He watched her settle herself at the desk next to the balcony doors. She was actually quite becoming in his tailor shirt and the notion unsettled him as much as it aroused him. Silently watching her take out a quill, ink and parchment, he felt his mouth parch and his hands tingle. The noise of Blaise pottering about the little kitchenette snapped him out of his lusty daydream.

"Am I getting a fucking explaination any time today Blaise?" he muttered, running his hands frustratedly through his hair.

Blaise smirked as he poured espresso into three cups.

"If you will forget to ward your suite mate, you are sure to receive uninvited guests" he grinned at Malfoys frustrated frown.

"Blaise, you can't exactly go letting yourself into other people's hotel rooms. It's not polite" stated Hermione, her gaze not leaving the parchment on which she was writting her notes.

"Bella, I was in that little cafe across the square when I met….Fiorella?..Fiorenza?...My apartment is across the city, this suite was more convienient, and I was sure our mutal friend said you would be at the Italian Ministry for the rest of the afternoon" he winked at Hermione who had now turned her attention to wizard who was now profering her a cup of espresso and a biscotto. She blushed at the memory of his earlier question as she took hold of the saucer.

Turning his attention to Draco he pondered outloud "why are you not at the Ministry anyway? I thought you had said you would be working on the case all day?" he quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

Draco could hardly answer the obvious. He had spent the duration of their assignment frustrated and their interactions had reached a climax. Figuratively. Blaise's use of his suite for his own extra curricular activities had halted any literal climax being reached.

"The case is going nowhere. We are no closer to finding the killer now than when we left London" he sighed, seating himself on one of the plush sofas, sipping his espresso a scowl furrowing his brow.

"I've actually jotted down some ideas on what we could look into next Draco" Hermione stated, turning in her seat.

Draco looked at her. For the last three months he had been Malfoy, Git, Ferret and more than a handful of colourful obscenities in a multitude language. Tracking a killer across Europe was certainly keeping up her linguistic skills. She hadn't once called him Draco however.

Blaise stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing, taking in the view.

The silence in the suite was palpable, both staring at the other, not saying a word.

She was aware, as acutely as he was, that she had called him Draco. She gulped and he put his coffee cup on the table in front of him. She turned back in her seat determined to ignore the look he had given her. Something had changed in that moment, as both realised that this was more than a heady mix of pent up frustration and lust. Truth be told, neither would have jeopardised the case for anything less than a potential relationship, but neither wanted to consciously admit to desiring more than a quick fuck.

If she really analysed it, she had admitted it the moment she had put on his shirt, even if she had tried to rationalise it to herself as longer than her own cream silk blouse and therefore leaving her less exposed to Blaise's lingering stares.

Draco stood up and crossed the room to take her notes from her. She made no complaint as he stilled her mind scribble with a gentle hand placed on her shoulder, as he took the parchment up from the little desk. He stepped onto the balcony beside Blaise to read her notes.

His friend nudged him with his elbow in silent greeting and turned to lean with his back against the railing, continuing to sip his now cooled espresso. He raised an eyebrow at Hermione, and let his gazed linger on her honey legs which were crossed and exposed to the sunlight that crept in through the open doors.

She nibbled on the biscotto he had brought her earlier, her thoughts elsewhere, seemingly oblivious to his contemplation of her luscious thighs.

Draco it seemed was more aware of his friends train of thought.

Without lifting his gaze from the parchment or missing a beat he muttered low enough so that only Blaise would hear

"Don't even think about it".