Authors: Nicole W. Lee
Chapter Thirty-Four
“I don't want to run anymore.”
Genie closed her eyes and inclined her head in despair. And yet, what else could she do? She'd left it too late.
What if she went back and pretended she’d forgotten something.
No. Too obvious.
Opening her eyes, she addressed her empty cup. “I could ask if there's a position open for a milkmaid.”
Oh sure. That'll do the trick.
“Why don't I just go back? If he really wants me to stay, I'll know.”
She brushed away a nudge on her knee.
What if he doesn't?
Then what? Refuse to leave until he comes to his senses?
A second, more determined nudge, accompanied by a familiar snuffle, wrenched her out of her reverie and returned her to the reality of the Rink Cafe.
“Domino,” she said, slipping out of the chair, and crouching down to hug him. “What are you doing here?” She released her grip and rubbed behind his ear. “Did you follow me? Lorenzo'll be angry.”
Genie was sure a light bulb suddenly manifested itself above her head. In fact, she could swear that it bounced off the centre of her skull.
Of course. This was an opportunity.
No. More than that. It was a sign.
“Domino, you naughty boy. Now I'm going to have to take you all the way home again.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Genie jerked her head round to seek out the owner of the voice. It belonged to a familiar silhouette standing over her.
“Lorenzo,” she breathed. “How did you..?”
“Bernardo!” they said in unison and laughed.
Genie stood up. “Whatever did he tell you?”
“He said I'd be a fool if I let you get away from me.”
“What do you say?” Genie held her breath.
“I said...I say - I'd be a fool if I let you get away from me.”
Genie clasped at her throat.
“So, on his advice - command, really,” he continued, “I thought I'd ask if it's really, assolutomente, without a shadow of a doubt, necessary for you to go back to England today?”
Genie shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Or tomorrow?” He stepped closer.
She shook her head.
“Or any time?”
Another step closer.
Genie shook her head.
He flicked his eyebrows. “That's settled then.”
“Assolutamente. Without a shadow of a doubt,” Genie said.
A Sneak Peek from Nicole W. Lee’s next novel.
For more information: http://www.writingwithnicole.com
Kate & the Scriptwriter
By
Nicole W. Lee
Chapter One
Sunday
"Hey!" Kate Lanagan shouted as a steel rod masquerading as a male arm brushed hers aside. She missed the handle of her powder blue suitcase and was forced to watch it trundle off on another circuit of Malta International Airport's Baggage Reclaim carousel.
The meddlesome arm grabbed hold of its travel bag.
However, since it had the dimensions of King Tot’s sarcophagus - and, no doubt the weight - the fierce drag of the carousel just didn't want to let it go.
Kate turned to throw the owner of the offending arm her best serves-you-right glower.
But it missed its mark. The male upper chest it hit was not impressed. Sweeping her gaze upwards, she found the face that belonged to the arm some six feet something from the floor.
Instantly, her revenge tactic burned up in the fire that ignited in her cheeks, only to be partially brought under control by cooler air filling her gaping mouth.
She took a deep breath and managed to re-connect her jaw.
“It's you,” she said.
“Yep,” he said, still concentrating on trying to free his bag. “It's me all right.”
“I saw you...I mean...On the plane...You were...I was--”
“On the way back from the can.” He favoured her with a glance and a brief humourless smile before returning to the battle with his bag.
He had been seated two rows back from hers. And when Kate first saw him, he was working on a sheaf of papers, occasionally scotching out some words and adding others.
She berated herself for ogling, but, something about this man grabbed her gaze and demanded that it linger.
She obeyed - soaking up his sun-bronzed, rugged features, giving him the appearance of being a man's man. But it was more than that. Although he was simply sitting in his seat reading and scribbling on papers, he seemed to carry an air of being totally self-controlled - and so deliciously dangerous. His casually clothed body - bestowed his designer attire with elegance beyond the couturier's wildest hopes. Indeed, his demeanour was the sum total of a life, she surmised, lived according to his own rules.
She almost reeled back when he glanced up at her for a millisecond.
After a brief pause, he looked up again and peered at her with an intensity that drove the drone of the aircraft engines and the subdued chatter of her fellow passengers into auditory shutdown.
He scanned her from head to toe with an expression that was both curious and openly seductive.
Finally, his gaze made contact, penetrating Kate with such intensity that it felt as though he was absorbing her thoughts, her desires - her entire life. The connection was so tangible, that she felt an electric shock spike in the pit of her stomach.
The first stages of a heady disconnection from reality filled her with an irrational desire to speak to him.
Then, a man squeezing past her in the narrow gangway jolted her back to the real world and, together with the aircraft environmental sounds erupting to full volume, she experienced a strong desire to escape.
Kate made two long strides forward and, just before she dived into her seat, she stole a quick second glance.
He laughed.
She gulped a couple of deep breaths and tried to make sense of the gamut of befuddling emotions wrestling for supremacy in her mind.
What was that?
That expression.
Those hooded eyes. He'd made love to her from four rows away.
The deep breaths didn't help.
She took two more.
“Are you all right?” her neighbour asked.
An elderly Gentleman, he had engaged her in conversation from time to time between nodding off. Kate wasn't sure if the nodding off was because she bored him, or simply because of his age. To salve her ego, she decided the latter.
“I'm fine, thank you,” she said.
“Just a bit breathless, that's all.”
Breathless was the word.
Why?
That final laugh, she decided.
Typical macho male.
Me Tarzan, you Jane.
Let's face it, he was spicy.
On a scale of 1 to 10, she gave him an easy 9. After all, a gasp or two certainly warranted a 9.
She frowned.
She'd given 9's before and still managed to control her breathing. What was it about this Number 9? Perhaps it's euphoria - the excitement of the trip.
Yes.
That’s it. Euphoria.
After all, not every novelist gets a chance to see her book being made into a movie.
“I really am fine,” she repeated to her neighbour's concerned expression.
He jerked his head down once, smiled, and nodded off.
Kate rested her head back and closed her eyes to indulge in her usual habit of making up stories about people she observed that interested her.
Her new Number 9 just had to be her next case. She prepared herself.
His image arrived with such startling clarity that a thump in her chest forced a soft, spontaneous, “Oh!” to escape from her mouth.
“Oh dear me,” said her next door neighbour. “You seem to be--”
“I'm fine,” Kate said.
“No need to worry.” She returned to creating her new story.
It wasn't easy.
Number 9s face - his presence - commanded her. It was...he was...magnetic. She shuffled in her seat, her breathing short and swift. How can this be? Was he a hypnotist, or something?
So, who was he, this man who'd sent her senses reeling?
In her mind's eye, she saw him singling out every nook, cranny, hand-hold and piton on the north face of Mount Everest in the dead of winter. Or, perhaps questing for long-buried priceless artefacts against all odds in the most extreme places, dodging poison darts and out-running head-hunters to bring the treasure home.
Her images were so vivid, she almost felt like cheering at his success.
Then 'the image' turned to face her in her mind and, once again, he explored her with what was, in retrospect, a seductive survey.
Her cheeks heated up again.
Deep breaths.
Grow up Kate.
You're not an impressionable schoolgirl, ready to swoon at the sight of a handsome hunk.
Philip had been the exception, of course.
She hadn't exactly swooned. It was more like a warm glow inside.
But it was special, eh, Philip?
She mentally messaged.
An image of the man two rows behind elbowed his way in.
Kate felt tightness in her chest and turned to look out of the window.
Why am I feeling guilty? She turned to concentrate on the seat in front.
You know I’ll always be true to you. Nothing will change that. I’ll never betray us. You’re safely locked up in my heart.
Tell you what, though, I think I’ll make that man a character in my next novel.
You wouldn't mind that, Philip, would you?
So she kept the face in front of her thoughts for the rest of the flight - just so she wouldn't forget the details.
She promised to note them down later.
The deep breaths were beginning to help.