I wave goodbye to the single mom who looks a little enchanted as she talks to the man waiting for her. I can’t wait to tell Axel about the two of them and how they deserve a train romance.

  When I reach my compartment, I flop down on the same bed we shared earlier in the trip, and I call him.

  “How’s your compartment?” I ask when he answers.

  “You trying to trade, Valentine?”

  I smile. “If yours is better, we should sneak into yours tonight.”

  I can hear him smile over my boldness, over the way I ask for what I want.

  “Get over here now. Act casual, like we need to, I dunno—”

  “—plot.”

  “Yes. That. Brilliant.”

  Seconds later, he’s opening the door to his compartment, and I’m stepping inside so I can ask for something from the guy I couldn’t stand when I shared a table with him in New York more than a month ago.

  And it’s not about Amy and the billionaire. It’s about us. I’m eager to wring as much joy as I can from the waning days. “What if we make the most of these last two nights?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, sounding full of hope too.

  “We finish the book tour tomorrow afternoon in Copenhagen. But we don’t leave till the next day. Spend it with me. Just me. All day, all night.” I take a beat, gearing up for the real ask. “Like a date.”

  His blue eyes twinkle. Then, he lifts a finger, swipes it across my eyelid gently and holds it up. “Eyelash. Make a wish.”

  I blow on it, wishing there were a way for Axel and me.

  “What did you wish for?” he asks.

  I already know it won’t come true, but I still don’t reveal my wishes. “I can’t tell you, but I can tell you what my fountain wish was.”

  “Yeah? Does that mean it came true? It was my iron dick, right?” He’s trying to make me laugh, to keep the moment light, but I can tell he wants more from my wish.

  I play with the neck of his shirt. “I wished to have a good trip, and I did. What about you? What was yours?”

  He shakes his head. “It hasn’t come true, but I’m close. So damn close.”

  “Tell me then?”

  He just shrugs, noncommittal, and I hope to learn his wish someday. I hope, too, that it comes to pass.

  Then he kisses me, and I taste both wistfulness and joy.

  33

  NO MORE WORDS

  Hazel

  Dinner is finished. Drinks are flowing. The train rumbles across the rolling hills of Germany as we travel deeper into the night on our way to Denmark. I finish the last of my chardonnay, but it’s my only glass this evening.

  I don’t want to be tipsy or drunk on my final night on the train. I do want to be alone with Axel, but I also feel a little guilty for ditching our guests.

  So we stay a little longer at the table in the dining car—now the liquor car.

  The conversation with the group bends like the tracks, and eventually it turns once more to us.

  “Have you thought about Noah and Lacey?” Jackie asks, bolder than she’s been before, determined.

  I put on my best polite, happy face—this is a secret we need to keep. “We’ll see who catches Lacey’s eye.”

  “When do you start writing?” Steven asks.

  “After we return to New York,” Axel answers, and that makes me happy and sad at the same time.

  “Are you looking forward to working together again?” Jackie asks, but before we can answer, she tilts her face. “You know, I don’t think I know this. How did you two even meet in the first place?”

  It’s been so long. Axel’s been a part of my life since I became the person I always wanted to be.

  Alecia jumps in with her own answer: “I bet you have a meet-cute like in a romance novel.”

  I glance at Axel with a smirk. “Too bad we didn’t meet in an elevator,” I joke.

  “That got stuck,” he adds.

  “And then there would have been a power outage,” I say.

  “And I’d have had to single-handedly climb out the top of the elevator shaft to save the building.”

  Nice finish, I mouth, then I start a new made-up meet-cute. “Or at an ice-skating rink, where you bumped into me skating.”

  “Naturally, you were wearing a cute hat,” he says in a too-charming tone.

  “You caught me before I fell,” I say the same way.

  “But then you sliced my shin open with the blade,” he says, his voice growing darker, matching the shift in our fable.

  “You stifled a groan, but when you spotted a man with dead eyes in the back of the rink slinking off, you quickly scooped me up and got me out of harm’s way.”

  He shakes his head, sighing all over-the-top. “Too bad we didn’t meet in an art gallery when you were trying to steal a painting that I was trying to retrieve.”

  My eyes brighten. My whole soul does too. “And then we spent the entire four hundred pages in a cat-and-mouse game, falling for each other but working toward opposing goals.”

  Wow, that hits close to reality.

  Too close?

  I don’t even know anymore, but soon, it’s like no one else is here as we write our mash-up meet-cutes, marrying our two genres and making up a whole new starting point for us.

  After a final scenario involving a picnic then a chase on a motorcycle, Jackie claps, and Maria bows, and Steven lifts a glass.

  “But what’s the real story?” Uma the Redheaded College Girl asks pointedly.

  The truth? It’s simple and not exciting.

  “We met in a coffee shop,” I admit. “I was there with TJ, writing with him, but when he stepped out to take a call, I looked around and saw Axel a few tables over, tapping away on his laptop. His leather jacket was on the back of the seat, he ran a hand through his hair, and he concentrated so fiercely on the screen that I knew. I just knew. Still, I asked him if he was a writer and said I was one too.”

  “What did you think when she talked to you?” Alecia asks.

  “I thought…what a nosy writer,” he deadpans.

  I slug his shoulder.

  He straightens. “Fine, fine. I thought…” His mouth is soft, his eyes warm, as he finishes, “she was interesting.”

  Uma snorts. “Bullshit. You had a crush on her.”

  For a second, Axel goes still next to me. Uncomfortably still.

  She can’t be right? Axel didn’t have a crush on me then, nor has he ever. He set me up with Max, for all intents and purposes. He was only ever attracted to me. That’s not the same as a crush. Not the same. Not at all.

  But the car remains silent. The only sound is the chug of the train, the rattle of the wheels.

  “Of course he didn’t,” I say lightly. Someone has to break the heavy silence. “We became friends then.”

  “We did,” Axel says quickly, but his voice is strained.

  Does this conversation touch a sore spot? Maybe because of the attraction he felt then—an attraction he still feels.

  One I feel, too, growing stronger and bigger every day. Every hour.

  So much I don’t want to stay in this car another minute.

  We make it to the sleeper compartments thirty minutes later, next to each other.

  “Don’t take long,” he rumbles, and it’s an order.

  No, it’s a command, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

  I turn the handle for my compartment—appearances and all, but as I unlock it, these appearances seem pointless. It’s one more night. I’m not sure I care if someone sees us.

  I turn around, catch his gaze, hold it for a long, heady beat. My stomach flips. What is happening to me?

  From several feet away, doors open and shut, voices carry, but I ignore them as I close the distance between us and follow him to his sleeper car.

  The second the door shuts, we kiss. It’s chaotic and consuming, a hot, wet kiss that’s somehow both poignant and sexy.

  When he breaks it, he’s breathing out hard, holding my face. “Uma was right.” He swallows roughly, like it hurts to say that.

  I smile, a little shocked, and curious too. “You had a…?” I can’t quite finish the question—had a crush on me—it’s too unexpectedly wonderful to say out loud.

  “I did,” he admits plainly.

  “You never let on,” I whisper. This moment feels fragile, like in it we could break whatever this is between us.

  He gives a rueful shrug. So unlike the cocky, sarcastic smart-aleck man I’ve known. But I’ve been learning new things about Axel on this trip. He’s been revealing his other side. His hurts, his heartaches, maybe even the things he doesn’t like about himself, the parts he’s trying to change.

  We all have those parts. But it takes a real man, or woman, to see them, more so to admit them, then to change them.

  He’s that guy, flawed and so damn real it makes my chest ache. I shake my head, a little amazed. “You’re a good secret keeper,” I say.

  “It was easier,” he says quietly, then he lowers his face, wincing. But he lifts it again quickly, his gaze resolute. “I wanted you to meet Max because I knew you’d like him. I knew he was your type. But it made it easier too. For me.”

  I nearly reel from the admission. His crush was so consuming he engineered another romance for me. That’s so huge I don’t know what to say or to think.

  “I thought it would help me get over my crush on you,” he adds, apologetically. “I didn’t want to ruin our partnership by telling you about this stupid fucking crush.” He’s so frustrated with himself, but then he sighs, a worried sound. “Now you hate me for real, don’t you? But I had to tell you.”

  My heart squeezes even harder. It’s beating so fast. “I don’t hate you,” I whisper, emotion already knotting my throat, and like that, I do know what to say. “I really, really don’t hate you.”

  Then, before I tell him how I truly feel, how much I don’t hate him at all, I cover his lips with mine.

  I kiss him again.

  It’s messy and needy as we tug at clothes and jerk at zippers, then fall into bed together.

  I ache, and I can’t wait a second longer. When he takes off his glasses, I grab his face. “I need you,” I say.

  “Need” is only the start of how I feel. But I don’t want to say more and ruin this fragile new us.

  Axel grabs a condom, rolls it on, then pushes the back of my thigh, bending my knee toward my shoulder. He settles between my legs and sinks into me with one deep, delicious thrust that has me moaning.

  In no time, I’m panting and gasping.

  He’s groaning and grunting.

  Neither one of us talks. We don’t demand dirty deeds, or ask for it harder, rougher, deeper.

  I’m too afraid to talk.

  Too worried I’ll say the wrong words or say the right words at the wrong time.

  Like I’m falling for you.

  I have so much more than a crush on you.

  Instead, for two incessant talkers we’re remarkably, disturbingly quiet.

  But we’re loud in the only way we can be now. Speaking with our bodies, our sounds, our touches.

  And with the way we come together in a desperate tangle this last night on a luxury train speeding across Europe toward its final destination.

  34

  THE FINESSER

  Axel

  This is dangerous. I’m too damn close to slipping. As she sleeps next to me, an arm flung across my chest, her red hair spilling onto my shoulder, I vow to do better tomorrow.

  There’s only one more day to survive, really. Once we leave Europe, the spell will be broken. We’ll return to New York. I’ll refill my salty supplies, slap on my armor, and do my goddamn job.

  Come morning, all I have to do is make it through twenty-four more hours without telling her I fell in love with her once.

  And, over the last few days, I’ve fallen in love with her again.

  The sunrise brings a bright idea.

  To survive the next day with her, I need to go back to the way we were. To arrows and barbs.

  When Hazel’s brushing her teeth, I don’t come up behind her and dust a kiss onto her neck like I want to.

  Instead, I pull back the bow, meeting her gaze in the mirror as she saws her toothbrush across her teeth. “Have you added one yet to your next rom-com?”

  Her eyes become question marks.

  “A quirky pet,” I clarify. The conversation at our unexpected dinner seems longer than a little over a month ago.

  She nods sagely, then speaks through a mouthful of mint. “Do snakes count?”

  Damn.

  She wastes no time.

  I try again, grabbing another arrow from the quiver, tossing a glance at the bed beyond the door. The duvet is tangled on her side of the mattress. “I’m kind of amazed I survived the cover ambush the last few nights.”

  She spits then shoots me a curious look. “Want a T-shirt that says I Shared a Bed With Hazel Valentine And All I Got Was This T-Shirt Since She’s a Cover Hog?”

  Well, fuck. Someone is sharper than I am. She returns to brushing her teeth. Or rather, attacking them with a toothbrush.

  “Careful now. That toothbrush might file a restraining order against you,” I say.

  I grab my toothbrush as she shoots me a narrow-eyed stare in the mirror, then spits in the sink. “I’ll have you know I do some great thinking while I’m destroying toothbrushes,” she says.

  I can’t keep up with her, so I go for the low blow. “Then by all means, attack it again…sweetheart.”

  She stops brushing on that word. Like it’s dirty.

  Because it is.

  I probably shouldn’t have said that.

  I definitely shouldn’t have said it. She knows it was a weapon.

  But she doesn’t call me on it. Instead, she lifts the brush again, then, meeting my gaze in the mirror like a cat refusing to look away, says coolly, “I will, Axel. Or should I call you my nemesis again?”

  Ah, hell.

  I should have known better. She’s too sharp, too clever, too perfectly matched.

  “That or…jerk,” I say, apologetically.

  With a roll of her eyes she mutters, “Sexy jerk.”

  And like that, I’m forgiven.

  And like that, I fall a little more.

  And all I want to do is tell her how I feel. Words well up inside me, threatening to burst free. I’m in love with you and it sucks.

  I really need to keep my mouth busy today.

  Maybe this toothbrush will save me. I jam it in my mouth and imitate her. Attacking my teeth as I brush so damn hard.

  This is not us.

  This is not real.

  We don’t brush our teeth together in the morning and bicker as foreplay.

  That’s it. I know how to stay the course and survive. But it’ll require some finesse. Good thing I’m an expert finesser.

  Once she leaves the tiny bathroom and roots around in her suitcase, which I relocated to my room last night, I come up behind her, sliding a hand up her back just the way she likes, slow and seductive.

  She shivers, then murmurs.

  Over the last few days, I’ve learned some of the things she likes. I wish I could learn more. I wish I could help her discover new things she likes too. And, conversely, I wish I could unlearn so many things about her as well—that she wishes on fountains, that she hogs the bed, that she wants to choose better, that she loves to explore and lift up others, and to tell stories all day and into the night. And that she supports me, encourages me, and sees through me.

  I don’t know what to do with this Hazel knowledge. All these facts and details are overflowing in my head, and there’s hardly room for them, yet I want to fill my brain with more, more, more.

  I bring my lips to her ear, flick my tongue against the lobe. “I was a jerk just then,” I whisper. I need to apologize but it’ll also help my shut-my-mouth cause.

  “You were, but you don’t scare me, Axel Huxley.”

  My heart spins faster. I am so fucked.

  “I shouldn’t have called you sweetheart,” I continue, and this time the nickname comes out tender, full of all the feelings for her.

  She leans back against me, warm and eager. “Or say it like that instead,” she urges.

  I need to escalate. Right fucking now. I shift gears, full speed ahead with dirty talk. “I don’t want to make out. I want to fuck you again.” I take a beat, then add, low and smoky, “With my tongue.”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath, then she drops the blouse she just picked up. She leans back against me. “And you think I want that?”

  She’s so fucking good at our games too, whether it’s bickering or banter, whether it’s one-upmanship or word play. She’s the perfect partner in crime, in games, in…everything.

  “You do. So sit on my face, Hazel.”

  A minute later, I’m lying on the bed, and she’s not hovering; she’s sitting, pressing, pushing. I love that she grinds against me shamelessly. My mouth is thoroughly occupied as I make her come hard.

  Too bad it defeats my purpose.

  Because when she flops next to me, running her fingers down my chest, I want to get closer. I want to tell her that she can come over every night in New York. Or I’ll go to her place. I don’t care where we are. I just want to be with her.

  And on that never-going-to-happen thought, I need to get some coffee and eggs really fucking soon to shut me up for the next day.

  At breakfast, the last-day-of-vacation mood blankets the group. Everyone moves with a little melancholy, a little wistfulness as we grab plates and pour coffees.

  I don’t sit with Hazel, but when Bettencourt strides through the car, beelining for Amy, who looks his way with a trying to wipe the sex glow smile off her face, I can’t resist a glance at the fiery redhead I adore. Hazel gives me an I know what they did last night look. And I return it.

  That gives me one more idea for how to make it through the next thirty minutes till we arrive in Copenhagen.