I shook my head and smirked. "Come on. Let's gather some wood, okay?" I said, trying to get his mind off of it. He may be charming, but I shouldn’t be kissing him.
He nodded in acquiescence, the two of us staying close as we gathered fallen branches and even cut up a thicker branch that had fallen. "You know, I should clock you with this and go running into the woods," I joked as I held one of the longer sticks, a branch of pine that was about the size of a baseball bat. "I'm pretty sure I could get to the fire trail without your help."
"You could, but you won't," Francois replied with his sexy little smirk. He was on one knee, using the small hand saw to trim away a branch from a fallen tree that looked like a good candidate for most of our wood needs. "Not after that kiss."
"Oh, you think you're that good?" I shot back. "Let me tell you, Mr. French-Gypsy-Thief, you aren’t that good of a kisser that I'm willing to be tied up and left at your mercy."
"I'm not?" he asked, grinning. "Then why have you not hit me, turned around, and started running yet?"
I couldn't answer, looking down at him. Francois set his saw down, our errand forgotten in his smoldering dark eyes. They whirled, promising things that I could only fantasize about before, and couldn't imagine living without any longer. Coming closer, he took the branch from my hand and tossed it aside. "I know why," he said simply, stroking my hair with his gloved hand. "The same reason I don’t want to leave the cabin yet.”
His lips came to mine again, his hands pushing the shoulder strap of my bag off to tumble to the ground. His kiss was stronger, more powerful than last time, demanding my return. I kissed him back, losing myself in the sensation of his lips on mine. His hands roamed over my back, pulling me close again as he licked and sucked on the sensitive spot under my jawline, my hands clutching at his back. Lifting me, Francois carried me to a clear portion of the forest, a thick carpet of needles cushioning me as he laid me down underneath the deep green towering pine tree. Stripping off his gloves, he reached for the zipper of my jacket, sliding it down to expose me. The thermal shirt underneath hugged my body and he gazed at me with hunger.
It had been a long time since a man looked at me like that. I reached out with my hand to cup between his legs, an electric thrill running through me when I touched the large, steely bulge. He was big, and I licked my lips in anticipation.
"It is too cold for this position," Francois deferred, pulling me to my feet. "While I’d love to see you in all of your beautiful glory, I want to feel a woman around me, not a Popsicle." Pushing me against the ancient pine, we kissed again, our hands fumbling at the buckles of our pants and snaps. His hand found the front of my panties, rubbing the already damp fabric and I cried out, electricity flaring from just the simple touch. While his fingers massaged me through my panties, he whispered in my ear, heated words that added to my body's inner fire. "That’s it, beautiful lady. So soft. I’d love to have you on a bed, but this’ll have to do for now.”
Francois found the side of my panties, pulling them to the side to expose my tender lips and slipped a finger inside me. My wet folds clung to the strong digit even as my arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him to me to crush my lips against his, pinning myself willingly between the tree and his strong body. His finger pumped in and out of me, pulling gasps and moans out of my chest while Francois and I entwined our tongues, tasting each other. Finally, I couldn't take anymore and needed him inside me.
Turning around, I put my gloved hands against the tree and looked over my shoulder. "Think you can keep my ass warm enough?"
"Belle dame, vous avez aucune idée," Francois said under his breath as he reached forward and pulled my pants and panties down enough that I was exposed to him. My jacket hung down over most of my ass, but still I shivered as my sensitive, sex-flushed skin was exposed to the chill air, the shivers transitioning into shivers of passionate anticipation as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a condom.
“Whoa there. You’re mighty confident bringing me out here with that,” I replied, pushing back into him. His cock nestled between my thighs, hard and warm while he held my hips, grinding into me. We both moaned at the sensation, teasing ourselves as we let the anticipation build.
“You could call it confident or you could call it being prepared,” he replied with a mischievous grin. He pulled back and slid the condom on, then steadied his cock with his hand and pushed inside me, burying himself in one long, mind-blowing thrust. It was on the border of pain and pleasure as he stretched me open. I was glad he'd loosened me up some with his fingers first, but it didn't matter, I was greedy for more.
Pausing just a moment, he pulled back, his hands finding my waist again before thrusting in again, hard and powerful. Our bodies hammered into each other, hot and passionate at a frantic, demanding pace. Grunting and growling, Francois pounded into me. It had been so long, my time of unwanted celibacy. His cock was like water to someone dying of thirst, each thrust a wave of passion and fire into my body. I was suspended in total lust, carried away on a repeating wave of arousal that was highlighted by his cock filling me over and over.
As he thrust, he kept up a litany of words in French and I think Romani. "Ta chatte est incroyable, mon Dieu....," he muttered before changing into Romani that I couldn't catch.
"More, more," I begged, wanton and needing. His hips sped up, slapping hard against me and driving me against the tree. I laid my forehead on my forearms and held on, my legs quivering as he plunged into me again and again.
I could feel my orgasm build within me, tight and powerful. "I'm going . . .”
"Yes!" Francois cried, his hips moving at nearly blurring speed, so fast I couldn't tell when he was pulling out and when he was thrusting forward. All I knew was that my pussy clenched around his cock, trying to pull him inside me it felt so good.
With a harsh crying scream, my orgasm tore through me with all of the power it promised, my knees buckling, only to be caught in his strong hands as he thrust a final time.
We stood there, catching our breath for a few moments. “Amazing," he said, buckling my belt and stealing a kiss. "Come, let's get some wood gathered before Felix wonders what the hell happened to us."
Chapter 8
Francois
That evening, after dinner, I tried calling our agent again. Felix was in the main room, reading a book he'd picked up when we signed the papers on the cabin, something on leadership and management that I had no interest in. Sometimes my brother frustrated me to no end. Here we were, with millions of dollars in fine Japanese antique steel and a beautiful woman, and he had his nose buried in a book. He said that it was because a scholarship was just as important as training to our lives, but still. Life can pass you by unnoticed if you have your head in a book too much. That’s my motto.
In this instance, though, it was to my benefit. Jordan was a truly rare gem of a woman, more precious than any of the swords we'd stolen. Sexy, artistic, and graceful, she had a quality to her that would impress even the French. After we'd gathered the wood, filling both of our bags, she shouldered it without complaint as we walked through the light snow. "Why did you say you didn't want to leave the cabin?" she asked me as we walked. "It doesn't sound like a man looking at getting away with stealing a fortune."
"I know," I replied, thinking about what I wanted to say. While it is true that I have spoken English since childhood, I still naturally think in French and Romani, translating them inside my head before the English comes out. "I guess in the heat of the moment, I couldn't say everything that I wanted to say. What I meant was, when Felix and I leave the cabin, we're disappearing, and you're going back to your life in Los Angeles,” I said, sweet-talking her. Of course, there was some truth to it, but I had my other reasons too.
“And how else would you want it?” she asked, looking at me out of the side of her eyes. She was still vulnerable, and what I said next could have a big impact on how she thought of me.
"What I would like is to not have to worry abo
ut the police looking for us, or getting away . . . or leaving you behind," I said.
Jordan was silent after that, and now, back in the cabin, sat and watched the fire while I tried to reach our business partner. Unfortunately, the snowy weather meant that I was unable to make a connection to the satellite, and I didn’t have the battery power to keep trying. Satellite phones, while untraceable on normal cellular networks, and notorious for battery life.
"Jordan, tell me more about yourself,” I said as I shut down the phone and put it away. “I’d like to hear how you came to play the guitar. Besides, we have nothing but time.”
Jordan thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Okay, on one condition."
I came over to near the fire, sitting on the floor and smiling. Felix, for his part, kept reading his book. "What is that?"
"You two tell me some stories — I know there has to be some in what you do. This time, no more maybe later. Nothing of course that you think will endanger your safety afterward. What do you say, Felix?"
Felix, amazingly, put his bookmark in his book and set it aside. He hadn't said more than perhaps a dozen words all afternoon, staying instead in the world inside his head. "You first."
Jordan thought about it, then nodded. "All right, I guess. For me, music seemed to always be part of my life. My mother was a concert cellist before I was born, playing with various orchestras around the St. Louis area. She'd tried to make it in New York, but wasn't quite good enough. After she got pregnant, she settled down into being a housewife while Dad was an insurance salesman. I have on my computer back home videos of me being played lullabies by Mom on her cello while Dad held me and gave me a bottle.”
"So when Mom started taking me to a music teacher, I figured it was just part of normal life. I was two the first time I held a violin, a little plastic replica that didn't even play notes, but was used by my teacher to teach the basic holds and poses for nearly six months while I pretended to stroke on the non-existent strings. After that, I was doing violin practice an hour or more a day nearly every day of the week."
"That sounds intense," Felix said, and I had to agree with him. While Father insisted we learn to appreciate music, he never pushed lessons that strictly. I'd picked up my first guitar when I was eight, and it was true I could play a decent tune, but I was nowhere near a professional. "Did you enjoy it?"
"At first, I did," Jordan said, half smiling. "I mean, I got lots of praise from my teacher, who gave me a little candy at the end of every lesson, and it was kind of cool to play along with the CD or with everyone else. I'd say up until the time I was seven or eight, I enjoyed the violin all the time."
"What changed?" Felix asked. I could hear in his voice, he was really listening, which in some ways made me jealous. My brother never listened to me like he was listening to Jordan at that moment unless we were discussing the details of a job.
"When Mom decided that I was getting good enough to follow in her footsteps," Jordan said softly. "I did my first audition for a real group when I was nine, followed by my first trip to a bigger music center when I was ten. By the time I was in high school, I hated the violin with a passion, but something else had taken hold of me that kept me going."
"What's that?" I asked, jumping in before Felix could.
"Fame. This was about the time that Bond was making a splash because of Youtube and, let's face it, they were hot women playing violins and stuff, so I thought I could follow in their footsteps. When I was in high school, I did a tryout for the Children's Orchestra Society's Young Symphonic Ensemble. It's one of the best youth orchestras in North America, and they've had a program going for nearly fifty years. I was full of big dreams, mostly about being one of the names on the poster outside the marquee, maybe even becoming the next big crossover violinist.”
"I practiced hard for the audition, but my mother was even more into it than I was. For an entire two months before the tryout, she had me practicing ten, twelve hours a day. She even pulled me out of school after lunch each day to have me drill. Even in my sleep, I was seeing musical notes and bars."
“Sounds like a recipe for disaster," Felix said.
Jordan nodded, and I had to admit I felt a flare of jealousy at the look of understanding she gave him. I couldn’t help it, but my brother and I had a rivalry that ran deep. Besides, I’m the one who’d just gave her the fuck of her life — at least, she sounded like she enjoyed it.
“You're right of course, in hindsight, Felix. But at the time, I was blinded by the idea of fame and fortune, while my mother . . . I think she was blinded by the opportunity for her daughter to do what she never did. The two of us charged full speed ahead. And then, the day of the audition, I was sitting in the wings of the audition hall, listening to the person before me, and the only thing I could think of was that I was nowhere near as good as them. I mean, I worked hard, and there was no way I was as good as this person. It was like a good high school player trying to step on the court with Kobe Bryant or something. Then I looked in, and I swear to God the girl playing couldn't have been older than ten or eleven, playing from memory. She finished this masterful rendition of Ernst's Variations on "The Last Rose of Summer," and just bows and walks out like nothing happened."
Felix whistled between his teeth, and I looked over, feeling like a dumbass. "What?"
"It's one of the most difficult violin solos in the world," Felix told me.
"Damn," I muttered under my breath. "And you had to go on after that?"
Jordan nodded. "I went out there on stage, sat down, and just froze. I mean, my bow never moved from the start position, and all I could do was sit there, looking at my strings, not even moving. The next thing I know, I'm looking into someone's face who's patting my cheek. I’d passed out, collapsing out of my chair and actually breaking my violin. They had to take me to the doctor to remove the last of the splinters from my side."
"Jesus," Felix whispered under his breath. "So that’s why no longer play."
I looked from Felix to Jordan and even I could feel the surge that passed between them. It was the feeling that there was a level of understanding, a connection that deep in my brain a voice whispered I would never fully understand.
"That's the reason," Jordan said, continuing her story. "After that, I just couldn't do it anymore. If I even looked at a violin for the next year, I went into trembles. I'd been messing around with the guitar for a few years prior to that, and I found that I had more affinity for it anyway. When I finished high school, I moved out here. Despite my parents objecting, I came out to Los Angeles to seek my fame and fortune. What was supposed to be a six-month dream chase has turned into seven years of up and down work. When my parents died, I just didn't see the need to go back to St. Louis."
"I think it is our turn now," Felix said, looking at Jordan's face. I agreed with him, her eyes were haunted by more than just the memories of a bad audition. There were years of pain and rejection written on her face, of bearing burdens that were nearly unbearable. "What would you like to hear about?"
Jordan looked from Felix to me, then back to Felix. "Tell me about how you went into the family business."
I looked at Felix and shrugged. "It’s your call, Felix. You’re the elder brother."
Felix rolled his eyes and sighed. "I am. All right, Jordan. You shared something painful with us, I suppose it’s only fair to tell you a little about us."
Chapter 9
Felix
"Our father was French," I said, looking at Jordan with respect and something else in my eyes. It was strange, how a simple decision that had been made in an instant to merely preserve a limited haul's success had evolved into something else. There was a growing possibility in my mind that what I wanted to explore was worth more than the limited profit we'd make from the swords.
"You told me that already," Jordan said with a small smirk. She was still a bit rattled from telling her story of the violin audition, but she was recovering well from it. "And that your mother was Roma
ni."
I nodded, chuckling at my poor start. "That is true, isn't it? Well, he was an art thief, one of the best in the world. For nearly thirty years, he pulled off jobs that nobody else would even touch. He even got a few pieces from the Louvre's collection, although he never went into the main museum. He was far too skilled for that. Instead, he would often make them disappear like magic during transports, when they were taken for cleaning, things like that."
"So how good are we talking?" Jordan asked.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said. Jordan looked at me like I was bragging, and I held up my hands, nodding. "I'm being honest. Father was . . . he was amazing. There are rumors, ones that even he wouldn’t confirm for us before he died that some of the supposedly world's greatest pieces hanging in galleries are forgeries slipped in by him in order to cover up his activities. I do know that in his home were a few pictures that also hang in various museums in New York, London, and even Moscow."
"So why follow him into the business? You said he had plenty of money, why not live the life of the trust fund child?" Jordan asked, certainly perplexed.
Francois shifted around uncomfortably and ran his hand through his hair. He got to his feet, then sat down before standing up again. “Excuse me, I think I need to get some fresh air."
I watched Francois pull his coat on and leave, closing the door loudly behind him. He crunched off into the woods, leaving behind myself and a very perplexed Jordan. "What's with him?”
I shook my head sadly. While he and I rarely spoke about it, I wasn’t ignorant to Francois’ inner demons, and the feelings he was struggling with. "There are things in our family history that cause stress between us. Some of it is related to what I’m telling you, and some of it is related to things that, well, will seem outlandish to you."
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