by Niki Savage
“Thanks. We can do that in the morning, though. For now, the fires are still burning, and I’m not tired at all.”
“What do you what to do then?”
“I have some marshmallows in the kitchen. Let’s roast them over the fire,” she suggested enthusiastically.
He smiled. “That sounds great. We can watch the sunrise.”
They settled in front of the fire, each holding a marshmallow on the metal prong of a barbecue fork.
Marcelle’s marshmallow was ready first, and she ate it with relish, licking her fingers. She speared another, and held it over the hot coals. “Come on, you’re falling behind.”
He ate his marshmallow, remarking, “I feel like I’m ten again.”
“Why?”
“That’s about the last time I did this.”
“You’ve missed a major part of your childhood,” she said with a smile. “I remember camping trips when I was fifteen, when the cycling club went on tours. We always roasted marshmallows over the fire. It was a tradition. That’s why I’m so good at it.” She held a cooked marshmallow out to him. “Taste this; you’ll see what I mean.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, tasting the sweet, “yours are superior to mine.”
“Anything you can do I can do better,” she said archly. When he didn’t reply, she explained, “You know, from the song. You must have heard it.”
“Yes,” he replied.
She turned to him, alerted by a strange tone in his voice, and caught him staring at her.
She blushed. “What is it?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, fighting a desire to kiss her.
She refused to get serious. “Firelight does wonders for a person. Even you’re beginning to look presentable.”
He smiled, the tension relieved. “And when the first rays of the sun hit me, I’ll turn back into a frog, isn’t that right?”
She laughed. “Then I’d have to kiss you.”
The conversation continued in this tone, and Stefan marveled at how comfortable he felt in Marcelle’s presence.
At last replete, they relaxed on a double swinging chair that hung from a steel frame. The waterfall at the deep end of the pool gurgled merrily. He pushed at the ground with his foot to start the swinging motion of the chair.
They watched as the dawn sent pink fingers across the sky, heralding the coming sunrise. Birds started chirping, welcoming the new day.
Marcelle stole a glance at her companion’s perfect profile. “You know Stefan, when my friends do me a favor; I like to know about it, so I can thank them.”
He had put the matter from his mind. He straightened in the chair, and turned to her. “What do you mean?”
“Pierre-Henri told me he had spoken to the two gentlemen who pardoned my crime. After a few drinks, their tongues loosened, and it turns out that an order came from high up, to squash the whole affair, as the two Dutch girls had been guilty, not me. So Pierre-Henri asked them whether it came from the Minister of Sport, and they said no.” She paused, watching his face. “The order had come from the French president himself, and from the Dutch premier.” When Stefan remained silent, she continued, “I spoke to Claude. He told me what I suspected, that you’re the only person I know with enough influence to pull a stunt like that.”
He said nothing, apparently more interested in the sunrise than looking at her.
She tapped him on the arm. “So what do you have to say?”
“I’m supposed to answer to that?”
“If you had a hand in rescuing me, I would like to know,” she said. “We’ve always been honest with each other. I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue that way.”
Stefan sighed. “Yes, I helped you.” He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“How did you do it?”
He hesitated. “Marcelle, my occupation brings me into contact with a lot of influential people. Many of them are in my debt. I simply called in a few favors. The two people in question both promised to do their utmost.”
“Claude said you had a lot of influence, but cashing in favors from heads of state? That’s impressive.”
“I didn’t do it to impress you, only to save you from unjust punishment.”
“Well, I’m impressed, relieved, and thankful. Thank you for saving my worthless skin, and thanks for being honest with me.”
“I’ll send you my bill.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s watch the sunrise,” she murmured, moving closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Stefan relaxed and placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.
They woke from their slumber at ten, the heat of the sun on their faces.
Two hours later the apartment was spotless again, the dishwasher working away at the multitude of glasses and crockery. Exhausted from their activities, they retired to the bedroom for a well-deserved rest.
* * * *
Chapter Twenty
Stefan wore just a pair of red shorts as he lounged on the oak chest at the foot of the king-sized bed, and watched Marcelle as she packed clothes for three days of racing in Belgium. He thought she looked like a delicious ice cream in her white shorts and short pink top.
The air-conditioner hummed, coping with the heat wave sweeping Europe. Outside, temperatures were in the region of 32 degrees Celsius.
Both of them hated the idea of spending the next four days apart. The team bus would leave early on Thursday, and the first race was on Friday afternoon, with Marcelle returning on Sunday evening.
She often found her eyes drawn to the mercenary, fascinated by the good looks that had returned as his health had improved. His wounds had healed, and the raw scars would soon fade to join the many scars marring his tanned upper body. She could see he had regained the muscle and weight he had lost, courtesy of the gym upstairs. He was healthy enough to travel home, but she didn’t want him to leave. She worried that the ice would overwhelm her when he left, and she would be stuck in limbo again.
She closed the last kitbag. “I think we deserve a swim.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” he said with a smile, getting up from the oak chest. “I’ll get changed. Meet you at the elevator.”
She changed into a purple bikini, and threw on a white terry-cloth wrap. She grabbed a large beach-towel on the way to the elevator where he waited, a towel draped over his shoulder. They rode up to the pool in the elevator.
Stefan threw his towel onto a chair, and dived cleanly into the cool clear waters. He surfaced. “The water’s great.”
He feasted his eyes on Marcelle’s slim body as she took off her wrap, dropping it with her towel. She walked gracefully to the edge of the pool, and he whistled in appreciation, rewarded by a shy blush from her. She dived into the pool, trying to escape his admiring gaze. As she surfaced, she swam over to him, and without any warning ducked him.
He came up spluttering. “What was that for?”
“You know why,” she said, little devils in her eyes.
“Well, what do you expect if you wear that? I’m not immune to your charms.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she replied. “A playboy like you can’t be trusted.” With a laugh, she evaded his grasp and swam to the other side of the pool. He set off in pursuit, and for a while, they played like teenagers.
Tiring eventually, they came back to the pool chairs. Marcelle took her towel and spread it on the grass next to the palm trees. She lay down on her front, and Stefan fetched his towel and joined her. They didn’t speak, enjoying the breeze on their wet bodies, and the shade of the palm trees.
Afterwards she would tell herself it was the romance of the tropical atmosphere on the roof, or the proximity of their near naked bodies. Whatever the reason, she didn’t stop Stefan when she felt his hand on the small of her back, light fingers tracing a path up to her shoulder. Still she didn’t stop him, enjoying the soft caress as he traced another path back down from her other shoulder. How long
had it been since someone touched her in such a manner? Far too long, she thought, relaxing, allowing him to continue. His touch grew firmer, and then she felt his mouth on her, his lips barely brushing over her glowing skin, his breath caressing where his hands had touched. Now would have been the time to stop, to say enough, but she said nothing, not even when she heard the click as he undid her bikini top.
Then he was beside her again, a gentle hand on her hip coaxing her onto her back. She didn’t resist, searching his eyes. “Stefan?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a husky voice. “Let me love you. Please.”
She felt her breathing quicken, her own passions ignited by the love and tenderness in his eyes. He took her silence as consent, and claimed her mouth as if it had always been his. Feverishly she returned his kiss, drawing him into her mouth as she wound her arms around his body, pulling him closer. Now she understood why she had felt a pang of jealousy when her teammates had dragged him away on the night of the barbecue. She loved him, and he loved her. It had been there all along, but she hadn’t seen it.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, but still she couldn’t get enough. The mercenary’s roaming hands seeming to ignite every part of her body. It was as if he read her thoughts, because he ended the kiss, and moved his mouth down to cool her breasts with his tongue. She arched her back, offering herself to him, and he took a rosy nipple in his mouth, groaning as he tugged delicately at the sensitive tip. Her body aflame, she buried her fingers in his hair, urging him to switch to the other breast. He did so with consummate skill, and she moaned at the sweet agony of it.
Thought fled as he explored her body with his mouth and hands before taking her mouth again, pressing his body to hers. She drank from his mouth as if she had been parched forever, starving in a desolate wasteland where love didn’t exist.
“God, I love you,” he whispered, caressing her face.
“Please don’t stop. I need you to love me.”
He smiled, intoxicated by the sweet scent of her arousal. He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of her bikini bottom, and she moved her hips convulsively at his touch. Shivers of ecstasy shot through her as he caressed and massaged her aroused flesh.
He eased her bikini off her hips, leaving her naked to the sky, and a quiver of anticipation convulsed her body. He kissed her again, and she felt him pressing against her thigh, hard, hot, and heavy. Insistent. It awakened something primal inside her, and she pushed against him, turning him onto his back. Eagerly she pulled his swimming trunks off, exposing his arousal to her heated gaze.
Stefan made a sound in the back of his throat, his eyes burning with desire. Marcelle kissed him on his quivering belly and tense thighs until he groaned with want, reaching for her. She straddled his waist, and leaned down to meet his hungry kiss, enjoying the sensation as the hard scars on his chest rubbed against her sensitized nipples. She slid back until the tip of him touched her heated core, and leaned down to caress his chest, tracing his scars with the tip of her tongue. He groaned at the twin sensations, but couldn’t take much more, and flipped her over, taking control again. Crying out with want, she raised her hips to meet his, desperate to fill the emptiness that had been there for too long.
“Easy, Marcelle,” he whispered, using his body to bring her bucking hips under control. He kissed her passionately whilst rubbing his length against her slick folds, feeling the vibration in his mouth as she cried out with pleasure.
“Please don’t make me wait any longer.” She reached down for him and positioned him at her entrance, exulting at the heavy pressure as he sought entrance. Abruptly the pressure let off, and she gave a small cry of disappointment, looking up at him in confusion.
Stefan had frozen, his head tilted, as if listening intently. “Someone’s coming,” he said, his voice husky with passion. “I just heard the elevator.”
“No,” she cried softly. “I can’t believe it.”
He handed her bikini to her. “Better get dressed.”
Hurriedly he pulled on his swimming trunks, hoping his erection would have subsided by the time the unwelcome guest realized they were on the roof.
She read his thoughts. “Maybe we should get into the pool.”
He smiled. “Good idea.”
That’s how Claude found them. He had come to say goodbye, because the Grand Prix circuit would take him out of France for the next few months. The racing driver stayed an hour, but declined their offer of a swim. Marcelle went downstairs to fetch drinks, leaving Stefan to make small talk with Claude. He did so, fighting his impatience, feeling the moment slipping away from him with each ticking second.
Eventually Claude kissed Marcelle on her cheek and wished her luck for her races that weekend. Then he was gone, leaving them staring at each other, wondering if the moment could be recaptured.
Stefan was happy to try, and moved closer to her. “I’m afraid we’ll have to start all over again.”
“You say that like it’s a chore,” she returned, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Believe me, it’s not.” He put his hands on her shoulders, easing her onto her towel before lying down next to her. “I believe I was kissing you.” He added action to the word, kissing her until her world tilted. She moaned as he trailed a line of kisses down to her breasts, his breathing ragged with desire. He pushed her bikini top aside, taking a nipple into his mouth, tugging gently at the swollen tip. She cried out in pleasure, a slave to passion as she submitted to his lovemaking, aware only of the sensations his mouth and hands evoked as they roamed over her body. She closed her eyes, reaching to draw him closer, searching for his mouth like a sunflower seeking the light.
When their lips met, Stefan gave free reign to the raging lust in his blood. He pushed his hand under the elastic of her bikini bottom, finding the slick wetness that told him all he needed to know. He pulled the bikini bottom from her hips, and flung it over his shoulder. At his touch, Marcelle opened herself to him, wanting above all to be one with him. His fingers explored her slick folds, and she gasped as he pushed two long fingers into her, caressing the nerve-endings deep inside her until she felt she would go mad. She moaned and reached for him, burying her fingers in his silky hair as she felt his hot mouth on her most intimate parts. His tongue flicked over the most sensitive part of her until she writhed in ecstasy, her pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Stefan was as good a lover as Jean-Michel had been.
The unguarded thought hit her like a sledgehammer, driving the breath from her lungs. This was wrong! How could she do this? No, stop, please stop! This wasn’t love. It was lust, born from living in the same house for over a month!
Desperately she tried to close her legs, to get away from the wonderful mouth that had nearly broken down all her defenses. After a few moments, her struggles appeared to make an impact on Stefan. He allowed her to push him away, his breathing ragged, his blue eyes smoky with unsatisfied passion. It took a minute for him to return to reality.
Marcelle used the time to wrap a towel around her body, drawing trembling fingers through her damp, tousled hair.
Stefan lay on his front, his head buried in his arms, breathing hard. What had gone wrong? One minute she had been his, there for the taking, and then, nothing. She had changed her mind, just like that.
He fought down the heat of rejection and anger rising in his chest. If only Claude hadn’t interrupted them. It had given her too much time to think, and the racing driver’s presence had reminded her of Jean-Michel again. Perhaps he hadn’t been gentle enough the second time, allowing his passion to impair his judgment. Whenever he had been with a woman before, he had been the cool one, but with Marcelle, he seemed unable to contain himself.
Marcelle stared at Stefan, feeling wretched, wondering if she shouldn’t just go through with it, rather than come across as a tease. Men had a word for women who did what she just did. A part of her, the part that was still hot and throbbing, wanted nothing more than to allow him to bury his hard length inside
her, to see if he could restore her to what she had been before her husband died.
The logical part of her was desperately afraid. What if sleeping with Stefan brought back the guilt and the fire. What would she do if the ice returned? The fear made her ignore the signals of want screaming from the juncture of her thighs.
She gingerly touched his shoulder, her eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to tease. I thought I could go through with it.” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Please forgive me. It wasn’t you. It was my fault.”
Stefan looked up, back in control. He had a feeling her sudden reticence had been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to him. He rose gracefully to his feet and reached out a hand to her. “I was out of line. I’m grateful you stopped it before something happened we might both have regretted.”
Marcelle frowned, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Not a trace remained of the man who had… The flush of heat down below buckled her knees, and she fell awkwardly against Stefan, who put an arm around her waist to steady her. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
“You said that already,” he remarked, smiling at her.
“I know. What I mean is that I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if we had gone through with it. Luckily, Claude interrupted us the first time, because I wouldn’t have put a stop to it. And the guilt afterwards would’ve been too much for me.”
He had felt the sudden intrusion of a third presence, the ghost of Jean-Michel, kept alive in the young widow’s mind. “Let’s forget about it.”
She gestured at the sparkling pool. “Please, enjoy the afternoon. I have a few more things I have to do before tomorrow.” Her smile was a little forced. “I think perhaps we need a little time apart.”
He nodded. “I understand. I need to do some laps in the pool anyway.”
“See you later,” she said, and headed for the elevator.
Stefan stayed at the pool until early evening, swimming laps to burn away the sexual energy that tormented him. When he was exhausted, he would rest, and then start again.
