Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Philippe finished preparing the horses and said goodbye to the last of his men. He turned to check on Alex and caught her eye. For a moment, he was taken aback by her stare. If he didn’t know that she was drunk, he would have thought her look meant something very different.
He threw a final pack to Claude and smacked the back of his horse, then watched her for a moment.
Alex sat on her bottom with her legs straight out in front of her staring back at him.
Perhaps the firelight was tricking him into thinking he knew the look she was giving him, but he also knew better than to trust himself when it came to her.
The fire needed tending, so he stepped out to gather more wood.
His eyes adjusted as he sorted through usable pieces littered near the water’s edge.
He had mixed feelings about the meeting.
Instinct told him that Giroux could be an ally.
The man’s honor was apparent, but he was being manipulated by his leader.
Philippe could tell that this situation went deeper than a mere stipend for the river villages, but did Giroux know?
He could have taken Giroux and his grunts as prisoners.
It would stop the raids and that was the goal, right?
But with the leader still at large, the problem would not be solved.
Philippe was trying to stay thoughtful and calm—sometimes through gritted teeth—and he felt like every aspect of his person was being tested on that front.
He felt he had handled the encounter with competence and honor.
Then, Giroux had expressed desire to take Alex, and everything they had worked up to crumbled like a dam in a storm.
In that moment, he knew that if he had moved, it would have been to attack Giroux.
There would be no thought of justice or fairness, only maddening rage.
The thing was, it wasn’t that outlandish of a request. Giroux’s leader may have thought the very reason they had brought Alex was as some kind of marriage treaty.
Why else would they be dragging along this woman?
Philippe had been frozen, not knowing how to proceed.
Then he had felt the men gear up behind him, ready at his word to fight, and he was proud to have such strong fighters with him.
For a second, all he could think was that this civil meeting was about to become an absolute slaughter, honor be damned.
But the fire had saved him and, perhaps, the entire mission. He’d ground the smoldering ember into his skin and the piercing pain refocused him. Giroux did not know how lucky he had been.
Philippe put his foot on a log and ripped a branch with a great crack.
The force pulled at his charred skin, and he shook the pain from his hand once more.
He took up a few more pieces of wood and returned to the fire.
Alex stared at him intently, and he smiled at her.
She was really funny when she was drunk, just a giant pair of eyes and absolutely no balance.
He felt guilty for encouraging her to take the canteen, but he had never expected her to be so easily afflicted.
He sat down next to her and added pieces of wood to the fire, stick by stick.
“So,” he said, his voice soft. “We have begun our dialogue with the rebels.” Though he did not look at her, he was acutely aware of her body and her movements next to him.
She had bent her knees and was moving her hands up and down the length of her thighs, over those tight pants that he still couldn’t get over.
She was drunk. Very drunk, he reminded himself.
He knew she was only acting like this because of the drink, but, wow, he couldn’t imagine anyone more seductive.
“I’m cold,” she pouted.
“I will put more wood on the fire.”
“I don’t need that,” she breathed, while she strummed her fingers down his arm.
Now he turned to her, and they locked eyes.
Her face was flushed and beautiful and before he knew it, he had reached out to tuck a piece of wild hair behind her ear.
He scolded himself, but instead of her pulling away, she leaned into his hand.
She closed her eyes, and he brushed his thumb against her cheek, warm from the fire.
She looked at him again, and he understood everything. Alex wanted to get into trouble.
He cleared his throat and pulled back his hand.
He poked again at the fire, thinking he may have to shove his whole hand into the center to clear his head this time.
He would only stay here with her long enough to get her to stand, he thought with resolve.
He wasn’t going to do anything tonight that she wouldn’t forgive him for tomorrow.
Alex wasn’t making it that easy though. She slid the remaining few inches over to him, pulled up her knees, and rested against his side. “Do you remember the first time we sat near a river alone?”
“I do,” he said, thinking of her lips, forever etched into his memories. “That was many years ago.”
“It was the night before the competition,” she said, still pressed against him.
“I remember,” he smiled, still staring ahead into the flames. Her body against his was a timid invitation, but his own body was stiff with trepidation, afraid too much contact would be his undoing.
“The night before I almost beat you in the competition,” she teased.
“You cheated, little fox.” He leaned back to look at her and drank her in.
Her thick hair flowed over her shoulders and down her tunic.
A string tied at the top and crisscrossed down the center, the edge of her shirt tucked below the belt of her pants.
He imagined what it would feel like to slip the silk off her skin.
“I still bested you,” she said.
“You did,” he whispered as he reached out to toy with the tie at her collar. He was feeling his body change: his breath coming quicker, his blood changing course. He could only resist so much; he was no angel.
“Do you remember when you kissed me?” Alex’s voice turned husky. “That night? By the river?”
“I do,” he said again. His voice was thick in his throat. He watched her mouth as she spoke, her words, each a drop of sugar that he wanted to lick from her lips. And for the second time that night, he knew that to make any move would be to lose control.
“I’ve thought about that kiss for many years,” she said. “Often when I was alone.” She paused and looked at him with trusting, open eyes. “I should like to experience it again,” she admitted.
She was killing him. He knew it was probably wrong, but how could he refuse them both this pleasure?
And if it were just a kiss, he could keep himself at bay.
His heart pounded and he ached with want as he spoke before he could stop himself.
“Then lie back, darling,” he said, staring into her firelit eyes, “so that I may find your lips.”
A breath escaped her as she reclined on the hard ground.
Magnetism pulled him along with her, and he found himself balanced on his hands and knees looking down at her.
Her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered, and he realized he was about to taste her again.
This was his chance to show her that things were different, that something had changed between them.
He’d stolen all the other kisses from her, but this one, he decided, he would give back.
His knuckles ground into the dirt as he hovered above her.
He watched her, worried his own need would ruin it, but then she smiled at him.
He’d forgotten what an elixir her smiles could be, and he found himself grinning back.
When he could hold himself back no longer, he leaned in, until his lips brushed hers.
He was determined to keep some decorum, but she arched up to meet him and his instinct took over.
He took her lips against his, first just the bottom, then both at once.
They were soft and tender, peaches in the summertime.
A powerful wave of desire shot through him then, and he nearly buckled above her.
He kept the distance, though, and instead opened her mouth more fully so he could taste her more deeply.
She accepted his kiss, and soon she was kissing him back, hypnotic movement between them.
Then her body was reaching for more. She bit her nails into his arms trying to pull him down closer to her.
He responded by kissing her more desperately but at the same time straining his muscles to maintain some distance.
This only made her writhe and whimper as she tested his resistance and reached for contact.
It was too much. He had to stop before it went too far.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, assessing any damage he had done.
She moved her hands to his shirt, more than content with their current situation, as she tried to pull him down to her.
“Philippe,” she whispered, desperate. “Please do not stop.”
He kissed her chin and lingered with his lips at her neck as she leaned back. “Alex, I don’t think you know what you are asking for,” he whispered against her skin.
“Yes, I do,” she said. Still holding his shirt, she scooted up and shakily got on her knees in front of him. She pulled him up until he was kneeling as well, and she pressed her body against his. “Trust me,” she said against his lips.
He felt a growl deep in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her close.
He felt the warmth and softness of her body separated from his by only a few thin layers of fabric.
He fought back every instinct that said he had to take her there in the dirt.
He couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t forgive him, and he couldn’t forgive himself if he made love to her when she was not herself.
“Alex,” he forced himself to say, “Please, chérie. We can’t do this now.”
She groaned and reached again for his lips, moving her body against him.