Chapter One
London
The sun had risen and was catching a god awful bright shine against the mirror that sat above the dresser. It basked the entire room with so much warm, yellow light, London wanted to throw a pillow at the reflective surface in hopes of breaking the damn thing in punishment for waking him.
That would mean he had to move, and he had no intention of moving.
He wasn’t quite ready to get out of bed. He also wasn’t too keen on waking his bedmate.
The night before, he had vowed to himself that he would break things off with her. They had been on a couple of so-called dates. Rather, they met to fuck. It didn’t mean anything to London, but he had gotten the impression that it meant something to the woman in his bed.
To be fair, most women who went out on dates with him expected it to mean something. Always something more than what he was willing to offer. It didn’t matter that he was clear: just a few dates, some fun, maybe a few dozen orgasms, and then it would be over.
Even his honesty failed him.
Every single woman he dated had expectations. Hopes and dreams that were hung around his neck like a noose. They looked at his last name and his wealth, and they wanted to claim it for themselves. They longed to be the woman who tamed London Warwick, the city’s millionaire bachelor. They all wanted to be the one who got a large diamond ring and the Warwick last name.
London wasn’t even remotely close to wanting marriage.
He’d been alive for centuries, and he knew enough of the world to know that being tied down to one single person for the rest of his life was entirely too much to ask of him.
He slowly shuffled in the bed, hoping his careful and swift movements wouldn’t disturb his companion. She moved her leg, exhaling deeply, still in a deep sleep. London remained motionless for a few moments.
The sound of his front doorbell ringing made him jump, and he snapped his head in the woman’s direction.
She hadn’t budged.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer the door. James, his best friend, often spent the night at his flat instead of driving all the way to his own house in Virginia Water. It was a forty-minute drive without traffic, which meant staying at London’s apartment just made sense.
He heard his friend’s footsteps as he headed for the door. There was a brief scuffle, and London closed his eyes, thinking it must only be a delivery of some kind.
“Mrs. Warwick, hello.”
Even from his bedroom, London could hear the nervous quiver in his friend’s voice. James was kind of a big ninny when it came to the Warwick matriarch. Was she an ancient dragon who could wither a man’s will with her eyes?
Absolutely.
That didn’t mean James should defer to her like he always did? London made a decision just then.
He needed better friends.
He heard his mother sigh. It was a long, drawn-out thing that was heavy with disappointment and loaded with a plan. London knew her enough to realize that a reckoning had come to town. Johanna Warwick didn’t just pop in, unannounced for a chat. She usually had a plan to meddle all ready when she showed up on your doorstep.
“How many times must I tell you, James? You must call me Johanna. We’ve known each other long enough to not stand on ceremony.”
London could all but hear James blushing. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought his friend had a bit of a crush on his mother.
He turned in his bed, his legs getting all tangled up in the soft sheets. His companion, Melissa…no. That wasn’t right. Melinda? Not that either.
“Marissa, you need to go.”
The blonde head, which had been so lovely to him the night before, was now a mess. The woman’s curls were no longer soft or fragrant. Her brown eyes were narrowed in anger.
“My name is Sabrina, you asshole.”
With a flourish London found impressive, Sabrina wrapped herself up in the sheet, tugging him loose. He had to catch himself before falling clear off the bed, dick flailing about.
“I’ve got unexpected company. Think you could hang in here for a few minutes while I sort everything out?”
The woman laughed dryly. “I will if you can say my last name.” She cocked an eyebrow up expectantly. There was malice there that chilled him a bit.
Shit.
London wracked his brain, but he was drawing a blank. “Astor?”
Her face got ashen, then her cheeks became two bright spots of crimson. “It’s Jones, you absolute jerk.” With a huff, she grabbed her dress from the floor and slid it on. She grabbed her shoes and purse, and before London could get to her, she swung the bedroom door wide open. He cursed under his breath.
“Oh, dear.” Johanna clicked her tongue. “My dear, I think it’s best if you were to gather your things and go.”
Sabrina looked back over her shoulder. There was so much anger rolling off of her, it made the air bitter. “You’re such a pig, London Warwick.”
“Yup,” he grumbled, running a hand on his face. “Nothing you didn’t know, babe.”
He hadn’t bothered to shave lately, and he was surprised to find he had quite a bit of growth on his face. That would only give his mother more ammunition for the proper dressing down she was going to give him.
But Johanna Warwick was grace and poise personified. She would never raise her voice. Not even when she found her youngest son in bed with the flavor of the week.
“James has the kettle on.” She took a few steps toward him, assessing him attentively. “Clean yourself up and join me for tea.” She shoved him gently, but firmly, back into his bedroom.
London opened his mouth to argue, but his mother puckered her lips. It was the slightest of movements, but London knew it for what it was. She was thoroughly unhappy with the state of him. This was a woman who had commanded armies and led legions into battle. Not to mention, she had braved the high fashion world for decades. He shuddered to think of it.
“You have fifteen minutes, London. Then I’m sending in James to scrub you down.”
“Not necessary,” he mumbled.
“And please shave.” Her tone was clipped.
In a flurry of expensive perfume and centuries of over-tried patience, she closed the door behind her. She hadn’t quite slammed it, but her movements were brisk enough to let her displeasure be known.
With a string of curse words that could rival a Thames sailor, London retreated back to his bathroom and rushed through his shower and shave. He nearly nicked his throat a few times, but it was better to bleed than to keep his mother stewing with her meddling ways. He also kept a small, well-groomed beard as a sign of open defiance.
When he left his bedroom, he noticed that Johanna was seated in the dining room, where tea and biscuits were laid out on the table. No doubt his mother would comment on his lack of proper staff and housekeeping skills, but that was one thing he couldn’t bring himself to care for.
“That’s much better,” Johanna said. She rose from her seat at the table and glided her way to him. She tugged at his ears, dropping a kiss to each cheek before tutting in a complaint to his facial hair.
“Hey, Mom.” He hugged her close.
She might have shown up unexpected and judgmental, but London still respected her.
“What brings you to town?” He poured himself a generous cup of coffee, forgoing the weak tea his mother preferred.