Chapter 18
After a very long breakfast with Mrs. Henry and Mrs. Demirel that morning, Saffron was left to rest, but found herself unable to settle on anything.
Surrounded by discarded books, papers, and sweating glasses of water and juice, she spent much of the day glaring at her swollen, purple ankle and wondering what Alexander and their team were doing at Kadifekale.
At her insistence, and Dr. Henry’s, Alexander had departed after assuring himself that Saffron was well taken care of.
She was, if only in body. Her spirit was quite low, and the solitude, occasionally interrupted by one of the ladies poking their head in through her door to check on her, did little to soothe her.
The sleepy heat of midafternoon did manage to send her into a doze, only to be interrupted by rumbling.
She jolted upright, heart hammering as she struggled to understand that it was not the thunder of rocks showering down around her, but motorcars coming up the drive. She managed to disentangle herself from the skirt she’d kicked round her legs and carefully crept to her door.
She needn’t have bothered, as the moment the men stomped into the hotel, their voices and footsteps could have been heard down in the agora. Most of what she overheard was declaring their intention to bathe, or complaining they ought to have gone to the sea for a dip.
She lingered at her door for long enough that the hotel had gone quiet as the men filed into their rooms or down to the parlor for tea. It didn’t take long for Saffron to conclude Alexander was among the number to go to the sea after leaving Kadifekale.
It was confirmed several hours later, when he arrived at her door with the bridge of his nose red and the smell of salt on him.
She had decided not to begrudge him a jaunt to the sea; he’d told her many a tale of swimming in the Mediterranean when visiting family in Greece and the way it made his eyes light up made her glad that he had gone.
Not to mention it did swooping things to her belly to see him standing in her doorway with salt-kissed curls falling over his forehead, a shadow of a dark beard tracing his jaw, and his shirt crumpled and open at the collar.
“You look better” were the first words out of his mouth as he took her in with apparent equal interest.
“I feel much better,” she said, avoiding putting weight on her ankle without the appearance of doing so. “How was the rest of the time at the ruins? Did anyone find anything? Mrs. Henry mentioned—”
He took a step into her space, so close she could feel the heat coming off him. “Do you mind if I come inside?”
“No,” she said automatically, pivoting so he could slip into the room. She glanced into the hall and smiled when she saw it was vacant.
The moment the door was shut, he kissed her.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, the better to anchor herself so she wouldn’t topple over and completely ruin the moment.
He tasted like salt and smelled like sunshine and it felt rather wild to have his beard rasping against her skin and his hands mapping her body like she was the uncharted ruin to discover.
Things grew heady and hot, spiraling so quickly she barely had time to feel gleeful when Alexander bodily lifted her so she was fully pressed against him in such a delicious way that she completely forgot where they were.
It all came crashing down when a knock at the door broke them apart. They looked at each other with glazed, hungry eyes until a nervous voice called, “Miss Everleigh?”
“Blast,” Saffron whispered, pressing her overheated face into Alexander’s heaving chest. Why did Martin have to interrupt just when things were perfect?
“I just wanted—” Martin broke off, and through the door at Alexander’s back, she could hear him muttering to himself, “Just shut up and go away, Martin, she doesn’t want to speak to the fellow who knocked her to the ground like a great lummox …”
Sighing, she slipped from Alexander’s arms, nudging him behind the door.
His hand shot out when she reached for the doorknob, stilling her while he gently brushed her hair back from her flushed face.
The look he gave her was so intent, so lovely, that she really didn’t want to open the door.
But there was a young man on the other side who she couldn’t bear knowing felt so downcast when he’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
“Hello, Martin,” she said when she opened the door.
“Miss Everleigh,” he said, perking up a bit. He looked bedraggled, with his dark hair in greasy disarray and deep shadows under his eyes. “How are you? Is your ankle better? Mr. Banks told me that it wasn’t broken, of course, but I’ve been so worried.”
He sucked in a breath, and she took advantage of it to say, “It isn’t broken. The doctor said I’ll be fine to return to work in a few days, once the swelling goes down. Thank you again for rescuing me. If not for you, I might be much worse off.”
His already flushed face flared rosy, but she didn’t want for her, or Alexander, who was watching her with a faint smile behind the door, to be trapped by more of Martin’s guilty rambling. “I’m really not supposed to be walking on the ankle much …”
“Of course, of course, how stupid of me,” he said, backing away from the door with hands lifted as if in surrender. “I just wanted to say again how sorry I am that you’re laid up for a few days. I’ll see you later, when you’re feeling better.”
He scurried down the hall, his own door shutting a few moments later. She hadn’t realized their rooms were in the same corridor.
Alexander closed the door with a soft click, his small smile still in place. “I think you’re rather fond of Neill.”
“How can I not be? He is a puppy.” She eased back onto the bed, sighing in relief.
“Your ankle is not better,” Alexander muttered in a lightly accusatory way.
He pulled the desk chair to sit at her side, and gently lifted her leg so her calf rested on his thigh.
He looked down at it, tracing a finger along the bruised skin.
She hadn’t bothered with stockings, not when it was so hot and she had no company but the ladies.
“This reminds me of something,” he said quietly, his finger brushing the hem of her skirt at her knee.
Her breath came faster with every sweep of his fingertips. “Oh?”
He looked up at her from beneath his heavy brow. “Yes. I recall examining your legs just like this after you’d insisted on poisoning yourself.”
“You are dreadful,” she whispered.
“I am.” He leaned forward so his words caressed her ear as he tipped her backward onto the mattress. “Let me show you just how dreadful I can be.”