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To pinch his ass.
"Don't," Dahlia barks.
Iris drops her arm.
I bring my hand to my mouth, the scene beyond comical. Larry is gaping at Iris, Marigold's eyes are as wide as saucers, Rose pretends not to notice as she stares at her menu and stifles a chuckle, and Iris and Dahlia glare at each other.
Luka rises with the menu in his hand, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Don't?"
"She was talking to me, dear. Nothing for you to be concerned about," Iris tells him, followed by a scowl at Dahlia.
"Good. You had me worried." Luka laughs as he finishes taking our orders.
Dane returns with Luka to help serve our lunch. I'm more than aware of his presence, my body continuing its betrayal. He lied, and I'm angry that he did it, and his deception is proof I can't trust him. But even with all that, I can't seem to stifle the sexual excitement I feel whenever he's near. I bite my bottom lip, desperately wishing I could turn it off.
But I can't.
I can't forget what we did and how he felt inside me—how he made me cry out in unbelievable pleasure underneath his skillful touch. A touch that resulted in the best orgasms I've ever had. I close my eyes, willing myself to think of anything but him.
Then I feel him next to me.
"Your Austrian pancake soup, madam." I clasp my knees together, Dane's voice sending a shiver up my spine.
I lift my face, and our eyes lock. I know Dane knows what I'm thinking—I want him, my body craving a repeat of our wild night in Budapest. I can feel my face flush, embarrassed at my inability to temper my thoughts. It's like a slow torture, my mind telling me he's a liar and doesn't deserve my attention, while my body disobeys all logic and tells me something different.
And I can't escape this nightmare, stuck on this ship for five more days, each one with Dane more challenging than the last.
I shift my gaze, watching his hands as he places my bowl of soup in front of me—hands so adept at lighting my body on fire while stroking and teasing my flesh.
Dear God! Stop…it…now!I hang my head, willing him to go away.
Then I hear his soft chuckle.
Dane moves away and returns to the kitchen. I sink against my chair, relieved that he's gone. At least I'll get a break from his torturing presence when I take the optional tour this evening.
God knows I need it.
I stare out the bus window as we head toward Grinzing, an old village inhabited by vintners and day laborers that became part of Vienna in the late nineteenth century. Tonight's optional event is dinner at one of the area's wine taverns. Called a heuriger, they're places offering food, entertainment, and the vintner's wine from their new harvest.
Arriving at the heuriger, I follow our cruise manager, Beckett Edwards, and the others from our ship through a brick-lined courtyard full of tables and benches into a rustic and cozy restaurant. The place feels welcoming, and the smell is mouthwatering. Beckett directs us to sit at one of the wooden tables in the dining area set aside for our group. Since the ladies and Larry opted to stay behind, I'm alone once again.
I scan the room in search of a group I can join and notice a woman waving at me. She points to the empty seat across from her. I recognize her, having met her and her husband at breakfast two mornings ago and running into them and their friends several times since then. They're Canadian and, from what I've seen, a boisterous and lively group. Joining them should be fun. I nod back at her and hurry across the room.
"You're here by yourself tonight," Claire says when I reach her table.
"I am. The ladies opted not to come."
"They're missing out. But that means you get to join us, and we're the crazy group if you haven't noticed yet."
"Oh, I noticed," I laugh.
I slide into the wooden seat across from her as the staff scurries around the room, serving wine. I pick the white, thebottle's label giving me no clue what it is. A sip tells me the wine is light and fruity, with a hint of apple and pear.
A gentleman stands in the middle of the floor and speaks about the history of the heuriger and this particular vintner. When he's finished, servers bring a variety of food to our table, which includes roast pork and chicken, schnitzel, grilled sausages, parsley potatoes, sauerkraut, and peppers. Hungry, I select a little of everything.
The room fills with the sounds of an accordion, violin, and guitar—the musicians moving from table to table as they play Austrian music. A woman in traditional dress accompanies them as she sings. It's not long before I join my tablemates as we hilariously attempt to sing the chorus, one of the men belting out the words, although none of us know what we're singing. Between the music, clapping, toe-tapping, singing, and free-flowing wine, we're all having a blast.
Then I notice a balding and portly gentleman at the table next to us with one of the biggest scowls I've ever seen. His disdain for our lively group is evident as he glares at our table.
