Page 20 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE

Hazel

Dinner could be a scene from a Merchant Ivory movie.

I eat with the VIPs in the elegant dining car as the Italian countryside rolls by under the stars.

The hum of the engine and the rattle of the wheels soundtrack our meal while servers in old-timey uniforms bring sumptuous dishes on silver platters, presenting them grandly.

It’s so turn of the last century, and I adore it.

But I feel like I’ve gone back in time for another reason—because Axel and I are frosty again.

All the good will from our time in Rome yesterday remained parked in the Eternal City.

We’re only two tables apart in the dining car, but I feel like there are miles between us.

He’s talking to Steven the Nikon Man, his curly-haired wife—who I learned cut her reading teeth on cowboy romances as a girl before graduating to the red-hot chili reads, as she calls them—and the redheaded college girl, along with some other travelers.

I’m seated with the Book Besties, finishing my meal.

“The sleeping compartments are so great,” Jersey Jackie says as she sets down her fork.

“We’re all sharing a compartment,” Alecia adds, gesturing to their friend Maria, who joined them at the station in Rome. She turns to me, brows lifted in curiosity. “I hear you are too?”

Word got around quickly. “Yes, we are. But we’re not together. It’s just a temporary thing tonight.”

That’s the truth, but I also don’t want to be shipped during this trip.

We’d just disappoint readers with the fact that we are not together and will never be together.

Lord knows we’ve already disappointed them enough, leaving Lacey hanging in our unfinished series.

Readers were dying for her to finally get together with the sexy, broody guy in the suit who lived down the hall.

Poor Lacey will be hanging on a cliff for all time.

Jackie frowns, patting my hand there, there style, like I’ve shared something sad. “Want to stay with us, hon?”

I’m touched she’d offer. But I don’t want to horn in on their bonding time. And I don’t want them to think I need to drown any sorrows. “I know how precious girls’ trips are,” I say. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Maria says, jumping in. “You’d be an esteemed guest.”

Great. Now I’ll be a dick for turning them down.

But I don’t want to put them out. “I truly appreciate it, but we’re fine, and it’ll all be sorted out tomorrow.

” Time to change the subject, stat. “The seared tofu tabbouleh is amazing,” I say, pointing with my fork to my nearly finished dish.

“I might need to put it in an upcoming story.”

Then Jackie adds, “And can you have a gal pack named Jackie and Alecia and Maria?”

I give them a conspiratorial grin. “I already wrote them into the work in progress.”

Jackie lets out a high-pitched sound.

Alecia rolls her eyes as she pats Jackie’s hand. “You are such a squealer.”

“I know. I’m just excited,” Jackie says, but she doesn’t care. She owns her excitement.

“Obviously,” Alecia adds dryly.

“Maybe the Jackie in my story can make dog bandanas,” I suggest, meeting the blonde’s gaze. “You could show me the ones you make, and it might help me with inspiration.”

The look on Jersey Jackie’s face is pure delight as she grabs her phone.

“Show her the one with the skulls,” Maria says. She’s the bossy one in the crew.

Jackie nods enthusiastically then shows me a seriously cute design of sassy skulls. We talk more about her fledgling business, and when the dinner service ends, I say goodnight. Axel’s already taken off, so as I head to the compartment, I brace myself for more cool politeness.

I knock before I open the door, listening for his voice.

No answer. I head inside, racing though the anteroom and into the bedroom. If I get ready for bed quickly, I can burrow under the covers, pretend I’m asleep when he returns, and avoid any more awkward niceness.

As I grab my toothpaste and toothbrush, the main door swings open with a creak.

So much for my big plans.

“Are you decent?” he calls out.

That’s the Axel I know, not wasting breath on hi or hello . But with all these new feelings jockeying for space inside me, I’m at a loss for a clever response, so I simply say, “Yes.”

I head to the anteroom where he’s grabbing his toothpaste and toothbrush from his suitcase on the floor. Should I smile when he looks up? Yes, I’ll smile. When he rises, I grin stupidly as I waggle my toothpaste. “I need to brush my teeth.”

It’s the most obvious thing I’ve said in my entire life.

“I gathered,” he says, then brandishes his. “Me too.”

“You go first,” I say.

“No, you,” he says. “I insist.”

And we haven’t left Too Polite Depot at all. “Okay,” I say, then squeeze past him to the bathroom. When I’m done, I leave with an all yours right as he passes me, his shoulder brushing mine, sending a dangerous swoop through my chest.

I try to ignore the lingering warmth as I enter the bedroom. But while I root around in my suitcase, I freeze, one hand on my sleep shorts. Do I just put on my jammies then shout goodnight from the dark?

That’s even weirder.

Instead, I return to the anteroom still in my blouse and slacks. I wait there so I can say goodnight before I close the door to him.

I perch on the edge of the couch.

Is this made of stone? It’s the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever sat on. As much as I can’t stand Axel, I can’t let him sleep on a cinder block.

Even though I can stand him now.

I very much can stand him.

That’s my new problem.

But the choice I’m about to make isn’t because of the melty, lusty, crushy feelings occupying me. It’s because of the friendly ones. When Axel emerges from the bathroom, I act on those feelings, patting the cement furniture. “This sofa is uncomfortable,” I begin.

Axel waves a hand dismissively, adopting a too-easy grin. “It’ll be good research. My heroes never get to sleep on anything comfortable.”

I don’t take the writing banter bait. I soldier on, determined to do the right thing. “We can share a bed,” I continue, keeping this offer cordial and above board.

Nothing salacious in my tone. No wink and a nod.

And just like that, he’s no longer looking at me in a friendly way. He stares like I just suggested we cliff dive into a stormy sea. He seems confused? Or maybe perturbed?

Oh, shit.

I hope I haven’t made things worse with my suggestion.

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” I add quickly.

“And we won’t make it weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we’re going to make out.

” I scoff at that ridiculous idea. That ought to help him feel more comfortable since he doesn’t want to make out with me.

But he’s quiet for a long beat, his jaw twitching. I have no idea what he’s thinking. “I didn’t think we were, Valentine,” he says evenly, and his tone is as impossible to read as his face.

I try harder. Patting the couch. “I mean, c’mon,” I say. “Try this out and you’ll see you have to sleep in the bed.”

Tentatively, he sits and then immediately cringes. “Is this couch a test of will?” he asks, seeming offended by the furniture.

“Pretty sure it’s used in reality shows to earn misery points,” I add.

“I’d be the first to surrender,” he says, and perhaps Axel has let go of whatever was bugging him moments ago.

Good. I want to return to normal. Or find a new normal with him.

I turn the thought over in my mind a few times. Yes, that’s what I’ve wanted lately with Axel—to find a path beyond our blow-up in the coffee shop, past our painful breakup. That’s what I’ve learned on this trip so far. My goal isn’t simply to survive him anymore.

It’s for us to start over as friends.

I try again to make the night a little easier for him.

“So, you’ll share a bed with me? Don’t worry.

I’m not a cuddler. You won’t wake up with me wrapped around you.

I mean, that stuff only happens in books.

Like accidental kisses,” I say, lightly.

And I feel light for the first time since we discovered the booking agency married us.

“Only in books,” he echoes, and he’s smiling the slightest bit. On that hopeful note, I glance out the window, enjoying the nighttime view.

It’s dark. The train lights illuminate the path as we curve along a bend in the tracks. But neither one of us slams into the other.

“See? We didn’t just fall and land in each other’s laps, lips pressed together, like we would have in a book.” Though, a lot of things that happen in my romance novels haven’t happened in my real sex life. Like, say, great sex. Maybe someday I’ll have what my heroines are having.

“How does that even happen in stories? We never wrote an accidental kiss,” he says.

“I haven’t in my solo books either,” I say.

“I don’t understand how a kiss could be anything but intentional. Even if they’re in a cab, and the cabbie slams on the brakes and they wind up in each other’s arms, the thing that happens next is always intentional.”

“Kisses are deliberate,” I say, relieved that finally we’re talking again—like yesterday. But also like we did once upon a time, before our blow-up.

“And they should be,” he adds as the train swings around another curve.

Faster than I expected.

Before I’m even aware of what’s happening, I’m sliding closer to him, my hip slamming against his hip. He grabs my upper arm, holding me tight.

I laugh briefly from the surprise, then look at the shaved distance between us. “See? We’re closer. But we’re still not accidentally kissing.”

Even though I kind of want to be. Even though my heart is beating faster than it was before.

When Axel looks at me, his eyes are darker than I’m used to. “Because someone always has to make the first move,” he says.

“Even if there’s an accidental-on-purpose kiss,” I add.

“Like in a book,” he says as he curls his hand a little tighter around my arm. I hope he doesn’t let me go.

Since I’m letting go of reason, I let go of the past too. In this moment, I want an accidental-on-purpose kiss.

“Sort of like this?” I ask, then lean in and give him a swift peck on the cheek. I catch the fading scent of the forest after it rains. I let out a tiny gasp.

His breath catches.

I pull back from his cheek, meet his eyes. They’re wild. Hungry. Then my gaze strays to his lips. They’re plush, pillowy soft.

“Or maybe…” I lean in, and I don’t accidentally kiss him. I kiss him on purpose. A soft, barely-there sweep of my lips. “…like this.”

“Like that,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I linger in the kiss and then take a little more. Another brush of our lips. Another press of my mouth to his.

Another hiss of breath from him.

Then a hand on my face, fingers gliding over my jaw, a touch that sends delicious tremors over my skin.

Axel Huxley can kiss. A tantalizing tease of a kiss like I’ve never felt before.

This one radiates down to my bones, through my skin. I swear I can feel it in my eyelashes.

And most of all, in the center of my chest where I’m melting.

When the train straightens out seconds later, we break the kiss.

“So,” he says, huskily, looking like he’s reorienting his reality, perhaps to this new one where we’ve kissed very un-accidentally.

I’m adjusting to my new world order too—one where I want to kiss him on purpose again and again.

But if I stay like this, hovering on the edge of want, I’ll climb onto his lap and kiss him so purposefully it could only lead to the bedroom.

What would happen in the morning though? No idea, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face a morning after.

Maybe he’s not either, since he nods toward the bedroom door, then rasps out, “You should get in bed first.”

Whatever his reasons are, I vehemently agree. We need some separation.

I head into the room, shutting the door to change into sleep shorts and a T-shirt, then opening it to invite him in. With my back to him, I hop under the covers, my stomach still fluttering, my body still craving.

He comes in a minute later, turns off the light, and heads to his side of the bed. I look away, even though I want to stare at him.

I want to read his reactions in his eyes. In his face. I want to study him to see if he’s still wondering what the hell just happened and why it felt so good.

I hear him set his glasses on the nightstand, then he slides under the covers.

We’re two stiff logs in a queen-size bed, hustling along the European coast after dark.

I’m acutely aware of how near he is but how far apart we are too.

And how completely deliberate that kiss was for both of us.

“Good night,” I say, my voice full of unasked questions.

“Good night,” he says, the same way.

Neither one of us falls asleep for a long time.