“They do if they’re smart.” He ripped open the packet and sheathed himself. Then held her hips and raised her, but she wanted control this time.
Control of one thing, at least.
She linked their fingers and pinned his hands to the pillow. “Let’s see how much noise we can make.” And sank onto heaven. Perfection. The first time had not been a fluke. She ground against him, feeling him deep inside, touching all the right places. Perfectly. He’d been afraid of finishing prematurely, and now she was in danger of the same.
Just a little more there, just a bit more pressure…
He surged upward. The bed squeaked like a pig meeting its maker.
She dissolved in laughter, collapsing onto his chest, the mood completely shattered.
Until he touched her there, and then she shattered completely. Pleasure throbbed along every nerve and she cried out, competing with the bed for who’d make the most noise.
Flipping them over, he narrowly missed falling off the edge of the bed. “I think my reputation is safe now.”
She watched him as he continued to move inside her, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky. “If there’s any question, I’ll back you up.”
“Well, just to be sure…” He covered her mouth with his and plunged deeper and deeper into her core, faster and faster, until the squeaks and screeches of the bed were one continuous scream that masked her own cry of pleasure. He shouted something unintelligible, throbbed with his orgasm, and collapsed, his face buried in the pillow next to her head.
The sudden silence was deafening.
“I almost expected a round of applause.” She started laughing again.
He propped himself on one elbow and traced a finger along her collarbone. “I’d be applauding if I had the strength.”
“No applause until after the encore.” She linked her ankles around his butt and pulled him closer, loving how he still filled her, loving his weight pressing her down, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.
He kissed her neck. “As much as I want to stay, I have to get back to the police station.”
“Will you be going back to Maine with me tomorrow? Or do you need to stay?”
“I can’t leave now, not when we’re so close to catching Jeffers.”
“I’m not sure I want to leave without you.” She pressed her face against his shoulder. She’d be flying off to safety and he’d be here hunting for criminals. Men with guns. He’d be in real danger of getting hurt, like Chas. Or worse.
She clung tighter and kept her face hidden, not wanting him to see her fear, or the glimmer of tears. It was too soon to care this much for the man. Wasn’t it?
He raised up on both elbows, brushing her hair from her forehead. “I—uh—have a favor to ask.”
“Your wish is my command.” She wriggled her hips, glad they were getting back to fun. She bit his chin, but he pulled away.
“A serious favor.”
Well, shoot, that killed the mood.
He looked nervous. And that made her curious. A big, bad, international cop-guy thingy needing a favor from her?
“So ask, but I can’t guarantee my answer. My flight leaves early tomorrow morning.”
“I need you to stay in France for a few more days to help with the investigation.”
“But I thought you were done, just a matter of finding Jeffers and—”
“It’s not that simple. And it would be easier if you were here.”
“Easier how?” Better for the authorities? Or better for Tony, personally, because he couldn’t live without her?
Sheesh, fantasize much?
“Jeffers clearly thinks you know more than you do about your father’s crimes.”
Heather flinched. It appeared the sexy times were over for the evening. No way could she make love with her dad’s ghost in the room. She slid from under Tony and wrapped herself in the faded quilt.
“Yeah, even though I keep telling him otherwise. I had no clue that’s what Dad did for a living.” She perched on the end of the bed, but the resulting squeak had lost its power to make her laugh. Or even smile. “You believe me, don’t you?”
The moment the words passed her lips she wished she could call them back. Because Tony looked away and didn’t answer. The seconds ticked by.
Heather went to the window and stared at the deserted street. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, and I’m obviously too stupid to live. She’d fallen for his good looks and hot body, and believed what she wanted to believe. Whatever made it okay to screw the sexy agent. She was delusional, thinking a man like Tony, jet-setter, gun-toting secret agent, would want her for anything more than a tool to use for his job.
And she’d been well and truly used. Her body still thrummed and tingled. As soon as he left, which had better be damn soon, she was having a bath. This old-fashioned hotel didn’t have showers. She’d fill the tub to the brim and submerge herself until all trace of him was gone. Every kiss. Every caress.
The bed squeaked as he climbed out, and the rustle of clothes let her know he was getting dressed. She wished he’d hurry up and just go.
He stood next to her, but she refused to look at him. She couldn’t stop smelling him, though, the warm, musky scent of lovers.
“Heather, please—”
“No.” Cripes, she had to get away from this man. She had to take control of her life. She had to do what was best for her—not Tony, not her dad. Damn, it was hard being selfish.
“I’m sure you realize—”
“And I’m sure you realize, since you’ve been spying on me, that I’m the head baker at the shop, and I need to get home.”
“I’ll make arrangements for someone to work in your stead, so your boss won’t be inconvenienced.”
“My boss—inconvenienced? Are you kidding me? I’ve been kidnapped, imprisoned, manhandled, and held at gunpoint. And you’re worried—”
“I can have your passport confiscated.”
She smirked. “I don’t have my passport.” Great, even she could hear the so there in her voice. Might be time to grow up.
“That’ll save me a step.”
Her mouth fell open, then snapped shut. The anger and hurt just below the surface threatened to erupt. She hugged the quilt tighter, the only armor she possessed. All her internal defenses had been shredded and rendered useless.
“Damn you,” she muttered. “What do you need me to do?”
…
Tony blew out his breath. Thank God she hadn’t called his bluff, since he had no real jurisdiction in France, the locals had cleared her to go home, and the United States embassy was taking care of her travel documents.
He should have waited to ask her to stay. Or phrased it better. He moved toward the bed, ducking his head to keep from cracking it on a ceiling beam.
“Well, the first thing we need to do is get you a bigger room.” Buttering her up with posh accommodations might win him a few points.
“This is the only room available in town because of some festival that’s happening this weekend.”
“Unfortunately the château is still a crime scene, otherwise we could stay there.”
“No way in hell would I sleep in that place.” Heather leaned against the wall, as far from him as she could get in the small room.
Part of his training had involved reading body language. Heather’s body screamed “get the hell away from me.”
Dammit, if he had more time he’d explain his plan, or at least his theory. But he doubted she’d listen at this point. She’d shut him out as effectively as closing a door. All because he couldn’t answer that one question. Because he wasn’t entirely sure of what she knew about her dad. And he wouldn’t lie. Not to her.
“I’ll see what I can do about another room later. I have a bunk waiting for me at the station. I’ll be back in the morning to discuss our next move.”
She shrugged and turned back to the lack of activity in the street below.
“Look, I’m sorry I can�
�t—”
She waved her hand, effectively telling him to shut up and go away.
He didn’t blame her. He took one more look at her, from her messed hair to her bare feet. And all the curvy woman in between. He stepped toward her, wanting to feel her in his arms, reclaim some of their intimacy. Then thought better of it. Now was not the time to start any long soul-baring conversations. There would be plenty of time later. At least he hoped so.
“Good night. Sleep well.” He paused again, hoping she’d look at him, but her rigid back was all the answer he got.
Out in the hall, he nodded to the guard who’d be on duty all night in case Jeffers got stupid, and then trudged down three flights of stairs. Weary to his bones, he couldn’t stop his brain from racing, reviewing the fiasco at the château.
How was it possible Jeffers had made a clean getaway? The locals had been stationed at all exits from the property. The old man would come back for his son, of that Tony was positive. And the son was now with his mother. So the logical next step would be to stake out the mother’s house. Why did it feel like he was missing something?
Winter in Tournus was mild compared to New York or Maine, and he enjoyed the short walk back to the station. Heather had been right—there was a big celebration starting soon. The town square was lined with tables and awnings, and there were many incomprehensible signs tacked to trees and lampposts pointing the way to this and that.
Heather. Damn, he’d completely fucked up with her. He pictured her wrapped in the quilt, face flushed from lovemaking, hair a wild tangle. His hands had itched to pull the blanket free, toss her onto the bed, and show her that he wanted more than help in an investigation.
He snorted. He’d have been slapped for his efforts, or more likely kneed in the groin.
The walk to the station did nothing to calm his scattered thoughts. He spent a sleepless night reliving the past few days and trying to come up with a plan.
Yells and shouts from outside his window had him off the bunk and gripping his sidearm in seconds. He glanced out at the vendors setting up their stalls for the market. They’d made a damn good alarm clock. Once his heart rate returned to normal, he took a quick shower in the station bathroom, dressed in a borrowed uniform, and joined the men in the lobby.
“Bonjour, mon ami. The bed did not kill you, at least.” A large gendarme got up from his desk.
Tony accepted the small cup of deep, dark coffee and grinned. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? Thanks. I needed this.”
Gaston grunted and returned to his chair. “So, there has been no news, I’m afraid. And Mlle. James is staying? My man was told she would not go to the airport.”
Tony perched on the edge of a desk and rubbed his face. The clock of a nearby church chimed, and he counted the strikes of the bell.
“Shit, it’s only six o’clock?”
Gaston chuckled. “So sorry your slumber was interrupted. Yes, the market will open for business in one hour.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on his desk. “So tell me, my friend, what you have planned.”
Tony shrugged. “Damned if I know. I’ve gone over it all a dozen times, forward and backward, and I can’t figure out how he escaped.”
“Bah, it is not your fault, mon ami. That Jeffers is slippery as an eel. But he is a sick man and cannot go far. We will find him and bring him to justice.”
He finished his coffee and pushed to his feet. “I’ll hold you to that promise. Now I think I’ll walk around town and work out some of the kinks.”
Gaston laughed and hurried to the door, holding it open with ceremony. He slapped Tony’s back as he passed, his large hand and considerable strength propelling Tony through the door.
“Au revoir, mon ami. Take care of yourself and that lovely young lady.”
Tony staggered a few steps. Gaston Facet would be a good man to have at his side, if it came to that.
The early winter light gave everything a soft, pearly glow. Market stalls were being loaded and filled with every type of vegetable and fruit. His nose led him to the fish stalls, where he saw a few species he had no desire to sample. He steered clear of the meat stalls, knowing the European habit of making use of every last part of an animal. He just didn’t have the stomach this early in the day to contemplate offal.
Leaving the central square, he struck off toward Heather’s hotel. He stopped for another rejuvenating coffee at a café and bought an assortment of pastries. He’d managed to kill an hour. Hopefully her habit of rising early to get to work hadn’t been broken by the time change.
He found Heather sitting in a patch of weak sunlight in the back garden of the Hôtel aux Terrasses, trailing a stick along the ground for a fluffy gray kitten to chase. She was wrapped in a voluminous coat long enough to cover her feet. He watched from the shadows for a minute, wishing the circumstances were different. Wishing they were in France as a couple, exploring the country. Exploring each other.
Wishing she didn’t resent him.
He cleared his throat to give her advance warning, then stepped out into the open.
“Good morning,” he said, holding the pastry bag aloft, like a white flag of surrender, or at least a truce.
She scooped the kitten onto her lap and stroked its ears. “I hope Samson’s okay.”
“He’ll be fine. I’ve got someone visiting the house regularly to walk Delilah, too.”
He sat next to her and opened the bag, offering her first pick.
She gave him a long, measuring glance, stuck her hand in the bag and pulled out a croissant amande. Darn, he should have bought two. He shrugged and chose a palmier, and placed the bag between them. He handed her a napkin, then leaned back and took a large bite of the sugary, buttery, flaky pastry, moaning with appreciation.
“What does that taste like?” She stared at his mouth. Did she mean his breakfast? Or his lips?
“Do you want to trade?” He held out the swirled pastry.
She hugged the croissant closer. “No, I was just wondering.”
Smiling, he broke off a piece and held it to her lips. “Open up.”
She opened her mouth, and he slipped the morsel onto her tongue. “Mm…delicious.”
Before he could touch her, she backed away. He licked his fingers. “My turn to taste yours.”
She averted her gaze, her cheeks touched with pink. Carefully pulling the croissant in half, she broke off a piece that had a nice glob of almond paste. She offered the piece, but rather than letting her put it in his mouth, he grabbed her hand and used his lips and tongue to claim his sample, sucking one of her fingers clean.
Never taking his gaze off her, he watched as her eyes darkened, her color rose further, and he heard the hitch in her breathing.
“Pretend all you want, sweetheart, that you don’t want me as much as I want you. I don’t believe it for a second.”
“Do you always have the answers?”
He continued to chew, wondering what a good response would be. The truth was that he always tried his damnedest to solve problems and, but for his one colossal failure, he usually succeeded.
She huffed a sigh and took a large bite of her croissant. “Never mind,” she mumbled around the mouthful.
Relieved to be spared the necessity of explaining, at least for now, just how helpless he sometimes felt, he finished his palmier.
They ate in companionable silence until the bag was empty, save for a few crumbs. Tony was tempted to suck those up, too, but he resisted.
Heather jumped to her feet and headed for the hotel entrance. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
Tony followed on her heels, admiring the sway of her body, wishing he had the answer.
Chapter Eighteen
For over an hour Heather tried to read a tattered novel, the only English book in the hotel. It was a romance written in the seventies. The heroine didn’t sneeze without permission, and the hero was a domineering ass. She’d probably laugh at the cover if it s
till existed.
Tony had said he needed to report in to the police station and that he’d be right back. That was eons ago. She’d called the station a few times. Thanks to the language barrier she’d been unable to discover where he’d gone, or when.
She asked for paper and pen from the front desk. Maybe getting some of her adventures written down would help her sort them out. All she came up with was a long list of questions. The biggest in her mind being who the hell was Tony, really? And why exactly had he slept with her the night before? To lull her into compliance? To weasel info from her? Or had she been a convenient female?
She was certain there’d been something good and lasting developing between them. It wasn’t one-sided, and it wasn’t just the sex. She was certain.
So why question it?
Sure, he’d lied about who he really was. And the reason for his interest in her. But they were beyond that now, weren’t they? As much as she disliked the idea of him poking around in her private life, she knew it was part of his job. Most of it done before they’d met. Certainly before they’d slept together.
So, okay, all that was in the past. They were on equal footing starting today. Working as a team to finish this business with Jeffers. Then they could concentrate on each other.
By midmorning Heather felt like climbing the walls. Even though she’d been told to sit tight and wait, she struck out on foot and visited as many of the small tourist sites as she could, spending close to an hour at the beautiful Abbaye Saint-Philibert.
Several hours later, after a quick bath and still with no word from Tony, not even a frigging message, she sat in the back garden, the fading sun bathing the stones a mellow yellow. A glass of chilled white Burgundy eased some of her tension. If her kitty friend showed up she’d at least have someone to talk to.
Damn it, why did Tony insist she stick around if he was just going to desert her? He claimed he wanted her help catching Jeffers. How did cooling her heels in a tiny hotel in a tiny town accomplish anything? He’d dumped her here, out of the way, and gone off on his own.
The heck with this. The first thing in the morning she’d call the nice gendarme who’d offered to drive her to the airport and make arrangements to fly home.
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