Epilogue II
LAURENT
One week earlier, in Toronto
Claire had a tell. When she was about to bolt, her eyes flicked toward the nearest exit. Laurent caught it immediately, irritation sharpening. Two and a half weeks of silence had thinned his tolerance.
“Bonjour,” he said lightly. “You changed your number?”
Claire’s mouth flattened. “I’ve been busy.”
“So I gathered.” He shifted to the wall beside her, blocking nothing overtly while making it impossible to pass without brushing him. Her scent reached him instantly, citrus threaded through warm skin. “I was in Toronto last month.”
“I know.”
“You knew.” Amusement lingered in his voice. “And yet.”
She looked good. Black dress, red heels. The restraint was in the fabric. The provocation was in the shoes.
“What do you want?” She crossed her arms, instinctive armor.
His attention slid lower, deliberate enough to make a point. The flush crept up her neck before she realized he wasn’t going to stop. Her arms fell.
“An explanation would be charming,” he drawled. “A conversation would suffice.”
“You don’t get to show up and demand answers.”
“Actually, I do.”
Her breath caught, but it wasn’t anger. She seemed…nervous. He felt it first as satisfaction, then, a beat later, as something else entirely. A warning bell he trusted.
She flashed a quick smile at someone over his shoulder, easy and convincing. Laurent glanced past her and saw Bea watching from the birthday table, Rafael beside her.
Through her teeth, Claire said, “This was supposed to be discreet.”
“It is. No one back there knows. I haven’t even touched you.”
He wanted to. He remembered exactly where she liked his mouth.
Her jaw set. He liked that. He preferred that she resist than retreat. The urge to feel that tension under his hands stirred, and was leashed.
“You promised.”
“I promised to help you,” he corrected. “I did.”
“That doesn’t give you the right—”
“Yes, let’s talk about my rights,” he said pleasantly. “I especially like the contractual ones.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“That’s rich,” he said, the smile dropping. “Coming from the woman who stopped returning my calls.”
Her pulse jumped at her throat. Too fast. He tipped his head, studying her properly now. This wasn’t defiance; this was panic. Something was wrong.
Laurent straightened, decision locking into place. “Go say goodnight, sauvage. Then we’ll talk properly.”
He paused when her eyes flicked again to the door. He knew exactly what would get under her skin and pull her back into the moment. “Don’t make me wait again.”
Claire’s nostrils flared. “And if I say no?”
Laurent leaned in. Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it. Want, still there. Relief washed through him.
“You can walk out,” he said mildly, “or I can carry you and we’ll use the chance to make our announcements.”
Claire’s fingers clenched around her phone hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, wife.”