by Mia Kay
“Of course not,” she assured him. “I think you’re doing her a disservice by not giving her a chance to make up her own mind, but I won’t out you.”
As if the matter were settled, she went into the bathroom to get ready for dinner, leaving Ben alone with his thoughts. He walked to the window. What the hell was he supposed to do? Roll his suitcase to her door and knock? Mum sent me. Fancy a shag?
The angel on his shoulder cautioned him. She deserves better than a lie.
The devil on the other shoulder disagreed. You’re lying to her now. If you’re going to lose her anyway, what would it hurt to enjoy the next few days?
Ben rested his head against the window and let the cool, smooth surface calm his brain. His body responded to the thought of sharing his bed with Grace. Maybe it would get her out of my system.
The boy in him reeled at the thought of his mother knowing what was going on. Worse, if his mother knew then Sunny would know. Dear God, that would be too much.
Surely the free-wheeling southerner wasn’t game for her daughter to . . .
This had to be his mother’s doing.
Any curiosity about Sunny’s involvement in the plot vanished the moment he saw Grace in the lobby. She blushed to her hairline, and he practically had to arm wrestle her for the chance to hold her hand.
“Are you okay?” he whispered when Adam and Nora were distracted in the cab.
“I’m embarrassed,” she hissed. “I feel like Katherine in The Taming of the Shrew. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“It wasn’t just her.”
Ironic. He’d met a girl, and his mother had made a hash of it before he could. The relationship was on the verge of collapse faster than it had begun. Twenty-four hours had to be a record. Fe would never let him live it down. She’d make him a commemorative t-shirt for Christmas.
For the rest of the evening, he stayed close to Grace without hovering, touched her but didn’t linger, asked her opinion about everything. He had to fix this.
By the time she and Nora went to powder their noses, she was relaxed and he was a wreck. Staring into his drink, he heaved a deep sigh.
“What gives?” Adam asked.
“Umm.” Ben rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Our mothers volunteered to swap so Grace and I could share a room.”
Adam choked on his drink. “Those are a couple of understanding mothers.”
“Yeah,” Ben sighed, “and it’s left me feeling like I’m a dragon waiting to devour the sacrificial virgin.”
Adam sat his glass aside. “There’s a visual I didn’t need.”
Hot, sweaty, naked, tasting her skin, feeling her body give beneath me. Ben shifted in his chair. “Me neither.”
The other man didn’t say anything for several minutes, but he squirmed like he was sitting on tacks. He chewed his lip and looked over his shoulder, only to twist back. “We know who you are,” he blurted.
Ben froze. Bollocks.
“Nora knew first,” Adam bashed on. “She’s seen a few things you’re in, and she’d kill me if she knew I was telling you.”
Nora knew? Grace was alone with her. He was screwed.
“Adam, mate, this is—”
“Everyone deserves a vacation. It’s not our story to tell, and I don’t believe everything I read.”
Ben ran his fingers down the sides of his whiskey tumbler. “If you’ve read any of it, you know why I’m worried.”
“She might take it better than you think,” Adam encouraged him. “She might even surprise you.”
In the ladies room, Grace stared at Nora’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her tattoo peeked from under the edge of the shrug covering her strapless dress while she bounced enough to jiggle her earrings.
“And?” Grace whispered.
“And what? It’s not our secret to tell.” Nora’s grin morphed into a full smile. “But I have to admit it’s cool. Adam’s a huge fan. Given half a chance he’d pump you for plot points until you ran screaming.”
Grace turned a panicked gaze toward the door. She’d left Adam alone with Ben. Adam knew.
“He won’t say anything,” Nora reassured her.
“Really?”
“He’s a minister, they’re used to secrets. Besides, he’s more worried about pissing me off on our honeymoon. What are you going to do about your mother’s offer?”
If he’s half as good at sex as he is at kissing . . . Grace shoved the visions from her brain, closed her purse, and stood. “Think about what you’re asking.”
“Dreamy guy, romantic cities, room service.” Nora opened the door. “It could be wonderful.”
The suggestion tempted Grace as they left the restaurant and walked through Vienna. Things had been going so well. How on earth was she going to get her mother’s foot dislodged from her mouth? The imagined conversation was just as embarrassing. Grace isn’t going to meet a guy unless he has car trouble in the driveway. If Ben’s game, why not? Couldn’t Mom have let it happen on its own?
Then again, it had been happening on its own. His hand was warm in hers, and his quiet voice tickled her skin as they whispered in conversation. She couldn’t imagine the rest of the cities being any better than this.
Would waking with him be as good as spending the day with him? Did he snore? Hog the covers? Would they get tired of each other? Then what? This was too fast.
They passed a park where an orchestra congregated in the amphitheater. All the musicians were in casual clothes and a crowd had gathered. Some were sitting in the seats provided, others were lounging on quilts while they enjoyed picnics.
Ben led her to a vacant seat in the theater’s bowl. Adam and Nora sat on their other side. As the orchestra tuned, the couple behind them offered red wine in paper cups.
The conductor came to the stand, his hair poking wildly from under a stocking cap. The crowd quieted, and the opening strains of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade reached for the stars.
Under the combination of the music and Ben’s nearness, Grace’s stress dissolved. Her fingers wound through his as she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “This is the perfect way to leave Vienna.”
“It is.” His cheek rested against her hair as the music drifted over them with the breeze. “I’ve been thinking.” He drew in a deep breath and expelled his thought in a rush. “If our mothers are telling us they’d enjoy their vacation more without us—”
She yanked her head up and heard his teeth clack together.
He rubbed his jaw and smiled. “If you’re opposed to it, then of course not.”
“Ben—”
His kiss stopped her protest by stealing her breath. Looking for balance, she slid her hands under his jacket and his muscles rippled under her palms while his soft groan melted her bones. When his tongue teased her bottom lip, Grace resented the crowd surrounding them. Every time he kissed her, the need increased.
“Stay with me,” he whispered. His breath heated her skin, and his eyes glowed in the dark. “We could start in Salzburg.”
She wanted to call the heat under her skin a blush, but when it spread throughout her body she relented. It was anticipation. Kissing his cheek, she ran her thumb along his stubbly jaw. “Yes.”
Chapter 6
Grace stood in the dining room door and surveyed the breakfast crowd, comparing their departure to their arrival. Four days seemed like forever, and the changes were monumental. It wasn’t only in her situation. The rowdy group of retirees had begun to resemble the co-eds from her spring break vacations.
Ben was boxed in at a table by an unfamiliar couple, listening to the man’s one-sided conversation and glancing at pictures the woman was rifling through.
“Help me.” He mouthed the words over the woman’s curl
s. Grace shook her head, leaving him to his fate. When he added puppy dog eyes to his plea, her laughter escaped and her resolve weakened.
After ensuring her mother was settled at a table with their efficient tour director, Grace began her mission of mercy. She was going to rescue her boyfriend at breakfast from the verbose couple who had no idea about their short history together. She was leaving the safety of Vienna for the unknown of Salzburg. Her knees wobbled.
“Professor and Mrs. Goldstein, may I introduce Grace Ward?” Ben slipped the introduction between breaks in the professor’s lecture as Grace sat next to Mrs. Goldstein. She almost fell out of the chair as his foot tickled her calf.
“All right?” She smiled as she tried her new language.
His face lit as he nodded sharply. “All right?”
She imitated the movement as she reached a shaky hand for the coffee.
“Let me.”
“Thanks, sw—” She gulped the endearment back into her throat but saw the comical quirk of his eyebrows. This time she surrendered to the urge to kick him under the table.
“I’m sorry.” The professor blinked in surprise. “Am I in someone’s way?”
Ben dissolved into a helpless pile of mirth in front of Grace’s embarrassed eyes.
“I-I’m sorry, sir. These tables are so small.” She turned to the older man and ignored Ben’s struggle for composure. “I’m late to the discussion. What do you teach?”
“Economics at NYU.”
The little man resembled a taller, grayer version of ‘Tennessee Tuxedo,’ the penguin from childhood cartoons. He seemed enraptured with his subject—a love affair no one at the table, not even his wife, shared. Econ at breakfast. Grace managed a quick, cross-eyed, look in Ben’s direction, only to hear him sputter into his tea.
She jumped in with a question she hoped would distract the impromptu class. “I’ve always found it rewarding with students to see the ‘light bulb’ moment when they grasp a principle. Haven’t you?”
“What courses do you teach, dear?” Mrs. Goldstein joined the conversation, relaxing as her husband fell silent.
“Literature and Creative Writing.” My last workshop was Fifty Ways to Kill a Character. Grace refocused on the professor, careful not to completely hijack his audience. “But I think the moment is probably the same across disciplines. Don’t you, sir?”
“Yes,” the man said, nodding emphatically. “Just the other day . . .”
Once he’d made his point, Grace encouraged Mrs. Goldstein to join them by asking about teaching her grandchildren. Then she got Ben to talk about Andrew and soccer. From there, they discussed American football versus European football. Soon they were comparing cricket and baseball, and the professor was lecturing about the history of the Mets. The man just liked to lecture. But at least everyone had a chance to talk until they were saved by their guide’s insistence about boarding the bus.
The professor, the bill on his Mets cap arrow-straight and pulled low over his brows, strode toward the exit. Ben stood and helped Mrs. Goldstein with her jacket.
“Thank you both,” she said. “He can be insufferable when he’s nervous. This was a breath of fresh air.”
“We enjoyed getting to know both of you, Hannah,” Ben reassured her. “I’m sure we’ll get another chance to visit in Salzburg.”
Salzburg.
Grace looked across the table. Ben stood absolutely still, as his eyes swept over her from head to toe and back. His tongue moistened his lips. He looked like a leopard ready to pounce on its prey.
And just like a gazelle out in the open, her nerves twitched for flight. Not away from him, but toward him. Her blood heated, and her lungs weren’t large enough for the air she needed. Her nipples sharpened, scratching against her lace bra.
His gaze raked over her again, stopping at her breasts. A blush crept up his neck.
“That would be lovely,” Hannah Goldstein continued.
Ben offered the older woman his arm and she stayed between them. It kept Grace from being a predator’s gazelle.
“Have you two been together long?”
He smiled across the little woman’s head, a wicked glint in his eye. “Sometimes it feels like just yesterday.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m not twenty anymore and going on my first date with Saul.” She gave them each a quick kiss and then joined her husband. “You two enjoy your vacation.”
“‘Help me,’ my ass,” Grace drawled as she went to the end of the line.
“I’ve not had that much fun in a long time. At least since yesterday.” He stroked his knuckles down her spine as he whispered in her ear, “Good morning, Idgie. Sleep well?”
“Eventually.” He smelled like heaven, and she fought the urge to sag against him and soak up his warmth. They could cuddle tonight. Her skin heated without his help. “You?”
“I was a little keyed up.” He poked her in the ribs. “But I eventually nodded off. I’ll have a kip on the train.”
“You’ll be able to sleep?”
“It’s like a large rocking chair once you get used to the rhythm. Most of the time I can’t help it.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss something?”
“When you’re home can you sleep in the car?”
“If I’m not driving.” She giggled when he crossed his eyes. “But that’s different. I’ve seen it all before.”
“Aha,” Ben exclaimed as they climbed the steps. “It’s the same thing for me. I’ve seen this part before. Look at it this way,” he pointed out as they worked their way down the aisle to their seats, “we won’t fight over the window.”
They didn’t. After transferring from the bus, they took seats near the back of the train car. She settled in for their ride and, true to his word, Ben fell asleep not long after they left the station. One minute he’d been teasing her about something silly, and the next he’d sunk into oblivion.
At first she’d been irritated he didn’t want to savor every moment they had together. The admission had only grated more. But now the vulnerability in the slack planes of his face made her want to guard his peace and give him as much rest as possible.
The countryside slipped by the window, and she realized he was right. After a while, it did all look the same. Almost worse, it looked like home. She picked up her notebook and began considering the outline for her next plot.
Writing her first book had been one thing, adapting it had been quite different. The last few months had made her head spin, but she’d finally finished the screenplay.
It would have been cause for celebration if she wasn’t behind on her deadline for her next book in the series and fresh out of ideas. Her agent and publisher’s anxiety weren’t helping. Grace needed to reconnect with why she loved to write. Taking her own teaching advice to heart, she put pen to paper and wrote what came into her head. Soon, she’d propped herself against the window and balanced the notebook on her knees.
“No laptop?”
Ben’s gravelly question raised her gaze from the page. He was slouched in the seat, his blue eyes hooded and his dark hair splayed across the headrest. She wondered if he woke like this all the time.
I guess I’ll find out in the morning.
She returned her notebook to the bag, careful to fasten the clasp. “It was too much of a pain. I decided to unplug altogether.”
“Me too. I thought it would be easier to relax if the office couldn’t reach me. I promised to enjoy my time. Originally I’d intended to pay attention to Mum.” He took her hand. “This is . . . better.”
Grace agreed. From their spot near the back of the train, they could see the entire group. The Goldsteins were visiting with the couple from Dublin, and Sunny and Camille were busy with their high-speed sightseeing.
Ava Greer had her nose in a book, while her cousin visited with the other members of their group. Adam and Nora Cain were busy being in love.
Bennett followed her gaze. “That’s some serious ink on Nora. It must have hurt like the devil.”
“I think maybe the scars hurt worse,” Grace said. As if planned, the sun angled through the windows and illuminated the finely drawn white lines crisscrossing all the skin visible on Nora’s right side.
He issued a low whistle only Grace could hear. “Bloody hell.”
“I’m wondering if it she did it before or after they met.” While she hated gossiping, Grace relished talking to him like this, their hushed tones creating an invisible bubble.
“I’m thinking before,” he guessed. “Most churches I know wouldn’t sit for their minister’s wife doing that.”
Her gaze shot to Adam’s fingers, twined with his wife’s. “That explains it.”
“What?” Ben asked.
“His tattoo.”
“Adam doesn’t have a tattoo.”
“Yes he does,” she insisted, “on his left hand. It’s white, so you can’t see it very well, and it looks like a scar unless you know what it is.” Lost in her description, she traced the pattern on Ben’s hand, trailing a fingertip around his ring finger, up the back of his hand, and then around his wrist, dancing along the edge of his watch.
“And he always tries to position it so he’s holding her right hand with his left. How sweet.”
“What?” Ben murmured.
“Pay attention.” Her exasperated teacher tone gave way when she looked into his face. The hungry leopard was back. This time, the edges of his teeth were visible.
“You always look like you want to kiss me,” she whispered.
“There’s a reason for that.” He winked. “Right now I’m worried if I start, I won’t stop. So tell me why Adam’s tattoo is sweet.”