She swayed as the driver took a corner too fast.
Whatever Wulf saw, or didn’t see, through the glass must have satisfied him, because he let his weight shift from his feet to the wrist and hand looped on the strap. “Six in the ’Stan.”
“Iraq?”
“Four.”
“Ten?” She gasped at the impact of his answer. One trip to Afghanistan had left her feeling jangly in crowds. Of course he expected threats everywhere. “You’ve had ten combat tours since 9/11?”
He shrugged. “Give or take.”
“I’ll confess that I almost freaked out on the Spanish Steps before you found me.” She tapped the seat next to her. “People, noise, everybody drives like crazy—but this isn’t a combat zone. It’s Rome.” Someone had turned that doorknob, but it wasn’t rational to think that the man from the line had chased them. Wulf had secrets, and so did she, but no one would chase them through Rome.
Would they?
He sank to the leather-covered bench less than a hand’s distance from her leg.
“I’ll help you remember this isn’t Afghanistan if you’ll help me,” she said.
They sat together. They didn’t move or touch, but the longer they sat with the bus vibrating around them, the higher the energy ratcheted, until the air felt supercharged. One touch from him and she feared sparks would shoot out of her skin like she was an overhead power line.
“What next?” His question shocked her into twitching against the window.
Did he mean the next bus stop, or what would happen between them? She answered the easy question. “St. Peter’s.” She tried to smile. “Two thousand people with cameras.”
He managed a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Lunch instead? That exercise made me hungry.”
“Sure, you can laugh, but that exercise made me scared.” She couldn’t forget standing in that odd-shaped room while the doorknob turned. “And I liked that hat.”
“I’ll find you another.” His hand reached for the hair clip at her nape.
She batted him away. “No touching. And we really shouldn’t—”
“Do I need to feed you again to have a civil conversation?”
“All we ever do is eat.” He was right though; she was famished.
“I’d happily pursue other activities.” Desire flared in his eyes and crossed the space between their bodies, so hot and sudden she raised a hand to her throat. “Say the word.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tighten her lips enough to swallow, couldn’t count fast enough to measure her own pulse, but none of that mattered when he stared at her with such hunger.
“That’s all you have to do—say yes—and you won’t think about food for days.”
She tried not to imagine spending days wrapped around him. She knew how good he smelled, the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands. The only sensation left to her imagination was his taste, and that answer could be hers right now. And it would cost her integrity at a minimum; maybe her career. “You said...lunch?”
In the silence, he searched her eyes and must have seen how she clung to her responsibilities.
“Coward.” He leaned away, and the taut skin around his eyes loosened with a smile.
Her pulse slowed enough to permit coherent speech. “I prefer to be called cautious.”
“Trying to convince yourself, or me?” His grin broadened.
Dammit, eyes that beautiful shouldn’t have been issued eyebrows that mischievous.
They both stood when the bus eased into the next stop. She wanted a meal, but the narrow-eyed scan Wulf gave out the back windows before he let her proceed between the seats made her wonder if food wasn’t his main motivation.
“Signorina e Signore.” As the Hotel d’Inghilterra bartender spoke, he placed a tray carrying after-dinner espresso, the saucers adorned with sugar cubes and spirals of lemon zest, on the ottoman in front of Theresa and Wulf. She’d agreed to a last coffee in a private alcove off the lobby in order to delay the moment when Wulf would suggest he escort her to her room. She didn’t want to banish him into the night, not after a day and evening exploring Rome together, but she couldn’t change the rules both of them had sworn oaths to obey.
Opposite their couch, a tilted mirror showed their side-by-side reflections. Folding doors divided this secluded nook, with its wine-red upholstery and discreet lighting, from the lobby. Be honest. Today was a date, her conscience said, with a sergeant. If called to task, she had no other explanation. And it’s no fun to pay for the ride, the proverbial bad angel on her shoulder continued in a voice that sounded like her ranch-born roommate’s, but never get to pet the pony.
Wulf’s cup rattled against its saucer when he returned his espresso to the tray. “You don’t want this coffee, do you?”
His question ignited tremors for reasons she knew she shouldn’t explore. Maybe it was his tone, as dark and rich as the tiny chocolates they’d shared after dinner, or maybe it was the unbidden thought of what she wanted. Him, pinning her to the couch and kissing her the way his eyes promised whenever their gazes locked. Her espresso sloshed over the demitasse rim, so he curled his fingers around her hand and removed the drink to rest safely beside his.
“Relax.” Warm and gentle, those same fingers tilted her chin.
She closed her eyes as he neared. Her skin heated until his breath felt almost cool as it brushed the corner of her mouth and along her cheek.
“We saw everything you wanted today.” After stroking her bare arm, he eased his hand between her spine and the couch as if worried she’d spook and bolt.
Far from it. She wanted to slide closer.
“I followed your directions.” He arched her body the fraction of an inch that brought her breasts against the wall of his chest.
Her hands drifted to his shoulders, then down his back to the groove where his shoulder muscles overlapped. They were hard and distinct, and the pleasure of touching him sizzled from her fingers to the rest of her body.
“I went everywhere you wanted to go.”
The empty ache inside her needed to be filled, yet he was taking his sweet time.
“But we didn’t do everything you wanted, did we?” Then his mouth covered hers.
She’d been kissed before. What Jersey girl hadn’t? But she’d never known a man who kissed like this. His lips were perfect, firm but not overwhelming as they molded to hers. His hands cradled her head and rubbed her scalp and neck at spots that made her gasp with pleasure. His kisses submerged the methodical doctor into a woman who’d sit entwined with a man on a hotel couch. The doctor wouldn’t let her hands wander across his shoulders to seek the hair above his collar. Noooo, that woman would never lose her self-control. Only a wanton would pull him closer and let her fingers trace the muscles wrapping his spine. The doctor would never move her chest in tiny circles to create delicious pressure against a male chest. Only a wanton would offer her neck and encourage his kisses to drift lower.
She opened her eyes. In the mirror over Wulf’s shoulder, her tanned hands contrasted with his white shirt. Her fingers shifted to his hair. It was multicolored from the sun, like gold and sand and honey gliding over her skin.
“You’re watching us, aren’t you?” His lips hummed over the nerves on her clavicle. Her neck begged for the magic of his mouth, while his hand slipped from her waist upward along her ribs, toward breasts that swelled to invite him. His reflection claimed her reflection, consumed her with his kisses.