note: I am so nervous to post this chapter but I hope you all like it. Please do tell me your thoughts. I'd love to hear them. Happy reading <3 

P.S hoping to stick to a regular update schedule of once a week after finals (starting in July). 

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London listened carefully, a cup of lukewarm tea in her hands, as Andrew went on and on about Talia and the complex situation with his daughter. As he ranted, London could not help but think that this was exactly the sort of drama she didn't need in her life but her heart betrayed her mind for she knew that she wanted to be there, sitting next to him on the couch, sipping slowly at her warm tea as she listened to him.

She wanted to be there for him.

"I'm not asking for too much, am I?" Andrew ended in exasperation, his arms moving in frantic gestures. It was something that London picked up on. When he talked fast or spoke of something that he had a lot to say about, his hands followed the pitch of his voice — gestures frantic when his voice raised with the increased frequency of his words, and gestures to a minimum when his voice dropped to a soft but deep tone. London found that she liked listening to him in either instance.

"You're not," she said, shaking her head lightly. "You're not trying to server your daughter's connection with her mother. You want your daughter to have her mother in her life. But in doing so, it's making your life hell."

"That would be one way to put it," he laughed, rolling his eyes. His gaze settled on her and he gave her a slight nod, his lips lifting up into a small smile. "It feels good to get this out of my system and off my chest."

"I know the feeling." Gwen and her were getting closer these days and if they hadn't reconciled their differences over their mother's death, London knew that she'd be as stuck as she'd been for the last four years. It was good to have somebody who could relate to you, someone who could understand what you were going through, and though London could not identify herself with Andrew's situation, she certainly understood why he felt the way he felt. Why he was hurting. She imagined herself in his shoes and knew if it were her, she'd have bad breakdowns again. But it was a thing of the past.

Things were better.

She was better.

"London," Andrew called, bringing her attention back to him. "Are you all right?"

She sipped at the last of her tea and set it down on the coffee table. She noticed that he didn't have any coasters and made a mental note to buy him a few the next time she went shopping. His question did not stun her or take her by surprise. She knew that he'd seen the heartbreak on her face when he saw her in the kitchen but with all that went down today, with his ex-wife and his daughter leaving his care, she felt silly to be upset over the rejection of a position.

"It's not important."

"You're a terrible liar," he said, with a serious expression. "It is important if you came all the way here. You can tell me. I'm all ears."

She looked down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. It was not that he was prying because he wasn't. His gaze wasn't scrutinising either. She felt ashamed. Not for feeling that way she did — okay, maybe a little bit — but mostly because she didn't land the position she was positive was hers.

Almost hers.

"I didn't get the job," she said, her voice low that she was sure he hadn't heard her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I feel so bloody useless," she confided in him, steeling herself before she lifted her eyes to his. There was no judgement, only sincere understanding in those sharp handsome features of his.

The words flew out thereafter and he listened to her. He listened to her talk about how getting this job was some sort of validation, a confirmation that she was good enough to be head chef, but with the rejection brought her to salty thoughts about herself. How she wasn't good enough, if she ever will be enough. She spilt her worries and he sat there, listening and nodding occasionally.

Finally, when she was done, he asked, "Do you want to help me cook dinner?"

"What?" His question came out of nowhere, sprung up from nothing and she had to take a moment to process his reaction to her rant. "You want me to help you cook dinner?"

"I'm absolutely terrible at it so if you don't mind helping me out..."

"I don't," she finished for him. Her eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused. Where was this coming from? Why did he want them to cook dinner together? Did he have nothing else to say to her about her rejection?

"You're a brilliant cook, London. I can vouch for that," he said, looking at her with that familiar heart-warming smile on his lips. "It was not your day that day. Or perhaps that wasn't the job you were meant to land."

"I really wanted this job," she said, frowning.

"I know but sometimes we have to trust that things work out for the better. Plus, this should motivate you to work harder. You can only go up from here."

London admired that Andrew was so caring and supportive. She liked, that even though he didn't know what advice to give, he tried his best to share something. And it was helping. "So," she began, eyebrows raised as a smile itched to take hold of her lips, "Getting me to make you dinner is a way to help me?"

"Hey, I said we could cook together. I didn't say you were cooking me dinner," he defended, his eyes twinkling with mirth when he noticed that he'd managed to cheer her up a little.

"Oh babe," she cooed mockingly, shaking her head. "I'll end up cooking the dinner. You're not that great of a cook."

"Excuse me? One bad sandwich doesn't define my cooking abilities."

Enjoying the banter that they managed to get flowing, she got to her feet and gave him her back, stalking towards the kitchen as she said, "If you can't make a sandwich, what can you make?"

"Instant noodles!" he shouted, rushing to catch up with her.

Half an hour later, London finished cooking the beef and cutting it into small pieces to go into their noodle dish. She popped them into an oiled pan, just to finish them off. She'd assigned Andrew with the tomatoes that was supposed to go into the beef stock that she left simmering on the stove. He was doing it all wrong.

Smiling to herself, she turned down the heat, and walked to him, nudging his elbow that held the knife. "You don't even know how to cut tomatoes," she tsked, taking the knife from him. Her fingers brushed over his in the process and she tried to ignore the way the contact sent warm ripples through her but that was almost impossible. He was so close and she didn't dare move away or put any distance between them. She quite liked how they were comfortable with each other but also shy in the more romantic aspects of this relationship. They were discovering new waters.

"Face them this way," she instructed. "The way you're cutting them makes all the juice from the tomato go all over so the broth would be missing that extra essence."

She did two slices for him and handed over the knife. "You try now."

His eyes were on hers, dark and glinting with mischief. He took the handle, his finger deliberately grazing hers. "Maybe you could show me one more time?" he asked, his lips lifting up into a smirk.

She knew what he was doing and did nothing to resist it. Instead of rolling her eyes and asking him to get back to work, she placed her hand over his and turned back to the board. He was closer now. She could smell his scent more clearly. It was musky and woodsey, a combination that she'd never thought of before but a combination that definitely worked for him — it turned her on.

One slice. Another one.

And then she felt his other hand, laying gently on her waist. His face was close. She could tell this by the increased heat, by the hot breath that tickled her ear. She tilted her head to the side, her soft black hair falling away to expose the column of her neck, open and inviting. She could feel his lips even though they weren't touching her neck.

Her head rolled back and rested on his shoulder, the grip she had over Andrew's hand that held the knife tightened. He let go of the knife, his hand finding her waist, teasing the hem of her t-shirt.

"Andrew," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"London," he growled, the slightly animalistic sound surprising her. It wasn't a heavy growl. It sounded much gentler than a growl should, fitting for a man like him, and she absolutely loved the way her name sounded with that gravelling voice of his, his deep voice adding actual depth to her name.

His lips met her skin and she shuddered, her body instantly reeling with pleasure. His lips were soft and as they worked their way up the length of her neck, she felt shivers roll down her spine and kiss her toes. They curled as her body warmed, heat gathering down below her stomach.

And then — his lips met the sensitive underside of her ear and her body sagged into his, the effort to hold herself up completely lost to her. His arms tightened around her, his hands warm. Even through the garments, she could feel the heat emanating from his body, kissing delicately through the thick material of her jumper.

"London," he repeated, whispering into her ear, lips pressing against her ear. "Kiss me."

She didn't think twice. Turning within his arms, she looked up at him as he stared down at her. It took them only a second to lock gazes, both hooded and lust-driven. Her arms slithered up his chest, brushing past his neck and wrapping around behind his neck, her fingers playing at the ends of his hair.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, breathless though they hadn't even kissed yet.

He leaned forward, his nose brushed hers, her eyes closed. Their lips were only an inch apart. The wait was killing her. She simply wanted to yank him by the hair and kiss him. His touches, his gaze — it was driving her crazy. She wanted him to kiss her senseless until she was weak in the knees.

But then her nose caught a whiff of a burning odour. Her eyes shot open as his arms loosened around her.

"Shit," she cursed, "The beef!"

Springing away from Andrew, she rushed to the stove and switched it off before removing the pan from the heat. Crestfallen, she looked down at the charred rubbish that stared back at her. A perfectly good piece of meat, all gone to waste. The noodles weren't going to be the same without them.

The kitchen was filled with smoke but London barely acknowledged it. She wanted to prove herself a good chef and she couldn't even cook a simple noodle dish without burning the beef. The bloody beef! It wasn't that hard at all.

"London, it's not so bad," came Andrew's voice behind her. His arms slid around her from the back, locking into place above her stomach. She placed her hands on top of his, gazing at the ruined meat forlornly.

"I've ruined the beef."

He let go of her as he turned her around to face him. "No, I ruined the beef," he said, his mischievous grin coming back. "And I regret nothing."

She laughed, slapping his chest. "Tease," she accused.

"I'm the tease?" he asked, unbelievingly. "You're the tease. Chopping up tomatoes, all hot and sexy like."

"If I knew tomatoes got you worked up this much I would have suggested that we cook together more," she joked, her disappointment quickly subsiding with the quick, easy-going banter that settled between them.

"I'd like that," he said and before she could even think over his words, he swooped down, stealing her breath away with a fierce, quick kiss.

Smiling as he retreated, she asked, "What was that for?"

"I wanted my kiss, remember," he grinned down at her.

Her heart fluttered. In that moment she felt that there was nowhere else she'd rather be than right there in his arms, happy and content.

"I've got a lot of kisses to give," she replied back slyly. "I'm feeling very generous today."

His eyes darkened desirably at her offer and her heart only picked up it's pace. "Dinner first," he said, leaning down and brushing his lips slowly against hers.

The graze of his lips left her mind spinning and warmth uncurled within her. "But the beef's ruined," she protested, wanting to skip this meal and get right down to the real dinner — him.

"I've got stir-fried chicken in the fridge that I got from takeaway two days ago. We can use that."

"Hmm."

"You're not listening, are you?" he laughed against her lips, kissing them one final time before moving away.

"Fine," she rolled her eyes. "Dinner first."

"Whatever happened to Manmanchi," London mumbled against Andrew's lips.

"You remember," he said, amazed at her memory, his head surfacing in surprise.

"We did not eat slow."

"Well, I didn't say Manmanchi this time."

London raised her eyebrows teasingly. "Why?"

"Because I have other things I want to devour." London didn't think she was the dirty talk kind of girl but Andrew surprised her yet again. And when his lips claimed hers again she did not protest. She gave in, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer on the couch. He was everywhere and yet she yearned for his touch more and more.

He took it slow. They'd been eating on the couch, their plates now discarded on the coffee table — she really needed to get him coasters and placemats — before he kissed her. Before she knew it, they'd ended up against the couch, him on top of her as she pulled at his shirt, bringing his mouth down to hers over and over again.

One of his hands pressed into her hip, his thumb brushing over the flash of skin that was exposed as a result of her sweater and t-shirt underneath riding up. It was cold but with his presence, the heat emanating off both of their bodies and his slow kisses that caused a growing pool of heat to take place in her stomach made her feel flustered. She pulled away, reaching for her sweater. His hands, rough and yet gentle, took hold of hers. She looked up at him, the distance between their mouths absorbing her yet again into her lustful haze.

She wanted more.

She craved it.

"Andrew," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Let me help you," he suggested and assisted her, his hands on hers, aiding her to slide the sweater off her torso. She lifted her arms, slightly raising off the couch and closer to his body, her thighs pressing against his. The sweater was over her head in a second and she leaned back down on the couch's armrest, letting her head settle comfortably before her eyes raised to meet his. His eyes were occupied by something else and she felt twice as hot, even with the sweater off.

She'd worn a long-sleeved thin black t-shirt. She'd thrown on the sweater before rushing here but she hadn't thought twice about changing out of the t-shirt or putting on a freaking bra. 

Her gaze refused to meet his but when she felt a warm gentle finger settle on her chin before pushing it up, forcing her gaze to meet his, there was nothing that could have prepared her for the surge of heat that coursed through her instantaneously, his hooded intense gaze giving her an electric shock.

She had to admit that it was surprising. And exciting, for this ever-smiling man looked so serious, his gaze so fierce and his passion written right across his face. It certainly warmed her up — especially that gaze. The way he was looking at her made her heart beat twice as fast, so fast that she was afraid it would jump out at any minute. It made that familiar curl of passionate heat begin at the base of her stomach and work it's way all over her body, every inch of her body now craving his gentle graze of fingers, his delicate whisper of lips sliding over bare skin.

"London," he whispered, his head dropping down to hers, the hairs at the front of his head now tickling her forehead.

"Andrew," she whispered back, swallowing hard as their hot breaths mingled.

"I want to take this slow, this relationship, but I want to make sure you want this tonight," he said, a nervous question mark in his statement.

She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the hard ridges through his shirt before her fingers slipped an inch upwards, playing with the white translucent button. She popped it open, and then another. Her fingers grazed his skin and her eyes followed her hand movements. Her fingers danced over the top of his bare chest, what little of skin was on showcase before her hand slipped to the nape of his neck, taking her precious time to wind her arm around his neck. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, her other arm snaking around his back and pulling him closer so that his body was thumbed down to hers, his chest pressing against her breasts. She yanked on his hair, pulling him closer, her mouth less than an inch away.

"What does this tell you?" she breathed, her voice a soft purr.

Her lips claimed his. She kissed him hard and fast and he did not hesitate to return the kiss with equal fervour. She felt his hand on the side of her thigh, his hand burning through the material of her jeans.

He pulled away forcefully, taking in a huge gulp of breath before asking, "You want this right? Just in case I'm not reading the signals right?"

She stared at him for five whole seconds, taken aback by his sudden action. One minute, his tongue was dancing with hers and the next he was asking for assurance. She giggled, her palms meeting his arms as she smiled up at him. Though her whole body felt like it was burning with need and desire, her heart felt warmer — a different sort of warmth enveloped it at his query.

"Yes," she replied, giving his arms a small squeeze. "I want this."

He smiled, and London had already been exposed to all his different smiles before. This one, however, seemed different. More heartfelt and her heart thrummed to the beat of a new song, a song she was loving and a song she didn't mind at all becoming familiar with to the point where she knew every single lyric, note and tone.

Her heart sang for Andrew.

"I want you."

Three simple words were all it took for Andrew to pepper London's face with kisses, breaking whatever tense sexual tension that had built up in his living room. Laughing, London pulled on his shirt, her lips sloppily finding his. He pulled away slightly after the peck, smiling against her lips.

"You make me happy, London," he whispered, his words said as a secret, for her and only her to hear.

Feeling coy, London moved an inch back, her eyes meeting his as her lips turned up into a smirk. "You know what'd make me happy?"

Knowing exactly where this was going, Andrew dipped his head down, his lips grazing hers, teasing her and leaving her with ragged breaths yet again. "Tell me what you want, love."

His husky voice sent shivers down her spine. "Show me a good time," she replied, her eyes closing as his lips met hers in yet another slow and passionate kiss.

"I need specifics, my lady," he pressed, lifting his head up so that she could see the mischievous glint in his dark hooded eyes.

"Well," she started, placing a gentle hand over his chest on his left side. She felt the rapid thrum under her fingers and her own heart beat increased just by thinking about what she was going to do — or say.

"I'd like for you to carry me to bed, take off all my clothes, get out of your own and kiss every inch of my skin. I want you to make me scream like I haven't before." Her words grew with confidence, getting bolder by the second. Her confidence fuelled when she saw the approval in his eyes, his gaze growing more intense. She could practically feel his gaze all over her and when his eyes caught hers, the intense desire written into those dark hooded eyes made her yearn him more, wanting exactly what she demanded of him.

His body heat had consumed her for what seemed like an eternity that when he pulled away, she was embraced by a sudden coldness that was very much unwelcome. Before she could even think of firing her complaints, he'd swooped her into his arms, those strong arms curving around her body. They moved, him walking in the direction of a room and London's heart rate picked up yet again when she realised he was acting on her words.

They entered the room but London didn't have a chance to look around before he set her down at the edge of the bed, his fingers rimming her jeans.

"Are you sure?" he breathed, his front hairs tickling her forehead.

She smiled down at him as he got to his knees, his fingers hesitating over the button of her jeans. "Absolutely certain," she vowed.

Later that night, after they'd gotten cleaned up, they huddled together, in the safety of the warmth of their bodies. She felt his arm come around and rest on her stomach, her back to his chest. Spooning with someone had never felt this wholesome.

"London," he said, his breath on her shoulder.

She hummed in response.

"Don't leave in the morning." She could not describe precisely how the way he said those words made her heart skip a beat.

"I'm not going anywhere, Andrew Cai," she whispered, her hands settling over his upon her stomach, her words a promise. 

London Liang never intended to go anywhere but fate always had other plans. And promises? They were made to be broken.