Chapter Six #2
She grabbed her pack and his bag out of the car and slung them over her shoulder. “Can you make it to the bar?”
Daniel staggered toward the entrance. She caught up to provide ballast, keeping him aimed in the right direction, heading straight toward the hotel’s lounge.
After she had deposited him at a table, she went to the man tending the bar and ordered an espresso with sugar and a bottle of prosecco before she returned.
“Seriously, I should go to my room. I need to pack. Plane leaves early.” Daniel’s words were stiff.
“Sit. Breathe. Your headache has a headache.” He blinked as if trying to focus on her face.
He breathed in obediently as their drinks arrived and she took care of the bill. She poured him a glass and slid it until it touched his fingers. He took a quick drink.
He sniffed the air. “More wine for me? But you get espresso?”
She shrugged, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see her clearly. “I’m trying to have my way with you, Dr. Woodruff.”
“I thought as much,” he muttered with a hint of a smile.
“I also got two packages of aspirin. One for now, and one for the morning.”
“Don’t bother. Those don’t even make a dent.” He reached for the aspirin anyway. “What does Madame Tarot do for her headaches?”
“Meditation. Sometimes medication.” And me. She poured the pills into his hand.
“For the headaches, I have my sister’s herbal remedies.” He lifted his glass of wine. “But this works in an emergency.”
“Your sister sounds like a wizard with herbs. I’d love to get some for my mom.”
When he didn’t respond, she went on cautiously. “I assume we still have an issue with a train?”
He picked up the glass and drained it, taking the pills. “No. No issue with trains. Just a headache.” Fear. Frustration.
“Right,” she said, refilling his glass. Yeah, that’s why you nearly fell down out there.
But Mel wasn’t doing too well herself, and the espresso wasn’t going to help. His emotions were making her twitchy, and now she had the beginning of a headache.
She pulled her pendant out from under her shirt and rubbed it absently, watching as he silently finished a second glass of wine. She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake getting this sweet man drunk, because he was well on his way there.
“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” He squinted at her fingers on the moonstone. The lights in the bar weren’t strong, but still seemed to bother him. “It’s like some kind of personal talisman, isn’t it?”
She smiled and emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. “I guess you could say that. It helps me think.”
“Always thinking, aren’t you, Me-lis-sa.” He pronounced her name slowly, then took another gulp of wine.
“Finish that and let’s roll you off to bed.”
“Okee dokee.” He drained the glass in one go.
Somehow, she kept him upright and moving in the right direction until they reached his door. He stood gazing at it, clearly not focusing well.
“Where’s your key card?”
He looked down at his hands and seemed surprised to find them empty.
“Is it in your hidden pocket?”
He looked at her. “My wha?”
“Good grief.” She dropped her backpack and reached to tug at the loop that disappeared behind his belt, pulling the hidden pocket out from behind his waistband.
“Oh. Yeah. I bet it’s there,” he slurred.
She unzipped it and pulled out his key card. He watched the whole thing as if she were doing a magic trick.
“Not very hidden if you can find it that easily,” he grumbled. She smiled as she unlocked the door.
He gravitated toward the bed and she caught him before he fell on it in a heap. “Whoa. Before that, when does your plane leave in the morning?” She dropped his satchel on the desk.
“Uh, ten? I…think.”
She sighed and tugged at the contents of the hidden pocket again. His passport, credit cards, and some euros were in there, but no tickets. She looked up at him. He was wearing that lovely smile of his, softened even further by the sweet wine.
“I think it’s in my satchel,” he said. “But hey, that was fun.”
She sighed. “I’ll find it and make sure the desk wakes you up early,” she promised. “Now, sit. On the bed.”
“Yes’m.” He started tipping backward the moment he hit the mattress.
“Whoa there. Get your jacket off first.” She pulled him forward and tugged it off. Then she knelt and untied his shoes.
When she looked up, she saw him watching her intently, gripping the edge of the bed with his fingers, as if that would keep him from falling on top of her. She started to get up, but his hands went around her waist and his mouth found hers.
He tasted like prosecco and Mel did love prosecco, but then his fingers spanned her waist and his hands slid up her back, pulling her closer.
All she could feel was desire spiraling through her. She couldn’t tell whether it was hers or his. For a moment, she hesitated—he was drunk, he had no idea what he was doing. Then his mouth drifted into her hair and she lost herself in the sensations that shimmered through her and made her dizzy.
“You smell like honey and meadow grass,” he said, his fingers sliding up her back, sending warmth curling through her. “Melissa.”
“Mmmm.” His hair looked like sable silk and smelled of espresso and Mama Rosetta’s kitchen and something deeper and wilder. Then she wanted to taste him again, and she tugged at his hair to bring his mouth up to hers.
“Caffè con zucchero and chocolate,” he muttered.
She smiled against his mouth.
Attraction spiraled from her to him and back to her until she couldn’t separate his feelings from her own. She wanted… No, that was him. Or was she the one who wanted this? Did she start this, or did he?
No, he had no idea what he was doing. Doubt sent a chill through her as she felt him stiffen, his fingers still on her ribs, his lips unmoving against hers.
Mel pulled away and saw the blank look in his eyes. Daniel was no longer here with her. He was somewhere else.
She stood and his hands slid away from her, leaving him blinking and looking startled.
“Damn,” he whispered. “I’m sssorry. Did I? What did I…?”
Frustration. Guilt. Confusion. But Mel had to struggle to get her own feelings under control before she could deal with his. She grasped his arms. “It’s okay. You just zoned out for a minute.”
“But I was… I had…” His expression was contrite and confused as he looked at his hands. “Please don’t slap me. My head already hurts.”
That made her laugh, despite the tumult of emotions that was making her head pound. “It’s okay. It was my fault. I started it.”
“This usually…doesn’t happen…if I’m drunk enough.” Regret. Disappointment. Confusion.
Well, that could certainly be interpreted a few ways. But she couldn’t deal with unraveling his emotional state right now. She was at the end of her own endurance. At this rate, they would both be incapacitated.
“Bedtime for you, Professor Hot Lips.” She pushed at his shoulder and aimed him toward the pillow.
He cooperated with a grunt, falling sideways and bringing his feet and legs up with him.
“F-f-feathers,” he said.
“Yes, feather pillows and nice, soft blankets and lots of sleep.” She pulled the coverlet up over him while she reached for the strength to do this one more time.
“This is my Reverse Sleeping Beauty,” she said as she ran her hand down his arm, sending him into happy oblivion. “But you are the first true prince I have ever had to use it on. The others were merely pretenders to the throne.”
She made sure he was sound asleep, then brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.
“Addio,” she whispered, and went to find his airplane ticket.
“A rrivederci!” Francesca yelled at someone out of sight.
Timing was everything. Daniel ran out from behind the column and pretended to tuck in his shirt while he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “Scusi! Scusi.”
Francesca looked up in surprise. The taxi driver was about to load her case into the trunk.
“I’m going to miss my plane!” he said in English. “Scusi. My Italian is horrible when I’m like this. Uh. Il mio aereo. Uh. Sto per perdere? I’m so sorry. May I steal your taxi?”
She frowned at him. “Steal?”
The taxi driver spat something in Italian that Daniel didn’t quite catch, and Francesca’s face cleared. “Oh!” She looked around. There were, as Daniel had hoped, no other available taxis, and the hotel’s courtesy shuttle had already left.
“Per favore? I will be eternally grateful, signorina.” He leaned over as if trying to catch his breath.
“I—”
“Perderà il suo treno, signore!” the driver said. “She misses her train!”
Daniel wiped imaginary sweat off his brow and looked around. He didn’t have to fake the anxiety.
“No. No. I may take again one… There is another in an hour,” Francesca said, reaching for her bag. “Dr. Woodruff would not find another plane.” Her face cleared and she smiled. “I will have more of the coffee with my friends.”
The driver shrugged and grabbed Daniel’s bags.
“Oh, grazie mille! Grazie grazie mille, Francesca!” He grabbed the top of the door and, with an indrawn breath, took her hand firmly and kissed it.
Francesca laughed, delighted. “No problema, Dr. Woodruff. Arrivederci. Abbia un volo sicuro!” she said. “A safe flight, yes?”
Daniel dove into the taxi. As the driver circled the car and got in, Daniel saw Francesca motion to one of the hotel staff to help her with her bags.
He continued to watch her while the taxi drove out of the portico.
“Now, go on back in and spend lots of quality time with your friends,” he urged under his breath. “Go on. That’s it.”
When she did, Daniel sank into the seat with a sigh of relief. The driver watched him in the rearview mirror with a suspicious frown, but that was all. A fare was a fare, and the airport was a much better fare than the train station.