by Chloe Liese
Elodie began shouting into the phone, her back to me, and a sob burst from her. French was my best second-language, and I’d caught something along the lines of How could you?
A hand flew to her mouth, as if Elodie realized the ruckus she was making. She’d never want to disturb the day, to cause Nairne, and by association Zed, to worry. Elodie was considerate to a fault and fiercely protective of her friends. It was one of the many qualities I admired about her.
Again, as if of their own will, my legs strode across the lawn. Elodie was tall, gloriously, beautifully tall. But I was much taller, and the long frame that had served me well in my footie years now brought me quickly to the woman I wanted. I took her by the arm and hauled her to me. She flew against my chest, head nestled under my chin, as she drenched my shirt in tears.
Christ, she felt perfect, tucked against my body. Even as my heart ached for her sadness, I couldn’t stop thinking how bloody right this felt. To comfort her, to hold her. To be the person she turned to when the world turned against her.
There were no words as she fisted my waistcoat and cried against my chest. I held her close, my wingspan wrapping her tight against me, shielding her from the glass wall that would allow anyone in the back of the house to see her upset.
Protecting her, covering her body with mine, my heart was pounding. It felt too good, holding the woman who had battled me in board games and bantered across lawns. Who’d pinched my side when I teased her and always ferociously hugged me goodbye. Who’d stumbled into my arms in a Boston hospital waiting room, after Nairne’s fall, and glanced up at me shyly like men were suspect creatures, not to be trusted. Who’d approached me warily at first, before she learned to call me friend. I held her as a man holds the woman he adores. The woman he’s vowed to honor and cherish and protect. It shouldn’t have felt that natural.
But it did.
Bad thought direction to take. That was a no-go zone. And after those kisses—mauling each other, months of pent-up desire surfacing between us, even thinking about it was dangerous. I couldn’t do it to her. Couldn’t even bloody entertain it. So what in God’s name was I doing, bringing her to my place?
Because she needs sanctuary. She needs a friend.
Right, I could be a friend to her. That’s what we were. Strictly friends.
I tucked her under my arm and guided her inside, making our way to the front of the house.
“Elodie, I’m sorry you’re feeling unwell,” Nairne said, concern etching her features. Jamie squirmed in her lap and looked like he was as over this socializing nonsense as much as I was. Nairne directed herself to me. “Thank you for taking care of her. Call later? Let me know how she’s doing?”
“Of course.” I smacked Zed’s back goodbye, then bent to give Nairne a peck on the cheek and Jamie a gentle boop of his nose. That earned me a gummy smile.
“I’m sorry,” Elodie said miserably. “I’ll phone tomorrow, promise.”
She waved and blew a kiss toward our friends from the foyer, explaining to those calling from the other room that illness was her excuse for hurrying off and not hugging anyone goodbye as she normally would. As she did, Elodie backed straight into me, knocking her fantastically full arse right into my groin.
“Oh, goodness. I’m sorry, Lucas,” she said softly.
It took my cock from the first to the second circle of hell. Limbo to lust. “Not to worry.”
When I opened the door, signaling Elodie should go first, she turned, and her breasts brushed my chest, sending a fresh jolt of hunger surging south.
Strictly friends. Right.
I settled her into the car and sped off. Not five minutes in, Elodie fell asleep from what I surmised was sheer emotional exhaustion, while I drove like a speed demon through the day’s fading light and berated myself. When we got to my place in Greenwich, I scooped her into my arms, managed to finagle the key into the lock while holding her, walked right upstairs, and laid her on the guest bed. When I flicked on the light so I could see better how to ready her for sleep, she didn’t even flinch.
Nairne liked to tease Elodie about how she could sleep through the Second Coming and had a slew of accompanying stories to prove it, but this was my first experience of it firsthand. Selfishly, stupidly, I stole the opportunity to examine her.
She snored softly, a mass of bronze curls fanning out around her head. Thick, dark lashes. Straight nose, high pronounced cheekbones. Full pink lips parted in sleep, and a dimple on either side that never disappeared. Sprawled on the bed, her long, golden limbs stretched off the edge, reminding me how bloody tall she was. She was perfect.
Gently, I pulled both mud-stained heels off her feet and set them at the end of the bed. Then I stole off to my room and found a cozy, worn shirt that would fit her well enough as a nightie. Slowly, I raised her up, unzipped her dress, and tried to think pure thoughts. She was asleep, emotionally drained, completely helpless. I could keep my cock in check and not savor the feel of her soft skin under my fingertips. I slid the shirt over her head and tugged it down, doing the trick where you change out of one clothing item while another one is over top it. Still, she slept through it all.
Elodie’s dignity preserved, I’d managed to get her in something comfortable without being a lecherous arse, and now I was able to turn back the sheets and gently lift her inside. When I had her all tucked in, I hazarded one last glance and stroked her cheek. At that she stirred, only to smile in her sleep.
It felt like the time my uncle’s filly kicked me square in the chest. “You’re wrecking me, Elodie.”
Turning off her lamp, I left the bedroom quietly and headed to my own.
After I flicked on both lamps flanking my bed, I strolled about the room, undressing. Trying not to think about those kisses earlier. Bloody hell, they were animalistic. Not really my style, generally, to ravish and be ravished, but with Elodie I’d turned primal; we both had. Yes, we were intellectually and personally compatible, which led to a fine friendship, but there was more to it. Something fundamental and inexplicable. I didn’t want Elodie. I needed her.
I got myself down to a shirt and briefs, and had just taken out my contacts, replacing them with my glasses, when a blood-curdling scream came from the other end of the house. I spun, began a dead sprint, and promptly barked my shin horribly on the trunk at the foot of my bed. Stumbling, I ran through that pain, thundering down the hall until I was back in the guest room.
Elodie was curled into a ball, hands pulling madly at the sheets as she screamed words I couldn’t make out.
I watched her flailing, completely unsure how you helped someone in the thick of a night terror. Her shrieks morphed into shattering sobs and gasps of air. I couldn’t stand watching it one more moment.
“Elodie,” I called, walking toward her bed. “Wake up, love.” I didn’t want to startle her or shock her, but I wanted her out of that dream. Carefully, I ran a hand along her back.
Her body shook, and that was when I was frightened for her. I had to wake her. I climbed onto her bed and lay next to her, running a hand along her arm as she faced away from me.
“It’s Luc, Elodie. You’re dreaming, and it’s making you terribly sad. Wake up, darling.”
Suddenly her body softened. She sank into me.
“Can’t you wake up, sweetheart?” Her lips trembled, and I ran my thumb gently over them, trying to soothe away her grief. “God, Elodie. You’re gutting me.”
I swirled my finger over her deep cupid’s bow, traveling next to explore the small divots of her dimples that never seemed to leave her cheeks. As my finger trailed up to her long lashes, dark at the tips and then gradually blonder as they approached her eyes, I thought my heart would break at the tears streaming down.
No words were waking her, but I couldn’t leave her alone in her pain. So I pulled her flush against me as I wrapped her tight inside my arms. Her round arse pressed into my cock, that head of curly hair flowing all over my face and tickling my neck. Her cold feet slipp
ed against my shins and made me gasp. Bloody hell, who knew feet could be that cold?
It was all worth it the moment one long, peaceful sigh left her lips. “You’re okay, Elodie.” I kissed her temple, then dropped my head onto the pillow beside her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Sunlight hit my eyelids, hot and bright, meaning the morning was well underway. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept until sunrise, let alone that late. Elodie’s arse moved softly and grazed my morning stiffy. I let out an involuntarily groan.
It had been quite some time since I’d been with a woman, and my poor knob knew it. She shifted again, and I hissed. Christ, I needed some relief. I had to figure it out, how to make myself once again amenable to meaningless shags for the purpose of simply getting off. I used to be able to do it, no problem—fuck without attaching—but since I’d met Elodie, it was the last thing I wanted, to bury myself in some random woman.
“Lucas?” Elodie’s voice came out husky, her accent thicker with sleepiness as she stretched.
“Hm?” I was half-awake, caught in hazy memories of Elodie and the bliss of holding her close. I buried my nose in the sweet fragrance of her curls without knowing whether or not I was still dreaming. My hand relinquished her waist, slid up her arm, then smoothed back her hair. She turned to look at me over her shoulder.
“Why are we sleeping together?” She looked at me with such vulnerability and confusion, blasting a hole in my sternum where fear came barreling in. It was one thing to tell myself I wouldn’t let this go any further, that I’d hold her at arm’s length, keep it platonic and friendly. But, what if I couldn’t? What if I had no fucking choice but to love her?
Then we’d both be in shambles. Me, besotted with a woman whose life I’d ruin, and her, saddled with my misery for the rest of our days. We’d be a tragedy, which she had no business in. Elodie was a heroine meant for Shakespeare’s best comedies—ample romance, a feisty happily ever after. She was Katerina and Beatrice, Viola and Rosaline. Women who took their antagonizing circumstances and conflict-ridden love interests, then turned a comedy of errors into a poignant, hope-filled ending.
I belonged in none of those plots. My story had no happy ending, and the thought of robbing Elodie of hers filled me with self-loathing. But as I stared down at those heart-stopping eyes, sparkling dark like midnight water, I began to panic that my resolve to protect her was only as strong as my capacity to numb my feelings for her. And I was getting increasingly bad at ignoring just how much I felt when I was with Elodie Bertrand.
My hand drifted softly up and down her back. Against my better judgment, I savored the heat of her skin beneath the shirt I’d put her to sleep in. Pictured sliding that shirt up her back, tantalizingly slow, before I kissed my way up her spine.
Elodie turned in my arms fully to face me, eyes pinched with concern. “What happened?” she asked.
“You had a bad dream, I think. I wanted to comfort you. You didn’t settle until I held you, and I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry.”
She craned her head, and it made me crazy. Every little quirk of hers was endearing and attractive. “Was I yelling?”
I nodded, and her eyes widened in alarm.
“Unintelligible words, but you were clearly distressed. We don’t have to talk about it right now, Elodie. I don’t want to upset you.”
I couldn’t stop touching her. Now my hand gentled her cheek’s impossibly soft skin. My finger found her dimple, marveling at this tiny feature’s ability to melt me, that bloody dimple that got deeper when she smiled, nearly disappeared when she frowned, but never quite left. Steadfast and precious, just like Elodie.
Her features smoothed with relief. Slowly she set her hand on my waist. Her thumb slid beneath the hem of my shirt, swept across the sensitive skin of my stomach. I had to stifle a massive groan. That shouldn’t feel that good. Nothing had ever felt that good. Could you come from having your stomach touched? There had to be something wrong with me.
Friends, Lucas. Strictly friends!
Bloody hell, I needed to straighten us out. Sitting up, I slowly felt about for my glasses. When I threw them on, I heard an intake of air. Elodie bit her lip, and there was a furious blush on her cheeks.
I pressed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and gave her a concerned once-over. “What’s the matter?”
Elodie’s eyes darted from my glasses and down my body. Then like a madwoman, she flew off the bed, ran into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. “I’m just going to um…freshen up,” she called. “I’ll join you for breakfast soon?”
I eased off the bed, bewildered. “Right…I’ll set us up with something.”
“No, let me, Lucas!” she said from the other side of the door. “It’s the least I can do. I’ll only be a minute. Go freshen yourself up as well, and I’ll have something for us both.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “You’re my guest, I’ll take care of it.”
The door whipped open, and Elodie stood there, still in the shirt I gave her, which might dwarf a more petite woman but came to a scanty mid-thigh on her. I swallowed thickly and tried to keep my eyes off her hard nipples poking against the material. This was all much more erotic than it should be.
“Lucas.” Her voice drew my eyes from feasting on her body.
“Mm?”
Her gaze had a familiar feisty gleam to it. “Let’s make this fair. Showers postponed. First one to the kitchen gets to make breakfast.”
I was still struggling not to stare at her tits, thinking about how much I’d love to suck on them straight through that shirt, soak the fabric and make her moan, so I was delayed in processing what she’d said. But as she streaked past me, feet pounding on the floor and down the hall, it finally sank in.
“Cheater!” I bellowed.
Spinning around, I gained on her as I made it down the stairs. I was at an advantage in that I knew exactly where my kitchen was, and Elodie, having never seen the place since I brought her in asleep, was clearly disoriented. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, craning around as she saw me bearing down on her. I shoved her out of the way and turned sharply toward the kitchen but was jerked back by the hem of my shirt with an impressively strong yank.
She sent me off-balance just long enough to slip past me and launch herself into the kitchen. Landing on the counter with a screeching sound as her bare skin hit the granite surface, she crowed in victory.
Triumphant, her eyes sparkled, and those dimples were out in full force. I sauntered across the tiles, nursing a wounded ego yet wildly aroused that she had a strong enough arm to throw me off and beat me.
Bracing my arms on either side of where Elodie sat perched on the counter, I leaned into her space. Our breaths came short and choppy as I stared her down.
“I’m going to overlook your unsportsmanlike conduct, Ms. Bertrand, because you’re my guest, but be warned—next time, I’ll not be so generous.”
She laughed breathily. “What happens to repeat offenders?”
Adrenaline. Endorphins. I’ll blame them. I gripped her hips and tugged her toward me, so she’d feel exactly what her antics did to my body. “I think you can guess I’m capable of implementing necessary penalties.”
Her jaw dropped before it morphed into a slow smile that warmed her entire face.
“Well, in that case…” she said softly. Slowly, she slid off the counter, the whole front of her body grazing against mine as her feet landed on the floor. “Duly noted,” she whispered.
Christ, this was bad. Or good, if I went by what my todger had to say about it.
I needed space. Miles of space, because my body was in hell. Backing away, I grabbed an apple off the table, tossed it into the air and caught it before I took a large crunching bite. “I’m going to spruce up, and when I come back down, I expect a full French breakfast, Ms. Bertrand.”
Elodie raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”
I frowned, chewing my apple. “Yes, quite sure.
Now get to it, kitchen wench.” I took the stairs two at a time, my body—no, not just my body, my whole being—enlivened as it hadn’t been as long as I could remember.
And it was all her fault.
Five
Lucas
When I stepped out of the shower, I heard Elodie’s muffled voice coming from outside my bedroom. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I dripped water as I strode across the room, then threw open the door.
Sweet Christ Jesus.
Elodie stood soaking wet like me, her curly hair flattened by the water. The towel she’d tugged tight over her breasts had slipped a bit, revealing a torturous curve of cleavage. Tiny droplets of water beaded on the swell of her breasts, her collarbones, and shoulders.
I told myself I needed to stop staring at her, that I was going to get a well-earned scolding for how hungrily my eyes roamed her. But when I glanced up, I saw Elodie finishing her own perusal, seeming quite distracted with what she’d bumped into.
I leaned against the doorjamb and smiled down at her. “Hello, pet, what can I do for you?”
“Pardon,” she croaked.
The colloquial response rolled off my tongue instinctually. “Ça fait rien.”
Her eyes widened. “Nairne said you spoke it, but I didn’t know you actually spoke. Tu parles très bien le français, Lucas.”
I shrugged, fighting a blush. With a long and sordid history between the countries and plenty of mud-slinging, language was at the heart of the acrimony between England and France. It took quite a lot for either side to compliment the other’s facility with their own language.
Elodie cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’m sorry if I interrupted your shower, it’s just that…I have no clean clothes.”
I stared at her, not computing. Elodie raised her eyebrows, confused as to what I was missing.