Read Keeping London (The Flawed Heart Series Book 2) for Free Online Page B

small hand in my grasp. I meet her brilliant brown eyes before my gaze drops to her foot that just stepped out and the strappy black heel wrapped around it. My stare admires every inch of her as it roams up her killer leg that so perfectly stretches out between the revealing slit in her long red dress. I pull gently, helping her exit gracefully, and I pause a moment to take her in.
    The lengthy dress clings to her body, accentuating all of her beautiful curves. Her hair is in loose curls that fall over the exposed skin of her back and shoulders. She’s simply breathtaking, the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
    I take a mental picture of London for when I’m overseas, one that I can pull up anytime I need to remember her. I want to cement this vision into my mind. But, more than that, I want to be able to recall the way being here with her makes me feel—fucking fantastic, whole, and just happy.
    All right, so maybe this evening isn’t a total bust. I would do just about anything to be with this gorgeous woman beside me.
    London loops her arm through mine. “Ready, handsome?”
    It takes me a second to answer. “Yeah.” I nod.
    We start walking toward the entrance. London waves and smiles toward the flashing cameras.
    Seriously? Who needs pictures of this? Maybe it’s Stanford’s college newspaper crew. For the life of me, I can’t think of who else would need pictures of the people entering the benefit.
    “Have I told you that you look amazing tonight?” I ask London once we get inside.
    “Yes, you have—multiple times.” She grins. “Have I told you that you are the hottest guy in the world and that I want to rip that tux right off of you?”
    I chuckle. “No, that’s a first, but I’ll take it. Have I told you that I want to push you up right there next to that plaster newspaper”—I point to a sculpture on a stand beside us—“pull this sexy little number”—my finger runs lightly up her dress—“up to your waist, and fuck you against the wall, so everyone knows you’re mine?”
    “Ooh, no, you didn’t, but I like your thinking,” she answers playfully. “And I think that’s a bird.”
    “What?” I tilt my head in question.
    “The sculpture—it’s a bird, not a newspaper.”
    I turn to the awkwardly shaped piece of plaster, squinting my eyes to study it. “That’s not a bird.”
    “Yeah, it is.” London giggles.
    “Maybe a phone book or a grocery bag blowing in the wind. But a bird? I don’t think so.”
    “Who would do a sculpture of a phone book? No one even uses phone books anymore.” She laughs. “It’s a bird, I swear.”
    “Well then, it’s a freaking ugly bird.”
    “I’m sure the artist who made it doesn’t think so,” she protests. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Loïc. Art is subjective.”
    “That might be true, but I doubt anyone here thinks this sculpture of a newspaper is pleasing to the eye.”
    “It’s a bird!” London giggles.
    “So you say.” I wink. “Let’s go see what other inspiring pieces we can find around here.”
    “Okay, but let’s go to the bar first. I want a glass of wine.”
    “There’s a bar at an art museum?”
    “Of course. They put a makeshift one in here somewhere. Do you think all these people got dressed up just to look at art?”
    She weaves her arm through mine once more, but this time, I follow her lead.
    “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
    “Yeah?” she asks.
    She stops in front of a painting that I’m quite sure is an abstract tree, but for all I know, it could be the solar system.
    “I don’t get this whole benefit thing. I mean, if all these people were really invested in raising money for a cause, instead of spending elaborate amounts of money on fancy clothes, limos, alcohol, you name it, wouldn’t it have been a better idea to just donate that money to the cause in the first place?”
    “Maybe, but that’s not how it works.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because rich people want