When in Rome

by Gemma Townley

  “Except Vanessa,” I point out, as David’s feet touch the floor.

  “Yes, except Vanessa.” He’s standing in front of me now, sweat glistening on his forehead, brick dust staining his city coat. Noting my shocked expression, he shrugs and grins. “Jane also said I should try a romantic gesture. The florists were shut, so I thought climbing up to your window might do the trick . . . it’s all about balance, you know . . .”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. I have a sneaky suspicion he might have seen Mike attempt, and fail, to climb up to my window and was determined to outdo him. But that’s absolutely fine by me.

  “Anyway,” David continues, “the point is that I need to get to a place where I can take a few weeks off without worrying that everything’s going to fall apart.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Honeymoons can’t be short, can they? You would want to go away for at least two weeks, wouldn’t you? If you . . . I mean, were you to do me that honor . . .”

  He trails off and looks at me beseechingly. Is David . . . did he just . . . is this what I think it is? I don’t want to say anything, in case I misheard. In case he was joking or something.

  “Two weeks is generally considered about right,” I manage. The corners of David’s mouth start to edge upward.

  “You mean, you might think about it? Even though I can be an arrogant prick sometimes?”

  I grin. “David, you’re not arrogant. Just misguided. And a bit too protective sometimes.”

  “All valid criticisms,” David admits with a smile. “Now, what about you? Am I allowed to tell you what your faults are yet, or are we still focusing on me?”

  “Definitely still focusing on you,” I say firmly. “Probably will be for quite a while yet.”

  “I see. I suspected as much,” murmurs David, kissing my neck. “Your hair is beautiful, by the way. It suits you short.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d like it.”

  “You look like a sassy chick,” he says appraisingly. “Far too gorgeous for a boring accountant like me.”

  “There you go again,” I say crossly, pulling away. “Don’t say that when you know very well that you’re not a boring accountant. You climb up drainpipes, dance like Fred Astaire, and bust organized crime rings. That is definitely not boring, and I think you are obviously notjust an accountant.”

  “Okay,” grins David. “But maybe I should spice things up just a little bit. You know, become a little less dependable, keep you on your toes?”

  I punch him in the arm. “I wouldn’t say you’re exactly dependable at the moment, actually.”

  David looks up, hurt. “I thought we’d been through all that?” he says quietly. “It’s been a really difficult time, Georgie, but I really think that you—”

  “The curtain rail,” I interrupt, and see relief sweep across his face. “David, that curtain rail has been leaning against the kitchen wall ever since we bought it. Now, if you were really dependable, I’d have curtains up over there instead of two large windows through which my neighbors can see everything.”

  “Everything?” asks David with a cheeky smile, and he starts to undo my robe. “Well, I think the least we can do is give them something really good to look at . . .”

  “David!” I yelp, looking at him in horror. “You can’t be serious! There is no way I’m going to let my neighbors see—”

  But before I can finish my sentence, David leans down and hoists me over his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t dream of letting them see you naked, my darling,” he says. “I meantthis .” With a deft movement, he bends down again, picks up my copy ofRoman Holiday and throws it out of the window. I hear it land with a thud below and wonder what my neighbors will make of the smashed vase, broken bottle, and used video tomorrow morning.

  David puts me down on the bed and throws my robe on the floor before turning back and kissing me. As his hands move expertly around my body, he whispers in my ear, “I think we’ve had enough ofRoman Holiday , don’t you?”

  Pulling off his trousers, I agree with a smile. Now that we’ve had our own Roman Holiday, I’m determined to spend less time watching TV and more time going out and experiencing things firsthand. Less time dreaming and more time doing. It’s going to be great. And anyway, I can always buy the DVD. . . .

  When in Rome . . .is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Book

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group

  Copyright Š 2004 by Gemma Townley

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  Library of Congress Control Number is available from the publisher upon request.

  e-ISBN 0-345-47212-8

  v1.0

  DEDICATION

  To Maddy—for always leading the way,

  and letting me come, too

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Copyright

  WHEN in ROME . . .

  GEMMA TOWNLEY

  BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

  About this Title

  This eBook was created using ReaderWorks™Publisher Preview, produced by OverDrive, Inc.

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