by Em Petrova
She’d been here for more than ten days now, and her hosts were gracious and enjoyable people. Two sisters, Francis and Amelia, both in their mid-forties. They loved to cook and spent time showering all their attention on their cat, Wednesday. Recently, they’d taken to learning bits of French, which Lillian was more than happy to advise upon.
She gathered herself up from the armchair where she’d been reading. “’Je cuisine des pates. Voudriez-vous aider?’”
Francis let out a delighted laugh and repeated the words.
“And my response would be Bien sur, j’aimerais, which means ‘of course I’d love to.’”
The woman tucked a loose curl back into the bun she wore at her nape. “Come along. I’ve set the water boiling and it should be ready for the pasta.”
Lillian had never been one for cooking. She kept the bare minimum of supplies in her Paris flat and only cooked when she didn’t travel with Pierre Moreau. But in the bright, spacious kitchen here, she learned as much about cooking techniques as the sisters had about the French language.
She settled at the counter with a chopping block, a knife and an unspoken agreement that Lillian would chop whatever the sisters put before her. This time, Francis passed her a bunch of scallions, and she set to work.
As they prepared the meal, they shared a short conversation in French. Lillian grinned. “Your skills are improving.”
“How do I say that naughty sister of mine is late again?”
Lillian glanced at the wall clock. Amelia often arrived late from work, and Francis worked at home, so she was always eager to jump on her sister’s tardiness. Lillian spoke the phrase in her native tongue, and Francis repeated it with an air of relish that made Lillian laugh.
The moment Amelia walked in the door, Francis scolded her with the newly learned sentence while shaking a wooden spoon at her. After Amelia learned what she meant, she only scoffed and washed her hands so she could dig into the work alongside them.
Lillian threw the sisters covert glances. She liked studying the pair and wondering what made them tick. Once or twice, the ladies caught her. Today she wasn’t quick to glance away, and Amelia turned her bright, attentive gaze on her. “I see our house companion is back to watching us like Wednesday watches the birds out the window.”
Heat climbed Lillian’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I find you both so interesting.”
The women gaped at her for a long minute and then burst out laughing. “Us? Interesting?” Francis’s eyes creased with her constant smiles.
“We’re so dull, my dear. Perhaps you need to get out more back in Paris,” Amelia added.
“No, you’re both very good conversationalists. You know much about books and movies and theater. You seem so happy to be…how do you say it?” She searched a moment for the word. “Homebodies.”
Amelia threw her sister a look. “She’s on to us now.”
“You enjoy each other’s company as well as being alone.”
“I suppose you do know us.” Francis stirred the pasta and then turned to making the sauce. The scent of scallions frying in butter filled the air with a heavenly aroma.
“I hope you aren’t offended. I suppose your behavior interests me because I’m a bit like you.” She cast around for a way to explain herself. “For my work, I talk a lot. I’m constantly on the phone or having meetings. When I’m home, I want that solitude, same as you have here.” She waved at the four kitchen walls that seemed so homey to her.
The cat, a little white minx, circled her ankles. Lillian looked down and crooned to it, “And you are a darling, aren’t you?” She wondered if Lars knew the sisters had a cat when he left Lillian in their care. Maybe he wanted her to feel at home.
Thinking of Lars brought a warmth to her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide it from Amelia’s sharp gaze.
“No need to be embarrassed about your observations, dear. We are far more amused than offended.”
“It’s not that,” she returned quietly.
“Is everything all right?” Amelia asked.
“Oui.”
“Francis, what do you think of Miss Lillian’s blush? Could it be a man she’s thinking of?”
Her face scorched hotter. She couldn’t squelch the fire and finally just gave in and nodded.
Both sisters turned to her. “Tell us some details! We love a good romance.”
That surprised her. “You’re both single, never married.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t love a good story. That is, if you wish to tell us. Did you leave behind some dashing Frenchman?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “No. It’s a Russian I’m thinking of.”
They exchanged a look.
Silence filled the room, with only the sizzle and simmering noises on the range.
“Ah. I see it clearly now, don’t you?” Francis asked Amelia.
“See what?” Lillian looked between them.
They traded another look.
Lillian pounced on that. “What do you see?”
Amelia compressed her lips. Lillian turned to the other sister, thinking to pry it from her.
“Have you heard from Lars recently?” Lillian asked.
Understanding shone in the woman’s gray eyes. “No, dear. He hasn’t been in touch. Though we did wonder…”
“Shh! That’s not our business now, Franny,” Amelia chided.
“What have you wondered? Please tell me.”
For a minute, she thought they’d refuse to speak. At least, Francis said, “Mr. Lars never acted that way with a person he brought to our home before.”
“What does that mean?” she asked yet another question.
“It just means,” Amelia said carefully, “that he gave us a lot more information as well as rules with you. He had your top safety in mind.”
Lillian’s chest heaved. Lars had kept her safe from the start. But to know he left extra instructions about her safety made her wonder what his reasons could be.
“He also made us promise to tell him if you’re unhappy. You’re not unhappy, are you?”
Her heart leaped, seeming to hit her chest wall. “I’m not unhappy,” she whispered.
They finished preparing dinner, though Lillian found she could barely eat the delicious food. Thoughts of Lars distracted her so much that she retired early and slept late the next day. The following afternoon, she didn’t come out of her room much, not even to snuggle with Wednesday. When Francis insisted on sitting with her to see she ate her lunch, Lillian had little to say.
By the third day, Lillian still felt just as off-balance and out of touch with the world. Amelia came to her room to say goodnight, and she struggled to be cordial and then laid back down as soon as the door closed behind the sister.
Whispers projected through the door as they spoke together. “Lovesick,” one said.
The word jumped out at Lillian. Lovesick? She’d never heard anything so stupid and inaccurate in her life. No, absolutely not. She was simply homesick. She even missed chasing Pierre down and forcing him to attend meetings.
Curling on her side, she considered her behavior. It was depressing to be kept here for such a long time. She thought two, three days tops and she would be home in her Paris flat. Instead, she found herself uprooted from her life and all she knew. Without her parents, she felt more lonesome than she had since the years she spent at university.
But lovesick? No.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. Then why did she keep seeing Lars’s face every time she closed her eyes?
* * * * *
The place Lillian stayed boasted a view of a river. She had no idea what the river was called, and it possessed a more controlled beauty than the ones she’d seen in France, as if engineers had bent it at the precise spot to fit into their plan.
So far what she’d gathered about America, was the people liked to build everything up and tame it. Not for the first time as she sat looking out over the balcony at the river,
Lillian wondered if her mother felt this distinction when she moved to France to be with Lillian’s father.
“Excuse me.”
She turned at the sound of Francis’s voice. She started to smile, and then she saw what she held in her arms.
“Olivier!” She rushed across the balcony to the doorway and made a grab for her cat. Burying her face in her pet’s soft black fur, she felt tears burn, and not just from being reunited with her pet. Lars had done this…and he had no other reason than to make her happy.
Olivier curled into her arms, and she raised her head to look at the woman. “Thank you, Francis.”
“All I did was deliver him.”
Lillian blinked as excitement rushed over her. “How did he arrive? Did someone bring him?”
A teasing look covered Francis’s face as she stepped aside to reveal the huge man filling the doorway.
Lillian’s heart flipped over. “Lars.” His name projected as a throaty rasp, not at all like her normal voice.
“I’ll leave you to talk.” With a knowing smile, Francis slipped away, ducking under Lars’s arm as if she did that every other day.
How many people had Lars placed here to remain safe? The expression he wore gave away nothing about his reason for coming.
She pressed a kiss to the top of Olivier’s head, fighting tears of happiness. “How did you get him?”
“I have my ways,” he answered, gaze skating over her body and leaving her skin with goosebumps everyplace his eyes touched.
“Of course.” She buried her nose in Oliver’s fur again. “Thank you so much, Lars.”
He stepped out onto the balcony with her. The small space boasted a cozy chair in the corner as well as a wicker table Lillian liked so much she’d wondered how to fit it in her bag to take home with her as a souvenir. It would fit so perfectly in her own eclectic bedroom back in her Paris flat.
Lars reached out a hand, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might touch her. Instead, he scratched Olivier’s head right between his ears. Her cat purred and stretched upward for more.
I know the feeling, cat.
Lars pulled his blunt forefinger away, and Olivier gave it a little nipping bite.
She laughed. “He wants you to keep petting him.” She primarily used English around her hosts, but now that Lars stood before her, she realized she’d slipped into her native French once more.
He flashed a look at her. Under those green eyes, her insides stilled. When he stepped closer, bridging the gap between them, she quivered at the familiar scent of his body. Pine and musk. And he looked incredible, wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across his chest like a second skin.
Her body came alive, and awareness stole over her.
He rasped out, “You look pale.”
“Did you come here to insult me?”
“I came because I want to check on you. Make sure you’re all right.”
“I am.” She cuddled her cat. “Now.” She meant more than having the cat in her arms.
Lovesick. I can’t be. However, seeing Lars again, after two long weeks, she experienced a newfound peace like being with an old friend. Strange, considering they’d only spent mere days together. Most of her life she’d lived without knowing Lars even existed. Yet, seeing him now made her realize she bore a hole…a hole where something had been missing.
He moved to lean against the balcony railing, and she wondered if the steel could even support his big form. She imagined him as some kind of superhero who could climb buildings using sheer brute hand-over-hand strength.
His stare traveled down her body and came to rest back on her face. “You’re thinner. Francis said you’ve been eating less this week.”
Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of what he said. “You check in on me?”
“You think I’d just leave you off here and not make sure you’re faring well?” He stepped up to her and rested a hand on her waist. She went still, heart thumping, her insides twisting and rolling like a sleeping dragon waking.
He slipped his hand up and down her side and then settled it on her hip. “Dammit. You are thinner.” He swung her toward him. She landed against his body, and the scorching heat of the man ran up and down her skin. Between them, Olivier stuck out his claws and dug them into her chest.
“Ah!” She jumped back. “The cat.”
They shared a laugh, though Lars’s dark green eyes remained sober despite the deep rumble.
“Let’s go inside and talk.”
Her belly flipped. Only talk? What if her body craved more? Her solitude of the past few days had given her a knowledge of herself. Now she recognized she’d been aching for him since the moment he walked out that door and left her here in the care of these good people.
She couldn’t allow him to see the confusion on her face. She had little idea what to do with herself lately, and now that he was here, that confusion spiked at an all-time high.
After stepping off the balcony, she breezed into the living space of the suite she called her own. She had everything at her fingertips. Endless movies and cable channels. An entire collection of vinyl and a record player. Books and some solo games to keep her mind occupied. Even having all these things as well as the sisters’ excellent company, she felt listless.
With Lars opposite her, swallowing the leather armchair, she realized she wanted something more than to go home.
She wanted to see him again.
Of course, having her cat was a bonus. She set Olivier on the floor, and he padded around the place, exploring. She and Lars watched him for a moment.
“He must have hated the flight here.”
“I wouldn’t know. The pilot didn’t give me a report on his behavior.”
She glanced from her pet to Lars. “Thank you for him.”
“I wanted to see you happy.”
The admission caused her stomach to dip even further. “I’ve been fine. The people you’re searching for? Have you found them?”
He shifted his shoulders as if shrugging off a question he didn’t wish to answer. “I’ve done what I can for the moment. We have a team gathered and ready to go at a word.”
“And you’re going with them.” She didn’t formulate it as a question—she knew he would be the first to hunt these people down.
He nodded.
“What of Brun? Have you nailed him to a cross yet?”
“God, I didn’t think I’d miss having you fire questions at me, but I have.” The corner of his lips twitched, and she hid her smile.
“I thought you didn’t believe Brun was at fault?” he went on.
“I don’t. I don’t believe he’s capable of such treachery. Forgive me for saying this—he isn’t very bright.”
“Stupid people are criminals too.”
“Yes, except… I don’t know what to think.”
“This case hasn’t been as cut and dry as we first expected. We’ll know soon enough, though.” The cryptic comment sounded as offhand as him talking about the weather.
Olivier leaped onto her lap again, and she began to stroke his back, her motions automatic. Lars watched her for a long minute.
“What is it you want to ask me?” she asked finally.
“I wondered if…” He broke off.
“Yes?”
His gaze landed on her. “If you think of Guernsey.”
Her stomach fluttered at his mere presence, but now she almost gasped at the tight need that followed. She knew exactly what he asked.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Often?”
Her gaze shot to his. “What does it matter, Lars?”
“It matters because…” He flicked his gaze to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Because I want you.”
Jaw dropping, she gaped at him. After weeks without word from the man, and the way they’d parted with so few words exchanged…he wanted her? Deep inside, a string tightened to her pussy, and a throb began.
They didn’t look away
from each other. Then that brazen part of herself took over, and she knew exactly what to do.
She slipped out of the chair.
* * * * *
He watched her for a long heartbeat. Each soft step she took ignited him and brought back all those steamy memories he hadn’t been able to shake since leaving her.
He stood and reached for her. Damn if the woman didn’t slide right into his arms as though she belonged there and had never left. He tugged her flush against him, and finally, after weeks of thinking about her almost nonstop, he could breathe.
On his way here, he told himself she was fine—he didn’t need to come. He lectured himself on all the reasons why he needed to keep his distance from her. None of that stopped him from getting into his car.
Maybe I finally lost my damn mind.
Burying his face in her hair, he closed his eyes at the scent of her, which seemed all too familiar, like walking into his own house after a long time away.
His mind drifted to his rental. He hardly spent time there, and his thoughts floated on to the home where he grew up. Just outside of Cleveland, Ohio, the two-story home on a quiet street reflected such an all-American upbringing. His parents still resided there.
At his last visit, his mom teared up at the authentic Russian pottery he brought her, saying she remembered her grandmother owned something similar years ago. And he and his father spent hours in the garage woodshop, building a new kitchen table as a surprise for his mom. Gluing the strips of wood for the top and then planing it down by hand took days of his time, and he relished every moment.
All of a sudden, he realized those moments were along the same lines as Lillian’s dream of the clothesline. Clutching her to his chest, he experienced simple joy. It must mean this isn’t wrong.
He stared down at her and then cradled her cheek in his palm. “Jesus, Lil. I’m supposed to stay away from you, but I can’t.”
A soft breath escaped her—almost like the soft sigh following her release. “You’re so bossy. I can’t see why I give you a second thought.”
The insult brought a smile to his lips. “And all you do is talk and ask questions.”
She drew back and scowled up at him. “Well, if you don’t want to listen to me, you know where the door is!”