Souvenirs (9 page)

He wanted her heart.

Her toes tickled up his calf. He put everything aside as she turned her drowsy gaze on him. “Can’t you sleep?”

“No. But that’s normal,” he reassured her. “My brain wants to work on its own schedule.”

“I know the feeling. You want to get it all done while you have the focus.”

“Exactly.” He gave her an out because he wanted to think of her more than himself. “It makes it difficult to share space with me.”

“Unless you share it with someone who works in the same way.”

His heart swelled when she didn’t take the chance to escape. “It drove Noah crazy at Uni. He’s my oldest friend, and now we’re business partners on several ventures.” Ben ignored that one of the ventures was
him
. “His wife, Fiona, is my P.A.”

“Not his?”

“She said he would make her batty.” Ben was tired of talking to her shadow. “If you’re awake, could we switch on a light?”

She complied, and he blinked in the sudden glare, shading his eyes with a pillow scented with her spicy vanilla perfume. Grace came back to his side, warming him.

“I always thought it should be hard,” she murmured.

“Sorry, what?” Ben rose on one elbow.

“Oh, dear.” She muffled her embarrassed squeal by plastering her hands over her face. She peeked through her fingers, and his chuckle grew to a laugh. “Um . . . more difficult. I always thought relationships should be more difficult.”

“Because anything worth it doesn’t come easily.” His face heated when she waggled her eyebrows. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes. Fighting for it proves you’re worthy, that the relationship is worth it.”

“Only if both people are fighting the same battle, not waging it against each other.” Ben traced her collarbone with his finger. His lips traveled the path his fingers had made. “And
you
should never have to prove your worth to anyone.”

Pushing aside how complicated this would get later, he brushed his mouth over hers. Then whispered, “Sometimes the best things are the simplest ones, doll.”

It didn’t seem so simple the next morning as they juggled breakfast and bags and hurried through the lobby to catch the bus. After greeting their mothers, he and Grace were waylaid by every friend they’d made. The longer they talked and the more wide smiles he saw, the more Ben searched for a place to hide.

By the time they reached their seats, Adam and Nora were muffling their laughter with their tour schedules.

“Why do I feel like everyone on this trip knows?” Ben grumbled.

Adam cackled.

“You’re not helping, mate,” Ben scolded. “Doll, could you . . .”

He trailed off as his brain shut down. She’d loosened the knot in her damp hair, and the scent of her shampoo grabbed him by the balls. He was instantly hard, hungry to taste her, fighting the urge to feel her against him. He shifted in his seat and took her hand, and Adam’s laughter shook his entire body. This time Ben closed his eyes and grinned.

His glee faded as the bus pulled into traffic on the way to the train station. They were leaving Austria for Italy. Arriving in Italy meant they’d soon reach Paris, and then they’d go home.

Each city brought a change. London’s tension had been replaced by Vienna’s anticipation and, if he was honest, Salzburg had brought a little worry. He needn’t have bothered. Grace kept her bags together and organized. She didn’t faff about or natter endlessly, or grizzle when he couldn’t sleep. She even had her own book light. At the gym this morning, she’d kept to a well-established routine and listened to her iPod. She didn’t invade his privacy.

He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. His loose joints and shaking muscles had little to do with his workout, and their late arrival had nothing to do with poor time management. They’d already invaded each other’s privacy several times.

Even with his eyes closed, he knew she was setting up her favorite distractions. The pages of her book fluttered, and she sighed. The leather seat creaked as she settled in, and then her feet tapped the floor in rhythm with whatever tune blared into her ears.

The tapping stopped, and he opened his eyes. Next to him, she’d stilled. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling the way she did over anything with sugar in it.

Nora extended her hand, offering him a splitter so he and Grace could share the same player. She and Adam were already using one. “It’s an extra,” she whispered.

Even after everything he and Grace had shared, Ben was uneasy about invading this space. His curiosity won out. He tapped the pause button.

Grace pulled her earbuds free. “Everything okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” He plugged the splitter into place and kissed her, hard and quick. “Can we share?”

“Okay.” She replaced her earbuds and returned to her book. Ben restarted the music, closed his eyes, and let Rimsky-Korsakov become his lullaby.

Chapter 8

A week later, Grace watched the Roman night fade into a bleary dawn. Outside their window, the city began to wake. Right now it was all percussion, the cymbals of garbage trucks and timpani rolls of delivery trucks. The horn section would arrive soon.

A year ago today she’d held her mother as she’d wept over the loss of another husband.

Because her father’s death was sudden, Sunny’s reaction had been delayed. She’d made it through the interment plans, the wake, and the funeral. She’d even gone back to work right away. Then one afternoon, Grace had come home from class to find her mother huddled in the bed, curled around her wedding picture. Unsure of what to do, Grace had panicked. Sunny had dried her tears and they’d had peppermint ice cream for dinner. Still, Grace heard her crying in her room every night for months afterward.

In contrast, her stepfather’s death had been drawn out through a steady decline and an untold number of doctors, hospital stays, and treatments. At the end, all three of them had been exhausted. Sunny’s bravery had held until he’d taken his last breath, and then she’d crumbled. This time, older and wiser, Grace had known to let her cry. It had helped, but in the past year Grace had watched her mother shrink. This trip was a Godsend, and bless Bill’s heart for knowing exactly what they’d needed.

But now, memories of loss intruded. Grace snuggled deeper into her robe and remembered everything about her stepfather. Which led to the faded memories of her father—his laugh, his gentle voice as he’d helped her with her math homework, the way he’d guided her hands when they’d planted flowers for her mother’s birthday.

Lost in her thoughts, she wasn’t aware Ben was awake until his large, warm hand covered hers as he knelt next to the chair. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing him in her room, waking with him in her bed. He had skin most women would envy and his chest hair tickled her nose while she slept. Even now, relaxed, the dips and valleys of his muscles were showcased by the light filtering through the curtain.

However, his face always captured her attention. It shaped differently for every mood and every activity. Right now the angles were softened by sleep and concern.

“Today?”

She nodded. “She’ll need me.”

He stood, keeping hold of her hand as he helped her to her feet. Then he held her in an embrace that had nothing to do with sex. She relaxed against him and borrowed his strength.

Once downstairs, they found a subdued Sunny sitting with Camille at breakfast, separated from their group. Grace took the seat next to her mother. Her frail smile broke Grace’s heart.

“Good morning, Mama.” Grace wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. She’d foregone her bright colors and light fabrics for gray and denim. “What do you want to do today?”

“I want to stay in my room.” Sunny played with one of her earrings. “I want to stay in bed, cry, and remember. And eat chocolate cake.” Her voice quivered. “Bill loved chocolate cake.”

Ben earned Grace’s gratitude when he looked up at their server. “We’d like four slices of chocolate cake, please.”

“Cake? For breakfast?” The young woman passed a dubious eye over the table.

“Yes. We’ll also need an urn of coffee, as well as fresh tea. Thank you.”

The waitress stood at the table, wide-eyed and basking in his presence. Ben winked at Grace.

“Thank you, Ben dear,” her mother said in a watery voice.

They ate their odd breakfast in companionable silence. Ben breached the next topic as Sunny set her fork on an empty plate.

“How about a short walk?” he asked. “The Trevi Fountain is close by.”

Sunny shook her head. “I don’t think I—”

“Just to the fountain,” he persisted. “We can come right back.”

Grace looked up in time to catch the nod passing between him and Camille. She added her persuasion. “You won’t be able to rest until you get the sugar and caffeine out of your system.”

“Okay,” Sunny sighed, “to the fountain.”

They played the game for the rest of the day.
Let’s go up the Spanish Steps to get there. Let me get a look at that plant in the garden. Don’t you think it would like nice under the trees at home? Camille, did you see the sculpture around the bend? I’m peckish. How about some fruit and a sandwich?

They returned to the hotel in the mid-afternoon. Their mothers left the elevator on their floor, headed for a nap rather than a shut-in crying jag.

Once the doors closed, Grace pulled on Ben’s shirt and stood on her toes. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she murmured before she kissed him, tears misting her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Mum used to do it when I wasn’t well. ‘Just get out of bed and see. Take a shower. Have a little breakfast.’ After Andrew died, I did it for her.”

They reached their room, and the door closed behind them. He moved with an ease that would have been impossible a week ago. Then, she’d thought of him as just another good-looking guy. Now, she hated the petty description. He paid attention to others around him, he was kind and funny, shy and intelligent, confident and graceful. It really was dumb luck she had literally stumbled into him.

“I can hear you thinking,” he teased. His lashes shaded his eyes and his teeth caught his bottom lip.

She walked to him and curved her arms around his waist, her hands under his shirt. She pushed the fabric up, baring his skin.

“I thought you wanted to take a nap,” he said as he shrugged free of his clothes.

“We can sleep in a minute.”

“A minute? Gee thanks,” he snickered as he unbuttoned her blouse.

While he traced her muscles, she tasted the skin at his throat. His pulse hammered against her lips before she traveled to his collarbone and then down to his flat nipple. As it pebbled against her tongue, she unfastened his pants.

He reclined on the bed, pulling her with him, and she started over, kissing him until they were both breathless and then continuing down his body. His salty skin smelled of bay and citrus and his muscles rippled under her attention.

“Grace.”

She felt as if she was smiling all over. The way he said her name, the look on his face, made her feel like she was made of gold.

She kissed down his body until she reached her goal and closed her lips over him. His large body quaked under her as he tangled his hands in her hair. She didn’t stop until his groans echoed from the walls.

Climbing up the mattress, she looked into his hazy eyes and sleepy, satisfied grin. Then she snuggled against him and fell asleep.

When she woke, he was staring through her, deep in thought.

“Hi.” She pushed the cobwebs from her brain. “What’s up?”

“Is it that obvious?” He grimaced.

“‘S okay.”

He took a deep breath. “I have a job away from London when we get back. I’ll be gone from home for six months, at least.”

“Okay.” She struggled to string together the connections she knew he’d already made. The combination of sex, a nap, and his proximity addled her brain. “And?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for you to come to London and be alone, or for me to drag you with me.”

She started to protest, but he pressed a gentle finger against her lips. “But I want to.”

“Oh.” The word was small, and she felt smaller, less somehow at the mention of life without him.

“I don’t want to lose this.” The look on his face melted her heart, and it threatened to spill from her.

“Me neither. But honey, I’m committed to a project, too. A lot of other people are depending on me.”

Her tears leaked free. She hated to tell him no, to deny herself.

“Baby,” he groaned as he pulled her to him. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I didn’t expect . . .” She lost her words and simply waved her hand up and down his body.

“I know.”

She fell silent, working on a solution to the new problem in front of her, listening to him breathe and the rapid thud of his heart.

After a long moment, he huffed a deep breath. “We need to get ready for dinner.” His eyes were shadowed and his grin was sad. “We’ll get this sorted.”

Grace unwound from the covers and stood. “Ben . . .” It was on the tip of her tongue.
I’m an urban fantasy writer. A reclusive nerd with an obsessive fan following, and my first novel is becoming a movie. My life is a zoo, and it’s not fair to drag you along.

He stood and nudged her to the bathroom. “No more heavy stuff.”

She’d never think of showers the same. Water dripped from his hair and down his nose. She trailed her nails along his skin, following rivulets over his muscles and hearing his groan over the hiss of spray. Her body responded as his touch grew insistent, and when his teeth scraped from her neck to her ear, her whimper earned a deep, sexy laugh.

She struggled for words as he stroked his fingers up her thighs. “Do you think the housekeeping staff wonders why there are condoms in the shower?”

“They’re probably counting how many are in the dustbin.”

“Ben.” Her indignant squeal dissolved into a groan. “Oh
God
, Ben.”

By the time they were finished, they were late. As Ben ran for the elevator, Grace tried to walk, balance her purse, and tie her hair into a style that didn’t advertise their afternoon’s activities.

The elevator doors closed, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. He still smelled like soap, and his muscles yielded against hers. She had to tell him the truth tonight.

He nudged her, and she blinked up into his expectant, knowing grin. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m not the only one with an expressive face, doll.” He held her gaze. “I like it. But to ask my question,
again—
what was your father’s name?”

“Lucas. Why?”

“Something I have on my mind.”

“Be-en.”

“No whinging.”

“Huh?”

“Whining,” he explained as he kissed her nose. “And you won’t have to wait long.”

She didn’t. Ben had arranged for a private table in the restaurant, and the four of them were alone to enjoy memories and celebrate people who’d meant so much to each of them.

He raised his glass. “To Bill, a wonderful man gone too soon. Who is now sharing memories and laughter with Lucas over the women they loved. And who have hopefully been joined in their laughter by Douglas and Andrew, much as we have been joined by our own. May we remember that those men, who wanted nothing more than to see us happy, are watching us live lives they never expected, and they are proud of us for living them.”

Grace dabbed her eyes with a napkin, her intended confession forgotten.