Honeymoon with a Stranger

by Frances Housden

  There was something in his eyes that frightened her in a way that Mac—for all he’d grabbed her and kissed her twice—had never done.

  An idea presented itself to Mac as if it had come on the same plate as their breakfast pastries.

  If it worked, it would get them out of the damn attic.

  After a long day of being with Roxie and the bed in the same room, the combination might prove too tempting.

  Maybe he could save his soul and eat better as well if the story Roxie had told him about learning to cook from her grandmother was true.

  He began putting his plan into action, saying, “We’re not used to eating pig swill. Tell Zukah, if this is the best he can offer, then maybe we won’t hang around after all.”

  He flipped the napkin back over the food, hoping that Zukah was listening downstairs. “Take this mess away and fetch coffee.”

  “No, Mac, maybe I can rescue some of these if I peel away the top layers. I’m hungry enough to attempt it.”

  He reached across the table, took the croissant from Roxie’s fingers and shoved it back on top of the others. “Chérie, you shouldn’t have to. This is an insult to French cuisine,” he said, rubbing salt into Jean-Luc’s wounds.

  The Frenchman didn’t try to defend himself. He just picked up the plate, saying, “Maybe I’ll do better next time.”

  Mac did an about-face from derision to empathy. “Look, don’t take it so hard. It’s just that Roxie is an excellent French cook. She learned at her Grandmère’s knee. It’s hard not to make comparisons.”

  If there was one thing Mac had learned about Frenchmen during his Paris sojourn, they loved good food, and if it took going hungry a little longer…well, it was in a good cause.

  He watched the expressions of the Frenchmen when they met up at the door. His plan looked to be a partial success. All it needed was the Algerian’s approval, and with a gut like Zukah sported, he had to love his food.

  It might be enough to get them both out of the attic.

  Roxie had the grace to wait till the door closed before going for Mac’s throat. “What was that about? I was hungry. I could have eaten the inside layers. With a little cherry conserve the burnt taste wouldn’t have been so noticeable.”

  Mac put a finger to his lips. His face was a mask she couldn’t read as he pulled out a piece of cellophane. She recognized it as the stuff she’d stripped from the soap and tossed on the marble counter. A second later Mac rustled the paper under the table.

  “Do you want to stay shut up here in this attic?” His voice was a husky whisper that she had to lean close to catch.

  Roxie responded in kind. “Not particularly. I don’t see how we can change that unless you have a secret weapon that will help us blast our way out of here.”

  Mac’s eyes started to glitter the way they had the night before, but she steeled her senses not to respond to the hypnotic light that had drawn her to him when they met. “You’re my secret weapon.”

  “Me?” Roxie flung herself back in her chair, its legs scraping the wooden floor with the force of her astonishment. Her thoughts spun. Heaven only knew what he was going to ask of her now.

  It was one thing pretending to make love for an unseen audience, but it was off the other end of the scale to expect her to keep up the act 24/7.

  Mac rose from the table, surreptitiously slipping the cellophane into his pocket as he grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the chair. “Don’t pout, chérie. The caffeine fix will help.”

  Roxie couldn’t prevent her eyes straying toward the silent observer; Mac was saying one thing but doing another. Had he forgotten the video camera? As he motioned her to follow, it dawned on her that they were moving out of the camera’s line of sight.

  Shut in the bathroom once more, he ran the water, then propped his hip against the marble counter. “You’re not very experienced in undercover work, are you? Do you want Zukah to know what we’re up to?”

  “What’s with the we? I’m not up to anything, and I object to being ordered around as if I had no mind of my own. You might be used to this cops-and-robbers stuff but I’m not, and I’m sick of being kept in the dark.”

  He gripped both her shoulders as if he might shake her. “You don’t have to put on a show for me. We haven’t long before the coffee arrives. You said you could cook. Was that true?”

  Her eyes widened. He was going to put her to work. “Of course it was the truth. I don’t lie.”

  Not if I’ve a choice, she qualified silently.

  One of his eyebrows lifted a fraction. The man was a conundrum. He expected her trust, while he didn’t give an inch.

  A wave of pity for him dashed over her. Made her consider smoothing the dark stubble crowding his jawline. It must be terribly lonely when you trusted no one.

  She capitulated. “Tell me what you want this time and I’ll do my best to fall in with your plans.”

  “Oh, they won’t be my plans, they’ll be Zukah’s. Protest a little, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy this much more than staying here with me while I have nothing to do but devise ways of getting you into the sack.”

  She should be taken aback, surprised even, but nothing about Mac surprised her anymore. Did he think she was stupid?

  Was this all part of his scheme to con her into doing exactly as he wanted? He moved toward the door and she followed. “Sorry, Mac. If your aspirations extend to receiving my cooperation for that, dream on….”

  It was no big stretch for him to cup the back of her neck in his huge hand. His fingers caressed the sensitive spot behind her ear as he pulled her closer. She didn’t resist, couldn’t.

  So much for her last boast.

  His mouth mesmerized her as it came closer, so close she could taste him. She licked her lips and felt energy arc from his mouth to hers following the damp trail her tongue had left.

  Lifting her eyes, she sought out his gaze, suddenly in need of reassurance they weren’t about to plunge into another disaster, but his lids had already closed as if he could find her mouth by instinct, and he did.

  The first touch of his lips was like a tiny spark in a forest that had only needed the correct fuel to become a conflagration.

  Roxie felt like a flame in his arms.

  A twist of fire and smoke that could wind its way round his body to feed off his energy and never get enough.

  The seam of her lips parted under the pressure of his tongue, and once it gained entrance, teased hers to dance. To twirl, entwine and thrust as she followed it back into a mouth filled with masculine tastes and treasures that made her blood sizzle while her temperature headed for the boiling point.

  She reached up to stroke the velvet stubble that heightened the sensations of his mouth moving over hers. Her other hand dug through the thick strands of his hair, clamped onto the back of his neck as she strained against the solid wall of his chest.

  His hand slipped from the back of her neck, down under her sweater to her collarbone, leaving a trail of heat behind it, branding her with Mac’s personal stamp. “Please,” he whispered.

  All that had been needed was the magic password. She groaned into his mouth at the touch of his hands on her breasts.

  Breasts that ached for his rough caress.

  One small step and the solid buttress of Mac’s leg slid between hers. Tension gathered in his muscles as he lifted her closer, higher, to ride his thigh.

  Her breath came thick and fast as denim brushed soft tender flesh that parted, aching to receive him.

  The pressure felt delicious as he enveloped her in a tight embrace that allowed her to feel the burn of male flesh, pressing the softness of her belly.

  It wasn’t enough.

  She wanted him.

  Wanted Mac.

  He lifted his mouth, left her head lolling on her shoulders as the ceiling spun overhead. She felt dizzy, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.

  Her heart thudded against her sternum, as if knocking to get out.

  As Mac slid
her down his thigh, she came to the conclusion that here was a man who could rip her heart out of her chest and she would let him.

  Simply give it into his keeping though it killed her.

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  The man was a criminal, or worse, a terrorist! And she was falling for him. Why hadn’t Grandmère warned her that men like this existed?

  Men who could hold you in thrall and turn your life inside out without raising so much as a squeak of feminist protest.

  Good grief, this was bad.

  More, it was disastrous.

  “Now do you understand? Your cooperation was a given from the start. I could take you anytime I want and it wouldn’t be rape.” His words provided the dash of icy water she needed as he took away the support of his hands. Left her standing before him with breasts heaving and skin pulsing with heat.

  A glare wouldn’t have the effect she was seeking. She needed something subtler, like the lift of an eyebrow or the curl of a lip to show her disdain for his tactics.

  She gave him both.

  “So, you consider seduction to be the lesser crime. I think not. I’m no match for you, haven’t your experience, yet. But thanks for my first lesson. I’m a quick study, so metaphorically speaking you won’t sweep me off my feet as easily next time.”

  He grinned as he pulled the door open, as if he knew something she didn’t.

  Before he left her standing on her dignity, he said, “Don’t bet the bank on it, chérie. You have hidden fires and I just learned how to turn up the heat.”

  At least he didn’t wait for a reply, for truthfully how could she deny she’d turned to flames in his arms. The trick would be to keep out of his arms for the duration of their incarceration.

  She heard the sound of voices in the next room.

  The Frenchmen were back and she still didn’t know what Mac had planned for her, but as long as his scenario didn’t verge into the ridiculous, she would help move it along.

  Decision made, she went to join them.

  Chapter 6

  Roxie walked straight to the table without a sideways glance and picked up the coffeepot. No one offered help. Like Mac, everyone looked to be erring on the side of caution. Just as well. Judging from her expression, she’d slam-dunk anyone who got between her and her caffeine fix.

  Turning her back on them, she stared out the window.

  Mac waited, then said, “Roxie?” He recognized the danger of using the term chérie. He could have sworn he heard her snarl. Obviously, she wasn’t feeling as human as he’d hoped. The jolt of caffeine still had a way to go.

  It wasn’t a revolt as such. She simply refused to respond.

  “R-o-xie…” Mac coaxed. “Zukah would like a favor.”

  She turned, one eyebrow raised as if questioning the term favor and was preparing to refuse point-blank, but Mac knew he’d only put out the fire in her libido, not her sense of survival.

  She spoke to Jean-Luc. “And what concessions…can I expect for this favor Monsieur Zukah wants?”

  Jean-Luc was past pretending. “He said, since you’re the only female around, and the closer I get to a stove the more useless I am, will you come down to the kitchen and put all of us out of our misery. You’ll have the run of the kitchen…it’s large.”

  “Now, there’s a man who knows his way around a favor,” she replied.

  Mac didn’t blink. He wasn’t surprised, also he doubted if Jean-Luc caught the ring of sarcasm, but then, it wasn’t aimed at him. Outwardly he was perfectly still, but his mind raced, then he got it. She was letting him stew.

  His eyes held her gaze for one whole minute out of time, neither wavering as a message passed between them.

  Then Mac nodded, the concession was his.

  “Of course I’ll help out,” she said. “Just let me get another cup of coffee and I’ll come down with you.”

  Roxie had worked out that if the kitchen were on the ground floor, then she would be three levels closer to escaping.

  And at least she knew where they were. She’d recognized the hulking shape on the horizon as Château d’Angers.

  No matter what Mac said about Zukah shooting her, if she saw her chance, she would take it. By now Charles was probably tearing his hair out wondering what had happened to her.

  But even if she couldn’t escape, downstairs there would be more chance of locating a phone.

  Deep down, she felt she had failed him. He’d given her instructions and her impulse had cocked them up.

  Mac’s voice interrupted her schemes. “Here is the concession we want. She doesn’t go downstairs unless I accompany her.”

  He’d baited the trap with her cooking skills and now he was about to slam it shut. “Zukah,” he continued, “brought us here as a couple and that’s how we stay.”

  Jean-Luc stuttered, “I—I don’t think…”

  Mac was back in power and cut Jean-Luc off with a swipe of his sharp tongue. “I don’t think you’re paid to think. Yves can give my message to Zukah. Tell him it’s all or nothing.”

  She could see her chance of escaping dissolving if Mac had gotten this wrong.

  The moment Yves turned the key in the lock, she turned to Mac. “Are you out of your mind? They’re not going to let you downstairs. We’re going to be stuck in this attic without even as much as a decent meal to keep our strength up.”

  “Chérie, what kind of a man would I be if I left you at the mercy of three strange men?”

  She wanted to blast him with the truth. That, charming kisses aside, he was every bit a stranger as the others, but just in time she remembered they were playing live downstairs. “You don’t really expect Zukah to let you have a knife to peel vegetables?”

  He had the nerve to laugh. “Tiens. Chérie, you know I’ll do what I always do when you’re in the kitchen. Supervise.”

  Mac was impossible to argue with. As long as the Algerian could hear every word they said she had no comeback. And she was wary of doing a repeat session in the bathroom simply to tear a strip off his luscious hide.

  For a start she didn’t trust him, and second, she didn’t trust herself. She wouldn’t give up trying to escape, though.

  If Mac made it impossible to take off while she worked in the kitchen, she would search the drawers and cupboards for some tool she could use to pick the lock.

  Now, wouldn’t that surprise Mac if she could find a way to creep out of the attic while he slept?

  She’d love to see his face when he woke and found no Roxie sharing the bed. Of course it would never happen.

  No, because she wouldn’t see his face. She’d be long gone.

  The air outside the attic slid down like clear cold water and tasted of freedom. A delusion, like the overwhelming impression of grandeur that blinded the eyes at first sight. The house wasn’t Versailles, Mac decided, it just wanted to be.

  How long their partial release would last there was no saying, as he still only had Roxie’s word that she could cook.

  If she’d been tossing him a line, then he could be knee-deep in the local manure heap.

  This was his first view of the house in daylight, and if he, a guy, could tell someone had spent serious money getting the house into this shape, Roxie could probably put a figure on it. Her clothes might seem over the top, but he recognized high quality in their cut.

  As a spy, she wouldn’t look out of place among the top echelon of France, the movers and shakers of French politics.

  The kitchen was the one place he hadn’t checked out last night, expecting the attic to be monitored from there, but he’d been wrong.

  Though during his tour of the house, he’d discovered two occupied bedrooms on the second floor housing Zukah and Yves. Both their rooms had rung with snores, muffling his approach, but he hadn’t come across the other Frenchman.

  Jean-Luc had to be at the lower end of the hierarchy since he seemed to be doing all the donkeywork, like cooking and manning the listening devices at night, et
cetera.

  With less at stake he might be more easily turned.

  Mac’s speculation crashed to an abrupt halt as Roxie tugged to attract his attention. Her elegant hand looked out of place against the beaten-up black leather.

  He had a flashback of her in bed that morning.

  He’d wanted her then and he wanted her now, and no words to the wise were going to change her effect on him.

  When it came to this woman, his conscience didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of giving advice his libido would heed.

  Roxie kept her voice deliberately low, which probably made the Frenchmen behind them think they were conspiring.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said. And given the train of his thoughts, he immediately put the wrong connotation on her words.

  He soon learned his mistake as she told him, “It’s been well over a year since I saw a decent kitchen. What happens if they don’t like my cooking?”

  He pulled her in close to answer. And to curb any notions of their plotting from Yves’s mind, he made his actions blatantly sexual by spreading the width of his hand round the curve of her derriere.

  Dipping his head, he said, “Don’t sweat it, chérie. It’s been a long time for me, but I won’t forget how to make love to you.”

  She gave him a push, looking embarrassed as she glanced over her shoulder. Mac eyed her flushed features, speculating. Roxie was either one hell of an actress or the real deal.

  “It’s not the same thing, at all.”

  “You mean, one comes naturally and the other has to be learned.” He put a hand on her elbow to guide her down the last few curved steps after the banister finished.

  Roxie’s indignation had won the day. There was nothing kittenish in the swipe she gave his hand, but then she wasn’t putting on a show of pretence.

  He moved down to the flagged floor, leaving her two steps up, and turned, their faces almost level. Mere inches separated their lips, a breath away from a kiss.

  The inclination to teach her how natural his instincts were passed, as her heels clicked onto the floor beside him.