her inner desires. I might be one of countless blokes who Sabrina has found and rejected.

I scan the bustling streets of Covent Garden, my eyes darting from one strawberry blonde head to another. None of them is her. I'd captured Bree the first time thanks to a method that would likely seem underhanded if I told Sabrina about it. That's why I didn't confess. Not yet. And I intend to use the same method every time until she figures out what I've done. Bree might be angry, or perhaps she'll appreciate my tactics. I never promised I would stick to fair play in this game.

The glow of pubs and restaurants and other after-dark establishments light my way. I check my mobile and follow the path prescribed by artificial intelligence or whatever it might be. I have no idea how digital maps work. I've just crossed the street when I see a familiar figure.

Ah, there she is . Well, almost. I'll need to actually enter the establishment to ascertain whether Bree is in there.

As I step inside the pub, the aroma of food wafts over me and makes my mouth water. I haven't eaten anything since I left my flat, too obsessed with hunting my bewitching prey. Though I have visited pubs many times, I've never tried this one before. The smoky lighting melds with the rich shades of the wood decor. As I scan the interior, my heart speeds up. Sabrina perches on a stool at the bar, looking as lovely and delectable as ever.

"Bree!" I call out, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of laughter, chatter, and a football match on the telly. I push through the crowd, muttering apologies as I go, and bump into one gent who scowls at me despite my immediate apology. The dim lighting makes it more difficult to seek out my quarry. The air is thick with the smell of fish and chips as well as a few other foods. I make my way to the bar, hoping to get a glimpse of Sabrina.

Then I see a familiar, shapely figure. It's her .

But she is not alone. Some tosser slouches on a stool beside her, chatting up the woman I shagged earlier today. Sabrina doesn't seem like the sort who would go to bed with one man, then seduce another at a pub.

Bree's head turns, and her green eyes flare wide as they lock onto mine. For a moment, I see a flicker of...something. Surprise? Guilt? Or maybe it's only the dim lighting playing tricks on me.

"Declan?" Her voice betrays a mix of confusion but also what I hope is a hint of pleasure.

I sidle up to the bar, positioning myself between Sabrina and the twat who's trying to seduce her.

She flashes me a brief scowl before returning her attention to the tosser.

"Just fancied a pint," I lie smoothly, ignoring the twinge of jealousy as I glance at her companion. "Didn't expect to find you here. Making new friends already?"

Her new mate shoots me a look that's equal parts curiosity and annoyance. He's tall, dark-haired, and admittedly attractive in a generic sort of way. Nothing special, if you ask me.

Sabrina's eyes dart between me and her new companion, and she seems to be enjoying this new game. But she can't make me jealous. Her lust for me is evident in her eyes. "Oh, you know me, Declan. I'm all about making friends."

Her voice drips with honey-sweet sarcasm.

"Yes, pet, I'm familiar with your penchant for collecting mates. You are quite the social butterfly, aren't you?"

She turns to her companion, placing a hand on his arm. "This is...um..."

"Crispin Webber," the bloke helpfully supplies, extending a hand.

I shake it, perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary.

Bree grins, twirling a lock of hair round and round her finger while her gaze remains glued to mine. "Crispin has been telling me all about the best spots in London for food and drinks."

I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to slug him in the gut. "I'm sure he does. Tell me, Crispin, what's your favorite chippy?"

Peter launches into a detailed explanation of some hole in the wall place I've never heard of. I nod along, feigning interest while watching Bree from the corner of my eye. She's fidgeting with her drink, noticeably uncomfortable with the situation she's found herself in. That looks like a gin and tonic. Based on how little of it she's consumed, I don't think she's all that interested in booze. But Crispin downs the last of his pint, ordering a second beer before the bartender has even taken away the first one.

I interrupt him mid-sentence. "Sounds lovely. I should try that pub sometime. Sabrina, would fancy a dance?"

Her head snaps up, and her eyes go wide. "Dance? Here?"

I gesture to the small area near the back where a few couples are swaying to the music. "Why not? I'm sure Crispin won't mind if we take a friendly spin around the floor."

Her gaze flicks between me and Crispin. She bites her lower lip, a habit I've quickly come to relish as both endearing and so maddeningly stimulating that it makes my cock rouse. But right now, I'm contemplating all the ways I could render Crispin unconscious.

"Oh, I don't know, Declan," she says, her voice light but with an undercurrent of mischief. "I wouldn't want to leave Crispin here all alone."

The gent in question, bless his oblivious heart, waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly content with my pint and the match." He nods toward the TV where a football game playing. "Chelsea is the best in the league.

I disagree with that statement, but I don't give a toss about the match. So, I extend my hand to Bree, not bothering to hide my triumphant smirk. "Shall we?"

She hesitates for only a few seconds before sliding off her stool. A red dress hugs her figure, accentuating every curve from her cleavage to her thighs. Where did she get that frock? It's not the same one she wore earlier.

Bree tentatively threads her fingers with mine. "All right, but just one dance."

I lead her to the small dance floor, my hand resting lightly on the curve of her spine. The music shifts to a slower tempo with a sensual beat as we find our spot among the other swaying couples. I pull her close, relishing the heat of her body.

"What are the odds I'd bump into you her?" I murmur. "Then again, perhaps you're following me."

Bree traces her tongue across her lips. The cherry red lipstick she wears makes me hunger to devour them. "I believe you're the one who's following me, Sir Declan. You were so desperate to catch me, after all. But I'm more interested in how you tracked me down."

I spin her out and then reel her back into my arms, buying myself a moment to think. "Pure coincidence, love. London's a small place when you know where to look."

She snorts, clearly less than convinced. "Right. And I suppose you just happened to choose this exact pub. This was the second pub I visited. I took three separate taxis to get here and jogged a block and a half. Yet you arrived only three minutes after I did."

"You started chatting up young Crispin only a few moments ago?"

"That's right. I rock the small talk."

She rocks everything, as far as I can tell. I'm beginning to think she's a closet genius, or perhaps an evil mastermind. No, I'm the dastardly villain in this story.

"You haven't answered my question," she purrs. "How did you---"

"That's a trade secret."

A playful smile curves Bree's lips. "Trade secret, huh? I didn't realize chasing after women was a profession."

I chuckle, pulling her closer as we sway to the music. "With you, it's a full-time job. But I prefer to think of it as...persistent admiration."

"Is that what you Brits call it?" Despite her annoyance, I can feel her body relaxing against me. "You know, most men would have taken the hint after being ditched once."

"Ah, but I'm not most men, am I?" I cup her arse with one hand, strictly because I love how it feels. "And I don't recall hearing you complain last night or this morning or this evening at Regent's Park."

"That was...a momentary lapse in judgment."

"Was it now? Seemed like several lapses to me. Delicious ones, at that."

Her fingers tighten on my shoulder, and there's a slight tremor in her voice. "You're incorrigible."

"Only when it comes to you, love." I spin her round again, making her frock flare out around her knees. When I pull her back, I make certain she's clutched even closer to me.

Sabrina clears her throat. "I, um, need to confess something to you Declan."

"Do you? Perhaps I should pull on a priest's vestments first."

"I'm serious."

A sigh blusters out of me. "Yes, I can see that you are. Why don't we grab that booth in the far corner? It will be more private."

She nods, glancing about nervously as I guide her to a secluded booth. We slide in, the buttery leather seats making only the barest of sounds. I notice how she fidgets with her hands, avoiding my gaze.

"Go on, love," I say, trying to keep my tone light despite the knot forming in my stomach. "What's this confession of yours?"

She takes a deep breath, finally meeting my gaze. "Declan, I...I'm leading you on, though I didn't mean to do that. Being a tease has never been my forte."

I sit back, arching an eyebrow. "Leading me on? That's quite an accusation to level at yourself, darling. Care to elaborate?"

She runs a hand through her hair, tousling the locks. "It's just...I'm not here for a holiday fling or some whirlwind romance. I came to London for a reason, and it's not to fall into bed with the first charming Brit I meet."

"But you did, and I'm honored that you chose me." I can't resist teasing her a bit. "After twenty-four hours in London, you've already enchanted several men."

"Several?" She snorts in an unladylike fashion, and even that turns me on. "You and Crispin are the only ones."

I cluck my tongue. "Don't forget Daniel and Roger. And of course, all the men you've bumped into whilst fleeing from me. I'd wager a hundred men or more have wished they could win your heart."

She rolls her eyes, but I notice the hint of a smile in that expression. "You know what I mean, Declan. My family and friends paid for this vacation so I could search for my perfect catch, not have naughty interludes in your flat and at a Regents Park."

I slant forward, my voice low and soft. "How can you be so certain that I'm not your PC? I've often been compared to Prince Charming." Before she can complain, I tell her, "Yes, I know the man you want is your perfect catch, not Prince Charming. But I could be both, couldn't I?"

Bree's eyes narrow with a mix of amusement and exasperation within them. "Oh, really? And what makes you so sure you're my perfect man, Mr. Wilde? For all you know, I could be looking for a quiet, bookish type who'd rather spend his evenings reading Proust than chasing women through London."

A boisterous laugh bursts out of me. "Darling, if that's what you're after, I'm afraid you've came to the wrong bar tonight. My last name is Wilde, after all."

She rolls her eyes again, but I spy the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You're impossible, do you know that?"

"Impossibly charming, you mean." I lean toward her. The scent of her perfume---something floral and intoxicating---washes over me. "Sabrina, I understand, I honestly do. You came here with a mission. But who's to say that mission can't evolve? Life has a funny way of throwing surprises at us when we least expect it."

She shakes her head. "Declan, I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't understand. This isn't just a silly whim. My family and friends pooled their resources to send me here. They're counting on me to find...well, to find someone specific."

"Someone specific? Do tell, love. Who is this mystery man you're after?"

Bree worries her lip in the most endearing way. "It's complicated. I'm not even sure he exists, to be honest. But I need to try."

I lean back, studying her face. "You said you needed to confess."

"Yeah, I guess it's about time for me to do that." She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, then aims those beautiful emerald eyes at me. "I'm terrified of what will happen if I find the right guy. You see, I was married for a year---until I found out that my husband was cheating on me. I caught him in the act, literally. After the required separation period, I finally got my divorce."

I feel a pang in my chest at her revelation. "Bloody hell, Bree. I'm so sorry."

She waves her hand dismissively, but I can see the pain etched in the lines around her eyes. "It was a long time ago. Well, not that long, I suppose. But I'm over it. Mostly."

"Oh, yes, clearly you are," I say dryly. "That's why you're on a wild-goose chase across London, looking for a man who may not even exist."

Her lips pucker tightly, and her nostrils flare. "It's not a wild goose chase. And he does exist. He must."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why, pray tell?"

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "I guess I'm hunting for a ghost, for a man who can't possibly be real. Fairy tales are just that---stories we hope might magically transport us to another world where true love exists. If I search hard enough and long enough, maybe I will bump into the one man in the universe who won't ever let me down."

Disappointment ripples through me, though I do my best to hide it. Sabrina wants perfection. I'd assumed "perfect catch" was nothing more than a mantra. What a fool I've been. She told me from the start that she was seeking her PC. Sex with me had been nothing more than a pleasant interlude.

Bloody hell.