Crossfire (25 page)

She studied him for a few moments, sensing he had wanted to say more, but something had stopped him. She took the hand he offered, and covered it with hers. “Yes, just the two of us,” she agreed, squeezing his hand.

As they lay down to sleep, she snuggled closer to him, allowing his warmth to melt the ice that had tried to take possession of her heart again.

~ . ~

It was ten o’clock the next morning, and Marcelle had to leave for Pierre-Henri’s smallholding. She looked tired, and Stefan could see the worry just below the surface, though she tried to hide it. The day had dawned cold and blustery, and she had dressed in blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. Workmen’s leather boots with a heavy tread rounded off the outfit.

Stefan relaxed on the couch in the living room, and couldn’t help admiring her slim figure in the jeans. When she walked by him, he reached out and pinched her bottom lightly.

She yelped in surprise before turning to him, pretending anger. “If you’d been anybody else, I would’ve slapped you.”

He pretended remorse. “I couldn’t resist. So shoot me.”

“Well, just let me get your gun, don’t move.”

She pretended to start towards his room, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on top of him. “A last kiss for a man about to die,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her, arresting her struggles.

“Stefan Ziegler, you’ll be sorry,” she threatened with a gasp.

He regarded her intently for a moment, before he pulled her face down to his. His eyes captivated her, and she didn’t attempt to turn away.

As his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and relaxed. Stefan explored her lips and mouth with a gentleness that was in contrast to the strength he had used to hold her, and her senses reeled. She responded to the gentle coaxing, giving herself to the kiss, but then the kiss deepened, became more demanding as Stefan’s blood heated, and she panicked, wrenching herself away. She twisted out of his arms, staggering before finding her feet. Her eyes were hot and angry as she turned back to him.

He sat up, breathing hard, his head in his hands. Before she could speak, he looked up at her and said in a husky voice, “I’m sorry. I meant to have a little fun, and it got out of hand. Please forgive me.”

She hated to see him so wretched, and her anger dissipated. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. Let’s forget it. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed, taking the hand she offered. “Does that mean you don’t plan to shoot me anymore?”

She laughed. “I could never shoot you, silly.”

~ . ~

Stefan watched as the black Diablo drove through the gates. He stood at the picture window until the car disappeared. Then he turned away, feeling desolate and empty. It seemed every time Marcelle left him, his hunger for her increased.

He was crazy about her, he admitted to himself, but her angry response to his kiss had shown him that she wasn’t ready for a declaration of love. She existed in an emotional wasteland, not yet ready to allow a new man into her life.

Her restlessness the previous night had proven it to him. The trip to the track had triggered off her nightmares again. Even sleeping in his arms, she had woken calling for Jean-Michel. Inwardly he had cursed Claude for being so insensitive. He decided to talk to the driver, to stop any more excursions to the track.

His thoughts turned to more pleasant subjects, and he remembered the dream he had a few nights ago, when she had responded to his lovemaking. He sighed, wishing he could get his rebellious body under control. He needed to get more exercise.

His mind made up, he dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and headed for the gym. Marcelle had said she would return around two o’clock, so he had a few hours to kill.

~ . ~

Four o’clock found Stefan pacing in front of the picture window. She should have returned by now. The clouds of that morning had dissipated, and the sun shone in the blue sky. What kept her?

He remembered what she had told him about the deserted road to Pierre-Henri’s smallholding, and wondered if she had met with disaster on that road. Immediately he pushed the thought from his mind, telling himself that the meeting might have carried on longer than she expected. Surely then she would have phoned?

He went to the study, and sat behind the desk. He searched through the drawers for an address book. He found a black leather book with ADDRESSES written in gold filigree on the front. Because he didn’t know Pierre-Henri’s surname Stefan had to scan half the book before he found it, Pierre-Henri Petton.

He was about to pick up the phone when he heard the Diablo. Relieved, he decided to go down to the garage to meet her, instead of waiting for her to come upstairs.

As the doors of the elevator opened, Marcelle switched off the powerful engine of the Lamborghini. She saw him, and flashed a broad smile as she climbed out of the car. “Hi,” she greeted him gaily. “Can you give me a hand please? I dropped by the shops and bought some groceries and stuff. I always go on shopping sprees when I’m happy.”

He smiled, sharing her joy as he said, “Sure I’ll help you. Can I take it things went well? You don’t look like someone who’s been suspended or banned.”

“You got that right,” she said with a laugh, piling parcels into his arms.

Eventually all the packages were upstairs in the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows at the groceries she had bought. Among the normal groceries were several crates of soft drinks and fruit juices. There were crates of beer and other alcoholic beverages, including spirits. She had also bought snacks and sweets, and a vast quantity of meat and premade salads.

“It looks as if you’re feeding an army,” Stefan commented.

“I’m throwing a barbecue here tonight for the team and some close friends. We have to celebrate.” Her cheeks glowed with excitement. “Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He sat at the kitchen table. “I’m listening.”

“Well, I got to Pierre-Henri’s place, and saw so many cars parked outside that I thought my worst fears had come true. Anyway, it turns out that apart from my sponsor, the President of the French Professional Cycling Federation was there. The President of the Dutch Federation was there too, and a representative of the UCI. This worried me. I thought they had decided to come after me with both guns blazing. Instead, they had come to tell me they wouldn’t be taking any action against me. Can you believe it?” She laughed. “Those two bitches admitted guilt when the two Federations put pressure on them, and I’m in the clear. But I did get a rap over the knuckles from the FICP and a warning not beat anyone up again.”

“That’s fantastic. What’s going to happen to those two riders?”

“Well, they asked me if I wanted to press charges against them, to get them suspended, but I said no. I feel we’re even.”

“That’s gracious of you. But don’t you think they might come after you?”

“They’ll be marked from now on, so they won’t try a stunt like that again. They know if I come off in the pack again, they’ll be the first suspects, innocent or not.”

She switched the kettle on for tea. She turned to Stefan, and leaned against the counter. “But I kept getting a feeling that things were not as they seemed. I could understand that the French Federation would take my side, but it was strange that the Dutch Federation wouldn’t try to protect their own riders. And both the presidents seemed resentful, which I found odd.” She shrugged before continuing, “They were still there when I left. When Pierre-Henri comes here tonight, I hope he’ll be able to tell me why they showed such poor grace.”

He hid a smile. “Yes, it does sound strange.”

“You don’t mind my friends coming over, do you? Your cover will be safe. You just play my stepbrother, although I must warn you the girls on the team will be all over you!” She laughed at the thought. “Just shout when you need rescuing.”

“I’d like to meet your friends and teammates.” He was surprised to find he meant it.

Marcelle went to a parcel that had remained unopened. She opened it to reveal a large, gift-wrapped box. “This is for you.”

“What is it?” he asked, turning the package over in his hands.

“I love buying presents for my friends, so I thought I’d get you something you need,” she answered. “Come on, open it.”

Stefan tore the wrapping off to find a large box with a well-known designer’s name on the front. He opened it, and there, nestling in tissue paper, was an exquisite leather jacket. A low whistle left his lips as he lifted the jacket out of the box. Beautifully crafted, and made of the finest black leather, it had the distinctive patterned lining that was the designer’s trademark.

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a smile, “and I certainly need it.”

“Yes, all that blood ruined the other one,” she agreed, pleased at his reaction. “Do you like it?”

He slipped the jacket on over his T-shirt. It was a perfect fit. “Thanks. I’ll cherish this jacket, and think of you every time I wear it.”

“Just as long as the baddies know they can’t shoot at you when you’re wearing it.”

“I’ll have to wear a sign.”

“You are impossible,” Marcelle said with a chuckle. “Come, we have a lot to do before the guests arrive. The weather has improved so much I think we can have the barbecue on the roof.”

~ . ~

Before the first guests arrived at eight o’clock, they had everything ready. They had stocked the bar with chilled drinks; put out various snacks and dips, and set tables and chairs next to the pool.

Marcelle had dressed comfortably in a snug fitting silver-gray cat suit made of a fine knitted material, with black calf-high boots. She had taken the trouble to put on some makeup, enhancing her beautiful gray eyes.

Stefan drew a sharp breath when he saw her. “You look beautiful tonight. I think I’ll have to play the overprotective stepbrother to the hilt.”

He had dressed in black jeans and a black open-necked shirt, with his own black boots and his new leather jacket. His shiny blond hair hung to his shoulders, looking like spun silk under the lights.

“Well, you’re looking rather dashing yourself. I’m going to have to protect you from the girls for sure.”

“Maybe I don’t want protection,” he chuckled, charmed by her honesty.

She reached up to touch his hair. “That’s not fair. You have the kind of hair any woman would kill to have. It’s so thick and straight, and silky soft. I bet you don’t have to do much to get it looking like this.”

Stefan shrugged, a little self-conscious. “No, I just wash and condition, like everyone else. I promised myself when I left GSG-9 that I would never again wear my hair short, but I don’t let it get longer than this. It has to stay manageable.”

“I know what you mean. I would love to grow my hair longer, but with exercising, and dealing with a helmet, it’s just not practical, but I like to keep my bangs long…”

“So you can hide your eyes,” he completed for her.

“Oh, am I that obvious?”

“No, I’m that observant. Why do you hide your eyes?”

“When I was younger, the children used to tease me. They said I had creepy eyes. And people always stare at me.”

“I guess even I’m guilty of that, sorry. I find your eyes fascinating, and beautiful. They are totally unique.”

“Not quite unique. Maybe later tonight, you can tell my father that you find his eyes fascinating, and beautiful too,” she said with a straight face.

Stefan burst out laughing. “I can just imagine his reaction.”

~ . ~

Claude was first to arrive, and after few minutes’ conversation disappeared upstairs to the pool to take charge of the barbecue fires. Stefan let him be, surmising that he normally played host for Marcelle.

Patrick Menot, a marathon runner who lived in the complex a few units down, arrived next, and right behind him was Eugene Bertrand, a super-bike racer. Next was Raymond Pottier, a tennis player. Both Eugene and Raymond also lived in the complex. Marcelle introduced Stefan as her stepbrother visiting from South Africa, and they accepted the story readily.

He stayed at her side as the other guests arrived. First was Christelle Le Corre, a member of the Ultima-Fabelta team, with her boyfriend Gerard Vaillant. Shortly afterwards Madelaine Kerfendal, another member of the team, arrived with her boyfriend, Alain Tranvaux. Right behind them were Isabelle Bernard, also a member of the Ultima-Fabelta team, and her boyfriend Eric Maillard. Next were Karine Ravaleu and her boyfriend Yves Garnier. It didn’t surprise Stefan to find that Karine was yet another member of Ultima-Fabelta.

Three professional cyclists, Sebastien Fontaine, Didier Corlay and Anthony Delamotte arrived together, slapping Marcelle on the back and congratulating her on her lucky escape. Stefan remembered that they were the three cyclists who had rescued her and taken her to Spain after her injuries in that horrific crash. All three rode for the French Castorama team, and thought the world of Marcelle, or Michel, as they referred to her. They were lean, darkly tanned young men, their powerful legs encased in close-fitting jeans. Anthony Delamotte looked no different from the photo Stefan had seen, but he noticed the relief in the blond cyclist’s eyes when Marcelle introduced him as her stepbrother.