French Twist

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Pick something you can do while I move about,” he said, so quietly she barely heard him.

  She cleared her throat and smiled the way she imagined Katie Cooper, lawyer and newlywed, might smile at her husband. “I kind of like the one-armed bandits.”

  “Let’s get some tokens and see if they like you.” He cocked his head toward the right side of the casino.

  That would be the west wing; exactly the spot he’d circled when they’d studied the layout. First floor, west wing, past the baccarat tables. Her Plums were there.

  She waited an eternity while he purchased tokens for the slot machines, her heart rate ratcheting upward with each passing minute.

  This was dangerous. Luc was dangerous. And damn, if he wasn’t just as sexy an American as he was a Frenchman. It wasn’t his accent; it was him.

  When he returned, they wandered further into the gaming hall, and Janine pulled her cap lower over her forehead. When they reached a row of slot machines, he put his hand on the faux leopard-skin fabric of one of the chairs and swung it around to her. “This one feels right,” he said. “You do the honors. I’ll watch.”

  She took the cup of tokens and settled into the seat. He stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, and started gently massaging them.

  Her shoulders instinctively tensed instead. “Relax, Katie. Just give it a whirl.”

  She reached up to drop the token in just as his mouth burned the bare flesh of her exposed neck.

  “I feel lucky,” he whispered.

  Her stomach took a thrill ride, and her hand shook as she released the token. She slammed the lever down with way more force than necessary, as though she could bang out the jitters and the tingling that had taken over her body.

  The wheel spun, a blur of sevens and lemons and cherries and something else.

  Plums. Two of them and one lemon. She turned to catch his eye and share the irony, but his gaze was not on the machine. He was casually scratching his cheek, looking to the right.

  She dropped in another token and tugged the arm. Her heart felt exactly like the spinning wheels, whirling and twirling. Then he ran his hands possessively down her bare arms, warming her neck with his breath, and her heart slowed to a stop.

  Three sevens. A raucous bell clanged as a handful of tokens poured into the brass cup. Luc kissed her shoulder; warm lips on warmer skin. She dipped her head as a shower of sparks danced down her spine and lit every nerve ending in her body.

  “Told ya we’re lucky, hon.” He was laughing.

  Laughing.

  Of course. It was an act. A ruse. Katie and Dave Cooper from Chi-cah-go.

  “I like to quit while I’m ahead,” she said, as he kneaded the muscles of her shoulders. How long could she play this?

  His long fingers extended over her collarbone, perilously close to the rise of her breasts. “Give it a few more tries. Don’t make any new friends, though. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, not sure of her voice. Why was she such a basket case? Were his pretend caresses playing havoc with her composure? Or was it the possibility that the Plums were within reach?

  Yes. Double yes. The whole situation was electrified, with nerves and raw, unbridled craving for what she couldn’t have. She wanted to shiver and scream and spin the chair around and kiss him and kiss him and…have him.

  She yanked the arm again, watching the colors spin.

  No plums, just a mishmash of other fruit. She glanced sideways to see where he’d gone, but there was no trace of him.

  Luc rounded the corner with a quick glance into the baccarat room. He half expected to see Benazir’s ugly face sitting at one of the oval tables, but the room was empty. Directly across the hall was an unmarked door, as close to the precise location as his data could get. What was behind that door?

  Without knocking, he walked in. Behind a counter sat a uniformed guard, reading a book. He stood, laying the book facedown on the counter in front of him and offering a standard French glare. “Puis-je vous aider?”

  Somehow Luc doubted this boy could help him. Noticing the tiny camera above a door on the other side of the counter, he shifted to his left and disarmed the kid with a wide American smile.

  “I don’t speak any French,” he said in his Dr. Dave Cooper voice. “Can you get someone who speaks English?”

  “I speak English,” the guard responded with a heavy accent. “Do you have a safe-deposit box, or do you wish to arrange for one?”

  Ah, Benazir had put the vases in safe-deposit boxes. “I just want to see if you have some available. I need one that’s oversized for my wife’s fur coat.”

  Definitely a stretch, a fur coat in May. But the rich clientele of the Parc Royal probably made far more unusual demands, and the evening temperatures easily dipped low enough in the Alps to merit fur.

  “We can accommodate you, sir,” the guard said. “Wait for one moment, and I will confirm what’s available.”

  He turned, opened the door behind him with no key, and disappeared. Luc did a visual sweep of the size, shape, and simple layout of the room. Nothing to surprise him, no hiding places.

  The guard returned and nodded. “I have one, monsieur.”

  “Just one?”

  “The other is being used at the moment.”

  By Pompadour’s Plums, no doubt.

  The guard scowled when Luc didn’t answer. “Did you need two?”

  “No,” Luc said, with a quick smile. “But I gotta tell you, my wife is really worried about her coat. Can I promise her we can put it in the box ourselves? She won’t want to just hand it over to you.”

  The implication earned Luc a disgusted shrug, which he took as a yes.

  “Great, thanks a lot. We’ll be back later.”

  Getting into the safe-deposit room would be relatively simple, and he could certainly orchestrate a way to be alone in there for a few minutes.

  All they needed was a fur coat.

  Janine was still feeding tokens into the slot machine when he returned. He approached her, taking advantage of their cover to caress her silky skin and tease her with a kiss under her ear. “Are we rich yet?”

  She smiled at him, a cautious look in her eyes. “You tell me.”

  He slid his hand down her arm and clasped her fingers. “Rich enough to go shopping. How do you feel about fur?”

  “Fur?” She scooped up the remaining tokens and dropped them in her cup. “Like fur you wear?”

  “Precisely.”

  She gave him an incredulous look as she hopped off the chair. “I’m from California,” she told him in a whisper. “My mother’s a hippie. How do you think I feel about fur?”

  He laughed and took the cup, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her into his chest. She tilted her head back so far, she had to reach up to hold her cap in place.

  “You’re from Chicago,” he reminded her. “And your husband’s a doctor. You love mink.”

  Her mouth opened in that perfect little O. He had to kiss her. Had to. But the second before he did, she kissed him first. With surprising passion. Her lips stayed open and their tongues warred in sudden, wicked exploration. With each exchanged stroke, a deeper wave of pleasure pulsed through him. He squeezed her against him, making no effort to hide his instant reaction.

  When they parted, her eyes stayed closed.

  “Get the girl an Academy Award,” he whispered. “She’s a natural.”

  She swayed just enough to give herself away. That had been no act.

  This place was worse than fucking prison. Every time he got comfortable, he got interrupted.

  Karim Benazir wiped the sweat from his eyes with a towel and dropped it on the bathroom floor as he rolled his girth around the hot tub to take the phone Larinna handed him. “Yeah?”

  “This is Jean Claude, sir.” Karim recognized the voice of the boy from the safe-deposit room. Greedy, eager, expendable. “A man came in here a few minutes ago to inquire about the large safe-deposit box.”
r />   “Did he get one?”

  “No, he was simply inquiring about a box for his wife’s fur coat.”

  “His wife?” So Surjeet had not been successful in Burgundy, after all.

  “When I followed him into the lobby, I saw him leave with a lady.”

  “Did he say when he’d be back?” Karim asked.

  “Not really,” the boy answered. “He said, ‘We’ll be back later.’ ”

  And he would, of course. The Scorpion had taken the bait—and now he would die. Along with his traveling companion.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  T his would be a dream honeymoon.” Janine sighed, taking the chair Luc had pulled out for her at the bistro table.

  “You mean it isn’t?” He laughed softly, slinging a zippered bag bearing the insignia of an upscale boutique on another chair.

  She studied the navy waters of Lake Geneva and the jagged, snowcapped mountains rising majestically along the horizon. “It would be heavenly just to be on vacation and drink this all in.” She patted the over-stuffed plastic bag. “I’m sort of glad we had to drive over here to find this.”

  His sly smile dazzled in the sunlight. “I knew we wouldn’t find the right fur among all that vie-en-rose charm of Evian. Plus, I couldn’t resist showing you Thonon. I think it’s one of the best-kept secrets in France.”

  The drive along the lake to Thonon-les-Bains had been spectacular in itself, but Janine had never seen anything quite as picturesque as the quaint spa town perched on a cliff over Lake Geneva.

  Luc nodded toward the bustling little harbor below them. “In the summer, you can ride a cable car down the cliffs to Rives, rent a sailboat, and be in Geneva in an hour or two.” He looked away from the view and focused on her. “I wish I could take you.”

  That familiar ribbon of longing twisted through her stomach at his seductive voice. She steadied herself with a deep breath of icy fresh air, a mix of mint and spring flowers.

  Since they’d left Evian that morning, they had been like this. Light, easy, flirtatious. He made it exciting to spend a small fortune for the pelts of innocent animals, for crying out loud.

  “How many times have you been here?” she asked, glancing at the menu, unable to completely tear her attention away from the sight of him with the azure sky and dramatic landscape as a background. As stunning as any work of art she’d ever studied.

  “A few,” he said, as he opened his menu.

  Topic closed. He did that a lot. His job, his family, his past—all taboo.

  He’d been closedmouthed all day about why they needed a multi-thousand-dollar prop for the task ahead of them. And pretty darn evasive about what that task would be, too.

  A waiter came to their table, and Luc said something in rapid French, using a dialect she’d never heard.

  When they were alone again, she opened her napkin and spread it on her lap. “I didn’t get all that. What am I having?”

  “For lunch? Whatever you like. I just ordered the wine.”

  “How do you know I want wine?”

  “You’re the one who wants to be ‘on vacation and drink it all in.’ ” He grinned over his menu. “This is your chance.”

  She leaned forward and pushed his menu down to peer at him. “Have you forgotten why we’re here?”

  “I have not.” His smile evaporated, but he held her gaze. “But nothing’s going to happen in the next eight hours, so you might as well eat, drink, and pretend.” He burned her with another sensual look. “I am.”

  Before she could respond, the waiter brought a bottle of wine that sparkled and fizzed when he poured it.

  “Champagne?” she asked.

  Luc shook his head. “No, it’s Seyssel, the best white of the region.” He tasted it and accepted it with a nod. The waiter filled their glasses and offered a lengthy description of the omble chevalier, a local delicacy that they both ordered. When they were alone, Luc lifted his wineglass.

  “Santé,” she said, anticipating the traditional toast.

  “And to our success.” He tapped her glass with his.

  The wine was cool and crisp, like the mountain air. “Success depends on my knowing the plan, Luc,” she said, as she placed the glass on the table. “Stop evading me. Where are they? When are we getting them, and why did we need to buy a ten-thousand-dollar fur to pull it off?”

  He unfolded his napkin, an amused expression on his face. “Patience, ma belle.”

  She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “My patience is running out. And I’m not your belle.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “It means beautiful.” He turned her hand in his and caressed her palm. “And you are.”

  A shiver tap-danced up her arm as she freed her hand and slipped on her sunglasses. So are you. “Thank you. The plan?”

  He cleared his throat and leaned on his elbows. “The room in the casino is a safe depository,” he said softly. “Benazir put the real Plums in there, expecting me to go after the forgeries in his suite.”

  “Why the coat?”

  “We need a valuable, but oversized, item to take in under the guise of renting a box. There are only two safe-deposit boxes large enough to hold the Plums, so the Plums will be in the other one.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Got it?”

  She was starting to. “What happens when we’re in there?”

  “We’ll have to get the guard out of the room.”

  Behind the protection of her sunglasses, she could look at him freely. As he talked, she took a leisurely trip over the corded muscles beneath his custom-made shirt. Imagined the feel of those arms around her. Remembered the power of his embrace. Relived the rush she got from his unmistakable response when she’d kissed him in the casino a few hours ago.

  “You can do that while I open the other box,” he finished.

  She hadn’t heard a word he said. “Sorry. Do what?”

  He gave her that look again. Blazing brown eyes and the mysterious half smile. Could he see behind her dark lenses? “You’ll get the guard out of the room while I open the other large safe-deposit box.”

  “How are you going to open—” She held up a hand and shook her head. “Never mind. Stupid question. Then what?”

  “I’ll wrap the vases in the mink, claim that the box could ruin the fur, and we’re out of there.”

  She regarded him for a minute. He had it all worked out, smooth as silk. “When?”

  “Late tonight. When the casino is full and we can get lost in the crowd.”

  She traced a fingernail along the enamel edge of the table, visualizing the vases and how she would use that same nail to test them once she finally had them in her hands. “What if they aren’t the real Plums?”

  “According to the tracking information, they are. You’ll check them, of course.”

  Something was wrong. She took off the sunglasses and regarded him, trying to understand his logic. “Okay, we’ll have the Plums. But what about the bad guy, Luc? Isn’t the whole point of this to get him, too?”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “He’ll be waiting for me in his suite.”

  She frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “The real Plums aren’t the bait, Janine,” he said. “He doesn’t know I’m after them or that I even know they’re gone. That’s why he has them in a safe-deposit box.”

  “But how are you going to get him? He’ll vanish in Switzerland before we get the Plums back to Versailles.”

  “We’re not going to take the Plums to Versailles, Janine.”

  She held her wineglass frozen in midair. “We’re not?”

  “We’re not. You are.”

  An icy, familiar sense of loss slid through her. “And what about you?”

  He waited a beat before answering. “I’ll make sure you have someone to get you and the vases back safely.”

  She set the glass down without drinking. “That’s not what I asked, Luc.”

  His gaze moved over her shou
lder to the view behind her.

  “You’ll be long gone, won’t you?” She had no idea how she knew that, but she did. There was something too enigmatic about him, too elusive. This wasn’t a man who was going to stick around for Friday night dates. No matter how much she’d want him to.

  He shrugged, still not looking at her. “I’m not sure what will happen.”

  She took a deep drink. “Well. Thanks for the warning.”

  Luc pulled into the hotel entrance as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. It was too early to go to the casino and too close to their lunch to think about dinner. They’d have to wait for a few hours in the hotel suite. Alone.

  He glanced at Janine, her cap still in place, a flush from the sparkling wine still on her cheeks. She’d been somewhat distant since they danced around the subject of what would happen after tonight.

  As they walked into the lobby, she slipped her arm into his elbow and tugged him toward the gift shop. “Scissors,” she whispered. “Remember?”

  He slowed his step. He wished he could think of a way to make her stay in the room—not just to save her beautiful hair, but to keep her out of harm’s way. But he couldn’t verify the authenticity of the vases without her.

  At his hesitation, she pulled him toward the store. “Come on, I can’t wear a beret with my gown.”

  “Where’d you get a gown?”

  “Lisette lent me one.”

  He couldn’t imagine Lisette owning a gown that would suit Janine, but he wasn’t about to argue the point. The Royal Parc Casino was damn near black-tie at night; in fact, he’d be wearing the tux that had made the rough trip through L’Orangerie.

  He adjusted the fur coat in his arms and walked into the store with her. In the toiletries section, she picked up a sizeable pair of shears from the display counter.

  “Whoa.” He snatched them out of her hands. “I don’t trust you with those. You’re as likely to hack this mink into shreds as you are to cut your hair.”

  She laughed and patted the plastic covering the coat. “Those poor animals have been abused enough.” Tipping the brim of her cap, she melted him with a pleading look. “Take pity on me, Dave. This hat’s giving me a headache.”