A startled British accent greeted them. “Mr. Chase, Miss Sinclair.”

Allie and Hudson turned as one to find their steward bent over a small table, fussing with what appeared to be an already perfectly arranged setting of tea. “Afternoon tea is customarily served in the guest’s cabin. I assumed you’d be arriving shortly for departure, so I um, I took the liberty of . . .”

“It’s wonderful, Andrew,” Allie interrupted, trying to put the poor man out of his misery. When he looked up she gave him a reassuring smile. “And just what we need after dealing with those crowds.”

Hudson mumbled something under his breath, and although Allie couldn’t make out what he said, she had a pretty good idea as to the sentiment. The thought had her stifling a giggle.

Andrew straightened and smoothed his starched white jacket. “Cocktails will begin precisely at five o’clock in the bar car,” he began, reciting what was undoubtedly a well-rehearsed spiel. “After which a leisurely four-course dinner, prepared on board by our French chefs, will be served in the Côte d’Azur dining room.”

The description sounded lovely and was exactly what Allie had expected. But she was willing to bet Hudson had merely zeroed-in on the word “leisurely.” Her suspicion was confirmed when he blew out an exasperated breath as he moved to the adjoining cabin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him adjust his jeans before running a frustrated hand back through his hair. He turned to his left and then to his right before opening a narrow door covered in lacquered marquetry. Behind it stood a small sink and oval mirror. “Where is the bathroom?” he asked.

“The lavatories are at the end of the corridor in the adjoining car,” Andrew replied.

Allie hadn’t given much thought to the restroom situation on a passenger train built in the 1920s. Judging by the look on Hudson’s face, neither had he. Until now.

“And the bed?” he asked with a frown. “Is that down the corridor as well?”

“No, sir.” The steward chuckled, obliviously thinking Hudson was making a joke. “While you and Miss Sinclair are enjoying our five-star restaurant, I will be busy transforming the seating area into a cozy bedroom.”

Allie tried to catch Hudson’s eye but he was too busy regarding the sink with a perplexed scrutiny.

“Thank you, Andrew. We’ll see you at dinner?” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and beat a hasty retreat. But instead he continued giving his rundown of the evening’s agenda.

“Dinner is formal, with black-tie optional but encouraged. The seatings are either in pairs or with another couple. If you have a preference, I can advise the maître d’.”

Hudson’s head snapped up. “We’ll be dining alone.” The look he gave him would have withered a lesser man, but Andrew took it in stride. It seemed the young steward was much better equipped to deal with frustrated CEOs than he was couples wrapped up in a passionate embrace.

Andrew pulled a small leather notebook from his pocket and made a notation before moving into the adjoining room. For the first time Allie noticed their suitcases, propped open on wooden stands. “If you’d like to join Miss Sinclair for tea, I’ll just finish the unpacking and see to any steaming or ironing.” He gestured for Hudson to step forward then reached for the pocket doors that divided the two rooms. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he said before sliding them closed.

But instead of joining Allie on the velvet sofa, Hudson stalked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

With a rattle of the cabin door he was gone.

Allie leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh. She raised her hand to the fringe edge of the tapestry curtain and pulled it back. Staring out the window at the passing countryside she wondered how her afternoon could have taken such a disappointing turn. Somehow over the course of the past thirty minutes, she’d gone from reading romantic texts on Juliet’s balcony to sitting alone in their cabin with a china tea set in front of her and a very thorough steward in the next room.

She knew Hudson was disappointed, but although Allie appreciated the gesture he made by planning this trip, details like the location of the bathroom were no more essential to her than the actual existence of Romeo and Juliet. Spending time together was all that mattered. Somehow she needed to show him that.

And she knew just the way to do it.

Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Allie pulled out her phone and opened Hudson’s text. Calling upon her memories of high school English class, she typed a reply that, like his, blended Shakespeare’s words with her own.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Her phone buzzed with a reply.

I’m apparently back in college. The bathrooms are like a dormitory. But without showers.

No showers? Allie was suddenly very thankful they would be arriving in London the next day. But she chose to ignore this development and pressed on with her creative use of the Bard’s most famous play.

O, then dear saint, let lips do what hands do; And have my lips . . . around your cock.

A few moments passed before the little dots appeared to indicate he was typing.

That was a very naughty text, Alessandra. And if memory serves, not quite a literal translation.

Complaining, dear sir?

On the contrary, but it makes me want to do very dirty things to you. Particularly your mouth.

Like?

Allie felt her face heat as she began to read Hudson’s reply, and she about jumped out of her skin when Andrew knocked on the pocket door. “Yes,” she squeaked before clearing her throat.

“Your clothes for this evening are ready, Miss Sinclair,” he said through the frosted glass panel. “May I be of any further assistance?”

A slow smile curved her lips as an idea took form. “Actually yes, Andrew, there is something you can do for me. One second, please.” She typed a quick reply telling Hudson she would meet him in the lounge car in thirty minutes, then closed the text screen. “Andrew,” she called to him as she slid open the pocket doors. “Do you think you could find me another place to get ready?”

***

In the literature Allie had read earlier in the week, the Orient Express was often referred to as a museum on rails. It was a description that rang true for all of the vintage carriages, but even more so at the Orient Bar. The lounge, or bar car as it was referred to onboard, seemed to be stopped in time, suspended in the golden age of luxury rail travel. Guests in formal evening wear sipped drinks at round tables adorned with vases of fresh flowers while others gathered around a baby grand where a pianist wove classical music with nostalgic romance.

Allie stopped at the entrance to the car, smoothing the ivory gown that clung to her every curve. She’d been saving the low-cut Grecian-style dress for a special occasion, and right now she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather wear it. Her eyes roamed the carriage until she found Hudson, dressed in a Tom Ford tux and sitting at the bar at the rear of the car. His back was to her, but even that view of Hudson Chase was enough to cause her heart to race. Her gaze slid from his broad shoulders to his dark, wavy hair. The mere thought of how her hands would grasp that unruly mane later that night had her fingers flexing against her beaded clutch.

“May I bring you something, Mademoiselle?” a young waiter asked.

“No, thank you,” she said, her eyes locked on Hudson. “I see what I want.” She made her way through the crowd, weaving between the small tables until she stood behind him. “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, the perfect combination of innocent inquiry and breathless anticipation.

Hudson swiveled to face her and amusement lit his eyes. “Not at all.” He waved a hand toward the empty barstool. “Please, join me.” His gaze dropped as she crossed her legs, intentionally allowing the deep slit to expose her bare thigh. “Champagne?”