Chapter Twelve
GENEVIèVE
Our discussion dragged on for a good hour. Correction — there wasn’t much good about it, least of all the arguing over who should — or shouldn’t — travel to Paris and why.
The guys were all for charging over to Paris and leaving us womenfolk back at our little home on the prairie.
Well, that wasn’t happening.
Mina argued that she should go with the men, leaving me at home with Madame Picard.
Also not happening.
After a hell of a lot of arguing, they gave in.
“Fine,” Mina grumbled. “We’ll all go, first thing in the morning.”
Henrik stuck up his hand. “I’ll depart immediately in order to begin my inquiries.”
One less vampire in the neighborhood was the only part of the plan everyone enthusiastically agreed to, and off he went.
Mina stood, stretched, and extended a hand to Marius.
“Time to turn in. Goodnight, everyone.”
Bene executed one of those huge, lion yawns that was practically performance art, then drifted off to the west wing.
“Bonne nuit.” He waved wearily.
“Bonne nuit,” I echoed.
That left Roux, me, and the last embers of the fire.
I stood to go, then stopped. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t face going to bed. The real-life nightmares of a truly crappy day were sure to find me there. Maybe if I hid here, I could evade them.
I added two logs to the fire and settled back on the couch, watching them burn.
Roux looked up. “Not going to bed?”
The chateau was drafty as hell, so Mina and I had continued our grandmother’s practice of keeping shawls and knitted throws handy. I pulled one over my shoulders and another over my lap, then leaned back and closed my eyes.
“Yes. I mean, no. I guess you’d call this going to couch.”
Roux didn’t say a word, and he didn’t budge from his spot in the middle of the couch. I was on the left end, with a narrow no-man’s-land separating us.
Leaning my upper body against the left armrest of the couch, I drew my legs up in the space between us and rearranged the blanket, my eyes still closed.
“Hang on.” Roux tucked the blanket around my feet. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” I murmured. Especially with my feet now resting against his leg. It felt nice, safe, and cozy.
Really cozy, I quickly decided. My toes hadn’t been this warm in weeks.
A new central heating system was on our work list, but way, way down in the wish list section.
Roofing and wiring came first, and we barely had the funds to cover those major projects.
The only good news was, the chateau hadn’t been upgraded enough in the past for us to have to deal with asbestos.
The fire crackled. Roux sipped the last of his rum, then downed the last of my water. I heard his swallow and the hollow tap as he placed the glass on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He chuckled softly. “Pretty sure you already covered that.”
I shook my head. “Second-worst day in my life, and you made it slightly more bearable.”
He didn’t ask. He just put a hand on my shoulder.
The day of my father’s car accident was number one on the list, and I hoped to hell it would never get pushed to number two. But the violent murder of a childhood friend came pretty close.
I frowned. As awful as this day was, I doubted it would make Roux’s five-worst list. He’d spent over a decade in the military, and mankind had done enough warring in that time to make even peacekeeping missions deadly.
I tucked my toes under his thigh, sending a little warmth his way.
“Tell me something good,” I mumbled.
“Like what?”
I shrugged, making my blanket move. “Something that will help me sleep.”
“We could ask Henrik to read some poetry.”
I laughed. “Not that desperate…yet.”
Just that little laugh buoyed my mood slightly.
“Something about baby Roux, maybe?” I suggested.
“State secret, sorry.”
I tried again. “Anand is an Indian name, I think.”
“Oui,” he murmured.
I thought that would be it, but a moment later, he went on quietly.
“My mother was backpacking through India when she met my father. It didn’t last, though. A few years later, she returned to France with my sister and me.”
His tone suggested a warm relationship with those two, but not his father. Which was strange, because shifters were great believers in destiny. On the other hand, destiny didn’t instantly serve up one’s perfect partner, as I’d learned the hard way.
“Do you ever visit him there?” I asked.
“No.”
One short syllable. A crystal-clear message. Papa Anand was not in the picture. I changed the subject.
“Is your mother a tiger?”
He shook his head. “Lynx, like my sister.”
“Oh. Cool.”
He shrugged, then tapped my shoulder. “What happened to going to sleep?”
“Still trying,” I admitted.
“So, something boring…” He thought it over, then chuckled. “Croquet.”
I shook a finger at him. “Don’t knock croquet, man.”
“Not knocking it. Just trying to think of something nice.”
The firelight reflected on his face, making his amber eyes glow. Gorgeous.
“You and Mina played croquet here as kids, right?” he asked.
I marveled at the tiny wonders taciturn tigers revealed at times. I didn’t think he knew that, let alone cared or appreciated the value of such a silly pastime.
I nodded.
“So, think of that. All the details. Starting with a misty morning and dewdrops on the lawn.”
A smile stretched over my cheeks. Nothing said peace more than mornings at the chateau.
We were miles away from town, the main road, and anything remotely resembling industry.
All we heard were the sounds of the forest and homey things, like the bubble of a tea kettle or the low sizzle of pancakes on a Sunday morning.
“Picture the sun breaking through the mist and illuminating everything,” Roux went on in a hushed voice.
“You would make a great painter,” I mumbled.
He snorted. “I can barely draw a stick figure. Allez, chut,” he ordered softly. Now, hush.
I did as I was told, waiting for more.
“Then you walk around, setting up the croquet gates…”
I grinned, because that usually entailed a fair amount of arguing — the kind you came to cherish as time went by.
“Then you pick your mallet.” He paused. “Let me guess. Yellow for you. Or red.”
Huh. Yellow was my favorite. How did he guess?
He snorted like it was so obvious.
I wondered what color he would choose. Something dark and serious, no doubt. Blue. Black. Gray. The man definitely had the Batman vibe down.
“Where did you grow up?” I asked.
“Near Bordeaux. Stop changing the subject.”
“Yes, sir.” It came out in a sleepy murmur rather than clipped army style.
“Then the game starts. The mallets click…”
I loved how the imagery mirrored my father’s painting. The thought of it ought to have made me fret — Who had stolen it? Why? Could we recover it? — but somehow, I remained in my peaceful little bubble.
“The ball rolls…” Roux continued.
I pictured the spin of the yellow line painted through the middle of the ball… The glint of dew kicked up in its wake…
“You aim for the first gate, then the second gate…”
Either Roux missed a few, or I’d nodded off momentarily, because the fifth gate came next. Then the sixth, then the…tenth? Eleventh?
Somewhere in the double digits, I drifted off to sleep for good.
* * *
I woke the same way — without even realizing it. Then I blinked, getting my bearings.
The fire was down to embers, the house quiet. Every window was a rectangle of darkness draped by dim curtains.
I was still curled up in a corner of the couch, and Roux was still beside me, keeping my feet warm. He was asleep, angled toward me with his head resting on the arm he’d stretched over the back of the couch.
Now that didn’t look comfortable.
I lifted my feet, wiggling quietly in search of more space. But there wasn’t any, and frankly, my heart wasn’t in it.
I nudged him. “Roux.”
No response. Surprising, since he was the I have eyes in the back of my head type.
“Roux.” I tried again.
He stirred, grumbling.
“Move a little,” I murmured, trying not to wake him fully. Heck, I didn’t want to wake either. I just wanted to get more comfortable and drop right back into that same, deep sleep.
I stretched out, nudging him and rearranging blankets as I went. Then, ah. I found exactly the right position and drifted back into sleep. No dreams. No nightmares. Nothing. Just the profound, comforting nothingness I desperately needed.
At some point, I grew vaguely aware of Roux nudging and rearranging, much as I’d done. But I fell asleep without thinking about what we were doing. It was only hours later, when the first hint of dawn colored the windows, that my brain switched back on.
And, oh. No wonder I’d been so comfy. We were both stretched out on the couch, nestled up against each other under a heap of shawls and throws that crisscrossed our bodies.
My eyes drifted from Roux’s chest to his face. There, my breath caught, because he’d opened his eyes too. Gorgeous, multifaceted eyes that shone like orange-tinted diamonds.
I froze. My cheeks heated in a blush, and my mind started working out how to ease away as gracefully as possible.
But this was Roux, dammit. The guy who never stopped me from setting off on an ill-founded venture but always stuck around to make sure I was safe.
A man who’d joined me in the candlelight of the chapel and seen me through a miserable night.
The man who didn’t respect me any less, even after I’d sobbed all over his shirt and dragged him into several tricky situations.
Instead of wiggling away, I angled my chin up. He tilted his head down at exactly the same time, and our lips grazed.
I gulped, gazing into those kaleidoscope eyes. They spun and blazed, indicating a battle within.
And oh, did I want to charge out onto that battlefield and make bold demands. But I’d made terrible decisions at exactly this juncture in a half dozen doomed relationships.
I’d made terrible decisions about lots of things.
I spent a moment absorbing that truth. I had lots to be proud of, but I had my weak points too. And, as my mother always said, if you wanted to own your successes, you also had to own your failures and learn from them.
So, there I lay, owning the pain and regret. Learning. Hoping.
Roux, on the other hand, was the reliable one. The one who considered pros, cons, and the consequences of his actions. Maybe I would be wise to entrust him with this decision. Maybe even trust fate.
My heart pounded. My soul wailed, fearing he would roll away and end this.
But he didn’t. His eyes blazed even brighter, and he dipped in for a kiss — a deep, full-contact one. He ran his hand over my back, pressing my torso against his.
Decision made. And the warm feels all over my body promised it was a good one.
Our lips danced. Our hands roamed. Our bodies squeezed together. Kind of a balancing act, given the narrowness of the couch, but hell. The man was a tiger shifter. If anyone could keep their balance, it would be him.
I ran my fingers through his hair and rubbed my cheek against his stubble. I rubbed other parts too, shoving away the tangle of blankets and shawls that dared limit my movement. And all that time, we kissed.
Roux’s hand settled comfortably at my waist for a while, then started drifting upward. I arched, aching for more.
Then steps sounded in the hallway, and we froze.
Roux’s lips stayed on mine, and his arms closed around me possessively. But his eyes cut away at a sharp angle, in the direction of the hallway.
Please don’t let this end, I prayed. Not before we truly get started.
It was like standing on a diving board — the high one — only to have someone drain the pool before you had a chance to leap.
And boy, was I itching to leap.
But there came Bene, sauntering down the hallway. I could hear him humming “The Bare Necessities” from The Jungle Book — a dead giveaway, along with the noisy yawn.
Roux tensed. I pressed my face against his chest, braced myself for the teasing that was sure to ensue. But Bene turned down the main stairs, heading for the kitchen. Gradually, the hum and footsteps faded, and we both slumped. Whew.
I was sure Roux would disengage, as a military man might put it. But he didn’t. If anything, he held me closer, tucking his chin over my head and rocking ever so slightly.
Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this moment to end.
Eventually, he loosened up, and our eyes met.
“Please—” I started.
He cut me off with a deep, passionate kiss, and I arched against him. In an instant, we were back to where we’d left off, then racing beyond into virgin territory.
Well, not exactly virgin, but I’d never been possessed by such a deep, driving need, or by the certainty that this was the real thing.
Too bad daylight was chasing away the darkness. Soon, the others would stir and find us.
Let them, I felt like growling. We had every right to ride this thrilling, runaway train.
But this wasn’t just any morning. It was the morning after a horrific murder, and we were scheduled to travel to Paris to investigate an art theft. Two terribly imbalanced things that seemed connected, though I couldn’t explain how.
Slowly, we drew apart. Roux gently traced the curve of my cheek with his thumb, as if imprinting the moment into his memory.
“Promise me this isn’t the end of this,” I whispered.
He gulped — hard — and thought long enough for my hopes to fade.
“I promise I don’t want it to be.”
Ah, Roux. A principled man who didn’t make vows he couldn’t keep.
Which made it my turn to gulp as I imagined all the terrible ways fate could intervene.
He wrapped his arms around me, and I was happy to hide against his chest for a while, listening to his heart beat. Then I forced myself to pull away and stand on unsteady feet.
Roux stayed on the couch a moment longer, flooding my mind with a thousand luscious fantasies.
I held out a hand, and he rose in one smooth, rippling moment that hinted at the tiger within.
“All right, then,” I said, none too enthusiastically. “Paris, here we come.”