by Lynn Turner
July 31
Wildfire.
August 4
Every time she cries, I see how strong she is.
…
There was still one entry left to read, but Mina couldn’t see it through her tears. They spilled from her like they sprung from a well deep inside her, wetting the page.
Zack gently took the notebook from her. “Dated today: ‘We were never meant to be perfect. Our pieces wouldn’t fit together that way.’”
Turning away, she gripped the balustrade.
“There’s no corner of my heart you haven’t seen now, Mina. There’s no thought in my mind you don’t know.”
Dieu, she wanted to believe him, to believe the three words that practically peeled themselves from the pages and levitated in front of her eyes. She could believe him here, of all places, couldn’t she? Here, in the quiet dark of night, in an empty castle where no one knew or cared who they were, where water droplets began to drift down, unhurried, like they had nothing better to do than kiss the leaves and vines…where the rain had all night to polish the cobbled pathway and reflect the glow of the lamps from all the empty spaces.
If not here, then where?
Finally, she let go a deep, shuddering sigh, and gave him her eyes. “Je pense toujours à toi. Tes yeux, j’en rêve jour et nuit,” she said in a tearful near-whisper. “Je t’aime de tout mon cœur.”
He did touch her then, tracing the tracks of her tears with his thumbs, until he’d followed them beneath the line of her jaw and he held her face in his hands. “What does that mean?”
Fear gripped her momentarily, but she squeezed her eyes shut and willed it away. Damn the fear. She was sick of it. Her mother could have died yesterday, but she hadn’t. She thought she’d lost Étienne, but he was alive, and determined to take his life back. Enfin, she was going to take hers back, too.
“Kiss me first,” she whispered.
Not hesitating a second, he scooped her in his arms, lifting her to her toes and aligning her heart with his heart, her mouth with his.
The first brushes of his lips were tentative—all whispers and sighs and shivers of relief. His lips were warm and soft, and then firmer, more grounded and sure. Sighing and melting into him, she angled her head, opened her mouth, and slipped him her tongue. He kissed her and kissed her, until the late hour didn’t matter, until time and place seemed to blur, until the rest of the world and everything in it crumbled away, leaving two warm bodies, two thundering heartbeats…one hungry soul bounding toward another.
When she finally pulled away, she hugged him as tightly as he hugged her, giving him a shy smile. “Come in with me.”
“So, what you’re saying is, ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’?”
Making an exasperated sound, she frowned. “Espèce d’idiot.”
“I might be an idiot, but I know when a woman’s telling me she’s in love with me.”
She gasped and slapped him simultaneously.
He burst into laughter, his hand going to his cheek.
“Merde!” She jumped back, her heart thumping wildly. “I-I’m sorry. It was reactionary…” Slipping her hand underneath his, she rubbed his cheek.
“It’s fine, I’ll just remember to buy a boxing helmet for any future momentous occasions.”
That made her smile. “Y-you understood what I said?”
“Not all of it, but I think I got the gist.” Grinning, he took her hand and kissed it.
“I said, ‘I always think about you. I dream about your eyes day and night.’”
“That’s sweet.” There was no trace of humor in his tone, as if he knew how difficult it was for her to open up.
“And…”
“And?”
“And, ‘I love you, with all my heart.’”
Pulling her close, he tucked her into his warmth as the rain dripped from the flying buttresses overhead. “I love you too, petite,” he said into her hair. “Tell me how to love you more, and I will.”
“Come in with me.” This time, there was no mistaking her meaning.
Over pale sheets, in the dim glow of the moon and the rain-scented air coming in from the open window, their fingers laced together above her head, he kissed her unhurriedly. He kissed all over her face and neck, the peaks of her breasts and curves of her shoulders, returning to take her mouth again and again.
She’d never felt so utterly naked—inside and out—and reveled in it. Like she could drop every stitch of armor and never be pierced by another expectation or opinion, because her pride and self-worth were impenetrable. It made her entire body shiver with exquisite vulnerability.
Dieu, he was everywhere, rubbing warmth all over her, opening and exposing her, stroking and licking her.
“Mamour,” she cried. “Please, please, please…”
Pre-orgasmic tremors washed over her, heat spiraling from her clit to her fingertips and toes. He slipped his fingers inside her, and her low, husky moans magnified to sharp, needy pants, goosebumps breaking out over her skin. Burying his tongue inside her again, she convulsed, crying out as everything in her seemed to dissolve and break apart.
Yet, he held her together so effortlessly.
Her eyes stung with new tears, at the scent and warmth and taste of him, after missing him for so long. Covering her body with his own, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed away her tears.
“Don’t cry, Mina.” He said gently, clutching her to his chest.
“I can’t help it,” she gulped. “Any time I feel anything, I cry.”
“Then cry all you want. Cry forever. Just let me be there when you do.”
He pressed into her slowly, then moved again, stretching and filling her, absorbing her sounds in his mouth. Smoothing her hands over his back, she admired the feel of his muscles, the silk of his skin, the magnificent arch of his spine.
“I love your body, petite,” Adjusting her hips the way he wanted, he kissed her again. “So much. So, so much.”
She moaned appreciatively, gripping his tight butt, digging her heels into his back. They were entwined like twisted strands of rope, strong and tight. Her body started to tighten around him again at the urgency in his thrusts, the way his skin reddened everywhere, the fierce concentration in his features—like he was holding back so he wouldn’t lose it too quickly. It melted her insides to feel how much he enjoyed her, to hear how good she made him feel. The tremors were already building again, low in her belly, intensifying every time he cursed or moaned.
“Jouir pour moi, mamour,” she whispered, rotating her hips. “Come for me, my love. Then we’ll do it again.”
He made an agonized sound, his hips bucking, his teeth sinking into the side of her neck as he shook from head to toe.
“Don’t stop! S’il te plaît, d-don’t stop…”
Lifting her hips a little, he drove into her again and again, chuckling at her mindlessly babbled “Merci.” Her breasts brushed his chest, and—like a match being struck—she came with sharp cry, her back arched, clenching down on him hard. He stroked her until the aftershocks subsided, whispering in her ear how beautiful she was.
“Wow.” She gripped his arms, still trembling with subtle shocks. “’I love you’ sex is way better than ‘I like you sex.’”
His laughter warmed her soul. Until he cocked his brow, and his lips twitched.
“Don’t ruin it,” she begged.
“I was just thinking it’s a good theory, that ‘I love you sex’ is better than ‘I like you’ sex.”
“Pardon?”
Rolling her over with him, he grinned rakishly at her squeal. “Theories are meant to be tested.”
In the shower, he tested the stream of water, adjusting until it was gentle and warm, running over them like a caress. Steam thickened the air, settling in tiny droplets over their heated skin. His soapy hands traced the rivulets down her body, rubbing the warm, sweet scent all over her.
“Touch me more,” she sighed, twisting his insides with lo
nging, clouding his mind. “I love your hands on me.”
Tucking her back against his chest, letting her head rest against his shoulder, he willingly obeyed; massaging her breasts, circling her belly button with his thumb, tracing over her folds with his fingers. Her throaty pleas reawakened his desire, and he pressed her hard against his erection, one arm wrapped around her, holding her tightly to his body. She tilted her face to him, offering her lips.
Lazily, he kissed her, matching the stroke of his tongue to the slide of his fingers, getting drunk on her sighs, the way her eyes slid shut, the way her breasts pressed softly into his arm, and her body melted into his, as if she’d slide into a boneless puddle if not for him holding her up. He sensed her orgasm building slowly this time, and when her inner walls clung to his fingers, he groaned, turning her easily and lifting her astride him. He pressed her back gently to the ivory tiles, giving her ass an affectionate squeeze with both hands, sliding into her soft body.
“Beautiful, petite. You’re so beautiful.”
He kissed her again, chasing, then retreating, enticing sounds rising from her lips into the steam and blending into a continuous melody as he took her in slow, easy thrusts.
“I missed you,” he groaned into her throat, gripping one of her thighs for purchase. “I want to fuck you forever, petite. You. Just you.”
A shocked little gasp escaped her, a sound he was prepared to spend the rest of his life trying to rend from her in new and awesome ways. She seemed to like his blatant declaration, because her face twisted, and she cried out, her back arching, pressing every luscious line and curve of her body against his. Shaking, her arms clutching desperately around him, the water spilling over her, she unraveled. It seemed to last forever, wave after wave of long, gentle vibrations wracking her body. He felt them all, and it was exquisite torture, her body writhing around him, her heart pounding against his, sending ripples of pleasure up and down his spine.
Setting her down gently, he drew her to him again, soaping his hands and running them all over her. She clung to his arm, still trembling, letting him wash her in the most intimate way.
Trust. She trusted him, and the knowledge had him soaring.
Also an ego-boost: her hair was in wild disarray, making her look more like a lion than he could ever hope to achieve. He grinned, despite the fact he was still painfully aroused. To that point, she was already pushing him back against the tiles and going to her knees.
“What are you doing?” His voice was thin, his heart tripping in his chest.
She smiled sweetly up at him, water dripping over her beautiful face, her hands running up the back of his thighs. “Trust falls.”
“M-Mina…” His heart hammered violently now, deafening in his ears, and he gripped her hair in both hands. “I want you to, but my mind tends to…go someplace else, whenever I let someone—I want to stay here with you.”
“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. Trust me, mamour,” she said softly, her hands wrapping gently around his wrists. “Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”
What shone in her eyes made him gasp. Raw, naked vulnerability, like he hadn’t seen since their first kiss, like his trust meant more to her than anything else in the world. Long as he lived, he’d never get used to seeing his soul reflected in her eyes. Willing his mind to accept what his body wanted, swallowing down the remaining dregs of doubt, he relaxed his grip on her hair, shaking with anticipation. She took her time with him, smoothing her hands over his abs, then down again, trailing hot kisses along his thighs and hip bones, over his lower abdomen and the lines that arrowed to a V. Taking him into her hands, stroking firmly, she very clearly telepathed with her eyes, I think you are beautiful too. Then she drew him into her soft, warm mouth.
His toes curled against the wet porcelain, his mouth making unintelligible sounds as she worked him over. She didn’t seem to mind that he pulled her hair so tightly, or that his hips flexed instinctively, pushing him to the back of her throat. Not even close. She moaned, like he was a delectable treat and she couldn’t get enough. For the first time in recent memory, he felt no consuming need to dissociate. It was pleasurable because it was her, because it didn’t feel like something was being taken from him, but given, and in giving, it brought her immeasurable joy.
And it was his complete undoing.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…”
His voice echoed off the tiles, his mind and body giving themselves up, void of all control, his hands buried in her hair. It wrecked him. Turned him completely inside out, proving his love for her didn’t exist only in his heart and soul. There wasn’t a single atom of his body that wasn’t melded with it, melded with her. It was ecstasy and solace. It was home.
She came to him quickly, while he was still shaking, his eyes stinging with tears, and wrapped him tightly in her arms, holding him up in more ways than one, just as he’d held her.
“Je t’aime,” she murmured, over and over and over. “Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”
He wrapped her in a towel downy as a robe and carried her to the bed. Lying beside her, he peeled away the towel slowly, like giftwrapping he didn’t want to tear. Her skin was warm and supple from the shower, and she shivered so subtly he would have missed it if he weren’t already touching her.
“Having an encore?” he teased lightly, his hands floating over her body.
In answer, she grasped his wrist and pulled his hand down, sliding it between her legs.
“More,” she whispered, shuddering again as he rubbed her with his thumb.
Bending his head, he licked and sucked her nipples, scraping gently with his teeth. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the shower, like her orgasm hadn’t finished but simmered on low, and had come back to collect. It happened quickly. Her lean, shapely body stiffened, and her eyes closed, her hips undulating against his hand. He kissed her when it was over. Over and over, because he couldn’t help himself. In a castle, on top of a hill, in this antique French bed, tangled in ruined sheets, Mina Allende imprinted herself on his tongue, his skin, his heart and soul…and he would cherish her, always.
“Merci,” she whispered, turning onto her stomach and collapsing into the pillows.
“Happy to help.”
Her answer was a sleepy growl, and he chuckled softly. They were sex drunk, love drunk, boneless—entirely useless human beings. Draping himself over her back, he kissed the expanse of smooth brown skin.
“Mina.” He said her name in wonder, enjoying her reflexive jerk when his lips met the small of her back. “Whatever happens after tonight, I’m yours, and you are mine.”
She sighed a contented little sigh and drifted to sleep.
Point taken.
Some things didn’t require words. Further, for some things, there were no words. And that was fine with him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sky was so blue in the morning, the sun so high in the sky, the rain seemed like a dream. Mina sat across Zack’s lap in the garden courtyard, intoxicated by the scent of roses and the warmth of summer, and his quick, playful kisses between bites of his breakfast.
“I think my appetite’s changed, petite.” He nibbled her lower lip, hands tightening on her waist. “Suddenly, I’m in the mood for something a little more…satisfying.”
Someone cleared his throat deliberately, and Mina looked up to see Étienne approaching the table.
“Bonjour.” His grin was wide. “I see this humble little château has worked its magic.”
Mina scrambled less-than-gracefully from Zack’s lap, grinning stupidly and tingling all over from her full-body blush. She kissed Étienne’s cheeks. “Bonjour, ma moitié.”
“Sit.” Zack seemed not the least bit embarrassed they were caught making out like teenagers. “Eat. There’s enough food here for two more people.”
“Ah.” Étienne acknowledged him with a nod. (Étienne never exchanged kisses with anyone he hadn’t met three times. It was his thing.) “Oui, Martin is
an incredible chef, but his idea of portion size has a decidedly américain bent—merci.” He accepted Mina’s untouched plate and a glass of water.
“Thank you,” said Zack. “You must’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”
“Not at all.” Étienne waved the notion away. “Angelo’s family was happy to accommodate us. They’re overcome to know his killer will see justice. It was a small thing, truly.” He tossed the morning paper in front of Mina. “I come bearing gifts.”
Picking it up, she read the headline aloud. “‘Popular sommelier charged with forgery and murder.’”
She held it so Zack could see, studying the photo with a frown. Gabriel Ademar was being led from his luxury hotel in handcuffs—surrounded by a crowd of onlookers and droves of press.
“Smug bastard,” Zack bit out. “He looks like he’s posing for the fucking paparazzi.”
“Putain!” Étienne cursed. “I’m sure he thinks his lawyers can wiggle him out of this, but his taste in guns is as rare as his taste in wine, the connard. Objectively, it’s a pretty piece of deadly machinery. Subjectively, he’s compensating for something.”
“That is a clean shot of him,” Zack observed. “Someone must’ve alerted the press.”
Étienne nodded. “The publicity is good for la police. Gabriel is the biggest fish they’ve caught in years.”
“Ugh, I can’t stand to look at him.” Mina slammed the front-page face-down on the table. “I don’t think you should, either.”
“Are you kidding?” Étienne took a bite of a buttery croissant. “I have several copies: one to frame above my bed, one to burn, one to leave at Angelo’s grave, and one to pick up the shit of my future puppy when this is all over.”
Mina crinkled her nose. “Enfin, I think a puppy would be wonderful. What will you name it?”
“I quite like the idea of a pug named Gary.”
“Oui, you love it when pets have human names.”
“And when humans have pet names…”
They fell quiet, lost in a shared memory.
“You two are obviously having a moment.” Zack didn’t sound like he minded at all. “Clue me in?”