Love In London: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance
Contents
Love in London
NEWSLETTER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
NEWSLETTER
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS
LAIRDS & LADIES
RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD
IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS
Collaborations
About the Author
Love in London
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
_______________________
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 259
FLORA FERRARI
Copyright © 2021 by Flora Ferrari
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
Love in London
Gabby
I never thought my dad would let me come here alone. It’s a long trip – all the way from California to London.
But I have to start being independent if I’m going to come all the way out here for college.
When I get a call from reception saying someone is here to see me it can only be one person, my dad.
What I don’t expect is him.
Oz is the reason I wanted to come to London, even though I would never admit it out loud to anyone else.
He’s been my dad’s best friend for as long as I can remember, and my lifelong crush, even though we don’t see him very often.
This is my chance.
Can I make him see the woman I’ve become or will he forever see me as his best friend’s daughter?
Oz
I’m here to check up on my best friend’s daughter when I see a goddess.
I don’t normally just watch women walk down the street, like some kind of creep, but, damn. I instantly want to make her mine.
It’s like a knee-jerk reaction. When she turns the corner, her face still turned away from me, I can see she heading in the same direction but I have a duty.
But somehow, the sweet and innocent gangly girl I knew, with braces, acne, and awkward clumsiness has been transformed.
Sweet little Gabriella has been transformed into the goddess I saw walking down the street earlier.
I know it’s wrong to have these thoughts about her – about my best friends’ daughter – but… I don’t think I can stop myself.
Everything about her taps into some instinctive, primal urge to claim her as my mate.
To make her mine.
*Love in London is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
NEWSLETTER
Get a free, new, original story NOW by joining my mailing list and staying subscribed.
CLICK HERE >> Get a FREE book now
Chapter One
Gabby
I set my suitcase down on the bed and grin to myself, looking around the hotel room. It’s not much. It’s just a small single room with a bed and a closet, a desk in the corner, and a tiny television set, with a bathroom just big enough to walk into. But it’s mine.
For the rest of this week, it’s totally mine.
I never thought my dad would let me come here alone. It’s a long trip – all the way from California to London. But I told him that it makes sense for me to do this on my own. I have to start being independent if I’m going to come all the way out here for college.
And, by some miracle, he agreed.
I start unpacking, still with a huge grin on my face. I set out the outfits that I picked out for college tours in the small closet, put my toiletry and makeup bag in the bathroom, and spread out all the brochures I brought with me on the desk. And that’s it – I’m set up.
I couldn’t exactly bring a lot with me, given that I’m only here for a short time and the baggage restrictions had to be followed. But I think I’ve chosen well. I’m going to look great for my tours, maybe impress the professors that I might meet. I’d like to make a good first impression that they’ll remember when it comes time for them to consider my application.
And I might even get a little time for some sightseeing, to get to know the city itself. This could be my home for the next few years, as scary as that sounds. It’s also equal parts exciting. I want to see what it would be like to live here, to walk down these streets all the time. To hear Big Ben chiming the hour, to skip down Oxford Street whenever I want to go shopping, to ride a red double-decker bus to class…
I already can’t wait, and the best part is I don’t have to. Tonight I’m going to get some food, catch up on my sleep after the long flight, and then it’s right into exploring in the morning. I have my first tour booked tomorrow, and from there I can hopefully get some free time in the afternoon to do whatever I want to do.
Which hopefully doesn’t involve getting lost, given that I’ve never been here before…
But I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I’m just thinking about where to go for some food – stay in and order room service, get takeout, ask the reception for a nearby recommendation, or search online – when the phone rings. Not my cell – the actual phone in the room. Which is totally weird, because it’s not like anyone knows I’m here other than my dad, and he could just call my cell.
It must be the reception, I figure, so I pick it up in case it’s something important.
“Hello?” I say like it’s a question because I have no idea what to expect.
“Hello, this is reception calling,” the woman who answers says smoothly, sounding as though she’s so used to making these kinds of calls it barely even registers for her anymore. “Would you be able to come down to us? You have a visitor waiting here for you.”
“A visitor?” I repeat, frowning to myself. “Um, sure. Okay.”
The line goes dead with a click, and I stare at the receiver in my hand for a moment. I should have asked who it is that’s waiting for me. It’s too late now – the receptionist has hung up. I was just so startled by the idea of someone being here for me that I agreed without thinking.
My dad hasn’t gone back on his word and followed me here, has he…?
There’s only one way to find out, I guess.
I grab my keycard from the table, look at myself in the mirror uncertainly, and head out the door in search of the elevator.
Chapter Two
Oz
I’m walking down the stre
et, strolling casually because I figure I’m probably far too early anyway when I see a young woman appear as if by magic right in front of me. She comes out of a side street – right in the direction of the nearest Tube, which I assume means she came from there – and she’s wheeling a suitcase along the pavement behind her.
But it’s not the suitcase that catches my eye. No, it’s her. She’s dressed from head to toe in this stunning white outfit, just a simple dress but seemingly so exotic on this London street. It’s like she’s been planted here from somewhere else – with her long blonde hair, tanned skin, and that white tennis dress, it’s like she’s been plucked from California and set down here right in front of me.
And, given that she’s hauling a suitcase behind her like a tourist, she really could have been.
It’s kind of funny, given where I’m going right now. I’m only heading down this street because I’m visiting a hotel – or, rather, visiting the person staying at this hotel. I promised my best friend, Dean, that I’d check in on his daughter. She’s here in London for a week, checking out colleges. She’s on her own, so I said I’d look in on her, at least make sure that she got here alright from the airport.
Then I’m back on my way again. Maybe that’s why I’m imagining things when it comes to this blonde princess walking down the street in front of me. After all, Gabriella is from Cali, where she lives with her dad. I haven’t seen them in far too long. It’s been a good couple of years since I had the time to visit.
I watch this woman walk in front of me, wetting my lips and trying to hang back a little. I don’t know what it is that’s making me feel this way. I don’t normally just watch women walk down the street, like some kind of creep, but, damn. Maybe there was something in my cereal this morning – or maybe she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. I don’t know, but she’s really doing something for me.
That dress hugs her body just right. It hangs over her swaying hips, wide enough to give me something to hang onto. Her ass is like two perfect globes, and then there’s her long, gorgeous hair. I could see it gathered up in my fist as I hold her against me, bringing her mouth to mine. God, and I instantly want to make her mine. It’s like a knee-jerk reaction. When she turns the corner, her face still turned away from me. I can see that the back of her body is matched by the front, a full chest straining against that white fabric, long and shapely legs, that tan against the white…
I don’t get a good look at her face, but it doesn’t really matter. There is a strange sensation moving through me, and I don’t know what triggered it, but I have to ignore it anyway. I’m busy. I have someone to see.
Funnily enough, she happens to be going right inside the same hotel that I’m heading for, too. I guess it looks like I’m following her, but I’m just here because I have a duty to do. Little Gabriella. Right. I need to remember that and get my head around it.
I slowly walk into the hotel and over to the reception desk. The woman behind it is a dark-haired, big-eyed vixen of a woman who I can see makes a good impression on most guests. She throws her eyelashes my way like she’s used to getting attention. I guess whatever is happening in my head is limited only to that stranger who just headed up the elevator because this receptionist does nothing at all for me. She’s so fake. I can’t stand people – women – like that.
“How can I help you?” she asks, practically purring. “Checking in?”
“No,” I say. “I’m here to visit one of your guests. I was hoping you could call her room for me.”
There’s an almost palpable disappointment when I tell her that I’m here to visit a woman, the corners of her mouth drooping. “I’m afraid I can’t give out guest information, so you’ll need to know her room number.”
“That’s fine, I do,” I say. I check the details I’d written down on a piece of paper, the corner of a page of my daily planner which I ripped out on my way out of the office. “Room 302.”
She’s turning even sourer now. She must think that I’m here for a date. It makes me want to smirk at her, but I don’t want to encourage her at all or give the game away. After all, that would only prompt her to try to flirt with me even more, and I can’t stand it.
It’s good to know that I’m fine, I never have a reaction like that to a woman. I was obviously just having an off moment. Now I can go back to my normal bachelor self, unflustered by flirts and fake smiles.
“There’s no answer, sir,” the receptionist says, putting the phone back in its cradle.
“Ah, never mind,” I say. “I thought I might be a bit early. You have a bar here? I’d like to get a coffee while I wait.”
“Of course,” she says, pointing off towards the left.
I head into a small bar area with large windows facing the street. At least if Gabriella comes by this way, I’ll be able to see her. I settle in with a cappuccino and watch, happy to see the world moving by for a while. It’s not often I get a chance to just stop and pass the time like this.
Still, after finishing my cup and not having yet seen any sign of her, I’m getting a little impatient. I check my watch, she should have been here by now. Maybe there’s a chance that I missed her? She might have come by while I was ordering at the bar, or while I looked down at my phone for a second, or even come from the other direction and never passed by these windows at all.
I get up, leaving my finished cup on the table, and walk back into the reception. The same woman is still on duty, so I repeat my request, waiting for her to make the call.
This time, it connects.
She puts the phone down and smiles at me, all insincerity and honey. “She’s on her way down to see you now, sir.”
Chapter Three
Gabby
I exit the elevator with my heart in my throat, wondering what I’m about to see. Part of me is already fired up to give my dad a piece of my mind. He said he trusted me to come here on my own. He promised. If this is him, I…
I look around the lobby as the doors of the elevator open to let me out, frowning. I don’t see any sign of my dad anywhere. There’s only one man standing at the reception, and for the moment he has his back to me. He’s wearing a black suit with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and I don’t think that anyone would be waiting for me dressed like that.
But then he turns, right as I’m stepping forward, and I see who it is.
“Oz?” I say, completely floored.
I never expected this – not in a million years.
Oz looks back at me, and for a second, I see complete confusion on his face as well. Which is weird, because… isn’t he the one who called me down here?
As the surprise wears off a little, I find it getting replaced immediately by something else. I don’t know what to call it. Embarrassment? Awkwardness? Whatever it is, I feel totally flustered, and it’s not exactly a mystery why.
Oz is the whole reason I wanted to come to London, even though I would never admit it out loud to anyone else. He’s been my dad’s best friend for as long as I can remember, even though they don’t see each other often. They do talk on the phone all the time. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, but it’s not as though he’s changed much in all of that time.
No, he’s still the same drop-dead-gorgeous Oz that I remember.
“Gabriella,” he says. “Your dad told me you were coming to London. I thought I’d better form a welcome party, such as I am!”
I smile at that, stepping forward. Oz moves slightly to the side, and I follow his lead towards a more comfortable area away from the lobby. There’s a seating area near a bar, and he slips into one of the booths by the window, indicating for me to join him.
I know it was stupid, wanting to come here just because this is where he’s from. But he’s truly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. The crush I have on him has been a constant all my life – and it’s been so frustrating, too, because I’ve always known he just sees me as a kid. Hell, until now, every time we’ve met, I was a little kid. But n
ow…
Now I’m a little older. I’m eighteen. An adult. I wonder if that counts for anything.
Ha, no, of course, it doesn’t. I’ll always be a kid to him. It’s just nice to dream.
“You didn’t have to make this much effort,” I say, remembering my manners. “It’s really kind of you.”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you got here alright,” Oz says. He’s wearing a white shirt and a black tie, so slick and professional-looking. I have no doubt that the suit probably cost more than my beat-up old car back home. He looks good enough to eat.
Which, whoops, is not a thought I should be having, because now my cheeks are what I’m pretty sure is bright pink.
“I got here just fine,” I say. “I just checked in a short while ago. You’re right on time.”
Oz gives a slight chuckle, and even though I don’t get the joke, I’m too distracted to ask. It’s hard to focus on anything when he’s looking right at me with those dark intense eyes, his black hair expertly combed just so above his brow. He looks so good – amazing for his age, even. It’s incredible to think that he’s only slightly younger than my dad, and…