Mitchell was laughing, watching the steam rise from the fritter in his hand. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’
It took a few seconds before she could speak, then she felt a drip of the still boiling jam slide down her chin. She took a deep breath and swallowed as quickly as she could, desperate to try and regain what was left of her dignity.
But Mitchell stepped forward, pulling his hand from his glove and catching the sliding drop with his finger. He did it so gently, so delicately that for a moment she felt as if she were in some expensive beauty parlour. He was so close, blocking out some of the coloured lights around them, leaving him bathed in a beautiful glow. His eyes were darker than ever and his frosty breath mingled with hers. He held up his finger, which was coated in rich red jam. ‘Want to finish this?’ he whispered, as he lifted the edge of the paper napkin and wiped it down her chin.
Her tongue darted out automatically, licking her lips and picking up the last delicious vestiges of jam. She shook her head.
She was finding it difficult to say anything. The closeness wasn’t disturbing. It was tantalising. Just above his head was a string of white star lights. If this were a movie there would be electric sparks shooting off in the background.
‘Good,’ he said huskily as he put the finger in his mouth and sucked off the jam.
Oh, no. She couldn’t start thinking thoughts like these. They were in the middle of a street, surrounded by hoards of other tourists and locals.
Street entertainers were playing cow bells and accordions, other locals were yodelling and doing traditional dancing, causing anyone nearby to start tapping their feet automatically. They walked towards another square, bustling and full of people with an enormous Christmas tree at one end, but it was the glistening above it that took her breath away. Golden glittering tiles on the roof of a three-storey-high balcony overlooking the plaza.
Samantha spun around. ‘You mentioned this, didn’t you? Wow, it’s spectacular. It’s not real gold, is it?’
The lights around the roof made the reflections from the roof glitter wildly. More coloured lights that were strung across the plaza bobbed in the wind. It made the reflections even more magical, blue, red, pink and green.
‘They’re gold-plated copper tiles. There’s more than two thousand of them. It was built by some archduke in the fifteenth century.’ He glanced towards her, his smile reaching from ear to ear, and his arm settled around her back. ‘It’s always more spectacular to see it first at night. Especially with all the Christmas decorations around.’
He was right. She could hardly draw her eyes away. All around them the flashes of cameras popped, sending even more reflections out into the night. She could stand here and watch this all night. Never mind the warm arm around her waist, resting on her hip bone and pulling her close enough to make her feel that she should actually be there.
It was like being in the middle of a Christmas card. All around them were wonderful sights, sounds and smells. The Tyrolean folk seemed larger than life, friendly and welcoming with singers and musicians in all corners of the marketplace. Any minute now some fairy-tale king was going to appear on the balcony above. Out of the corner of her eye something flashed white. Was this one of the proverbial unicorns?
No. It was beautiful white horses, being led around the square with young children on their backs, part of another parade.
Mitch walked her backwards towards the façade of one the shops. She turned to peer through the window. It was full of candy canes and carved wooden objects, more traditional items that just made her smile even more. Up in the chalet in the mountains she’d had no idea about the world of Tyrolean traditions down here. She would have to persuade him to bring her back down here tomorrow so she could do some serious shopping.
‘Come on.’ He slipped his hand into hers. ‘The inn will be busy. If we hang around too long we’ll never get a table.’ He pulled her through a labyrinth of alleyways until they reached the door of a white and black painted inn.
He pushed it open and she was immediately surrounded by warmth. She pulled the zipper on her blue ski jacket. The inn was crowded, but it didn’t seem to be full of tourists, from the language around her, this inn was full of locals.
Lisa had chosen well. Her black sequined tunic over black leggings and boots was pretty, without being over the top. Sam was twinkling almost as much as the Christmas lights, and from the way Mitch was looking at her, he seemed to appreciate it.
They took a table next to the flickering fire. She glanced at the menu in front of her and shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t have a clue. I’m sorry to say I can’t read a word of German.’
Mitch pulled off his jacket and hat, leaving his hair mussed around his head. ‘Would you like me to order for you?’ He hadn’t even looked at the menu.
She looked around. ‘Do you eat in here regularly?’
He winked. ‘That would be telling too many secrets.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I suggest some of the local cuisine. If I promise to bring you back another day to sample the cakes and desserts, will you trust me to order you dinner?’
She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand, letting her eyes drift into the corner of the room. ‘Will I trust you? Now, there’s an interesting question...’ She let her voice tail off.
The waiter appeared at their table, filling their glasses with water and nodding at the requests made by Mitchell.
She waited until he’d left then narrowed her gaze, ‘Go on, then. Surprise me. What have you ordered?’
‘All my favourites—fresh Bergkäse, Tyrolean gröstl and Plattin.’
She rolled her eyes as her stomach rumbled. ‘Now, tell me what that is in a language my stomach understands.’
He laughed. ‘Mountain cheese, roast meat and potato pancakes.’ He pointed to her rumbling stomach. ‘Believe me, you’ll love it.’
There was a clink of glass as the waiter delivered a soda for Mitch and a glass of white wine for her. She raised her glass. ‘Are you sticking to the diet soda?’
He nodded in response. ‘I’ve only drunk diet soda...’ he let out a sigh ‘...and I’m planning on giving alcohol a miss until I get this diabetes thing under control.’
She smiled, a little surprised. It was so nice to hear him say that. It was the first time he’d actually made a comment that made her think he was willing to do some work himself.
She took a sip of her wine. It was good, light and fresh, just what she liked. She sucked in a deep breath. Mitch had intrigued her today. There was more to him than met the eye—and she definitely wanted to dig a little deeper. Her head was trying to reason with her curiosity. If she knew him better, she could help him tailor his diabetes to suit his lifestyle. But that wasn’t really why she wanted to know more about Mitch...
‘So, Mitch. It’s just you and me. I watched you today at the hospital. I can tell how much you care about these kids. But wouldn’t you like to stay here a bit longer? Give yourself time to get more in control?’
She was trying to tug at his heartstrings. The thing she knew was important to him. Maybe it was a bit manipulative. But if it worked...
She kept going. ‘Why are you so focused on this tour? Wouldn’t it be simpler just to delay the whole thing until you were in better health?’
He shook his head. ‘You make it sound so easy. It’s anything but.’
She held up her hands. ‘But why? You’re Mitchell Brody. You’ve got the world at your feet. Don’t you just click your fingers and everyone comes running?’
He let out a short burst of laughter. ‘I wish!’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You certainly don’t.’ He let the words hang there as he ran his fingers through his hair and rested his elbows on the table. ‘This tour has taken two years to plan. Two years to iron out with my management and band members.’
She was t
rying not to smile at his first comment, but she was still confused. ‘What did you have to iron out?’
He hesitated. ‘Things are a bit different about this tour. It’s not as straightforward as it seems.’
‘Why?’ She wasn’t going to let it go. She wanted to understand if something about this was putting him under more pressure. It was an important factor in controlling his diabetes.
He couldn’t seem to look her in the eye. ‘My share of the tour proceeds and a certain percentage of the profits are tied up somewhere else. I mean, the guys aren’t getting what they normally would on a tour.’
‘Why?’ She couldn’t stop asking the question. The guy was a billionaire, did he have some kind of crazy debts? An uncomfortable prickle went down her spine. How well did she know Mitchell Brody really?