Souvenirs by Mia Kay Page B

cackled.
    “You’re not helping, mate,” Ben scolded. “Doll, could you . . .”
    He trailed off as his brain shut down. She’d loosened the knot in her damp hair, and the scent of her shampoo grabbed him by the balls. He was instantly hard, hungry to taste her, fighting the urge to feel her against him. He shifted in his seat and took her hand, and Adam’s laughter shook his entire body. This time Ben closed his eyes and grinned.
    His glee faded as the bus pulled into traffic on the way to the train station. They were leaving Austria for Italy. Arriving in Italy meant they’d soon reach Paris, and then they’d go home.
    Each city brought a change. London’s tension had been replaced by Vienna’s anticipation and, if he was honest, Salzburg had brought a little worry. He needn’t have bothered. Grace kept her bags together and organized. She didn’t faff about or natter endlessly, or grizzle when he couldn’t sleep. She even had her own book light. At the gym this morning, she’d kept to a well-established routine and listened to her iPod. She didn’t invade his privacy.
    He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. His loose joints and shaking muscles had little to do with his workout, and their late arrival had nothing to do with poor time management. They’d already invaded each other’s privacy several times.
    Even with his eyes closed, he knew she was setting up her favorite distractions. The pages of her book fluttered, and she sighed. The leather seat creaked as she settled in, and then her feet tapped the floor in rhythm with whatever tune blared into her ears.
    The tapping stopped, and he opened his eyes. Next to him, she’d stilled. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling the way she did over anything with sugar in it.
    Nora extended her hand, offering him a splitter so he and Grace could share the same player. She and Adam were already using one. “It’s an extra,” she whispered.
    Even after everything he and Grace had shared, Ben was uneasy about invading this space. His curiosity won out. He tapped the pause button.
    Grace pulled her earbuds free. “Everything okay?”
    “Mm-hmm.” He plugged the splitter into place and kissed her, hard and quick. “Can we share?”
    “Okay.” She replaced her earbuds and returned to her book. Ben restarted the music, closed his eyes, and let Rimsky-Korsakov become his lullaby.

Chapter 8
    A week later, Grace watched the Roman night fade into a bleary dawn. Outside their window, the city began to wake. Right now it was all percussion, the cymbals of garbage trucks and timpani rolls of delivery trucks. The horn section would arrive soon.
    A year ago today she’d held her mother as she’d wept over the loss of another husband.
    Because her father’s death was sudden, Sunny’s reaction had been delayed. She’d made it through the interment plans, the wake, and the funeral. She’d even gone back to work right away. Then one afternoon, Grace had come home from class to find her mother huddled in the bed, curled around her wedding picture. Unsure of what to do, Grace had panicked. Sunny had dried her tears and they’d had peppermint ice cream for dinner. Still, Grace heard her crying in her room every night for months afterward.
    In contrast, her stepfather’s death had been drawn out through a steady decline and an untold number of doctors, hospital stays, and treatments. At the end, all three of them had been exhausted. Sunny’s bravery had held until he’d taken his last breath, and then she’d crumbled. This time, older and wiser, Grace had known to let her cry. It had helped, but in the past year Grace had watched her mother shrink. This trip was a Godsend, and bless Bill’s heart for knowing exactly what they’d needed.
    But now, memories of loss intruded. Grace snuggled deeper into her robe and remembered everything about her stepfather. Which led to the faded memories of her father—his laugh, his gentle voice as he’d helped her with her