Her Unforgettable Royal Lover(48)
He wanted her here, with him. Wanted to show her more of the city he loved. Wanted to explore that precise, fascinating mind, hear her breathy gasps and groans when they made love.
And, he thought, his eyes going cold and flat, he wanted to flatten whoever’d hurt her. He didn’t believe for a moment she’d hit her head on a support pole and tumbled into the Danube. Janos Lagy had lured her onto that tour boat and Dom was damned well going to find out why.
For once Andre didn’t have the inside scoop. Instead, he referred Dom back to the Hungarian agency that conducted internal investigations. The individual Dom spoke to there was cautious and closemouthed and unwilling to share sensitive information with someone she didn’t know. She did, however, agree to meet with him and Natalie in the morning.
That made two appointments for tomorrow—one at the US Embassy to obtain a replacement passport and one at the National Tax and Customs Administration.
“Tax and Customs?” Natalie echoed when he told her about the appointments. “Is that like the Internal Revenue Service in the US?”
“More like your IRS and Department of the Treasury combined. The NTCA is our focus for all financial matters, including criminal activities like money laundering and financing terrorist activities.”
Her eyes rounded. “And they have something on Lagy?”
“They wouldn’t say, but they’re interested in talking to you.”
“I can’t tell them any more than I told you.”
“No, but they can tell us what, if anything, Lagy’s involved in.”
“Well, this has been an amazing day. Two days, actually.” Her eyes met his in a smile. “And a pretty amazing night.”
The smile clinched it. No way was he letting this woman waltz out of his life the same way she’d waltzed in. Dom thought seriously about plucking the glass out of her hand and carrying her to the bed. Which he would, he promised himself. Later. Right now, he’d initiate a blitz-style campaign to make her develop a passion for all things Hungarian—himself included.
“Did you bring a bathing suit?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “A bathing suit?”
“Do you have one in your suitcase?”
“I packed for business, not splashing around in hotel pools.”
“No matter. We can rent one.”
“Rent a bathing suit?” Her fastidious little nose wrinkled. “I don’t think so.”
“They’re sanitized and steam-cleaned. Trust me on this. Stuff a couple of towels in your tote while I feed the hound and we’ll go.”
“Dom, I don’t think public bathing is really my thing.”
“You can’t leave Budapest without experiencing what gives this city its most distinctive character. Why do you think the Romans called their settlement here Aquincum?”
“Meaning water something?”
“Meaning abundant waters. All they had to do was poke a stick in the ground and a hot spring bubbled up. Get the towels.”
* * *
Natalie was even less sure about the whole communal spa thing when they arrived at the elegant Gellért Hotel. The massive complex sat at the base of Gellért Hill, named, Dom informed her, for the unfortunate bishop who came from Venice at the request of King Istivan in 1000 A.D.
“My rebellious Magyar ancestors took exception to the king’s conversion to Christianity,” Dom related as he escorted her to the columned and colonnaded entrance. “They put the bishop in a barrel, drove long spikes in it and rolled him down the hill.”
“Lovely.”
“Here we go.”
He ushered her into a grand entry hall two or three stories high. A long row of ticket windows lining one side of the hall offered a bewildering smorgasbord of options. Dom translated a menu that included swimming pools, thermal baths with temperatures ranging from a comfortable 86 degrees to a scorching 108 degrees, whirlpools, wave pools, saunas and steam rooms. And massages! Every sort of massage. Natalie gave up trying to pick out options and left the choice to him.
“Don’t you need to know what bathing suit size I need?” she asked as they approached a ticket booth.
He cut her an amused glance. “I was with you when you bought those jeans, remember? You’re a size forty-two.”
Ugh! She hated European sizing. She stood beside him while he purchased their entry and noted that a good number of people passed through the turnstiles with just a flash of a blue card.
“They don’t have to pay?”
“They have a medical pass,” he explained as he fastened a band around her wrist. “The government operates all spas in Hungary. They’re actually part of our health care system. Doctors regularly send patients here for massage or hot soaks or swimming laps.”