“Probably just as well we make it an early night. We have a full day tomorrow.”
She acknowledged his craven retreat with a regal dip of her head. “Yes, we do. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Dom and the hound both watched as she made her way to the far end of the loft and arranged her jeans and tank top into neat folds before placing them on the table beside the bed. Dom didn’t move while she turned back the comforter and slid between the sheets.
The dog didn’t exercise the same restraint. His claws scrabbling on the oak floorboards, he scrambled across the open space and made a flying leap. He landed on the bed with paws outstretched and announced his arrival with a happy woof. Natalie laughed and eased to one side to make room for him.
With a muttered curse, Dom turned away from the sight of the Agár sprawled belly-up beside her.
Eight
The next day dawned achingly bright and gloriously cool. The first nip of fall had swept away the exhaust-polluted city air and left Budapest sparkling in the morning light.
Dom woke early after a restless night. Natalie was still hunched under the featherbed when he took the hound for his morning run. Halfway through their usual five miles he received a text message with a copy of her driver’s license. He saved the attachment to print out at the loft and thumbed his phone to access the US Embassy website. Once he’d downloaded the application to replace a lost passport, he made a note to himself to call the consular office and set up an appointment.
He was tempted to make another call to his contact at Interpol. When he’d asked Andre to dig deeper, he hadn’t expected the excavation to take more than a day. Two at the most. But he knew Andre would get back to him if he uncovered anything of interest.
Dom also knew he belonged in the field! He’d taken down vicious killers, drug traffickers, the remorseless sleaze who sold children to the highest bidders. He didn’t claim to be the best at what he did, but he’d done his part. This extended vacation was pure crap.
Or had been, until Natalie had dropped into his life. If Dom hadn’t been at such loose ends he might not have been so quick to assume complete responsibility for her. Now that he had, he felt obligated to keep her close until her memory returned.
It was already trickling back. Bits and pieces had started to pierce the haze. And when the fog dissipated completely, he thought with a sudden tightening of his belly, he intended to do his damnedest to follow up on that one, searing kiss. He’d spent too many uncomfortable hours on the sofa last night, imagining just that eventuality.
A jerk on the leash checked his easy stride. He glanced down to see the hound dragging his rear legs and glaring at him reproachfully.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re already in bed with her.”
Still the dog wouldn’t move.
“Oh, all right. Have at it.”
Dom jogged in place while the Agár sniffed the interesting pile just off the track, then majestically lifted a leg to spray it.
* * *
As soon as Dom and the hound entered, they were hit with the aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly baked cinnamon bread. The scents were almost as tantalizing as the sight of Natalie at the stove, a spatula in hand and a towel tucked apronlike around her slim hips. Dom tried to remember the last woman who’d made herself at home in his kitchen. None of those who’d come for a drink and stayed for the night, as best he could recall. And certainly not his sister. Even as a child, Anastazia had always been too busy splinting the broken wings of sparrows or feeding baby squirrels with eyedroppers to think about nourishing herself or her brother.
“I went down to the grocery shop on the corner,” Natalie said by way of greeting. “I thought we should have breakfast before we took off for Karlenburgh Castle.”
“That sounds good. How long before it’s ready?”
“Five minutes.”
“Make it ten,” he begged.
He snagged a cup of coffee and had to hide a grimace. She’d made it American style. Closer to colored water than the real thing. The weak brew provided barely enough punch to get him through a quick shower and shave.
He emerged eager for a taste of the bacon laid out in crisp strips on a paper towel. The fluffy eggs scrambled with mushrooms and topped with fresh-grated Gruyère cheese had his tongue hanging out almost as far as the hound’s. But the warm cinnamon rolls tucked in a napkin made him go weak at the knees. Groaning, he sank onto a stool at the counter.
“Do you cook breakfast for yourself every morning?”
She paused with the spatula hovering above the platter of eggs. “I don’t know.”
“No matter,” Dom said fervently. “You’re doing fine.”