by Barbara Lohr
Was it obvious to Mallory that Caitlin was the exciting one in their family? The one who took chances?
“You’re lucky to have a sister.” Mallory dipped his bread in the saucer of olive oil, swirling it slowly through the dab of pesto at the side. His smile twisted. “My parents had me late in life.”
“And do they live in Savannah too?” she ventured. “Your parents?”
“Sadly, they’re both gone.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” What would that feel like, losing both parents? “My dad died a while back. My mother can be, well, a little eccentric, but I can’t imagine life without her…or my Aunt Em. She moved in with Mom after my father’s death.”
“Sounds nice, family living together.” The note of longing in Mallory’s voice pulled at Amy’s heart.
“So, there's no one else in your family?”
“Yes. An aunt, an uncle, and the cousin I mentioned.”
“That must be fun…a cousin. My aunt never married.”
Mallory looked away. “Chad can be crazy, but the man can be fun too.” He seemed relieved when the waiter placed a sizzling steak in front of him. Warm juice dripped from the meat, pooling under it like pale blood. Amy’s stomach turned. She hadn’t eaten red meat in years.
“Certainly beats plane food,” Mallory muttered, picking up his knife and fork.
Amy began to cut her chicken breast into substantial squares, her mind returning to an interesting conversation she’d had with McKenna and Nessie about men and their eating habits. They’d were sitting in Petersen’s Ice Cream parlor, finishing hot fudge sundaes, when they decided that a man ate with the same enthusiasm he applied to sex. In her limited experience, Amy had found that to be true.
Unbidden, the mental picture of Jason with Greta in the shower swamped her like a tsunami. Maybe she was the one who wasn’t enthusiastic enough. Her chewing slowed. The chicken formed a dry lump in her mouth, and she wanted to spit it out. Instead, she somehow forced it down.
Across from her, Mallory was taking his time, savoring every bit. Slowly, so slowly.
Amy grabbed her water glass.
“What?” He caught her staring.
“Just, ah, wondered how the steak was.”
“Excellent.”
Like a lot of the jocks, Jason had been a burgers-and-beer kind of guy. They rarely discussed food. Maybe conversation was lacking throughout their relationship. Why hadn’t she noticed that?
Amy sank her fork into a huge chunk of chicken, shoved it in, and swallowed.
The locker room image flashed back.
Everything stopped.
The chicken was stuck in her throat.
She tried to get it down. Nothing. Her fingers fanned out and pressed against the table. Then she grabbed her glass of water.
“Amy?” Mallory looked like he might vault right over the table.
Her heart began to thud heavily in her chest. The sip of water only made her sputter. Her right hand went to her throat. What was the universal symbol for the Heimlich maneuver? How many times had she seen it posted in restaurants?
Mallory’s chair scraped back. In two seconds, he was around the table and bending over her. “Amy, can you breathe?”
She shook her head. Little black dots began to appear before her eyes. She struggled to stand up.
Mallory’s arms closed around her. “You’ll be fine. Try to relax, now.”
Relax? Her entire life flashed before her, along with a good dose of regret.
Mallory’s chest was against her back. His hands formed a fist below her rib cage. With one movement, he thrust up.
Nothing. Things started to go dim.
Final. This is final.
The other diners’ faces blurred to oval pools of light, their expressions ranging from curious to alarmed. She would die, and they would go back to their tiramisu.
“Again.” Mallory gave one more firm thrust. The piece of chicken flew out of her mouth and plopped onto the table.
Good grief. Amy fell limp in his arms, like overcooked pasta. Life came rushing back. The tablecloths glowed bright white. The breeze blew soft against her skin. Palm trees rustled overhead.
And Mallory? He was wonderful.
“Take some deep breaths, Amy,” Mallory said as she slid down the front of his body and back into her chair. Hovering over her, he handed her the water glass. “Just a sip.”
Clasping the glass in both hands, Amy took a small mouthful and swallowed. Her eyes misted over when the water went down. She could swallow. Felt like a miracle to breathe again. Hands still shaking, she swiped at the tears in the corners of her eyes.
Giving her a wary glance, Mallory sank back into his chair.
“Sorry if I scared you.” She pushed her plate away.
“Never used that maneuver thing before. It works.” Mallory looked pretty pleased. Glancing down, he casually placed his napkin over the piece of chicken.
Amy’s attempt at a laugh fluttered at the edges. If she’d been here with Jason, she’d be dead right now. He’d be so busy checking scores on his cell phone, he never would have noticed she was choking. Mallory had been on his feet in a heartbeat.
Putting his fork down, her travel chum motioned to the waiter. “Maybe we should go back. You’re a mite pale.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Her voice felt thin and breathless.
Who would have thought this guy could be so darn nice?
Minutes later, they were walking back along the boulevard. “The bill, we should split it,” Amy insisted.
Taking her hand, Mallory threaded it through his arm. “We’ll work it out later.”
Mallory felt so good, solid and certain, but maybe he was just feeling sorry for her. She hated pity. Pretending to adjust her backpack, she let her hand slip from Mallory’s arm. “Usually I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubt.”
Amy sniffed, trying to regain her footing. The incident in the restaurant had left her shaken. Close by, waves lapped the shore, lazy end-of-the-day waves. The thought that she’d nearly died rattled her to the core. Made her more determined than ever to live. Really live.
She was going to let loose, try new things and take chances. For one week, she’d be totally not her.
When they finally reached their room, Mallory lounged against the doorframe. “Think I’ll go downstairs and have a nightcap. Of course, you’re welcome to join me.”
Amy stretched her lips into a yawn. “I’m pretty beat.”
“I won’t be long.” As he backed through the door, the lights of the hallway glinted along Mallory’s dark hair, his eyes unreadable. Part of her wanted to pull him back, drag him onto the nearest bed and feast on the kind of kisses he’d offered that afternoon.
When had she ever been kissed like that?
The door closed behind him.
Flopping back onto the bed, she inhaled the fresh scent of sheets. She didn’t feel at all sleepy and was glad when her phone rang.
“Hey, did I wake you up?”
“Vanessa. Good to hear from you.”
“Bo’s down for his afternoon nap, and I had to talk to you. McKenna says you’ve gotten yourself into an interesting predicament.” Vanessa chuckled.
“It’s not funny.”
“Come on,” her old friend coaxed her. “I can tell you from experience, take some chances, Amy. And Caitlin’s there with you, McKenna says? How bad can this be…a strange man from Savannah?”
“Things aren’t bad. They’re just surprising.”
“Welcome it. McKenna’s right. Be a babe.”
She thought back to the clothes tucked away in the drawer, the two mini skirts, scooped-neck tops and the sexy aqua sandals that hugged her ankles. All gifts from McKenna. Time to put them to good use.
Everything had been so rushed and confusing before Amy left Chicago that it felt good to catch up with Amy. What a long day. Talking to her friend made her laugh. Vanessa had taken Bo, her toddler, to the park tha
t day, and Amy enjoyed hearing about a misadventure with a drinking fountain that had soaked both of them. While they talked, she cracked open the french doors, and a cool, night breeze from the bay filtered into the room.
After they hung up, Amy dug her pink sleep shirt out of a drawer and got ready for bed with a hot shower. The warm water soothed her skin but left heated thoughts in her mind.
Being this new Amy, Amy the Babe, was not going to be easy. But it sure as heck was going to be fun. She’d almost died and would have missed all this. Might feel like she was throwing herself from a cliff, but she was going to live.
A nightcap would have been nice right about now. She hadn’t come on this trip to go to bed early. What had she been thinking? Time to take some chances.
Chapter 8
The knocking behind her head woke her up. Turning in the narrow bed, Amy cradled the pillow against her left cheek. Was Mr. Morgan in the apartment below working on the plumbing again?
A soft breeze feathered across her cheeks. Opening her eyes, she blinked. White curtains billowed from long french doors, giving a glimpse of blue sky patterned by palms.
Definitely not her apartment.
Rapallo. And Mallory.
Amy couldn't even look at the other bed.
Meanwhile, the rhythmic bumping from the next room continued. No mistaking the sound of a couple making love. Amy’s stomach constricted with longing worse than her monthly cramps. She rolled flat onto her back. “Geesh.”
“Something wrong, Miss Amy?”
“Just Amy.” She swung her eyes to the other bed. Babes weren’t called “Miss” either.
“Oh, no. You would never be ‘just Amy.’” Stretched flat on his back, Mallory grinned, hands clasped behind his head. His long legs were tangled in the sheets. Above that, a pretty spectacular chest was patterned with dark hair forming a sexy downward V. Her gaze lifted to a rakish grin. “Morning, Amy.”
“Must be working on the pipes,” she offered in a small voice.
If ever a laugh could be southern, Mallory Thornton’s was. “Oh, my. I do not believe that sound has anything to do with pipes, at least, not the metal kind.”
Periodic moans punctuated the bumping. The tempo had picked up.
Amy fought a giggle. “Probably not.”
“Shall we?”
“What?”
“Get going, of course.”
“Doing what?” Her hold on the sheet tightened.
He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the tour guide.”
“Oh, that.” Amy exhaled. She had to get a grip. Reaching beneath the sheet, she tugged at her pink sleep shirt.
“What don't you go first?”
“Oh, no. I can wait.” Her mind leapt ahead. She could dress while he was in the bathroom.
“You sure?” Mallory rolled up, the sheet loose around his hips. The scent of a body warm from sleep rolled over her.
“Positive.” Turning back to the french doors, she gave them her full attention. Behind her, she heard the opening and closing of drawers. The minute Mallory shut the bathroom door, she sprang up. While she grabbed clothes, she heard the shower start.
Behind the closed door, Mallory began to bellow, “If our lips should meet, inamorata…”
Another one of her favorite Italian love songs. Amy stopped, fresh clothes bunched in her hands. Although Mallory didn’t seem to know all the words, his voice sure knew the meaning. And his singing wasn't bad, dipping and expanding in a vibrato that set her own muscles vibrating. She pulled on a mini jean skirt and a pink scooped-neck knit top.
While they traded places between bathroom and bedroom, the two of them talked about visiting the Cinque Terre, a string of hill towns nearby. Amy had a hard time keeping her mind on the conversation. His spicy cologne filled the room, while that buttery accent coated his words. She nudged the french doors wider, trying to concentrate on the wonders of Rapallo instead of the wonder of Mallory Schuster.
Ten minutes later, they entered a small dining room on the first floor. After they were seated, a young waitress appeared with a basket of croissants that smelled heavenly.
Mallory ordered coffee with cream. “Regular, please. I love Italian coffee.”
That persistent red flag shot up in her mind. “So, you’ve had Italian coffee before?”
His face blanked out. “Starbucks. They, ah, often feature Italian coffees. At least, in Sa-vah-an-nah they do.”
“Hmm.” Amy turned back to the menu. There was something very fishy about Mallory Schuster.
Sunglasses dangling from the front of his pink oxford cloth shirt, he looked like he belonged on the Italian Riviera. High cheek bones flared above freshly shaven cheeks, and she wondered how they’d feel in her cupped palm. Her grip tightened on the menu.
The buffet was simple but ample, and they both decided to try it. Even though this was a vacation, Amy tried to watch her diet. While Mallory piled bacon on his plate along with a couple of hard-boiled eggs and another croissant, Amy poured herself a bowl of granola. They had just sat down again when Caitlin and Kurt appeared in the doorway, hand-in-hand.
Amy waved as the couple walked toward them. Her sister’s white shorts and blue T-shirt accented her slim elegance. How could they be from the same gene pool? She'd never worn a single digit size in her life. Suddenly McKenna’s pink top felt too revealing.
“Good morning.” Caitlin kissed Amy on the cheek. Kurt nodded and pulled out a chair next to Mallory. “How’s it going?” Her gaze circled between Amy and Mallory.
“Fine, just fine.” Caitlin’s curiosity was as subtle as an airport security check.
“Better. I’d say better?” Mallory turned to Amy. “No further problems?”
Confusion clouded Caitlin’s face. “What is Malcolm talking about?”
“Mallory,” Amy gently corrected her. “Just a small choking incident, that’s all.”
“You choked?” Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Shouldn’t talk while eating, I guess. Mallory, ah, saved me. I’m fine.”
“Didn't Mom drum that into our heads when we were growing up? Do not talk while you're eating. Short memory?”
Amy turned to Mallory, whose lips were twitching. “She did. For sure.”
“One of many lessons.” Caitlin's attention shifted back to Mallory. “Nice shirt. Not many guys are brave enough to wear pink.” Her eyes swung back to Amy. “Matching colors?”
“A gift from McKenna.” Amy’s cheeks burned. “Most of my shirts are from Caitlin’s shop.”
“I have a t-shirt shop. Poetic T’s,” Caitlin explained. “Amy is my walking billboard.”
“Well, we’d better move along.” Amy glanced pointedly at the time on her phone. Shoot, she sounded more like a drill sergeant than a woman working on being a babe.
In a stage whisper, Caitlin said to Mallory, “Amy likes everything to move right along.”
“A point to take to heart.” Mallory gave a short nod.
Caitlin shook out her napkin. “She always gets her grades in before they’re due.”
“Don’t I wish.” Amy shot Caitlin a look that said zip it.
“So what do you guys have planned for today?” Caitlin asked, helping herself to a croissant.
“We’re headed to the Cinque Terre, and we probably should get going.” But she caught herself up short. After all, Caitlin was here because of her.
“A group of small towns along the coast. Quaint,” Mallory said, with enough authority to get Amy wondering again.
“Sounds like fun,” Caitlin said, pushing back her chair. “Mind if we tag along?”
“Sure. Why not?” Amy looked at Mallory.
He looked up as he buttered his croissant. “Of course. Y’all come with us!”
His y’all wrapped around her like a warm beach towel.
“Great. We’re in.” Caitlin smiled at Kurt. Pushing back their chairs, they headed for the buffet.
Amy whipped out her travel b
ook and began rattling off the Cinque Terra sites.
“What room are you in?” Amy turned to her sister after the two returned with steaming plates of eggs and bacon.
“324.” Caitlin said. “How about you two?”
“326.” The sounds from this morning came back to her. Wasn’t hard to picture her sister enjoying wild, early-morning sex. Caitlin wouldn’t care who heard them.
Did Mallory remember? His grin split wide.
“Okay, we’re not spying. It was the only room left.” Caitlin’s cheeks flushed, like the time she told Amy she’d sold thirty boxes of Girl Scout cookies when Dad had actually bought them.
“Not a problem.” Amy began to pick up the croissant crumbs with an index finger.
“So what’s it like to be the younger sister?” Mallory asked.
Caitlin threw her head back and laughed. “Not bad. But I was lucky. Last one out, so I was ‘Little Dumpling.’”
Cripes. Did Caitlin have to bring this up? Assuming a fetal position under the table seemed like a good idea.
Mallory turned. “And you were…”
“Big Dumpling.” The admission clotted in Amy’s throat like her namesake.
Caitlin fell quiet for a moment. “Daddy didn’t mean anything by it, Amy.”
“I know.” Still, the old humiliation crept over her. Amy felt like the ungainly teenager again. Dad may have meant well, but she’d been relieved when the family dropped the nickname.
Under the table, Caitlin squeezed Amy’s hand.
The four of them finished breakfast quickly. When they stopped at the front desk, the concierge gave them information about the boat to Cinque Terra. They were out the door, trotting along the shoreline, where families were setting up for the day. Sure enough, at the end of the cove sat a small stand where a young man sold tickets. Docked at the end of the pier, the boat looked packed. Visitors in sun hats lined the upper railing, cameras dangling from their necks.
The long blast of the horn made Amy giddy as they scrambled aboard. The crew pulled in the plank and let it drop onto the lower deck. One more pull of the horn and the boat edged away from the dock. Leading the way, she dashed up the narrow stairs, Mallory right behind her. “Let’s get seats up top so we can see everything.”
