by. She's in the same bathrobe I am, but I can't help but think she looks better in it. I also can't help but wonder what she's wearing underneath - if she's wearing anything, that is.
Just then, she turns her head. Our gazes meet. I feel mine broaden slightly as her amber eyes grow wide as saucers. Her lips part. Her cheeks take on a rosy hue. She hides them under her hair as she straightens up and turns away.
Why? Her reaction seems too much to be just because she didn't expect to see me. She must have considered the possibility since our rooms are next to each other. Is it because I've once again caught her with her guard down? Or is it because I've caught her doing something she thinks she shouldn't be doing - like thinking of me, for example?
Has she been thinking of me just as much as I've been thinking of her?
I sip my Scotch. "Can't sleep?"
"Yes," Stella answers. "Must be the jet lag."
"Must be."
"I thought I'd be tired enough to be able to sleep, but I guess I'm not. I thought the wine would help, too, but maybe I need something stronger."
I glance at the liquid in my glass and then at her. "Want some Scotch?"
Her eyebrows arch. Then she waves her hand in front of her.
"No, thanks. I..."
"I've got plenty," I tell her.
She shakes her head. "I... I don't drink Scotch."
And yet, she's looking at my glass.
I lift it to my lips. "You just said you needed something stronger. This might do the trick."
Still, Stella hesitates. Her eyebrows furrow as she taps her fingers on her arm.
One more push.
"You know, if you don't get your beauty sleep it will be a problem for me, too. I need you to be at your best tomorrow."
That does it. She lets out a sigh and gives in.
"Fine. I'll give it a try."
I nod. "Come on over and I'll pour you a glass."
The moment I finish speaking, I realize what I've just done - exactly what I was planning earlier. I've reeled her in. I've invited her to my room. And she's accepted. Just like that. For a second, I think of rescinding my invitation, but it's too late. Stella has already left the balcony.
I finish my drink and head to the door. By the time I open it, she's standing outside.
Isn't this going a little too fast? Nonsense. I've been waiting too long already.
I step back. "Come in."
It's her last chance to turn back - and she doesn't. She wraps her robe tighter around herself and walks straight to the balcony.
I grab the bottle of Scotch and another glass and join her. I pour the drinks and hand her one.
"Thank you," Stella says as she shifts her body towards me.
As she sips her Scotch, my gaze wanders to the bare thigh peeking from under her robe. I'm guessing she's not wearing shorts or a chemise. Underwear?
My eyes go back to her face just as it scrunches up in an expression of distaste.
"Too strong?" I ask her.
"A little."
She sets down her glass and leans over the balustrade. This time, I catch a glimpse of her cleavage. No bra either?
"This view is beautiful, isn't it?" she says.
I turn to admire it while letting more of the Scotch glide down my throat. I suppose there is something fascinating about those rows of lights beyond the lake and the mountains looming above it all, but it's not as breathtaking as the sight beside me.
She straightens up. "What's the most beautiful city you've ever been to?"
I pause to think. "Rome, maybe. Or Florence. Or Paris."
"Paris," Stella repeats with a dreamy sigh as she turns her gaze back towards the horizon. "I'd love to go to Paris."
"I know."
She gives me a puzzled look.
"I just know you'd love it there, given how much you love it here," I explain quickly while inwardly kicking myself.
I almost gave away the fact that I've read her journal, which would have spoiled the mood for sure.
"Are you worried about tomorrow?" Stella asks me.
I take another gulp of Scotch. "What makes you say that?"
She shrugs. "It just seems like... you're a little tense."
So she's noticed. I guess she can read me well by now. She's right. I am tense - but not for the reason she's thinking.
"It's only natural, of course," she goes on. "Tomorrow is a critical juncture."
"It is," I agree before finishing my drink and setting my empty glass down. "But that's not what's weighing on