My Wanderlust Bites the Dust

by Eliza Watson

  “Ah, right. Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all then.”

  He slipped his arms around my waist and drew me against him. We got hot and heavy, neither of us coming up for air. His hand slipped under my shirt, and his fingers grazed my bare skin, sending tingles up my back, causing faint gurgling in my abdomen.

  Declan drew back, smiling. “Starvin’, are ya?”

  I nodded faintly. “Yeah, we should get to dinner.”

  “How about some champagne first?” He gestured to two flutes and a bottle chilling in a silver ice bucket on the cocktail table. Was that the surprise he’d mentioned?

  “Perfect. But we’ll have to slam it.”

  He quirked a brow. “From the bottle, or can I be putting it in glasses?”

  “Either is fine.”

  I grabbed my black lace shirt and black pants from the closet and flew into the bathroom. I’d hidden my new red silk bra and undies in the shirt sleeve. I quickly changed. My bra straps, and the swollen purplish bruise already forming on my shoulder, were visible beneath the black lace. I swiped on red lip gloss and put on a few fresh coats of black mascara to bring out the blue in my eyes and to appear more wide awake.

  “Ooh la la,” Declan muttered as I walked out and joined him on the couch. With a steamy look, he traced a gentle finger along my bra strap, opposite shoulder of my bruise.

  Gazes locked, we raised our flutes and touched glasses. I took a long sip. I was so thirsty I wanted to chug it, but I also didn’t want it to go to my head or upset my tummy, which had calmed down a bit, now cemented with the pasty medicine. I wanted to remember every second of tonight and avoid a hangover. I was worried enough what I’d look like after waking up with Declan for the first time.

  Declan reached under the couch and slipped out a red-wrapped box with a gold ribbon.

  I eyed the package. “We promised no gifts.”

  “You’re taking me to dinner.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Just open it.”

  I slowly unwrapped the box. Rather than a red risqué nightie, a dozen red bags of cheese and onion Taytos—Ireland’s yummy potato chips—were laid out in rows. I loved that Declan remembered my obsession with the crisps. That we knew these little things about each other. Something so personal was way better than a silk nightie.

  I smiled, relaxing back against Declan’s arm draped behind me on the couch. “This is the best present ever.”

  A text alert shrilled from my cell phone, and my body tensed. Seriously? I snatched the phone from my purse.

  Need u to catch cricket in Mr. Gauthier’s suite. He just left for dinner. I don’t trust hotel to do it.

  “What the hell,” I muttered. “Blair needs me to find a cricket in a VIP’s suite?”

  “That’s a new one, isn’t it?”

  “Am I being punked? My initiation as the newbie in the group?”

  “I think she’s serious.”

  I sprang from the couch, my grip tightening around the phone. “I am not missing dinner to catch some flippin’ cricket. It’ll take us forever. The Presidential Suite is huge…and haunted.”

  I had a strange feeling Mr. Gauthier was going to haunt me more than any ghost on this meeting.

  The corners of Declan’s mouth curled into an amused smile. “Haunted? Maybe it’s not a cricket this bloke’s hearing.” He waggled his fingers in a mysterious manner. “Or maybe a cricket was murdered in the suite and is now haunting it to drive people mad.”

  “It’s a cricket. It doesn’t have to haunt people to drive them mad.”

  “The only thing I’ve ever caught in a suite was a keynote speaker shagging a room service guy when I was delivering an amenity, and she hadn’t locked her door. She was covered in the hotel’s signature chocolate soufflé with cherries strategically placed…”

  I smiled faintly yet shook the phone in my hand. “I’m texting her that I’m out to dinner and can’t do it.” I started frantically typing.

  Declan stood and covered my hands with his, preventing my texting. “Take a deep breath.”

  “But I—”

  “Deep breath.” He inhaled a lungful of air, and I reluctantly did the same, welcoming the scent of his woodsy cologne. “Now let’s go find the sneaky yoke. It’s your first meeting with Blair. She won’t be hiring you again if you don’t.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yes, ya do.”

  Okay, I did. I was so ticked off about a cricket ruining our romantic dinner it was a good thing Declan was still able to think rationally. He took the service elevator up while I texted Blair and ran to the front desk and got the suite key.

  When I joined Declan at the room, he was Googling the hotel’s history on his phone. “Did ya know a bride-to-be was killed in this suite?”

  I plugged my ears. “La-la-la-la. I don’t want to hear a sad or scary story. If I freak myself out, I’ll have nightmares or hear chains being dragged across the floor above my room.” I unplugged my ears. “Nobody was killed in my room, were they?”

  Declan shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Should I finish reading the article?”

  I shook my head as we stepped inside the suite and turned on a table lamp, dimly lighting the room. We stood quietly in the foyer. No chirp. We went into the master bedroom, leaving off the light.

  “It’s more likely to chirp in the dark,” Declan whispered.

  Although ambient light filtered in through the open drapes, the idea of skulking around in a haunted room in the dark raised the hair on the back of my neck.

  Chirp.

  We froze.

  The chirping seemed to be coming from the TV credenza. Declan snagged a to-go cup by the coffee machine and quietly crouched down next to the stand. Several more chirps, and he motioned for me to flip on the light.

  The room lit up, yet he couldn’t find the cricket.

  I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around, helping him search under the furniture. I found a peanut and a wine cork, but no cricket.

  Declan pressed his ear to the wall. “Jaysus. It’s coming from the next room. Along with an owl hooting. It’s a bloody sound machine.”

  “As if chirping crickets are relaxing?”

  The sound certainly wasn’t calming my nerves.

  Declan stayed behind while I knocked on the neighbor’s door. Nobody answered. Either the person was sleeping soundly or had left the machine on. I called Blair and explained the culprit was Mr. Gauthier’s neighbor. A few minutes later, Blair called and said the hotel solved the challenge by upgrading the neighbor to the concierge level. So, all you had to do to get a hotel upgrade was to travel with an annoying sound machine?

  I glanced at the time on my phone, groaning in frustration. We’d missed our romantic dinner, and I was out 1,400 korunas for tipping the hotel concierge and restaurant host.

  Declan gave me a kiss. “Fancy an absinthe and a bite to eat? I’m sure we can find a lovely café.”

  I’d never heard of absinthe until our Paris meeting. Declan had described it as a wicked-strong liquor that made artists and writers think they were brilliantly creative when often they’d just gone mad from too much alcohol.

  “Although, don’t be wanting the liquor to affect my memory of tonight.” He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

  My stomach went berserk. I drew back. “We can’t make out in a VIP suite.” And with my tummy issues.

  Declan smiled, grasping hold of my hand. “Best go before the bloke gets back from dinner.”

  Yeah, I certainly didn’t want Mr. Gauthier to return and find me making out with my boyfriend in his suite. He might assume that was why I’d had his suite key in the first place.

  Chapter Five

  Tall, black iron lanterns situated between massive stone statues cast a yellow hue across the Charles Bridge. Prague Castle lit up the evening sky. Despite the cool breeze, I was warm all over as Declan and I strolled hand in hand across the river. I was so caught up in the moment I didn’
t care if we ran into coworkers. Besides, Mindy was still greeting VIPs. Rita was ordering room service. Courtney was likely in the hotel lounge slamming Red Bull martinis. Gretchen wouldn’t be teetering across this cobblestone in her spiked heels.

  Tourists were snapping pictures, vendors were selling souvenir trinkets, and a street performer was playing…wineglasses? Several dozen wineglasses in various styles, filled with different water levels, lined a table. An older man lightly swept his fingers across the glass rims as if playing the classical tune on a harp or a piano.

  I watched him in awe, mesmerized. “How cool…”

  Declan shrugged. “Big deal. I can play ‘Danny Boy’ bouncing cents into shot glasses of whiskey.”

  I laughed. “Your talents never cease.”

  “Well, you mightn’t realize it was ‘Danny Boy’ if I weren’t singing along.”

  I snapped a selfie of us with the musician, then tossed a few korunas in the guy’s hat sitting on the cobblestone.

  “I can’t believe the amount of action there is for this late,” I said.

  “It’s only nine. Some people are just heading to dinner. But a bit odd no artists are out tonight.” Declan paused by a lantern and released my hand. He slipped the worn leather backpack from his shoulders and unzipped it. He took out a sketch pad and pencils. “Thought I’d give ya a feel for the city’s artistic ambiance.”

  I tried to hide my shock. Declan hadn’t drawn since the death of his wife, Shauna, three years ago. In Paris, we’d visited the artsy Montmartre area, where Declan had admitted giving up art when he’d lost his muse. When I’d suggested that drawing my parents an anniversary gift might help his muse return, an awkward moment had occurred. His muse had been Shauna. He’d apologized for ever mentioning his wife and then grew distant for most of the trip. I’d been devastated that he’d regretted confiding in me, and it’d been a step backward in our relationship. This was a huge step forward.

  Declan now wanted me to be his muse.

  I choked down the lump of emotion in my throat. “That’d be great.”

  Declan positioned me near a lantern. He unwrapped the blue mohair scarf around my neck, his knuckles grazing my breasts. Even through my red wool jacket, his touch caused a rush of heat up my neck. I slipped off my blue knit beret and smoothed a hand over my unruly hair.

  “Make my hair look better than it does.”

  He smiled, tucking strands behind my ear, his fingers warm against my skin. “It looks grand.”

  Yeah, right. A breeze tousled Declan’s hair, giving it a sexy windblown look.

  He brushed a gentle kiss across my lips. I stared into his blue eyes. Our lips just inches apart, he exhaled, his warm breath visible in the cold air. I inhaled it, sharing the same breath that had moments before filled his lungs. He smiled, then backed up a few steps, trying to determine the best location to stand. I let out a contented sigh.

  I peered across the river at a building washed in a hue of red for tomorrow’s holiday. The restaurant we were supposed to dine at. Dinner would never have been as romantic as Declan sketching my portrait. Not that he couldn’t have done it after dinner, but I was trying to remain positive.

  How was I going to beat Taytos and this?

  “Don’t be needing to stand stiff as a board.” Declan propped the sketchpad against a hip and poised the pencil over it. “Just relax, talk.”

  I rested back against the stone bridge, swiping hair from my face, focusing on the soft sound of fingers dancing across wineglasses. My phone dinged in my purse. I tensed. Now what? I needed to trap a mouse in Mr. Gauthier’s room?

  “Better check your mobile,” Declan said.

  I reluctantly whipped my phone out of my purse. It was an e-mail, rather than a text, from George Wood.

  Dear Ms. Shaw,

  I was most thrilled to learn you are currently in Prague, as I find myself in Vienna this week. Since you are merely a short train ride away, might I suggest I travel to Prague for a visit? Any evening would be more than suitable for me. Preferably somewhere private to allow us a proper visit. My mother was Isabella Daly. I look forward to meeting you and discussing the history of Bridget and John Michael Daly.

  Kind regards,

  George Wood

  My shoulders sagged with disappointment that George was related to the Dalys and not Grandma. I’d feel awful if he came here and I was too busy to meet. And it would be nice for him to also meet Rachel, who was joining me in Dublin after the St. Paddy’s Day meeting. We were going to visit our newfound Coffey rellies, as Rachel had canceled the visit at Christmastime to help Mom care for Dad after his accident. I’d suggest to George that he pop over to Ireland for a visit, assuming he lived in England. He sounded like Nigel, a proper Englishman, and Grandma and John Michael had moved to England.

  I told Declan about George reaching out to me on the forum and taking the train over from Vienna to meet.

  Declan wore a wary expression. “Ah, that’s brilliant he supposedly has some family history about your granny, but what do you know about the bloke?”

  “He’s related to John Michael Daly.”

  “Where does he live?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. He sounds English.”

  “Sounds English? And he wants to meet in a private spot, for a proper visit?”

  I nodded.

  “What if he’s an online stalker?”

  “Preying on women desperately researching their ancestry?”

  “Precisely.”

  “He knew that my grandma married John Michael Daly. I didn’t know that when I posted on the forum. I’m sure he’s fine. He sounds like a very proper Englishman. Like I could take him down if I had to.”

  Declan looked unconvinced. “At least have more info on him before you meet. And meet at a busy location near the hotel.”

  “Stop bursting my genealogy bubble.”

  Declan’s eyes dimmed. “I’m serious.”

  “I know, and I love you for it.” His concern was totally sweet, rather than overbearing and controlling like my ex-boyfriend Andy had been. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine. Hopefully, he knows where my grandma and her husband lived. I want to walk the same streets and take in the same views as she did. Like in Killybog.”

  “And visit the church where their forbidden marriage took place.”

  “Exactly.”

  Declan had always shown a genuine interest in my family history. He wasn’t just humoring me, as some guys would.

  He stared into my eyes for several moments before glancing down and taking the plunge, starting to sketch. He raised his gaze. “Don’t know why I be needing to even look at your eyes. I could draw them from memory.”

  If I could draw more than a stick figure, I’d also be able to sketch Declan’s blue eyes from memory. Every thick, dark lash. The mischievous glint. I fell asleep nights picturing myself lying next to Declan, staring into his dreamy eyes, which I’d finally be able to do tonight.

  “Looking forward to your first St. Paddy’s Day in Ireland, are ya?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Too bad we couldn’t spend it in Killybog.”

  “Yeah, it’s not as mad as Dublin. Carter’s pub has a brilliant float. Des dresses as St. Patrick and drives his John Deere with his son Darragh dressed in a kilt. Mags step dances behind the tractor in a brightly colored outfit and curly red wig. Zoe wanted to walk one of Carrig’s green sheep in the parade. He went mad. Wanker didn’t find it funny a’ tall.”

  “Did he ever figure out who dyed them?”

  Declan shook his head. “My money’s on Ronan Dunne.”

  Some prankster had dyed Declan’s neighbor’s sheep red and green for Christmas. Declan’s sister and my new friend, Zoe, and I had herded them out of the road and back into the field. I couldn’t tell you one thing going on with my parents’ neighbors, yet after only a week in Ireland, I’d known all the local gossip and had felt like part of the community.

  Declan continued sketching, his pencil flowing
more freely and quickly. He was getting back into the groove. I would remember the Charles Bridge in Prague as the romantic spot where Declan and I took a critical step forward in our relationship. Just like I’d remember Dublin was the first place we’d met. The Musée d’Orsay in Paris, our first kiss. Grandma’s childhood home in Killybog, the first time we’d said “I love you.”

  I couldn’t wait for all the other firsts we would experience together and wondered in what exotic location they’d occur…

  Chapter Six

  A feather-like sensation tickled my cheek, causing it to twitch. I let out a soft moan. I slowly opened my eyes, peering into Declan’s blue eyes, his head resting on the fluffy pillow next to me. Silhouetted by a faint light from the bathroom, he traced a finger gently across my cheek. A smile curled the corners of his mouth. I still had on last night’s clothes, whereas Declan wore a clean white shirt and jeans. His rain-scented shampoo filled the air. He’d already showered.

  “I hate waking you so early,” he said, his breath minty fresh. “You were wrecked. Out when ya hit the bed.”

  “Did I snore?”

  “Like my uncle Jimmy at closing time.”

  I cringed at the thought. After dinner and a few glasses of wine at a café, we’d returned to the hotel and polished off the champagne. Rather than calming my nerves and stomach over sleeping with Declan, the alcohol had made me even more tired. It was romantic that Declan had apparently carried me from the couch to the bed but would have been even more romantic if I’d been awake.

  “No worries. Even snoring, you looked hot. So hot I want to say feck my flight.”

  “I look far from hot right now.” With mascara-smeared eyes and bed head.

  I snagged mints from my purse on the floor and popped them into my mouth. I kissed Declan, sharing a mint with him. Lips locked, he eased me back on the bed. After a heated kiss that left me mint-less, he propped an elbow next to me and rested his chin on his hand, peering into my eyes.