Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  Thoughts of romance seemed a memory of so long ago. She sighed. It was better that way; better they stick to the task ahead; keep things simple between them. The last thing she needed right now was to deal with emotions still raw from her last romantic tête-à-tête.

  André cleared his throat. “You’re right, the time is wrong. So that might mean thirteen names or people.”

  Yvette mentally shook her attention back. “I don’t understand the dead rat.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it means someone who poses a threat is carrying a list of new names unless we have to kill to get the list.”

  “Kill?” she asked, horrified.

  “No.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That would not be pleasant for you to see.”

  He seemed lost in a memory as he stared over her head at some far away object. Then, as if he found himself drifting, he snapped his attention back to her. Whatever he was thinking disappeared behind a blank stare. “Maybe it means watch out for the Milice and to bring the list to a hotel waiter or to the shoe shine.”

  She wondered how many men he had killed for the sake of freedom.

  “Does that mean you are planning on bringing me on this mission?” She hoped so; it was her chance to be a spy like that Le Fleur woman. They were both American, after all, and she could go undercover just as well as some floozy with big breasts and a slim waist. In fact, her own waist was just as slender and her breasts… Yvette’s gaze dropped to her chest. Well, maybe not.

  “Mission? No. That is out of the question.” Grim determination tightened his jaw and she knew he would not change his mind, no matter how much they argued.

  Maybe he thought to bring that floozy with him. They seemed pretty cozy. Maybe that was the type of woman he liked, the one who cheated danger and blew things up, she thought, picturing Le Fleur like a cartoon character holding a lit grenade about to explode. An entertaining thought. Yvette smiled.

  There was no way she was going to be left behind.

  ***

  Lord in heaven, the minute he saw Yvette bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun like an angel in white, the sun shining on her hair like a halo, his anger vanished.

  He glanced at her shoeless feet. She had changed in the months since they’d first met. Gone was the spoiled girl who cared more about her appearance than what happened around her, who had blinders on her eyes. Now sat a woman whose beauty shined more brilliantly by her spirited passion to fight for justice; who, despite her fears, fought him on every step, though he tried to keep her safe. He didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to feel… anything. But damned if he didn’t feel lonely after she’d walked out, despite a cellar full of people and noise.

  “You can’t stop me from going. I know the time and the location.” Yvette looked very pleased with herself and he knew there would be no stopping her.

  She wore her hair down and it curled, under resting on her collarbone. The tresses were held back from her face with two combs. He felt the urge to take the combs out and run his fingers through the golden mass, letting those silken strands run wild.

  “And besides, how do we know the message isn’t rubbish. How well do you know Le Fleur?” Yvette’s question oozed with smoky jealousy.

  André hid his amusement and jab of pleasure as though he wasn’t in the least affected. “It’s not false.”

  “How do you know? Can her story be verified?” she said indignantly, her polished red lips pursed.

  The lively animation in her eyes lit a fire in his belly. She was positively radiant when jealous. Did those lips taste as luscious as they looked?

  “You doubt me?” he asked a little more gruffly than he meant to.

  He should have told her Le Fleur had been sent by Rogér, a man he knew well. But didn’t she know by now that he took no one’s word for granted; that he took no chances with the well-being of those who served alongside him? Granted, no one trusted anyone, but the fact that she mistrusted him so strongly bothered him more than he like to think.

  “Do you really believe I wouldn’t verify the information?”

  “Well…I guess…” She shrugged. “No. You are quite efficient in your endeavors.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and he remembered how it felt when those arms had been wrapped around him.

  He casually stepped closer and she didn’t seem to mind. “Are you cold?’ he asked, despite the building heat he felt surging between them. Did she feel it? She did. She had to; or was it just his imagination, his foolish hope there was something tangible between them?

  “I am fine. Thank you for the jacket.” She handed him a sketch of a young woman. “Have you seen her?”

  Whatever was happening to him was happening to her. He noticed the flustered movement of her hand twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, the way her eyes darted from his face to the ground, into the air and her erratic breathing. Beneath the hesitance in her eyes, he saw desire, stirring in their depths, the same desire, stirring his body in ways that would be hard to suppress.

  “No. Sorry,” he handed her the drawing, “Who is she?”

  “My cousin.”

  A cool breeze rustled the leaves and tossed a lock of her hair across her eye. He gently brushed the strand away, his fingers caressing her soft cheek, “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “I… that is very kind of you to say.” She gnawed her bottom lip and he wanted to lean in and taste those tempting lips begging to be kissed.

  “I only tell the truth.”

  She frowned and he figured she knew he’d told many fibs undercover, so he guessed he earned that.

  “Ok, so maybe I’ve spoken some mistruths when--”

  “I wasn’t thinking…” She blushed with embarrassment. “Well, occasionally you do fib, but it’s understandable.”

  So, he hadn’t lost his knack for reading a person, despite that his emotions were zinging like a ball on a string being hit with a bat.

  “I meant what I said. You look...” Her skin in the warm light seemed to shine. “... fabulous.”

  A throbbing need seemed to resonate throughout his body. Did she have this effect on all men? An image of Géry came to mind and annoyance tightened his stance. Did she like kissing Géry? Will she like kissing me? André’s mouth thinned. He knew his thoughts were unreasonable, but his want for her was driving him crazy and denying his desires wasn’t going to make them go away. Maybe he’d just find out for himself.

  His arm closed around her waist and before she could protest, he drew her toward him. Once I kiss her, it’ll be done. I can put her out of my mind. Once and for all. Her name fell from his lips moments before he kissed her. Her body melted against his, soft and curvy and he heard a small sigh of pleasure. Then her body stiffened and she jerked away. Her eyes wide, panic replaced the dreamy desire of moments ago.

  Her slap came unexpected. “I am not that kind of woman.”

  His cheek throbbed, as did another appendage. He figured her actions stemmed from the feel of his erection pressing against her and her shock, but he couldn’t hold back his annoyance. She had seemed perfectly content in Géry’s arms.

  “I don’t recall seeing any bruises on Géry’s face.”

  She had the good graces to blush. She grabbed her shoes. “My actions were justified,” she said, her voice shaky.

  He could see the want in her eyes, though her gaze shifted from his.

  His frustration exploded. “Justified?” So were his. No able-bodied male would react any differently than he had and he would not apologize, or feel bad over his body’s natural occurrence. “Don’t you know any sign of public affection is banned?” he said. It was a good argument, she’d been in danger of arrest. But truth be told, at the time, he hadn’t been thinking of the dangers only that she should be in his arms, not Géry’s. “And I find you kissing in broad daylight in front of an audience.”

  “Oh, do not be ridiculous. Everyone was hiding.” She slipped on a shoe.

  “Hidin
g?” Had he missed something? “Hiding from what? I didn’t see anything.”

  “Well,” she put her hand on her hip, “apparently you missed the Milice threatening to shoot Géry.”

  Apparently, he had.

  “Not that I owe you an explanation,” she said as the other shoe slipped into place. “I only thought to distract the situation.”

  “I feel a threatening situation about to unfold.” André swung her into his arms. “A need for distraction.” You’re a fool he thought, a fool. “I would gladly turn the other cheek for one more kiss,” he whispered in her ear.

  His heart pounded with uncertainty as he waited for her reply.

  ***

  Yvette knew the minute André’s arms encircled her that she couldn’t fight the attraction racing through her veins. She didn’t want to fight her need, despite the little voice in the back of her head telling her this unladylike behavior would lead to trouble. She’d felt trouble; felt it hard and strong pressing against her thighs. Her reaction had been both shock and what society deemed a proper response, but she felt a little guilty for having slapped him. Truth was, the minute her hand had left his face, she wanted to kiss that blow. Lord help her. When he kissed her, she had longed for it to last longer.

  “I am so sorry… I didn’t mean--”

  “Shh.” He put his finger against her lips. His breath fanned her face. His mouth lingered inches from hers, taunting her, daring her to lean in and take control. “I make you nervous.”

  “No.” she shook her head. Liar! a little voice nagged.

  He placed a finger on the side of her neck. “That’s not what I feel.”

  “That’s not fear.”

  “So, you do like me.” His lips breezed across her mouth. Every nerve ending screamed, hold me… touch me… kiss me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

  “No.” he planted a kiss in the hollow of her throat. “You do, I can tell. I’m trained to read people.”

  More kisses trailed along her neck, sending delightful shivers through her body. “I thought you said affection of any kind was forbidden,” she said, her voice a whispered breath.

  “Not my rules.”

  André nibbled her ear and her head lobbed sideways. Sensations of pleasure spiraled across her body. Her sensitive flesh seemed to leap to life. “Mmm.”

  He stopped and looked at her. Amusement curved his lips. “See. There.”

  “What?”

  “You licked your lower lip.”

  “It’s dry.”

  “No. It’s an invitation.” Before she could protest, he pressed his lips against hers. The damp sweep of his tongue kicked her pulse and she lost herself in the feel of him, the taste of him.

  Kissing Géry, she had felt nothing but fear. She couldn’t even remember if he had returned her kiss.

  In André’s arms, it felt like time stopped, even though her world was spinning, making her dizzy. Lord help her, she wanted to forget—forget about the war and her fears— forget about repercussions. His kiss pushed everything away, but the need coursing through her veins. Heated quivers spiraled and filled her with warmth, clouded her mind and made her hunger for more. Nothing mattered. Nothing but to delight in his hard muscled body pressing into hers and the feel of his lips, warm and sensual against hers.

  The sound of voices coming from the church steps put an end to their passion.

  Surrounded by incoherent chatter and talk of sabotage plans, reality hit Yvette squarely in the heart. She had to stop. Stop and remember that very soon France would no longer be her home and giving her heart away would do neither one of them any good.

  “So, tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours?” she asked, trying to steady her erratic breathing.

  “It seems I have no choice.” André feigned an exasperated frown, a ploy meant to camouflage their compromising position, though she could still read the passion in his eyes. “Since my grasp of your language is at times lacking, you may come in useful should our next message, once again, be in English. I will come to your hotel.”

  “Well, I am glad I was able to help.”

  “You were very helpful,” he said nonchalantly, but with a bit of mischief in his eyes meant only for her.

  ***

  Géry stood behind the church doors watching the tender scene before him.

  What? André? I trusted him.

  Old insecurities and unworthiness attacked Géry’s chest, boiling like scalding water.

  How dare he kiss my Eva.

  His nails bit into the carved wooden entryway.

  She cares for me, not him.

  The need for reassurance, to confirm she returned his affections, threw all logic to the wind.

  She saved my life. Kissed me.

  Once again, helplessness washed over him rooting his feet, making it impossible to move as he watched a woman who didn’t know the danger she faced kissing a man like André.

  Géry’s fingers rapped the door like an angry woodpecker.

  He’d be damned if history repeated itself. Damned if he stood by and did nothing to stop unwanted lusting.

  She probably had no choice; was caught off guard by the louse's onslaught of her person. That's it. No choice.

  His gaze settled on Eva’s mouth as she nibbled her lower lip and heat shot to his groin.

  I ought to... He fisted his hand.

  No. He pivoted toward the voices heading in his direction. I have to protect her. He was not a little boy anymore; a little boy who couldn’t stand up to someone he hated.

  Not to worry. Géry smiled as he followed his comrades outside.

  All will be as it should be.

  Soon, very soon, Eva will see the kind of man I really am.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ANDRÉ KNOCKED on Yvette’s hotel door early the next morning.

  She’d gotten very little sleep dreaming about his kiss; remembering how it felt to be gathered into his strong arms and to feel safe, if for only a moment. She’d also dreamt of rats, lots of flying rats bombarding them from all directions.

  “Good morning.” André entered the room. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very, thank you.”

  Dressed in the dark blue uniform coat and brown shirt of the Milice and wearing a wide blue beret on his head, he looked incredibly handsome.

  She gestured to the door, “Shall we?” She didn’t want to talk about that kiss; didn’t feel comfortable alone with him; didn’t trust herself.

  He didn’t move as if to say, to hell with what others think of me in your room. “You are ready?” he questioned.

  “Yes.” Yvette headed for the door as though the room was on fire. Afraid of the desire she’d see in his eyes, she didn’t want to look at him. Afraid she’d give in to anything he asked of her, she needed to get some air.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her. Her shoulders jerked. Her heart pounding, she turned to face him. Eyeing her with cool, detached air, he didn’t say a word as he grabbed her coat and held it out, but she got the impression should his stoic exterior crack, he’d be grinning with the knowledge that he rattled her composure.

  He stepped in front of her blocking her exit. “You don’t need to come.”

  “I want to.” Ok, so she was nervous. She slipped her arms into the sleeves. He made her nervous. Rats made her nervous. Her need for him made her nervous and the unknown danger quivered her knees. But she couldn’t stay behind, not when lives were on the line.

  “I can do this myself,” he said.

  “No.” She sidestepped him and entered the hallway.

  The streets were quiet as they made their way carefully to the Place Castellane where the fountain stood in the center of the square.

  André explained, by dressing like the Milice, they had a better chance of being left alone. No one wanted to be within a hundred feet of the terrifying auxiliary unit.

  They walked around the base of the statute, but didn’t see a single rat.r />
  “I don’t understand. There’s nothing here,” she said.

  “I guess we just wait.”

  Yvette nodded and stared down the street. Was he thinking about last night? Had he gotten any sleep or, like her, had he tossed and turned dreaming about that kiss? She couldn’t let it happen again. Who knew where that would lead; war had a way of making one throw caution to the wind. Fear that today could be your last, tempted and skewed one’s way of thinking. And then what? What if she gave into those strong arms, wonderful kisses, and hard body? She knew firsthand how an unwanted pregnancy could poison a person, and they hardly knew each other well enough to contemplate marriage. The last thing she would ever do is force a man into marrying her.

  “André, about last night…” She blushed recalling how hard their passion had affected him. She knew—he knew—exactly what she was referring to. That kiss kept her awake most of the night.

  “What about it?”

  She huffed. “You know very well.”

  “Remind me.”

  “I… well… stop staring at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  The complete lack of expression in his eyes riled her. “God you are infuriating.”

  He shrugged. “You were saying?”

  She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to lie and knew her next words would bruise his ego. “I wouldn’t want you to think…”

  He lifted her chin up with his fingers. “I don’t.”

  “I was excited. It meant nothing.” That was a lie. Explaining her wanton behavior was more for her benefit than his. Try as she might she wanted those arms wrapped around her. She wanted to feel the heat of his strong body pressed against hers once more. It was wrong. They had to stop.

  “Nothing?”André’s voice didn’t give away his annoyance, but a muscle ticked in his cheek. “Fine.” He looked like he wanted to argue, but clamped his mouth shut. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  Her words had the effect she wanted from him: detachment-closure. She was right to set things straight between them. So why did she feel so disappointed?