Free The Melanie Chronicles by Kim Golden Page A

the comfortable seat beside Damian. "I thought you weren't leaving until tomorrow."
    "I didn't want to wait," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Three months is long enough."
    He turned to the stewardess and said, "Thanks for delivering her safely to me."
    "Of course, Mr. Ballantine." She smiled brightly, hovering for a moment as if uncertain what to do. "Would you like more champagne?"
    "D'you want champagne, Melanie?"
    "Maybe later, thanks." She said it so easily, though she'd never had real champagne in her entire life. Was it so different from sparkling wine, she wondered? But just then she was too busy masking her giddiness at seeing Damian again to muse over the supposed benefits of champagne. Then he kissed her, lightly first as though he were testing the waters, then again and with more verve.
    Once the stewardess was gone, he shifted in his seat and grinned at Melanie. "I missed you--I even came by that bookstore where you were working looking for you one Saturday."
    "You did?"
    He nodded. "But you weren't there. I asked one of the girls at the Information desk if you were around, but they said you had the entire weekend off."
    "That must have been the weekend I went to Virginia Beach with Karen."
    "Ah, so I can blame her for depriving me of your company."
    "We had a deal."
    "Mmm. Not a very good one. We should've just spent the summer together," Damian said and then stroked her hair. His touch sent a whirlwind of electricity through her.
    Maybe he was right. Maybe if they'd spent the summer together the part of her brain still inhabited by John would've been cleansed. And there would have been no need for subterfuge.
    "These seats fold out into beds. Did you know that?"
    She shook her head no. This was her first time on an overseas flight. She'd been saving money since her senior year of high school to afford a trip to Europe. She'd assumed she'd use the money next summer when she'd planned on treating herself to a summer train-hiking across the Continent. Once she and John had begun dating, she'd always imagined him beside her. Where was he now? Was he still in Greece, or was he in Philadelphia again moving back into his room at the fraternity house?
    Don't think about him, she reminded herself. He's the past.
    "What happens when we get to Edinburgh?" she asked.
    Damian shrugged. "What do you want to happen?" He was holding her hand, massaging her skin with the soft pad of his thumb.
    "I don't know. I just want to be alone with you," she said. Admitting this to him lightened her. All summer the feelings she had for him had cohabited uneasily with those she still harbored for John. Thinking of one inevitably led to thoughts of the other.
    "Are you still going to stay at that hostel the first few nights?"
    She nodded. "I may as well. I don't have access to my student rooms until next week."
    "Stay with me then. I've got a room at the Caledonian until my flat is ready."
    She grinned. "Are you sure?"
    "'Course I am," he said with a perfect Scottish brogue.
    The lights dimmed. Melanie turned away and looked out the window. The sky was already inky black. Somewhere below them were land and the Atlantic, and for a moment she wondered just where they were--off the coast of Newfoundland, over Greenland...? She might've gone on wondering, but Damian interrupted her thoughts. He kissed her neck, ran his hand along the curve of her waist and made her body come alive again.
     
    Damian enchanted the front desk clerk but this didn't surprise Melanie. Nearly everyone who met him fell for his easy smiles and the smooth way he had of putting everyone at ease. He knew everyone who worked there, addressing the concierge by name and asking after the man's family. Even the front desk clerk knew him. Before they'd made their way to the desk, the staff present all greeted him with, "Welcome back, Mr. Ballantine" and Melanie wondered briefly how often he'd come there and who with.
    She looked around, taking in the immaculate marble floor,