***
The driver dropped them at the Piazza delle Erbe, where they wandered the cobblestone streets eating gelato and browsing the various vendors selling everything from jewelry to soccer jerseys. Max was never far behind, although he followed at a discreet distance. Allie still thought the security unnecessary, but Max’s constant presence brought her comfort of a different kind since she knew his watchful eye allowed Hudson to relax and enjoy himself.
When they reached the center of the square they stopped in front of a marble fountain so Allie could consult her guidebook. “It says we should look for the graffiti-covered sign post.”
Hudson read over Allie’s shoulder. “It also says that Shakespeare never even visited Verona.” He lifted the book out of her hands and continued reading while following her through the crowded streets. “And that the balcony was added by the local government in the 1930s to increase tourism.”
“Shhh,” she shushed him, ignoring his dose of reality. Because while it was true that Romeo and Juliet were likely nothing more than fictional characters, what Hudson failed to understand was that their actual existence was inconsequential. The thousands of tourists who flocked to the thirteenth-century home each year came not to stand on the actual balcony where Juliet caught Romeo’s eye, but to experience, even for a moment, what that balcony represented.
Allie rocked on her tiptoes, scanning the alleys and passageways until she found what she was looking for. A smile stretched across her face. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Hudson’s hand and leading him to a stone archway. A plaque with one of Shakespeare’s most famous quotes hung above them while in front of them stretched a long, dark tunnel covered with thousands of small scraps of paper.
“What’s with all the notes?” Hudson asked.
“They’re love letters. Legend says that posting a letter to your true love on Juliet’s wall will make that love everlasting.” Allie slowly walked the length of the tunnel, stopping every so often to read a few of the messages. “It’s a shame people don’t write love letters anymore. All these emotions poured out onto paper. Imagine if they’d have sent them to the person instead of sticking them to a wall with . . .” She lifted the edge of a pale blue page and grimaced. “Chewing gum.”
From behind her, Hudson wrapped his arms around her waist. He dropped his lips to her ear. “Would you settle for a naughty text message?”
“Not quite Romeo and Juliet.” She laughed. “Then again, things didn’t work out so well for them.”
“Good point.” He tucked her under his arm as they strolled the rest of the tunnel. When they reached the brick and stone courtyard, Allie asked a woman to take their photo. She was quite sure Hudson found posing for a photo in front of the legendary balcony on par with posing for a picture with Mickey Mouse, but he humored her nonetheless.
“What’s inside the house?” he asked.
“A museum, costumes and props from the Zeffirelli movie.” Allie started toward the house. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized Hudson hadn’t followed. “Aren’t you coming inside?”
Hudson looked up from the guidebook. “If memory serves, the balcony is for Juliet. You go ahead. I’ll be over there.” He nodded to a bronze statue in the corner of the courtyard. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “According to this book of yours, rubbing Juliet’s right breast brings good luck.”
“Might need to knock the other fifteen-year-olds out of the way first,” she teased.
“I’d rather rub your breast,” he said with a smirk. “But I didn’t think that was an option at the moment.”
Allie turned, laughing and shaking her head as she made her way inside the stone building. She moved quickly through the various exhibits, pausing only once to snap a photo of the platform bed used in the Academy Award–winning film. Her phone was still in her hand as she stepped out onto the balcony. The moment she did, it vibrated with an incoming text. Her heart swelled as she read Hudson’s words, artfully blended with those spoken by Romeo as he watched Juliet from the courtyard below.
What light through yonder window breaks. . . And in a glance, in the wake of a moment, you’ve seized my heart . . . Oh, it is my love.
Allie’s gaze lifted, searching the crowded courtyard for Hudson. She found him not standing in line to grope the breast of a bronze statue, but leaning against the entrance of the tunnel with his phone in his hand. The instant their eyes met she felt it, the connection that had vibrated between them since the day they’d first met. It had always been there, even when she’d tried her best to push it to the far corners of her mind. And Hudson felt it, too. It was evident in the way his eyes darkened when they raked her from head to toe, in the way his stance changed when she entered the room, or the way his lips parted when she touched his skin.
She clutched the phone to her chest and mouthed the words, “I love you.”
“Let’s go,” he mouthed back.
Allie couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.
Chapter Twenty-six
On the car ride back to the station, Hudson held Allie’s hand, running his thumb in circles across her skin. The contact, though small, was undeniably intimate. Each stroke of his thumb echoed through her core, torturing her with the promise of what was to come.
Biting her lip, she gazed up at him.
“You have that look again,” he murmured.
This time she knew exactly what look he was referring to, because this time it was intentional. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered back.
Hudson nuzzled the side of her face. “I intend to do a lot more than kiss you.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear and then his teeth nipped at the lobe. The sensation shot a sharp twinge of pleasure straight to her groin. “Come,” he said. “We’re here.”
In a matter of minutes they had boarded the train. Hudson moved briskly through the corridors, tugging Allie by the hand as she hurried to keep up. But when they reached their cabin, he stopped abruptly. Turning, he pushed her against the door, pinning her with his hips.
“I want you naked. Now,” he growled, before sealing his mouth over hers. Allie heard the jingle of keys behind her back. A moment later the door gave way and they tumbled into the suite, all hands and mouths and tongues.
A startled British accent greeted them. “Mr. Chase, Miss Sinclair.”
Allie and Hudson turned as one to find their steward bent over a small table, fussing with what appeared to be an already perfectly arranged setting of tea. “Afternoon tea is customarily served in the guest’s cabin. I assumed you’d be arriving shortly for departure, so I um, I took the liberty of . . .”
“It’s wonderful, Andrew,” Allie interrupted, trying to put the poor man out of his misery. When he looked up she gave him a reassuring smile. “And just what we need after dealing with those crowds.”
Hudson mumbled something under his breath, and although Allie couldn’t make out what he said, she had a pretty good idea as to the sentiment. The thought had her stifling a giggle.
Andrew straightened and smoothed his starched white jacket. “Cocktails will begin precisely at five o’clock in the bar car,” he began, reciting what was undoubtedly a well-rehearsed spiel. “After which a leisurely four-course dinner, prepared on board by our French chefs, will be served in the Côte d’Azur dining room.”
The description sounded lovely and was exactly what Allie had expected. But she was willing to bet Hudson had merely zeroed-in on the word “leisurely.” Her suspicion was confirmed when he blew out an exasperated breath as he moved to the adjoining cabin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him adjust his jeans before running a frustrated hand back through his hair. He turned to his left and then to his right before opening a narrow door covered in lacquered marquetry. Behind it stood a small sink and oval mirror. “Where is the bathroom?” he asked.
“The lavatories are at the end of the corridor in the adjoining car,” Andrew replied.
Allie hadn’t given much thought to the restroom situatio
n on a passenger train built in the 1920s. Judging by the look on Hudson’s face, neither had he. Until now.
“And the bed?” he asked with a frown. “Is that down the corridor as well?”
“No, sir.” The steward chuckled, obliviously thinking Hudson was making a joke. “While you and Miss Sinclair are enjoying our five-star restaurant, I will be busy transforming the seating area into a cozy bedroom.”
Allie tried to catch Hudson’s eye but he was too busy regarding the sink with a perplexed scrutiny.
“Thank you, Andrew. We’ll see you at dinner?” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and beat a hasty retreat. But instead he continued giving his rundown of the evening’s agenda.
“Dinner is formal, with black-tie optional but encouraged. The seatings are either in pairs or with another couple. If you have a preference, I can advise the maître d’.”
Hudson’s head snapped up. “We’ll be dining alone.” The look he gave him would have withered a lesser man, but Andrew took it in stride. It seemed the young steward was much better equipped to deal with frustrated CEOs than he was couples wrapped up in a passionate embrace.
Andrew pulled a small leather notebook from his pocket and made a notation before moving into the adjoining room. For the first time Allie noticed their suitcases, propped open on wooden stands. “If you’d like to join Miss Sinclair for tea, I’ll just finish the unpacking and see to any steaming or ironing.” He gestured for Hudson to step forward then reached for the pocket doors that divided the two rooms. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he said before sliding them closed.
But instead of joining Allie on the velvet sofa, Hudson stalked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With a rattle of the cabin door he was gone.
Allie leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh. She raised her hand to the fringe edge of the tapestry curtain and pulled it back. Staring out the window at the passing countryside she wondered how her afternoon could have taken such a disappointing turn. Somehow over the course of the past thirty minutes, she’d gone from reading romantic texts on Juliet’s balcony to sitting alone in their cabin with a china tea set in front of her and a very thorough steward in the next room.
She knew Hudson was disappointed, but although Allie appreciated the gesture he made by planning this trip, details like the location of the bathroom were no more essential to her than the actual existence of Romeo and Juliet. Spending time together was all that mattered. Somehow she needed to show him that.
And she knew just the way to do it.
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Allie pulled out her phone and opened Hudson’s text. Calling upon her memories of high school English class, she typed a reply that, like his, blended Shakespeare’s words with her own.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Her phone buzzed with a reply.
I’m apparently back in college. The bathrooms are like a dormitory. But without showers.
No showers? Allie was suddenly very thankful they would be arriving in London the next day. But she chose to ignore this development and pressed on with her creative use of the Bard’s most famous play.
O, then dear saint, let lips do what hands do; And have my lips . . . around your cock.
A few moments passed before the little dots appeared to indicate he was typing.
That was a very naughty text, Alessandra. And if memory serves, not quite a literal translation.
Complaining, dear sir?
On the contrary, but it makes me want to do very dirty things to you. Particularly your mouth.
Like?
Allie felt her face heat as she began to read Hudson’s reply, and she about jumped out of her skin when Andrew knocked on the pocket door. “Yes,” she squeaked before clearing her throat.
“Your clothes for this evening are ready, Miss Sinclair,” he said through the frosted glass panel. “May I be of any further assistance?”
A slow smile curved her lips as an idea took form. “Actually yes, Andrew, there is something you can do for me. One second, please.” She typed a quick reply telling Hudson she would meet him in the lounge car in thirty minutes, then closed the text screen. “Andrew,” she called to him as she slid open the pocket doors. “Do you think you could find me another place to get ready?”
***
In the literature Allie had read earlier in the week, the Orient Express was often referred to as a museum on rails. It was a description that rang true for all of the vintage carriages, but even more so at the Orient Bar. The lounge, or bar car as it was referred to onboard, seemed to be stopped in time, suspended in the golden age of luxury rail travel. Guests in formal evening wear sipped drinks at round tables adorned with vases of fresh flowers while others gathered around a baby grand where a pianist wove classical music with nostalgic romance.
Allie stopped at the entrance to the car, smoothing the ivory gown that clung to her every curve. She’d been saving the low-cut Grecian-style dress for a special occasion, and right now she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather wear it. Her eyes roamed the carriage until she found Hudson, dressed in a Tom Ford tux and sitting at the bar at the rear of the car. His back was to her, but even that view of Hudson Chase was enough to cause her heart to race. Her gaze slid from his broad shoulders to his dark, wavy hair. The mere thought of how her hands would grasp that unruly mane later that night had her fingers flexing against her beaded clutch.
“May I bring you something, Mademoiselle?” a young waiter asked.
“No, thank you,” she said, her eyes locked on Hudson. “I see what I want.” She made her way through the crowd, weaving between the small tables until she stood behind him. “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, the perfect combination of innocent inquiry and breathless anticipation.
Hudson swiveled to face her and amusement lit his eyes. “Not at all.” He waved a hand toward the empty barstool. “Please, join me.” His gaze dropped as she crossed her legs, intentionally allowing the deep slit to expose her bare thigh. “Champagne?”
She smiled coyly. “I’d love some.”
Hudson caught the bartender’s eye. “A glass of Cristal for the lady.”
“So what brings you to the Orient Express?” she asked, continuing their game.
“Hmm.” He took a sip of scotch from an intricately cut crystal tumbler, the facets catching the light as he lifted it to his lips. “I intended a romantic getaway with the woman I love. But there seems to be a conspiracy in place to prevent that.”
Allie smiled. “Sounds like a very lucky woman. And something tells me she’s enjoying herself immensely. Besides, the night is young. And tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.”
“Indeed it is.”
The bartender set a flute of champagne in front of her on the polished wood bar. Allie took the glass and lifted it in the air. “To new beginnings.”
Hudson clinked his glass against hers. “To new beginnings,” he said, holding her gaze as she sipped the sparkling wine.
“So what are our plans for New Year’s Eve, anyways?”
“I had it in mind to surprise you, but I’m afraid you may be disappointed since you seemed intrigued by the possibility of kissing every damn person in Italy,” he said with a smirk.
Allie smiled over the rim of her glass. “You know I was just yanking your chain a bit.”
Hudson lifted a brow at her unintentional innuendo and Allie blushed from his unspoken reply.
“Tell me, please?”
“No need for the puppy eyes, Alessandra,” Hudson chuckled. “As if I could deny you anything.”
“I do not have puppy eyes.”
“Oh yes, you do.” He shook his head. “And God help me, it works very time.”
She took another sip of champagne. It was crisp and light, and the bubbles made her feel warm all over. “Well?”
“I’ve arranged for us to spend the night aboard a private yach
t on the River Thames. We’ll watch the fireworks over London Bridge, then head below deck for the remainder of the evening.”
“A boat? I’m sensing a theme here. Planes, trains, and automobiles?”
“I believe we’ve already covered planes and automobiles . . .”
“So that just leaves trains,” she said, finishing his thought. The promise held in the look that passed between the two of them sent goose bumps racing across her skin.
“Mr. Chase, your table is ready,” the maître d’ said. They followed him to the Côte d’Azur Room, a luxurious dining car decorated with opaque glass panels designed by René Lalique. Either one of them could have suggested they cut the dinner short, or even skip it altogether. But the anticipation of the night to come combined with the knowledge that they not only had all night, but a lifetime of nights to come, was an intoxicating mix. So by silent agreement they remained at the table, savoring each other while enjoying a four-course meal of decadent food, fine wine, and lingering glances. Hudson’s every move, from the way he stroked the stem of his glass to the way he licked the wine from his lips, pulled Allie deeper under his spell. By the time dessert was served, the desire charging the air between them felt like a tangible force, enveloping them in a world where nothing else existed but the two of them, their longing, their need.
“Ready to go?” Hudson finally asked.
“Yes,” she breathed, barely able to speak in her overheated state.
Hudson stood and offered her his hand. He watched her intently, his eyes darkening as she placed her hand in his and rose from her seat. “That’s a lovely dress,” he said. “I believe I was remiss in mentioning that earlier.” His gaze raked over her, and she knew he was thinking about what she looked like beneath that dress, her nipples pebbled and taut, her sex slick and ready.
“Thank you.” She stepped closer, her body shielding her hand as it slipped between them. Hudson went from semi-hard to granite in a matter of seconds.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Find something you like?” he asked. His voice was husky and low.
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