“How did you know my name?”
“That girl said it. The one you came to the bar with.”
Katalin.
I smiled, and touched my free hand to his shoulder. “Well, then. You know my name, and I know yours. How else could we get to know each other?”
I let the hand on his stomach slide up until his chest arced outward. God, if his body looked half as perfect as it felt, I wanted to use it as a dinner table.
He swayed toward me, and the scent of him, woodsy and masculine, meshed perfectly with the morning air. His fingers touched my rib cage, and I shivered. Long and strong, those fingers could play me like a piano, and it would be a masterpiece.
He exhaled a heavy breath, and I nearly groaned at the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. I gripped the back of his neck, and a low rumble resonated in his chest.
I lifted myself up on my toes, my lips level with his chin, and said, “Feel free to keep showing me how not soft you are.”
The hand on my ribs flexed, and my shirt bunched in his fingers.
“Goddamn it.” He groaned, and tipped his head back away from mine.
Was that a good sign?
I resisted the urge to crawl up his body, and settled instead for wrapping my arms more fully around his shoulders. I tipped his head back down toward mine, and his breath puffed across my lips, warm and sweet. I pulled myself closer, and I felt the start of something pressing against my stomach.
I let out a breathy sigh at the same time that he pulled away.
He put several feet between us, and then in a low voice said, “You should go. Get some sleep.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’ve had a long night.”
I blinked again. I had hoped it would become an even longer night.
“That sounds an awful lot like chivalry to me. Boring chivalry.”
He took another step away from me. “This is you, right?” He pointed to the hostel at my back.
“Uh, yeah, it is, but—”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
But what if I didn’t want to be left alone?
He took a few more steps backward, until he stood in the sunlight that washed the main street.
“Good night, Kelsey. Or Good morning.”
Then he left, leaving me alone, still a little drunk, and mind-numbingly turned on.
“What the f**k?” I said aloud, my words echoing through the small street just as a tiny old lady opened up a second-floor window on the building across from me. I waved a hand at her, and called out an apology before heading to the hostel entrance.
What had just happened? He wanted me. I’d felt that much, and there was no way that was a cell phone or something else in his pocket. Unless they’d started making pockets in a very awkward spot.
I rubbed my hands over my eyes and up into my hair.
Well, that made it official. Tonight sucked balls.
After a pitiful few hours tossing on my hostel bed, I gave up and rose as the rest of my room was waking. I dressed quickly before Creeper Chris could wake up and watch. He’d been staying in this hostel for several months already when I arrived, like a bad case of bed bugs they couldn’t seem to shake. And after the night I’d had, I might end up punching him if he looked at me longer than two seconds.
I grabbed my toothbrush and headed for the communal bathroom down the hall. I used my elbow to push open the door, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Someone must have had even more to drink than I’d had the night before because the bathroom smelled atrocious. No wonder I’d seen that Canadian girl brushing her teeth back in our room.
I took a deep breath, and ran into the bathroom just long enough to wet my toothbrush, and then I bolted back to the hallway.
I leaned against the wall with a groan and set to brushing. For what must have been the hundredth time, I assured myself that Hunt had only blown me off because I’d been sick. This hadn’t occurred to me when I was pressed against him because, well . . . my mind had had a singular focus then. But when I got into my room, I realized how ridiculous it was to think he would kiss me after seeing me lose the contents of my stomach in the middle of the street. Not exactly sexy.
That was the reason. It had to be. It was the only one that made sense, really.
I did another speed run into the bathroom to wash out my mouth, and then went to grab my things.
Maybe it was time to suck it up and start staying in a hotel. I’d chosen hostels not because of the cheaper price, but to meet people (and to piss off my father as much as possible). And sure . . . both tactics had worked out well. I met some fellow travelers, some of whom I’d become intimately acquainted with, and my dad had blown a gasket, saying I was going to end up sold as a sex slave or bleeding in an alley.
That was Dad. Never one to sugarcoat his feelings.
But without being able to see his red, angry face in person, the hostel was proving not worth the trouble.
I’d look into some hotels this afternoon.
I stepped outside, savoring the fresh air. I made myself look away from the spot where Hunt and I had stood that morning and rounded the corner straight into the beauty of Budapest. The Paris of the east, that’s what people called it. It was a gorgeous mix of old and new, nature and architecture. The sight was almost enough to dull the headache forming just over my right eye. Either it was a hangover coming on or that bathroom had been filled with biohazardous materials.
Whatever the reason . . . I needed a pick-me-up. Bad. And coffee just wasn’t going to be enough.
I walked a few blocks to the nearest Internet café, and paid cash for fifteen minutes on the computer. I didn’t bother checking my e-mail. The only person who ever wrote was Dad’s secretary. He didn’t even care enough to write me himself, so I didn’t bother caring enough to answer. I logged on to Facebook, and had one new message.