Page 37 of Out of the Gold

Melody

My brain turnsto mush as Charles’s eyes devour my lips.

I can almost feel his lips caressing mine, bringing me to ecstasy with the simple joining. Without thought, my mouth opens and pushes slightly toward him. My pulse reignites in a faster and faster allegro tempo. Anticipating. Wanting.Needing.

He leans back.

My pulse stutters and, self-conscious, I reach for my knitting needles—only to realize they’re in my purse. I’m out of my element here. With him. Charles. Chase. Whoever he is.

“People are looking at us,” he whispers.

Understanding dawns. They were intruding on our private moment, one that was for no one but him and me. I sit up straighter. Struggling to regain my composure, I cast about for a topic of conversation. “I had a lovely time in Positano today, Charles.”

He smiles, and my insides flip. The lowering sun glints off blue eyes that rival the color of the water we’re on. “The last part was my favorite.”

Is he flirting with me? This man who has been driving me crazy in his trailer twice daily? Tentatively, I reply, “Who knew Doctor Manipul8 likes to shop in little boutiques?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Maybe it’s because his dresser has such good taste.” He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “And I desperately want to know how she tastes, too.”

Holy shit. This is for real.

We both collapse against our chairs, and he puts his arm around the back of mine. We watch the shoreline disappear while the ferry takes us toward our home away from home. His finger rubs my upper arm. Resting my head on his shoulder, I inhale the salty scent of the sea and the light grassy one of the man who’s unexpectedly turning my world upside down.

About twenty minutes later, the ferry docks in Amalfi. Charles picks up my bags of Positano treasures and carries them for me, despite my telling him I could do it. This side of the man is much different from the one I’ve come to loathe in his trailer. With an agent who offers him roles he doesn’t want, and a personal assistant who caters to his every whim.

Charles grabs my hand as we walk down the gangplank, the brim of his hat downward. A bunch of other passengers crane their necks trying to catch a glimpse of the man the paparazzi were chasing, causing him to lengthen his stride. I extend my legs to match. Once we’re away from the crowd, walking toward the main area of town, I say, “I think we’re free of all of them.”

“Hope so.”

I expect him to drop my hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brings us toward a line of restaurants on the waterfront. Confused as to his intentions, I hook my thumb backward. “My hotel is back the other way.”

“I thought we’d get some dinner, if that’s okay with you?”

Since I’ve only had pizza and gelato all day, my stomach screams its desire to be fed. But I can get room service. “Uhm, yeah, sure. I could eat.” I take another step. “But don’t you want to be with your—” I search for the right word. Posse? Girlfriends? Lovers? I settle for the least offensive, considering the drastic turn of events over the past hour. “Friends?”

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re the only person I want to share time with.”

“Really?” The word leaves my mouth before I can censor it.

He smiles and tucks some of my hair behind my ear, closing his eyes. “I really do.”

“Oh, okay.”

Hand-in-hand, we stroll past several restaurants looking for a menu that captures our attention. We decide on a small place a little off the beaten path, less touristy. Ascending to the second floor, we’re shown to a window seat with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

I settle into my seat, placing the crisp white linen napkin onto my lap. “I’ve never eaten here.”

“Me neither. Let’s hope it’s as good as it looks.”

I let my eyes wander around the dining room, which is filled with native Italian speakers. “Well, if the clientele is any indication, I think we’re in for a treat.”

The waiter comes by and Charles orders a bottle of pinot noir. He licks his lips. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m dying for a good pinot.”

“Not at all. I’m always up for trying new things. I’m usually a Cosmo girl myself.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

His words take me off guard. “I might be persuaded. After all, my lips are sealed about how much of a gentleman you are by carrying all my purchases.” I don’t remind him about his confession about the stage—or our almost kiss.

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