Hungry for More (2012) (25 page)

“Things were different then,” Bridget consoled him gently. She stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “You’d go back in time and change it if you could- but don’t forget how great you’re doing now. Now is what Tad will remember.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m
always
right!” Bridget insisted playfully- and then squealed and tried to twist away when Paul attempted to reward the remark with a swat on her bottom.

Paul caught her easily, and pulled him to her chest. Unfortunately, that was the precise moment when the bellman chose to call. He delivered their bags (and accepted his tip) before leaving them in peace again. By the time that he had managed it, Bridget’s jet lag had taken over again and she was about to fall asleep.

Paul took mercy on his girlfriend and let her have a nap.

He lay down on the bed beside her, and the two of them slept peacefully all the way until early evening.

“Food,” Paul announced with a yawn, once they had both woken up again. 

Bridget was pleased that he had raised the issue of food instead of leaving it to her.  She was feeling absolutely ravenously hungry, but she still hated to talk about eating, even with Paul.

“Give me a minute to freshen up,” she begged, nipping into the bathroom.

“Bridge, I’m
starving
!” Paul moaned dramatically. 

Bridget thought he sounded rather like Tad.  “Just a minute,” she giggled, before her thoughts turned serious.

She didn’t want to disgrace Paul.  She still worried that people looked at them together and found her wanting.  She could just imagine them turning to one another and asking what a man like Paul was doing with a woman like her.  They probably thought he’d lost his mind.

“You look gorgeous,” Paul called through the door, and for a moment Bridget wondered if she had spoken her fears
aloud
.  “Can we please
go
?”

“Tad has more patience than
you!” Bridget scolded, as she emerged from the bathroom.  Paul had barely given her time to splash her face with water.

“I know.  I know.  You can punish me later,” he said. 

“Oh yes?  Put you to bed early perhaps?” Bridget smiled innocently.

“Something like that,” Paul winked.  “But first I need to eat!”

Bridget rolled her eyes, but she secretly found Paul’s tenacity endearing.  She might not like talking about food, but she loved that Paul was passionate about eating. 

After a brief discussion they decided to venture into Chinatown and picked out an exotic looking restaurant to try.

“You won’t say anything if they aren’t up to your Michelin star standard, will you?” Bridget asked. She was only half teasing. 

Paul could be terrifying if he thought something wasn’t cooked right.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he promised, but actually the food turned out to be delicious anyway. 

Bridget was afraid she ate more than she shoul
d have
, but the aromatic duck was the best she had ever tasted!   By the time they had finished she was feeling very full.  Happily Paul hadn’t skimped on his own servings either.

“God that was good,” he said, smacking his lips.

Bridget giggled.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.  Slightly amazed, but glad.”

“I like eating out,” Paul shrugged, slightly defensively.  “I just never get the time at home.  That and most people seem to recognize me,” he grumbled.  “It’s hard to enjoy a meal, even a good one, if everyone is watching you.”

Bridget nodded her understanding.  She really could sympathize.  She had spent her whole life worrying about people watching her eat!

“So, what now?” Paul asked, after he had paid the bill, and left a very handsome tip.  “We could probably still catch a show if you fancied?”  Bridget shook her head, glancing at Paul, suddenly feeling shy.  “You want to do something else?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she murmured softly.  “Why don’t we go back to the hotel
?
”

Paul leered at Bridget.  He looked hungry again, albeit for something other than food this time.  “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

They hurried back to the hotel, hardly able to keep their hands off one another until they got back to their room.  Bridget was breathless with excitement and longing.  Each casual brush of Paul’s fingers heightened her anticipation.

The second that they were alone the desire that had been simmering between them boiled over in a passionate display.  It was thrilling to be away together somewhere special, somewhere different, without the pressures of work, without the risk of Tad walking in on them. 

Paul appeared to be determined to explore those advantages to their fullest.  He coaxed Bridget to shed her inhibitions.  The nap that they had taken had recharged their batteries, and they both enjoyed eking out every last morsel of pleasure from one another’s bodies.

“I think I like England,” Paul groaned.

She giggled, and turned to face him. She stroked her fingers over his face.  She was exhausted, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop touching him.  She loved him so much! 

“I love you too,” Paul murmured gently, alerting Bridget to the fact that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

She still hadn’t got used to hearing him say those magic words.  Her stomach did a little flip, her heart skipped a beat, and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

Paul woke her the following morning with a slow, leisurely lovemaking session.  She felt boneless and utterly spoiled by the time he was finished with her.

“I wish we could lie here all day,” she sighed contentedly.

Paul kissed the tip of her nose.  “Why can’t we?”

“Don’t you need to see your television people?” she asked, a mild frown furrowing her brow.

“Not today,” he said.  “I thought you were going to play tour guide?  Although if you want to entertain me here I’m certainly not going to complain,” he grinned.

“Paul!” Bridget sighed.  Didn’t the man ever wear himself out?  “I did promise to show you around, didn’t I?” she said, peeling herself out of bed. “You’ve been to London before of course?”

“Only with work really.  I’ve never done the whole cheesy tourist thing.”

“Then we must,” Bridget beamed.  Her smiled faltered slightly.  “It’s a shame Tad couldn’t come.  He would have liked seeing the sights.”

“We’ll bring him next time,” Paul murmured
.

Bridget smiled and nodded.  “Well, we’ll play tourist today then, and maybe see a show tonight?” she suggested, warming to the idea, until she saw that Paul was shaking his head.

“I have plans for us tonight.”

“What sort of plans?” Bridget asked.

“The sort that are a surprise.”

Bridget pouted very prettily, and then she tried a bribe, but it wasn’t any use. Paul wouldn’t spill his secrets, and finally managed to distract her with the temptation of breakfast.

Starving after the morning’s exertions, they lingered over Belgian waffles, bacon and fresh-squeezed juice, and then they set off to explore. They started in the park itself, and then made their way to the palace before setting off to Westminster to see the
H
ouses of Parliament and the Abbey.

Bridget did her best to give some context to what they were seeing, but she was not a Londoner by birth, and not keen enough on history to offer much more than a basic background for the attractions. It didn’t matter though. Paul seemed content to simply drink it in. Bridget was happy just being with him.

They bought lunch in the Westminster crypt café (elbowing a busload of German tourists out of the way to claim their sandwiches and apples) and ate it on a park bench next to the Thames. Bridget leaned her head on Paul’s shoulder as they watched the boats drift down the river. She wished that she could freeze the moment in time and relive it over and over.

Of course, that wasn’t possible. Eventually Paul asked her where they were heading next. Bridget was too embarrassed to ask to stay put, and so she gave him some options. They decided to head back the way that they had come, to see the Queen’s Mews
and to save other parts of London for later in their trip.

Bridget enjoyed looking at the horses and carriages housed at the Mews, but she was anxious to get back to the hotel. Her legs were aching from all the walking that they had done. She was secretly grateful when Paul hailed a cab to take them the short distance home.

“What time do I need to be ready?” Bridget asked when they returned to their suite. Now that they were back, her thoughts returned to Paul’s mysterious promise. “And what should I wear tonight?”

“You need to be ready to
leave
by six-thirty,” Paul told her- earning a squeal when Bridget noticed that it was already 5:15. “And you should wear something nice.”

“Nice?” she repeated, frowning at the rather vague description.

“Something that you’d wear to
my
restaurant,” Paul elaborated, and Bridget nodded her head. She had dined at the Four Seasons a few times since Paul had taken over, so she knew exactly what he meant. Luckily, she had the perfect thing.

Bridget hopped into the shower ahead of Paul. She worked on her makeup while he washed and changed, and then styled her hair before sliding into a pretty, form-fitting black number that she had bought especially for the trip.

Despite Paul’s attempts at sabotaging her diet and
insisting
that he could provide all of the exercise that Bridget needed, her weight had stabilized at a size ten. She wasn’t skinny, by any stretch of the imagination, but her body actually curved in and out in all the right places, and she was rather proud of her shapely legs (her horrible thighs notwithstanding).The dress showed everything off to its best advantage, and she was treated with an appreciative whistle when she finally emerged from the
b
athroom a little after 6:45.

Paul usually threw a
fit
when they were running late, and so she was surprised when he didn’t put up a fuss.

“Sorry!” she told him, flushing. “Are we going to make it?”

“They can wait,” he answered mysteriously- and then whisked her into a waiting cab.

The cab didn’t seem to go very far. It took them to an understated but expensive looking restaurant by the river. Paul helped Bridget out and then paid their fare. He ushered her inside to
the
maitre d’
.

“Devoe,” Paul announced, curtly.

“Of course!” the man replied, and led them forward, into the restaurant. “Just this way. The rest of your party has already arrived.”

“The rest of our party?” Bridget echoed, anxiously. She couldn’t think of who they might be meeting- people from the studio, perhaps? She fought another wave of anxiety as she battled her old fear: that whomever they were meeting would wonder what Paul could possibly see in a girl like her- and that Paul might finally start to wonder the same thing himself! Caught up in her concerns, she didn’t immediately register who was sitting at the table.

It was worse than she had imagined.

“Bridget?” a very familiar trio of voices called out.

Bridget swallowed,
hard
, before croaking: “Mom…Dad
...Claudia
?
”

This isn’t happening
.  Bridget thought, frantically, hoping to discover that she had fallen asleep and this was all a horrible, but harmless, nightmare.

She had
no such luck.

After exchanging awkward air-kisses with her family Bridget sank down into her seat and was forced to admit that this was all really happening.  She glanced miserably at Paul, and wondered what he had been
thinking
to arrange this!  He must have contacted her parents.  There was just no way that they ever would have sought her out.

Paul shot a worried frown in her direction, sensing the downturn in her mood, but Bridget glanced away as her father started talking.

“I couldn’t believe it when you called, Devoe!  Patricia thought the whole thing was a hoax!” Mr. Parker laughed loudly.

“A hoax?”

“Of course,” Claudia tittered.  How Bridget had grown to loathe that laugh over the years; it invariably punctuated some cruel remark that her sister used to put her down.  “It seemed impossible that
you
were here with
Bridget
, but then we remembered that she
works
for you.”

“I’m not sure I understand…” Paul said slowly.  A frown marred his handsome face.  “Bridget is my son’s nanny, but she’s also my girlfriend.” He reached out to clasp Bridget’s hand. 

Bridget found herself forgiving him a little.  He sounded so gloriously protective and possessive.

“Well… I hear you work a great deal
;
y
ou can’t get out much,” Mrs. Parker said, with audible sympathy lacing her voice.