Andrew pulled a small leather notebook from his pocket and made a notation before moving into the adjoining room. For the first time Allie noticed their suitcases, propped open on wooden stands. “If you’d like to join Miss Sinclair for tea, I’ll just finish the unpacking and see to any steaming or ironing.” He gestured for Hudson to step forward then reached for the pocket doors that divided the two rooms. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he said before sliding them closed.
But instead of joining Allie on the velvet sofa, Hudson stalked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With a rattle of the cabin door he was gone.
Allie leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh. She raised her hand to the fringe edge of the tapestry curtain and pulled it back. Staring out the window at the passing countryside she wondered how her afternoon could have taken such a disappointing turn. Somehow over the course of the past thirty minutes, she’d gone from reading romantic texts on Juliet’s balcony to sitting alone in their cabin with a china tea set in front of her and a very thorough steward in the next room.
She knew Hudson was disappointed, but although Allie appreciated the gesture he made by planning this trip, details like the location of the bathroom were no more essential to her than the actual existence of Romeo and Juliet. Spending time together was all that mattered. Somehow she needed to show him that.
And she knew just the way to do it.
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Allie pulled out her phone and opened Hudson’s text. Calling upon her memories of high school English class, she typed a reply that, like his, blended Shakespeare’s words with her own.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Her phone buzzed with a reply.
I’m apparently back in college. The bathrooms are like a dormitory. But without showers.
No showers? Allie was suddenly very thankful they would be arriving in London the next day. But she chose to ignore this development and pressed on with her creative use of the Bard’s most famous play.
O, then dear saint, let lips do what hands do; And have my lips . . . around your cock.
A few moments passed before the little dots appeared to indicate he was typing.
That was a very naughty text, Alessandra. And if memory serves, not quite a literal translation.
Complaining, dear sir?
On the contrary, but it makes me want to do very dirty things to you. Particularly your mouth.
Like?
Allie felt her face heat as she began to read Hudson’s reply, and she about jumped out of her skin when Andrew knocked on the pocket door. “Yes,” she squeaked before clearing her throat.
“Your clothes for this evening are ready, Miss Sinclair,” he said through the frosted glass panel. “May I be of any further assistance?”
A slow smile curved her lips as an idea took form. “Actually yes, Andrew, there is something you can do for me. One second, please.” She typed a quick reply telling Hudson she would meet him in the lounge car in thirty minutes, then closed the text screen. “Andrew,” she called to him as she slid open the pocket doors. “Do you think you could find me another place to get ready?”
***
In the literature Allie had read earlier in the week, the Orient Express was often referred to as a museum on rails. It was a description that rang true for all of the vintage carriages, but even more so at the Orient Bar. The lounge, or bar car as it was referred to onboard, seemed to be stopped in time, suspended in the golden age of luxury rail travel. Guests in formal evening wear sipped drinks at round tables adorned with vases of fresh flowers while others gathered around a baby grand where a pianist wove classical music with nostalgic romance.
Allie stopped at the entrance to the car, smoothing the ivory gown that clung to her every curve. She’d been saving the low-cut Grecian-style dress for a special occasion, and right now she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather wear it. Her eyes roamed the carriage until she found Hudson, dressed in a Tom Ford tux and sitting at the bar at the rear of the car. His back was to her, but even that view of Hudson Chase was enough to cause her heart to race. Her gaze slid from his broad shoulders to his dark, wavy hair. The mere thought of how her hands would grasp that unruly mane later that night had her fingers flexing against her beaded clutch.
“May I bring you something, Mademoiselle?” a young waiter asked.
“No, thank you,” she said, her eyes locked on Hudson. “I see what I want.” She made her way through the crowd, weaving between the small tables until she stood behind him. “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, the perfect combination of innocent inquiry and breathless anticipation.
Hudson swiveled to face her and amusement lit his eyes. “Not at all.” He waved a hand toward the empty barstool. “Please, join me.” His gaze dropped as she crossed her legs, intentionally allowing the deep slit to expose her bare thigh. “Champagne?”
She smiled coyly. “I’d love some.”
Hudson caught the bartender’s eye. “A glass of Cristal for the lady.”
“So what brings you to the Orient Express?” she asked, continuing their game.
“Hmm.” He took a sip of scotch from an intricately cut crystal tumbler, the facets catching the light as he lifted it to his lips. “I intended a romantic getaway with the woman I love. But there seems to be a conspiracy in place to prevent that.”
Allie smiled. “Sounds like a very lucky woman. And something tells me she’s enjoying herself immensely. Besides, the night is young. And tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.”
“Indeed it is.”
The bartender set a flute of champagne in front of her on the polished wood bar. Allie took the glass and lifted it in the air. “To new beginnings.”
Hudson clinked his glass against hers. “To new beginnings,” he said, holding her gaze as she sipped the sparkling wine.
“So what are our plans for New Year’s Eve, anyways?”
“I had it in mind to surprise you, but I’m afraid you may be disappointed since you seemed intrigued by the possibility of kissing every damn person in Italy,” he said with a smirk.
Allie smiled over the rim of her glass. “You know I was just yanking your chain a bit.”
Hudson lifted a brow at her unintentional innuendo and Allie blushed from his unspoken reply.
“Tell me, please?”
“No need for the puppy eyes, Alessandra,” Hudson chuckled. “As if I could deny you anything.”
“I do not have puppy eyes.”
“Oh yes, you do.” He shook his head. “And God help me, it works very time.”
She took another sip of champagne. It was crisp and light, and the bubbles made her feel warm all over. “Well?”
“I’ve arranged for us to spend the night aboard a private yacht on the River Thames. We’ll watch the fireworks over London Bridge, then head below deck for the remainder of the evening.”
“A boat? I’m sensing a theme here. Planes, trains, and automobiles?”
“I believe we’ve already covered planes and automobiles . . .”
“So that just leaves trains,” she said, finishing his thought. The promise held in the look that passed between the two of them sent goose bumps racing across her skin.
“Mr. Chase, your table is ready,” the maître d’ said. They followed him to the Côte d’Azur Room, a luxurious dining car decorated with opaque glass panels designed by René Lalique. Either one of them could have suggested they cut the dinner short, or even skip it altogether. But the anticipation of the night to come combined with the knowledge that they not only had all night, but a lifetime of nights to come, was an intoxicating mix. So by silent agreement they remained at the table, savoring each other while enjoying a four-course meal of decadent food, fine wine, and lingering glances. Hudson’s every move, from the way he stroked the stem of his glass to the way he licked the wine from his lips, pulled Allie deeper under his spell. By the time dessert was served, the desire charging the air between them felt like a tangible force, enveloping them in a world where nothing else existed but the two of them, their longing, their need.