Crossfire (23 page)

“You are a terrible liar,” she said, raising her face to kiss him on the cheek.

* * * *

Chapter Seventeen

The evening went off without any problems. The men put their differences aside and made small talk about world affairs and other neutral subjects. Though Claude had brought a bottle of red wine, he declined all but a single glass, as did Marcelle, mindful of the next day when they would need their wits about them. Stefan had no such issues, and chased by demons he could tell no one about, he polished off most of the wine.

The evening wound down around midnight. After Claude left to go back to his own unit, Marcelle and Stefan sat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, enjoying some hot chocolate before going to bed.

“You and Claude have a good relationship,” Stefan commented, watching her over the rim of his mug.

She smiled. “We have a lot of fun, but we fight too. Sometimes Claude gets a bit domineering, trying to order my life, and I don’t allow that. But we’ll always be good friends.”

“Is that why he’s got the code for the elevator?”

“Sure,” she answered, not taking offence. “I have the password for his place too. We look out for each other.”

He nodded. “I’m glad he’s here for you.” He downed the last of his hot chocolate and rose to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower before going to bed.”

“Come to my room when you’ve finished, and I’ll change your dressings.”

She started packing dirty dishes into the dishwasher as he left the kitchen.

~ . ~

When Marcelle went to her room fifteen minutes later, she found Stefan waiting for her. She cleaned and redressed his wounds, remarking, “I’m sure we can ask the doc if we can leave the dressings off in a few days’ time. These wounds are nearly healed.”

“That would be great. It’s probably time for me to be on my way.”

Marcelle felt her heart lurch in fear. “I think it would be best if you regain all your strength before you venture out in the world again.”

Stefan smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she stated, a dimple deepening in her left cheek as she tried to suppress a smile. “You can get into bed so long if you want to sleep. I want to shower, and dress in my new pajamas.”

“Sure.” Clearly, she took it for granted that they would sleep in the same bed every night.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the spray of the shower. The red wine had made him drowsy, and he dropped off to sleep after a few minutes, the sound of the running water in his ears.

Marcelle came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, wearing her new silky green night attire. When she approached the bed, she noticed Stefan was already fast asleep. He lay on his back, his head cradled in the crook of his left arm, his right hand resting on his chest.

She felt an inexplicable surge of tenderness, looking at him. He looked so young, so innocent. Looking at him, she found it hard to believe the things he had told her about himself. How could she associate the soldier with the boy sleeping so sweetly?

She switched off the main light, so that only the bedside lamp was burning, and climbed into bed, tenderly covering him with the duvet. He had recovered his good looks along with his health, she thought, studying his sleeping features in the half-light.

She panicked at the thought of him leaving. The warm flame of his presence had melted the ice in her chest, allowing her to breathe again, and she couldn’t imagine being without him. But tonight he had said it was time for him to leave, though he had not protested much when she said he should stay longer. But even if he stayed another week or even two, eventually he would leave, and the ice would return.

Marcelle felt a desperate need to feel his arms around her, holding her tight. She switched off the bedside lamp, and moved closer to him, taking his right arm by the wrist and gently straightening it along the pillows. She snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and encircling his warm chest with her right arm.

Stefan came half-awake, curling his right arm around and pulling her closer. He turned onto his right side, and pushed her onto her back, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. His left hand slipped beneath her pajama top, and he caressed her smooth belly before moving higher and finding her breasts. She drew a sharp breath at his touch, her nipples contracting into tight buds.

He pushed his left leg between her knees, and a warm flush of desire flowed through her body as he moved his leg higher, parting her thighs. It’s been so long, she thought hazily. She felt him hardening where he pressed against her, and faint little voices started screaming in the back of her mind.

Before she could react, he claimed her mouth in a lazy kiss, parting her lips with practiced ease. She responded to the kiss before she froze, overcome with guilt.

After a long moment, he drew back, and buried his face in her neck, heaving a deep sigh. His weight pinned her down, but she had nothing to fear. Her would-be lover had drunk quite a lot of red wine with dinner, and had fallen asleep.

She removed his slack hand from her breast, and pushed his relaxed body off hers, careful not to wake him. She had to admit she wasn’t angry at his behavior. He had been half-asleep and more than a little drunk. She couldn’t hold him responsible.

She lay awake for a long time, trying to sort out the turmoil of emotions the kiss had started in her. Idly she wondered what she would have done if Stefan had woken up fully and had wanted to go further. Instinctively she knew she would have put a stop to it. No matter how she felt about the mercenary, she wasn’t prepared to cope with the feelings of guilt that would torment her in the aftermath.

Yet, did she care for him? Yes. Did she love him? She didn’t want to answer that question, even to herself, because to do so would feel like betrayal. She believed she would never again love anyone as she had loved Jean-Michel. Then why had there had been such a strange feeling in her insides when she had watched his sleeping face?

Marcelle didn’t want to explore her feelings any further, choosing instead to enjoy the secure feeling of his hard male body against her own. She snuggled closer to him, pressing her breasts hard against the side of his chest, wanting his warmth as close to her heart as possible. She drifted off to sleep, listening to the rain beating against the windows, safe in Stefan’s embrace.

~ . ~

Dawn came too soon. Stefan woke first, finding Marcelle clinging to him like a beautiful limpet, her head resting on his chest. He brought his hand up to stroke her hair, remembering a wonderful dream.

She stirred, muttering, and caressed his chest with light fingers. He allowed her to go ahead, enjoying the sensations her ministrations caused. Her hand strayed to his belly, her touch tantalizing enough to heat his blood. When she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his sleeping shorts, he captured her hand in his, and brought it back up to his chest. He was quite sure she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, and didn’t want things to get out of hand.

She nuzzled into his neck, whispering, “Jean...I love you.”

He froze, the illusion shattered. For a few precious seconds it had been just he and Marcelle, before Jean-Michel’s presence had intruded.

She must have felt the stiffening of his body, because she woke, and looked up at him, her gray eyes questioning. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, just a headache,” he replied, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

She laughed, dropping a kiss onto the stubble of his cheek. “Wine will do it for you every time.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll race you to the coffee machine.”

They threw the covers aside and charged for the kitchen.

* * * *

Chapter Eighteen

Thursday dawned with brilliant blue skies, and after wriggling out of his embrace, Marcelle surprised Stefan with coffee in bed. He sat up, accepting the mug she offered him.

“Hi sleepyhead,” she greeted him, pushing his sleep-tousled hair out of his face.

He responded with a vague smile, shaking the mists of sleep from his brain. This wouldn’t do. The easy life has made him soft.

“Time to rise and shine,” she continued, switching on the bedside radio. She reached for her own coffee, and joined him in bed again.

~ . ~

Claude walked down the passage with uncertain steps, looking for Marcelle. He had called out more than once, but had received no response.

He heard the radio before he saw them through the open doorway of the master bedroom. His jaw dropped at the sight of his friend and the killer sitting companionably on the bed, drinking coffee.

She wore the pajamas he had given her, but Stefan’s upper body was bare, his lower body covered by the duvet. And he had dressings on his upper body, pointing to recent injuries. Claude’s senses reeled in shock. Things were not what they seemed.

Just then, Marcelle looked up and saw his dismayed face. She ignored his bewilderment as she said, “Hi Claude, we didn’t even hear you arrive. You’re early. Or did we oversleep?”

“I’m early,” he stammered.

She invited Claude to have breakfast with them. Over breakfast she explained the situation, telling him what had happened. She stuck as closely to the truth as possible, but didn’t mention the unknown man who had threatened Stefan’s life and her own. Claude accepted the story readily, though he was hurt that she hadn’t taken him into her confidence at first. But his eyes were full of questions about the mercenary’s presence in her bed.

When she went for more coffee, Claude took the chance to speak to the German. “I hope your intentions are honorable. Marcelle’s still vulnerable.”

Stefan didn’t reply, merely glancing up at him before continuing his meal.

Claude continued, “Jean-Michel asked me to look out for her, and I’ve been doing my best. Now you’ve dragged her into all kinds of trouble here, risking her life. And you’re in her bed. How do you think it’s going to affect her when you leave?”

Stefan put down his knife and fork, fixing his blue eyes on Claude’s dark face. The driver’s eyes shone with defiance, and he toyed with the idea of taking him down a few notches. He decided against it, realizing that the Frenchman had Marcelle’s best interests at heart, and was trying to protect her from what he perceived to be a threat.

“Claude,” he said patiently, striving to keep his voice even, “Jean-Michel was my friend too, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt his widow. I’ve taken every measure possible to ensure her safety, so you don’t have to worry. As for my being in her bed, I don’t have to explain anything to you. You had no right to walk in without warning. Or did you plan to catch us unawares?”

Marcelle’s return to the table prevented any more private conversation.

All too soon, it was time for them to leave for the track.

Stefan had gone to his room to dress, and met Marcelle in the passage. She wore boots, a pair of blue jeans, a yellow shirt, and the new leather jacket Claude had given her. He gripped her upper arms as his eyes searched hers. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“Of course. Doc Louis said yesterday that everything was fine, and my hand feels good as new.”

She sounded enthusiastic, and he realized it would be useless to try to talk her out of it. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Please be careful. I expect to see you back in one piece.”

“Count on it,” she answered with a smile.

He watched from the picture window as Claude helped her into his silver Diablo. Moments later the car pulled off with a roar.

~ . ~

The drive to the track would take forty-five minutes, and Claude wanted to use the time to get clearer on the situation between his friend and the killer. He decided to come right out with it.

“What’s the story between you and Stefan?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Story?”

“You know what I mean. We’re both adults.”

“Oh, you mean the cozy scene you barged in on this morning? You could have called, or knocked.”

“I did call, more than once. Don’t try to sidestep. I know I was at fault, but that’s beside the point.”

She shrugged. “Stefan and I are friends. I have trouble sleeping some nights, and then he stays with me. It’s completely innocent, Claude, my honor is safe with him. No need to be afraid.”

“Marcelle, I’m terrified for you. That man is a merciless killer. In Italy, he killed a man right in front of me. He was like a predator, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. The expression he had on his face still gives me chills...”

“Now you’ve lost me completely.”

Claude slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. He switched off the Diablo’s powerful engine before turning to her. “Three years ago, when Stefan’s organization protected Jean-Michel in Italy, he found a man tampering with Jean-Michel’s car. When the man realized he had no escape, he pulled a knife. Stefan could have drawn his gun and told the man to drop his knife, but he didn’t. Instead, he started circling the man, taunting him, daring him to attack. I could see the man was terrified. I think he knew about Stefan’s reputation, and he wanted to surrender. Do you know what that monster said to him? ‘I’m going to kill you anyway, whether you fight or not.’ He said it in such a malicious way that I knew he meant it. The man certainly believed him, and tried to attack him with the knife. But that savage took the knife away from him, and used it to cut his throat.” Claude dropped his face into his hands. “God, blood sprayed everywhere. I grew up rough, but it made me sick to my stomach.” He was silent for a minute, trying to compose himself, before he looked up at her.