When Stars Collide

by Aliyah Burke

“Do we understand one another, Kysenzki?”

  “We do.”

  “Good.”

  And just like that the tension faded into nothingness. Hooking his ankles, Cort set his beer beside him and stared at his friend. Memories of growing up, school, football, and more flashed through his mind. BB Gibson’s approval and friendship meant a lot to him. But for this, his approval meant more.

  They chatted for a while, during which he wondered how he was going to get Zémire as a permanent fixture in his life. Right now, it seemed they were destined to be apart.

  Not for long, Zémire. Not for long.

  * * * *

  Zémire sat up slowly with a yawn and stretched. Rubbing her eyes, she flopped back down in bed and burrowed further under the thick comforter. Outside the rain pounded down, blocking out the morning sun. It was her day off, no point in getting up early.

  While she lay there, curled up and warm, she thought about Cort. She’d been back in her beloved France for six weeks now and hadn’t heard from him in three.

  “Why should he call? I basically told him to go back to the naked women he encounters,” she growled.

  No basically about it. She’d done just that.

  Overhead, thunder rolled, mocking her solitude. She grunted and flopped over onto her other side. It didn’t matter, nor did it help. His image trailed her back into slumber.

  The deluge still continued when her phone rang, waking her from a wonderful dream.

  “Bonjour?” she mumbled.

  Jacques was on the other end, asking her to come in. Another co-worker and friend, Christophe, had been in an accident. Her agreement came without hesitation and she stumbled to the shower. She packed a lunch and headed off while munching on an apple.

  “How’s Christophe?” she asked Jacques when he fell into step with her at the entrance.

  “Broken leg along with a few busted ribs. He’ll be all right. Lisa is the one who’s a wreck.”

  She stored her food and nodded. “Figures. She’s always been a bit high strung. I’ll swing by and check on her.”

  “I’m sure it would be appreciated. Let’s get to work, I want to show you something.”

  And they did. After the day ended, she went, picked up dinner and drove to Christophe and Lisa’s apartment. Lisa met her at the door, holding her four-month-old daughter, Neely.

  “Hey, Lisa. Sorry to stop in so late but I wanted to swing by and see how he is,” she said, speaking French.

  “So thoughtful,” Lisa replied, her expression a bit harried. “And you brought food.”

  “Figured you’d have your hands full with things here.”

  “Kind of, yes. This one’s been fussy all day.”

  “Let me put this down and I’ll hold Neely while you eat.”

  Lisa’s gratitude flowed and regardless of her own personal exhaustion, Zémire felt good. They chatted while the new mother ate. Neely snuggled close to her and played with her hair.

  “You look really good holding her,” Lisa said.

  She smiled and brushed brown curls away from the cherubic face. “She’s adorable.”

  Deep inside, Zémire wondered if she would ever have one of her own. Apparently holding Neely had kick-started her biological clock. Lisa must have understood her whimsical look.

  “It’ll happen, Zémire. One day all things will fall into place and it’ll happen. You’ll be a great mom.”

  “Perhaps. Not looking too promising from where I’m sitting. But I should get going, have a few things to do at home.”

  A soft smile crossed Lisa’s face and she put away her dishes. When she returned, she took Neely from her. “Thanks, Zémire. For stopping by and…and everything. I’ll make sure to tell Christophe you stopped by.”

  “Not a problem. Let me know if I can do anything else to help. You have my number. Call me, day or night.”

  Lisa pressed a kiss to her cheek with a grateful smile. “Bless you, Zémire. You’re such a wonderful friend…to both of us.”

  Zémire didn’t respond. She and Lisa had not been friends at the start, the woman seeming hell-bent and convinced that there was something going on between her and Christophe. It had taken a while before Lisa let it go and now they were all friends and had been for about four years. “Night, Lisa.”

  When she finally made it to her place, she rolled her shoulders in a futile attempt to work out the kinks. The hard rain from the morning had softened to a gentler one. The thunder and lightning remained, illuminating the dark night with irregular flashes of light and dangerous rumbles.

  “Just to be clear, Zémire Gibson, I didn’t ask for her to strip in front of me, nor did I wish her to.” The low, thick Texas drawl snaked out from the night and bit her.

  She jumped, a squeal emerging from her throat, nearly choking her. What the hell was he doing here?

  “Damn it, Cort! Are you trying to kill me?” she stammered, clutching the damp shirt over her pounding heart, as if she could slow down the cadence it produced.

  He stepped from the corner of her house and into the slight light given by her porch sconce. Her breath was sucked away by a vacuum. He looked delicious. A man’s man. She stared at him, a familiar hunger rising swiftly within. Body reacting sexually, all tiredness wiped away.

  “I have many, many things in mind when it comes to you, Zémire. Trust me, sweetheart, killing you isn’t even remotely close to one of them.”

  Despite the cold autumn rain, his words inflamed the ever-growing heat coursing through her. Desperate to sound intelligent and not ask him to fuck her right there and now, she rubbed the bridge of her nose to gain time.

  “What are you doing here, Cort?”

  He stepped out from the awning. Immediately the droplets landed in his hair and dampened his shirt, moulding it closer to his powerful physique.

  Fuck me.

  His eyes burned eerily in the light as he approached her. Approached? No. The man prowled and there was no mistaking his prey. For a fleeting second, she harboured the notion of running. It must have showed, for his expression changed. It dared her to.

  Cort halted before her, hands at his side. “We can do this here or inside, Zémire. Make your choice.”

  “In—inside.”

  He gave a nod of consent and stepped back. His blue eyes watched her and even after she moved past him she could feel his gaze. Boring into her back. Hot. Scorching. Seeking.

  The house was warm and she shivered from her wet clothes. “I’ll be right back.” Not giving him a chance to speak, she headed for her bedroom and some dry attire. She took her time, needing to regroup.

  Only the living room light was on when she returned. Cort stood in the kitchen, facing away from her. Like a marble statue he appeared. A mouth watering one.

  He wore jeans. Only. Nothing else. His sodden shirt had been removed.

  The light cast a soft, gentle, golden glow upon the wide expanse of his muscular back. His hair fell past the base of his neck and her fingers itched to sink into the blond strands. Her eyes followed a lone droplet of water from the end of his hair, down over the roped muscles of his back, until it disappeared below the waistband of his jeans.

  Raw male. Pure male. Total male.

  She dampened her lips. I want him. His body shifted. Not much, only a slight ripple, but she knew he had been made aware of her presence.

  “I brought you a towel,” she said in a whispered tone.

  He rotated slowly, eyes dangerous as they skimmed her. Making her feel that her sweats and T-shirt weren’t quite enough protection against him. Her hand buried in the jade green cotton shook, but she refused to let him know it. He didn’t speak, just held her gaze while he took the towel and ran it over his hair.

  Her senses flew off the handle at the pure scent of masculinity flowing from him to her eager nose. She wanted it on her. Embedded in her clothes, skin, everything. To be able to inhale and be surrounded by the smell of Cort.

  Focus! Deep breath. Adopting what she
hoped was a bored look, she studied her nails before she spoke. “Why are you here?”

  “Ilsa.”

  Anger boiled at the sound of that woman’s name on his lips. Especially when she was the reason he’d arrived at her door.

  “Seems like a long flight for a woman who isn’t here,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Cort rocked towards her only to back up until his ass—his firm, jean-clad ass—rested against her counter. He tossed the towel beside him and raked a hand through still damp hair.

  “I came to explain about her.”

  “You wasted a trip. I have no desire to even discuss your love life.”

  A muscle twitched in his angular jaw. “I do, but we have to clear up Ilsa first.”

  She waved a hand. “Let’s not and say we did. I’m beat. So can we not do this?”

  “No.”

  At the ring of finality to that solitary word, she paused. “Pardonnez-moi?”

  “We don’t ignore this, Zémire.”

  “Why?” She cringed at the screech emanating from her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Cort stroked his chin, regarding her carefully. Then in the blink of an eye, he prowled towards her, eyeing her intently. She backed up until the wall permitted no further retreat. Strong arms boxed her in.

  “She was under my protection,” he stated, as if she’d never spoken about her reluctance to have this discussion.

  “How convenient,” she sneered.

  “No. Ilsa is a woman used to getting what she wants, one reason I was assigned to her. The others were caving to her.”

  “So…so you had no desire for what she offered?”

  “Not even remotely,” he answered a millisecond after she finished asking. “I was put with her because I go by the book. Don’t break the rules.”

  He hadn’t moved at all. Her world consisted of just the two of them. Dare she hope? Dare she allow the dream?

  “So you’ve never broken protocol?”

  “Once.”

  There it is. “With Ilsa.”

  “Yes, but not how you’re thinking. I broke it while she was under my protection but it had nothing to do with her.”

  Dawning set in. “The call to me?”

  His head dipped in a short nod. “The call to you.”

  She worried her lower lip for a moment. “But why?”

  “I was worried about you, Zémire.”

  “So, Ilsa?”

  “Has a habit of walking around in the nude. I was tired of it.”

  A bit more hope. One hand trailed over her necklace, lifting each of the eleven individual leaves before moving on to the next. Her skin felt hypersensitive, heated and flushed.

  “You didn’t—”

  “Never even entertained the idea. Only one woman makes me lose all sense and long to strip her bare and sink my hard cock into her. Only one I want to hear screaming my name in pleasure to the air. Only you, Zémire,” he finished on a whisper, his mouth by her ear.

  Hands flat against the wall behind her, she curved her fingers into claws and scored the surface so she didn’t give in and touch him.

  “You…you could have explained over the phone.”

  “Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck, tongue swiping out on occasion.

  “Or email.”

  “Mmm.”

  Her legs shook and she had to lock her knees to ensure she stayed on her feet. He pressed close and she ached for more of his touch. Her nipples were like diamonds, the throb between her thighs not only constant but also extremely insistent.

  “Even…even regular post.” Her eyes kept rolling back in her head.

  “Reckon so,” he drawled, his breath warm against fevered skin.

  She felt helpless, craving only the touch that could take her to such heights of ecstasy. Cort’s touch.

  “We can’t do this,” she stammered. It was nothing more than a last-ditch effort to regain control of her mental facilities.

  His hands dropped to her hips, drawing her even tighter to the blatant hard ridge in his jeans. His bare chest touched her and she whimpered as her hands sought out his hard torso.

  “We can.”

  “Shouldn’t,” she breathed.

  “Oh, most definitely should.” His fingers sneaked under her shirt and teased the small of her back.

  “Why?” Her question was more a gasp than anything, her body already having betrayed her.

  “Stop asking questions, Zémire.”

  He pulled her to him, almost violently. She sank her fingers into his rock hard biceps as he moved them around in a slow erotic dance. She came in his arms, the way he held her and moved with her more than she’d ever experienced.

  “Cort!” she cried, clenching harder as her heart pounded out of control.

  “Hang on, sweetheart. We’ve only just begun.”

  He swept her up in his strong arms and carried her to her room where he made short work of her clothes. She groaned in pleasure when his thick length slid in and filled her. Stretched her. With his hard body over hers, she gave in and let him make sweet love to her.

  When she fell asleep, his arms were snug around her. And it was the same when she woke. She lay partially on top of him for a moment, her brain running over what she’d done.

  Again.

  “It’s mighty early to be thinking so hard, sweetheart. Why are you analysing this?” Cort’s deep rumble floated over her like warm brandy.

  “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  He stiffened. “Why not?” There was a definite edge to his tone. She felt him stretch and soon light filled the room. “Why not, Zémire?” he asked again, repositioning them so they were face to face.

  “Besides the obvious?”

  Those incredible eyes narrowed briefly. “Don’t you think I’d do the right thing if you got pregnant?”

  Her biological clocked thumped harder. “Pregnant?” she choked out. That’s what he thought I meant? “I’m not worried about that, I’m on the Pill.”

  His expression grew even colder. “Why?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, that’s so really none of your business.” The ice in his eyes and the tic in his jaw told her exactly what he thought of her statement. “Fine,” she huffed. “I’m on them to regulate my periods. Happy?”

  “Yes. So what’s the obvious?”

  “Oh, I was talking about that puny little thing we call the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “Is that your only objection to us?”

  Was it?

  There was laughter in his eyes. He tucked some hair behind her ear. “Well, sweetheart? Is that it?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to know what you’re throwing up in my path.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Okay, a few.

  “My brother.”

  “The Atlantic and your brother. Anything else?”

  She was baffled. Mornings without coffee were hard enough and add to her lack of caffeine this hot man who made her forget herself. She was screwed.

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. Your brother, he’s given his blessing.”

  That shocked her, although she’d kind of figured it since BB left it alone instead of getting all into her business.

  “And as for the ocean—

  ”Wait!” she interrupted.

  “Yes?” His fingers constantly touched her. Face and neck, like he couldn’t get enough.

  “Why?”

  “Why? For no other reason than I love you, Zémire. And I want to be with you for the rest of our days.”

  Her heart swelled with love. And pain. How cruel life could be. She didn’t want a long distance relationship.

  “Cort…I…I can’t—”

  He covered her mouth with his hand. “Don’t say that. I know you love me, Zémire. And before you say anything about distance, don’t. I’m moving to France. Toulouse to start then hopefully even closer to you.”

  What?!

  She moved his hand. “You’re moving here?
What about your job as a Marshall?”

  “It was time for a change and when the offer came with Interpol, I took it.”

  Tears sprang up. He did all of that for her? “You moved all the way here for me?”

  He cupped her face gently, in his large hands. “I meant it when I said I’d do anything for you, Zémire. I’ve fallen so hard for you.”

  “I love you, too, Cort.”

  He kissed her, hungrily until she pulled back. “What?” he asked.

  “I have to work today.”

  “Pity,” he replied with a wink. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you, Cortland Bernard Kysenzki.”

  His fingertips skimmed along her cheekbone. “The day I saw you again at BB’s party, I knew I’d fallen for you. Fast or not, that’s how it is.”

  “I fell for you much earlier than that,” she said, remembering how long she’d loved this man. She touched his shadowed jaw. “What about your parents?”

  “They’re anxiously awaiting grandbabies. Me…I’m ready to practice making babies.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She ducked her head only to have him lift it. “I know not everything will be perfect, Zémire, but I’ll tell you everyday how much I love you. Say you’ll marry me.”

  “Cort,” she sighed, curling up close and shutting her eyes to block it all out except the feel and scent of the man holding her. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  He made love to her, showered and ate with her, but she’d convinced him to go back to bed and catch up on sleep. In the doorway to her bedroom, she stared at the large Texan who lay in her bed, snoring.

  Her gaze drifted to the ring he’d brought with him. Gold with a large diamond. On the band were etchings of leaves. It was so beautiful. Of course, she didn’t need a ring. All she needed was Cort. His love was more than enough.

  “Sleep well, my love,” she whispered.

  Leaving her home, she believed she could feel her parents’ love and approval around her. She started the engine and drove to work, content with the fact she was no longer alone. The stars had collided, bringing her and Cort back together. Good things came from having fallen in love. And she had…fallen.

  About the Author

  Aliyah Burke loves to read and write.