DAGGER #3
“It was sunrise over the vineyards, and it was beautiful. I alerted the client—”
“In writing.”
“They agreed with me, because I’m always right.” She smirked. “He spent the entire flight in the chase car, watching us float.”
“With binoculars,” I added. “Somebody had to take the job seriously.”
Rémy laughed hard enough that it made him cough, which in turn made Marthe come out to see if he was all right. Even Bertrand chuckled into his glass. Across the table, Chantal had her hand pressed over her heart.
Of course, none of it was true. I’d invented it on the fly, and Maelle had added to it like we’d rehearsed it for weeks. She sold the story with her chin up, like a woman airing a grievance she’d waited years to get off her chest.
Bertrand listened but without much of a reaction apart from laughing occasionally. If he knew what his daughter did for a living, then he’d known the story was a lie from the first word. So either he believed us, or he was a better actor than I’d given him credit for.
There was a harder question, and I hadn’t let myself think about it too much. If he was Géraud’s man, had he known what was coming in Lausanne? Had he known his daughter would be inside the building? It was the ugliest thought I’d had in years.
When we finished eating, I made an excuse that I had to check in with my team and went up to Maelle’s bedroom. Part of me hoped she’d follow. The other part was relieved when she didn’t.
The truth was, I was struggling with how to feel about what had happened last night. I’d crossed a line. No, we’d crossed a line, and I had no idea what would happen next. Or what Maelle thought would.
Before, I had rules. In front of the family, they worked for me. fingers would lace with mine when we took walks, and I kissed her temple when Rémy raised a glass to us at lunch. I’d caught myself hoping someone was watching all the time, because that was when I was allowed to touch her.
It didn’t assuage my longing even a little. When I put my palm on her back, I wanted to slide it down to her arse. Lacing my fingers with hers made me long to have them inside her again. Kissing her cheek made me wish to hell I’d brought my mouth to hers last night.
Yet Maelle seemed unaffected by it all. Why was that? Had what we’d done satisfied her curiosity?
She believed I took what I wanted from women, then walked away without a thought. Was that what she was doing? Had she gotten what she wanted, and that was enough for her?
Bloody hell. Who was I turning into? I’d told myself I wanted to change, to be a better man, and if I could, maybe she’d want me as much as I wanted her. When had that become me being so fucking insecure?
When I returned downstairs, the only person I could find was Marthe. I didn’t speak French, and she didn’t speak English, but somehow, I understood enough to figure out that Chantal was resting, Bertrand was in his office, and Rémy had driven into the village.
“Maelle?” I asked.
She led me to the window and pointed to the garden, where Maelle stood. I thanked her, took the coat she handed me, and went outside.
Maelle glanced up as I came down the path and thanked me when I wrapped the coat around her shoulders.
“How’s the leg?” I asked.
“I’ve climbed a hill and stood on stone floors all day. It’s filing a complaint.”
“I’ll have a word with the hill.”
She laughed, then looked out at the vineyards. “I told myself I didn’t miss Valais. It was a lie.”
Not knowing what to say, I waited, hoping she’d go on.
“It’s the person I become when I’m here that I didn’t miss.”
I stepped closer and put my arm around her shoulders. When she leaned into me and rested her head on my chest, I realized that every minute of insecurity I felt was worth it. Worth this.
For the first time since the day she’d walked into Minerva, I was seeing who Maelle actually was, and it made me adore her more with every passing minute.
I wanted her so fucking bad. It was a constant struggle not to show her exactly how much. To not push her up against the stone wall, press myself against her, and kiss her like I wished I had last night.
The wanting wasn’t new. I’d felt it every day since I met her. But now, knowing how she responded to me, the sounds she made, how she pleaded, and remembering how her pussy had clenched around my fingers when she came—all of it made being this close to her unbearable.
How in the hell would I be able to lie in her bed tonight and not reach for her? The only solution was sleeping on that bloody sofa. Even then, being alone in the room with her would test every ounce of restraint I possessed.
Why had I let it go so far last night? Why hadn’t I removed my hand from her leg, picked the pillow up from the floor, and repositioned the barrier between us?
While I couldn’t undo what had already happened, I could make sure we didn’t cross that line again.
When I turned to her, she was studying me.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
Her head cocked, and she smirked. “What if I guess?”