by Niki Savage
“What happened?”
“They shot at him from the roof of a building opposite his hotel room. Jean-Michel had been relaxing on his balcony, enjoying the sunset, believing he was safe so high in the sky. It was a sniper’s dream, but they missed his head by half-an-inch when he moved unexpectedly.”
She gasped in horror.
Stefan nodded. “He told me later that he got the shock of his life when the window behind him shattered. Only his excellent reflexes saved him. Before they could get off a second shot, he was back inside his room, flat behind the bed. He managed to ring the reception desk for help, but by then the sniper was long gone. Hotel security put him in touch with me, and we protected him from there onwards. At Jean-Michel’s request I also assigned some men to protect you, though you were never aware of them.”
She searched her mind. “No, I guess I wasn’t.”
“My men are professionals. You would only have seen them if they allowed it.”
“So what happened after that?”
“We thwarted a second attempt on Jean-Michel’s life, when we caught somebody tampering with his car. Soon afterwards, we tracked down the terrorists and neutralized them. So Jean-Michel was safe, and so were you.”
“Thank you. At least you bought Jean-Michel another year of life. You must have been disappointed when you heard he had crashed.”
He dropped his head, guilt gnawing at his insides. “I was devastated. Jean-Michel and I had become good friends. We spoke on the phone often, and met for dinner whenever we found ourselves in the same city. In the year before his death, he visited La Montagne five times, once staying for ten days while you were away on a tour. My men had a lot of respect for him, especially after he beat them on the obstacle course.”
She chuckled. “He hated coming second, didn’t he?”
Stefan smiled too. “He was a born winner.”
“Why did you keep this secret from me?”
“As I said before, Jean-Michel swore me to silence. My loyalty to him, even after his death, prevented me from saying anything. But since Claude spilled the beans, you might as well know the whole story.”
“Don’t be so hard on Claude. He’s a good friend.”
He watched with an amused smile as she picked up the silky garments. “Good enough to give you pajamas?”
“His intentions are good. He’s been doing his best for me since Jean-Michel...” she struggled for a second with the hateful word before saying it, “...died. He always brought me special presents from his trips, so Claude’s doing it now. I haven’t had the heart to tell him it isn’t the same, so he keeps doing it. He just wants what’s best for me.”
“Isn’t he too protective of you?” Stefan quizzed as they went to the kitchen.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He isn’t happy about me being here.”
She glanced at him. “Why do you think that?”
Stefan sat in the breakfast nook and watched as she removed various foodstuffs from the fridge and the kitchen cupboards. “I’m a good judge of human character, and I know Claude. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tries to speak to you alone later.”
She came to stand in front of him. “Why would Claude be unhappy about you being here? It’s not like you’re a total stranger.”
“Claude and I didn’t get along well in Italy. He thinks I am on the same level as the terrorists I hunt.” His voice hardened as he continued, “I don’t apologize to anyone for what I am, and what I do, least of all Claude.”
“No need to get so defensive. I’ll talk to Claude. I’m sure it’s nothing at all.”
“It would be better if we didn’t tell him the circumstances of my arrival, just to be safe.”
He had pushed too far, and her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Do you think Claude would try to cause trouble for you? That isn’t fair. Whatever you may think of him, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, or my friends. But I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want.”
“Claude wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” Stefan returned, stung by her heated rebuke, “but he has no problem letting you turn yourself into a greasy spot on the track!” His voice rose as he continued, “At three hundred kilometers per hour! With friends like that, who needs enemies?”
She stepped forward, furious. “I know how to drive racing cars. I know how far I can push the limits!”
“Yeah, I’m sure Jean-Michel thought he knew that too,” he said bitterly, getting up from the table, tired of the argument.
“How dare you say that?” Her face was paper-white, her eyes filled with pain. “What right do you have to say that?”
Stefan was sorry he had let his composure slip, but he couldn’t turn back now. “Jean-Michel thought he couldn’t kill himself, that he was invincible. He wanted to win, no matter what. That’s a dangerous attitude to have, and eventually it gets you killed. I knew him well. I knew he wouldn’t live to see old age.” He saw the pain in her face and softened his voice. “Surely you knew that too.”
Marcelle had stepped back until she came up short against the counter. Slowly she sank to the floor, her legs no longer willing to support her. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, speechless.
He saw he had wounded her, and sank to his knees beside her. “I’m sorry. That was cruel. Please forgive me.” He had been so busy trying to throw her off the truth that he had begun to believe his own lies.
She looked at him with agony in her eyes. “But it’s the truth, isn’t it? Jean-Michel was obsessed with speed, with winning, no matter the cost. He had that look in his eyes sometimes.” She looked down again, beaten. “It scared me, but I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t try...that was what he was, that was what I had married.” Her shoulders sagged. “I wasn’t prepared to use our love to force him to give up the life he had chosen, but deep down I knew it would happen one day.”
Stefan stared at her for a few moments, feeling wretched. He got to his feet and reached out a hand to help her up. “I’m so sorry, Marcelle. I wish it could have been different. Please forgive me,” he said, not telling her that he was asking her forgiveness for a different crime.
Marcelle wrapped her arms around him, and put her head on his chest. “I forgive you.”
He folded his arms around her, and tried to pretend the stolen absolution was real. But it was no use. He wanted to crush her to his chest and tell her everything, but his guilt kept him silent. If only she knew, she would chase him away like a bad dog.
Marcelle relaxed, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Why did you get so angry about me driving the racing car?”
Now wasn’t the time to reveal his feelings. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, that’s all. Who would cook and clean for me, if you’re lying in traction?”
“You are a terrible liar,” she said, raising her face to kiss him on the cheek.
* * * *
Chapter Seventeen
The evening went off without any problems. The men put their differences aside and made small talk about world affairs and other neutral subjects. Though Claude had brought a bottle of red wine, he declined all but a single glass, as did Marcelle, mindful of the next day when they would need their wits about them. Stefan had no such issues, and chased by demons he could tell no one about, he polished off most of the wine.
The evening wound down around midnight. After Claude left to go back to his own unit, Marcelle and Stefan sat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, enjoying some hot chocolate before going to bed.
“You and Claude have a good relationship,” Stefan commented, watching her over the rim of his mug.
She smiled. “We have a lot of fun, but we fight too. Sometimes Claude gets a bit domineering, trying to order my life, and I don’t allow that. But we’ll always be good friends.”
“Is that why he’s got the code for the elevator?”
“Sure,” she answered, not taking offence. “I have the password for his place too. We
look out for each other.”
He nodded. “I’m glad he’s here for you.” He downed the last of his hot chocolate and rose to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower before going to bed.”
“Come to my room when you’ve finished, and I’ll change your dressings.”
She started packing dirty dishes into the dishwasher as he left the kitchen.
~ . ~
When Marcelle went to her room fifteen minutes later, she found Stefan waiting for her. She cleaned and redressed his wounds, remarking, “I’m sure we can ask the doc if we can leave the dressings off in a few days’ time. These wounds are nearly healed.”
“That would be great. It’s probably time for me to be on my way.”
Marcelle felt her heart lurch in fear. “I think it would be best if you regain all your strength before you venture out in the world again.”
Stefan smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” she stated, a dimple deepening in her left cheek as she tried to suppress a smile. “You can get into bed so long if you want to sleep. I want to shower, and dress in my new pajamas.”
“Sure.” Clearly, she took it for granted that they would sleep in the same bed every night.
She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the spray of the shower. The red wine had made him drowsy, and he dropped off to sleep after a few minutes, the sound of the running water in his ears.
Marcelle came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, wearing her new silky green night attire. When she approached the bed, she noticed Stefan was already fast asleep. He lay on his back, his head cradled in the crook of his left arm, his right hand resting on his chest.
She felt an inexplicable surge of tenderness, looking at him. He looked so young, so innocent. Looking at him, she found it hard to believe the things he had told her about himself. How could she associate the soldier with the boy sleeping so sweetly?
She switched off the main light, so that only the bedside lamp was burning, and climbed into bed, tenderly covering him with the duvet. He had recovered his good looks along with his health, she thought, studying his sleeping features in the half-light.
She panicked at the thought of him leaving. The warm flame of his presence had melted the ice in her chest, allowing her to breathe again, and she couldn’t imagine being without him. But tonight he had said it was time for him to leave, though he had not protested much when she said he should stay longer. But even if he stayed another week or even two, eventually he would leave, and the ice would return.
Marcelle felt a desperate need to feel his arms around her, holding her tight. She switched off the bedside lamp, and moved closer to him, taking his right arm by the wrist and gently straightening it along the pillows. She snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and encircling his warm chest with her right arm.
Stefan came half-awake, curling his right arm around and pulling her closer. He turned onto his right side, and pushed her onto her back, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. His left hand slipped beneath her pajama top, and he caressed her smooth belly before moving higher and finding her breasts. She drew a sharp breath at his touch, her nipples contracting into tight buds.
He pushed his left leg between her knees, and a warm flush of desire flowed through her body as he moved his leg higher, parting her thighs. It’s been so long, she thought hazily. She felt him hardening where he pressed against her, and faint little voices started screaming in the back of her mind.
Before she could react, he claimed her mouth in a lazy kiss, parting her lips with practiced ease. She responded to the kiss before she froze, overcome with guilt.
After a long moment, he drew back, and buried his face in her neck, heaving a deep sigh. His weight pinned her down, but she had nothing to fear. Her would-be lover had drunk quite a lot of red wine with dinner, and had fallen asleep.
She removed his slack hand from her breast, and pushed his relaxed body off hers, careful not to wake him. She had to admit she wasn’t angry at his behavior. He had been half-asleep and more than a little drunk. She couldn’t hold him responsible.
She lay awake for a long time, trying to sort out the turmoil of emotions the kiss had started in her. Idly she wondered what she would have done if Stefan had woken up fully and had wanted to go further. Instinctively she knew she would have put a stop to it. No matter how she felt about the mercenary, she wasn’t prepared to cope with the feelings of guilt that would torment her in the aftermath.
Yet, did she care for him? Yes. Did she love him? She didn’t want to answer that question, even to herself, because to do so would feel like betrayal. She believed she would never again love anyone as she had loved Jean-Michel. Then why had there had been such a strange feeling in her insides when she had watched his sleeping face?
Marcelle didn’t want to explore her feelings any further, choosing instead to enjoy the secure feeling of his hard male body against her own. She snuggled closer to him, pressing her breasts hard against the side of his chest, wanting his warmth as close to her heart as possible. She drifted off to sleep, listening to the rain beating against the windows, safe in Stefan’s embrace.
~ . ~
Dawn came too soon. Stefan woke first, finding Marcelle clinging to him like a beautiful limpet, her head resting on his chest. He brought his hand up to stroke her hair, remembering a wonderful dream.
She stirred, muttering, and caressed his chest with light fingers. He allowed her to go ahead, enjoying the sensations her ministrations caused. Her hand strayed to his belly, her touch tantalizing enough to heat his blood. When she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his sleeping shorts, he captured her hand in his, and brought it back up to his chest. He was quite sure she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, and didn’t want things to get out of hand.
She nuzzled into his neck, whispering, “Jean...I love you.”
He froze, the illusion shattered. For a few precious seconds it had been just he and Marcelle, before Jean-Michel’s presence had intruded.
She must have felt the stiffening of his body, because she woke, and looked up at him, her gray eyes questioning. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”
“No, just a headache,” he replied, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.
She laughed, dropping a kiss onto the stubble of his cheek. “Wine will do it for you every time.”
He smiled at her. “I’ll race you to the coffee machine.”
They threw the covers aside and charged for the kitchen.
* * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Thursday dawned with brilliant blue skies, and after wriggling out of his embrace, Marcelle surprised Stefan with coffee in bed. He sat up, accepting the mug she offered him.
“Hi sleepyhead,” she greeted him, pushing his sleep-tousled hair out of his face.
He responded with a vague smile, shaking the mists of sleep from his brain. This wouldn’t do. The easy life has made him soft.
“Time to rise and shine,” she continued, switching on the bedside radio. She reached for her own coffee, and joined him in bed again.
~ . ~
Claude walked down the passage with uncertain steps, looking for Marcelle. He had called out more than once, but had received no response.
He heard the radio before he saw them through the open doorway of the master bedroom. His jaw dropped at the sight of his friend and the killer sitting companionably on the bed, drinking coffee.
She wore the pajamas he had given her, but Stefan’s upper body was bare, his lower body covered by the duvet. And he had dressings on his upper body, pointing to recent injuries. Claude’s senses reeled in shock. Things were not what they seemed.
Just then, Marcelle looked up and saw his dismayed face. She ignored his bewilderment as she said, “Hi Claude, we didn’t even hear you arrive. You’re early. Or did we oversleep?”
“I’m early,” he stammered.
She invited Claude t
o have breakfast with them. Over breakfast she explained the situation, telling him what had happened. She stuck as closely to the truth as possible, but didn’t mention the unknown man who had threatened Stefan’s life and her own. Claude accepted the story readily, though he was hurt that she hadn’t taken him into her confidence at first. But his eyes were full of questions about the mercenary’s presence in her bed.
When she went for more coffee, Claude took the chance to speak to the German. “I hope your intentions are honorable. Marcelle’s still vulnerable.”
Stefan didn’t reply, merely glancing up at him before continuing his meal.
Claude continued, “Jean-Michel asked me to look out for her, and I’ve been doing my best. Now you’ve dragged her into all kinds of trouble here, risking her life. And you’re in her bed. How do you think it’s going to affect her when you leave?”
Stefan put down his knife and fork, fixing his blue eyes on Claude’s dark face. The driver’s eyes shone with defiance, and he toyed with the idea of taking him down a few notches. He decided against it, realizing that the Frenchman had Marcelle’s best interests at heart, and was trying to protect her from what he perceived to be a threat.
“Claude,” he said patiently, striving to keep his voice even, “Jean-Michel was my friend too, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt his widow. I’ve taken every measure possible to ensure her safety, so you don’t have to worry. As for my being in her bed, I don’t have to explain anything to you. You had no right to walk in without warning. Or did you plan to catch us unawares?”
Marcelle’s return to the table prevented any more private conversation.
All too soon, it was time for them to leave for the track.
Stefan had gone to his room to dress, and met Marcelle in the passage. She wore boots, a pair of blue jeans, a yellow shirt, and the new leather jacket Claude had given her. He gripped her upper arms as his eyes searched hers. “Are you sure you want to go?”