FLICKER OF DOUBT
I woke up alone.
Still wearing my clothing from last night, I could feel the grungy, day-old makeup caked beneath my eyes. My head was pounding from all the wine I’d consumed and I instantly felt my cheeks flame. Great — I’d barely cracked my eyes open and I was already blushing. That did not bode well for the day to come.
Wiping the residual eye-liner from my bleary eyes, I pushed my comforter down to the foot of my bed and groaned as I realized Wes had not only seen me in a fine state — drunken stupor was such a sexy look on me — he’d also seen my bedroom in all its post-Margot glory. Eyeing the multitude of clothes, bras, and accessories strewn about the space, I fell back against the pillows and pulled one firmly over my face. He probably thought I was a total slob.
My door creaked open. “Suffocating yourself, huh?” Margot called, bounding into the room and onto my bed with a heavy thud that made my entire body bounce. I held the pillow firmly over my face as she settled in.
“Ungh,” I grunted, a ghoulish sound.
“I take it the date went really well, then?” she teased. “That, or you’ve become some kind of moaning, flesh-eating zombie overnight. In which case, I’m turning your bedroom into a yoga studio.”
I pulled the pillow off my face. “You don’t even do yoga.”
“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But this way, if I bring a man home, I can say, Oh, yes, that’s my yoga studio in a super seductive voice. Boys always want to do bad, bad things to yogis. They’re so bendy…” She trailed off, her eyes distant.
“It’s way too early to be having this conversation,” I grumbled.
A tinkling laugh escaped Margot’s lips. “Fine, fine. Tell me about the date.”
I sighed. “It was great. Good meal, good conversation. I invited him back here for a post-dinner drink, as you suggested...”
“And?” she prompted impatiently. “Tell me I didn’t sleep at Justine’s place for nothing. She wanted to play Scrabble before bed last night. Scrabble, Faith.” Speaking in a melodramatic voice, she threw one hand over her heart and widened her eyes. “Tell me I did not suffer thus in vain!”
I giggled. “Sorry, no earth-shattering orgasms to report. In my grand plans to seduce him, I chugged one too many glasses of wine and fell asleep on the couch. I don’t remember putting myself to bed — he must’ve carried me.”
“A true gentleman,” Margot muttered forlornly. “I bet he didn’t even try to wake you up.”
My eyebrows rose.
“I mean, he could’ve tried. Instead, nobody gets any orgasms. And, now that he’s seen the way you live...” She grimaced as her eyes swept the disheveled space, conveniently forgetting she was the one responsible for the mess. “I bet he’ll never come back. We’ll have to start fresh with someone new!”
“Margot,” I said gently, trying to control my bubbling laughter. “I’m going to say this in the nicest way possible…”
She looked at me expectantly.
“You have officially become more invested in my sex life than I am. Girl, listen to me.” I took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, making sure to annunciate each word as I spoke. “You. Need. To. Get. Laid.” I shook her lightly. “Well, that, or get a new hobby — one that does not include a daily tally of my nonexistent orgasms.”
Margot dissolved into giggles.
“Oh, come on, you lunatic. We have to get ready for work.” I released her, hopped out of bed, and headed for the kitchen, hoping my unintentionally-abstinent, nymphomaniac roommate had, at the very least, brewed a pot of strong coffee before coming into my room to torture me.
I didn’t find the note at first.
He’d picked a clever hiding spot — rolled into a scroll, tied to the shoelace of my tennis shoes. I grinned as I unrolled it and read the message, scrawled in masculine, narrow-lettered chicken scratch.
Meet me in the middle of the Chain Bridge at sunset.
I huffed, trying to work up a sense of indignation that he hadn’t bothered to ask me, but it was no use. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
Was it pushy and demanding and totally presumptuous of him to assume I was not only free at that time, but also willing and wanting to meet him?
Hell yes.
Was it also incredibly romantic and heart-flutter inducing, in spite of the alpha-male assumptions behind it?
Hell freaking yes.
Was I going to be standing in the middle of that damn bridge at sunset, waiting for him?
Come hell or high water.
It was the first time I’d walked the bridge alone, but I made it. Yes, I kept a white-knuckled grip on the railing the entire time and yes, I hyperventilated practically the whole way across, but that wasn’t the point. I’d counted to five — okay, ten — and forced myself to walk.
The first twenty steps were hard. Small, measured, hesitant — baby steps.
The last twenty were so easy, I practically sprinted them. Once I spotted Wes waiting for me at the center of the bridge, my feet flew over the stones so fast I completely forgot to be scared.
He was leaning against the railing, looking out over the river. His profile was lit by the setting sun, his jeans hung just right on his athletic frame, and his shoulders perfectly filled out the fitted black henley he was wearing. One glimpse of him, and I felt the breath catch in my throat. I still had difficulty believing a man that gorgeous could ever be interested in me.
I swallowed hard as I drew to a stop several feet from him.
“Hey, stranger,” I called softly.
He turned to look at me, that crooked smile already on his lips. “You’re late.”
“Excuse me?” I took a few steps closer. “Your note said sunset. The sun, if you’ll notice, is still setting.”
“But it’s been setting for almost an hour.”
“Well, next time you decide to write me a note demanding my presence, be more specific about the time, will ya?” I teased.
He stepped forward and grabbed my hand. “No promises. Now, let’s go.”
“Where?”
He glanced at me dismissively. “You do understand the concept of a surprise, right?”
“Sorry, I’m sort of killing the whole mystery-man vibe you’ve got going, aren’t I?”
“Completely,” he agreed, grinning. “So shut up and follow me or we’re going to miss it.”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking miss what? and followed Wes across to the Buda side. He pulled me along after him with one hand firmly gripping mine, hurrying us through the crowded avenues and around the many street vendors who’d set up their carts on the promenade. After about five minutes of walking, Wes came to a stop and I felt my eyes go wide.
“No way,” I said instantly.
“Red, don’t be unreasonable.”
“I’m unreasonable?” I blew out a puff of righteous outrage. “You’re the unreasonable one, if you think you’re going to get me on that thing.”
“Red…”
“Don’t Red me in that soft voice, Wes!” I glared at him. “No way. Nope. Not happening.”
“Red…” He was grinning again, the bastard.
“What did I just say?!”
He laughed outright. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”
I eyed the Sikló like it was a venomous snake, rather than an old-fashioned brown and yellow train car on a vertical track. The Castle Hill Funicular was famous in Budapest, whisking tourists up the steep hill from the riverbank to Buda Castle every few minutes and boasting some of the best views the city had to offer. But I sure as shit wasn’t about to get onboard, even with Wes holding my hand. Bridges were one thing — riding a centuries-old cliff car at a 75-degree angle up a sheer rock-face was another altogether.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Wes pulled me close, so he could stare into my eyes. His hands came up to cradle my face, and my heart began to have palpitations.
“You can,” he whispered. “Faith Morrissey, you can do anything. Anything. Don’t let the world convince you otherwise.” He leaned down so his forehead was resting directly against mine and I felt my windpipe convulse spastically. “Five seconds of fear, or a lifetime of regret that you missed out on something amazing. Your choice, Red.”
Well, when he put it that way…
“I really, really don’t like you,” I grumbled, clearing my throat.
Wes laughed again and bumped his nose against mine. I thought I might faint when our mouths almost brushed, but managed to pass off my near-swoon as latent fear rather than sheer lust.
As he led me to the boarding station, his hand laced warmly in mine, I wondered if he’d ever stop pushing my buttons or testing my boundaries.
Almost instantly, I realized I didn’t want him to stop.
Wes challenged me in the best way possible. He made me press my own limits, forced me to try things I hadn’t had the courage to do in the past. He never questioned my abilities. He stared at me without a flicker of doubt in that steady brown gaze… looked at me like I could do anything, be anyone.
He believed in me.
With him, for the first time ever, I felt like I was starting to figure out who I was — and who I wanted to be.
More than any star I’d ever wished on or any blown-out birthday candle plea I’d ever dreamed might come true, I hoped that one day, I’d live up to the version of Faith that he saw when he looked at me like that. More than anything…
I wanted to be the woman Wes Adams thought I was.