Hudson had awakened something long-dormant inside her on that viewing deck. She wanted more from him. She wanted to see more of this Hudson, the one who was in courting mode, the one who wanted a relationship, the one who was pursuing her with a single-minded purpose that made her dizzy. She wanted his deft, sure fingers again; she wanted to taste him, and she wanted him to taste her. She wanted her mind blown, and she knew he was the one who could take her there.

For now, though, she had to sit rigidly in her seat as the train pulled into the station, hissing and groaning. The waiter came by to thank them all and wish them a good night, and everyone began to disembark. She and Hudson were the last to get off.

Annika felt her heart pounding in her chest, her palms dampening again as they walked together toward the shuttle, not saying anything, buoyed by the slight chill in the air and the muted chatter of the other passengers, all of whom looked more tired than she felt. Each one of her nerves was on high alert, her entire body thrumming with desire and wanton need. She glanced at Hudson, but his face was impassive, unreadable. What was he feeling? What was he thinking?

On the shuttle ride back, Hudson told her stories of vacationing in the Midwest as a kid, how he’d stayed at his family’s cabin and read in the attic while his parents and brother had gone fishing, how they’d come back and he’d fallen asleep up there and they were all panicked, how he’d come downstairs just as they were mobilizing the neighbors into a search party. She laughed at all the appropriate parts, but her brain was hyperaware of each time his hand brushed hers or her knee, arguing with herself about whether it had been on purpose or accidentally-on-purpose or just an accident.

She could tell nothing from the way he spoke. She couldn’t exactly ask him, either, because a gay couple across the aisle had heard him talking and chimed in with their own “summer in the Midwest” stories. Annika was forced to nod and smile and listen, while every cell within her sang in hope and anticipation. Her blood pulsed, her skin felt alive and alert—every body part consumed with desire. Her head felt foggy, actually foggy, like sexual attraction was the most potent opiate and she’d just slammed a concentrated vial of it.

Once the shuttle had deposited them back at the hotel foyer and the gay couple said their goodbyes and good nights, Annika and Hudson regarded each other in the glowing chandelier light, the harpist still playing her tinkling, inoffensive music in the background.

“So.” Annika looked up at him. Her knees were getting weaker the longer they locked eyes. He was unsmiling, so serious, so very intent.

He nodded. “So.”