Her hands sank convulsively into her fairy-punk hair. “Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you.”
Well … if she ever did actually go through with that plan to kill him, he couldn’t say at this point that he hadn’t been forewarned.
“Joss.” Her eyes were anxious, confused, pleading. “Please go to a hotel.”
His hand tightened on his wrist behind his back until it hurt. Fine.
So he went to a damn hotel. Some cheap place that was the closest he could find to her apartment, where he looked out the window at the wall of the other building across the alley and some guy deliberately exposing himself to the hotel guests, instead of up at Célie’s window. He tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of Paris night sky, a tepid darkness compared to the black and starry sky in Mali or Afghanistan. Hell. Now those were real skies.
He’d like to take Célie to see a real sky sometime. Not in a war zone, but somewhere safe. She’d love it.
But meanwhile, she was in her apartment a couple of blocks over, and he was here, closed in, with this stupid, empty bed behind him and some guy mooning him from the fourth floor across the way.
What a boring letdown for his first night back.
Chapter 11
“Everything all right?” Jaime asked.
Célie straightened guiltily from Dom’s in-progress sculpture of a lioness. No, she had not been thinking of biting that other ear off. “You’re back again? Already? I thought Dom had started sleeping in later.”
“You’re here pretty early yourself,” Jaime said.
Dom came up the stairs, his short delay after Jaime suggesting he’d taken care of a couple of things downstairs on the way in, and gave Célie a disgruntled look at having to share his space so early, but otherwise didn’t say anything, moving to hang up his leather jacket.
“I promised to come in early,” Célie said. Plus, she’d needed the reassurance. Here I am. All these things I made of myself.
Her card from Joss was still tucked in the corner of the counter in the ganache room. I would wait more than five years for you. With a heart over the I in her name.
“Did you ever feel like knocking Dom’s head against a wall?” Célie asked.
“No,” Jaime said.
Oh. Now Célie felt guilty.
“I wouldn’t want to hurt him,” Jaime admitted. Dom gave her a wry look as he moved to double-check his lioness. He seemed pretty darn big and hard to hurt, especially in contrast with Jaime’s size.
Célie scowled. “Fine. I’m a bad person.” Didn’t that just figure?
Jaime smiled. “You’re maybe just more physical in your mental imagery. That or Dom’s less frustrating.”
Dom’s eyebrows rose a little at that, his lips curving ruefully, and he ran his hand over his lioness, exactly like someone petting an actual lion. Well, someone like Dom petting an actual lion. Célie liked the idea, but was worried she might cop out about actually touching a lion in real life.
“It’s just—I mean, it was bad enough when he was just my brother’s friend, whom I had a secret crush on, and he went off and joined the Foreign Legion. Then, you know—well, having a crush on a guy a few years older than you who doesn’t reciprocate, you just have to tough it up and get over it, right? But when he tells me he did it for me, I—” Célie’s teeth ground together, and she grabbed a big bag of chocolate blocks and slammed it against the counter to break them up, helping relieve the stress.
Dom frowned at the noise, sighed, and focused on his lion again. He really did hate sharing his space at this hour of the morning.
“Seriously?” Jaime said. “He abandoned you for five years for your sake? No wonder you want to hit him over the head.”
“Yeah, Dom might be an idiot about wanting to wait until he’s proven his worth, but at least he’s being an idiot at your side,” Célie said.
Dom gave her a look. She stuck her chin up at him.
“True,” Jaime admitted. “You’re doing much better than Célie’s guy,” she told Dom approvingly.
Hey. Both Célie and Dom gave Jaime indignant looks, for opposite reasons.
Dom focused on his lioness, picking up a small knife, working on detail. Célie had dumped her chocolate chunks into a bowl before Dom suddenly spoke, without looking up. “Of course, I’m older.”
Célie blinked. Had Dom just defended Joss? Dom? Of all people?
“How old were you when you first started working for me, Célie? Eighteen?” Dom shaved a long, fine strip of chocolate off the lion. “So that made him, what? The same age? A couple years older?”
“Twenty-one,” Célie said stiffly. Hey … hadn’t it been Joss’s birthday a couple weeks ago? She’d gone out with another guy, to better ignore the date and embrace her happy life without him, but the guy hadn’t inspired in her any desire to invite him up or curl against his side.
“And still stuck in the banlieue and in love with you?” Dom nodded, still focused on his sculpture. “Yeah, that would do it.”
Both women stared at him.
“Do what?” Célie finally asked between her teeth.
“Motivate him. Merde, Célie, a man’s either an idiot or very determined to change his life, to join the Foreign Legion.”
“Or both,” Célie said tightly.
Dom shrugged acknowledgment. Jaime picked up the sliver of chocolate that had come off the lion and nibbled at it. A little smile flashed across Dom’s face as he glanced at his chocolate on her lips.
“I didn’t ask him to change his life for me,” Célie said. “Maybe if he was in—in—in—if he had a crush on me, he should have talked to me about it before he did something so asinine. Maybe we could have come up with some mountain we could have climbed together.”
“Yeah,” Dom said, almost absently, focused on shaping the leg of the lion. “Men don’t always think that way.” He gave Jaime an apologetic look. “We’re kind of raised to want to go out on quests to earn the princess’s hand by becoming a hero. It’s, ah, hard for us to wrap our minds around a princess who wants to do all that dirty work with us. Makes us feel—insufficient. Not man enough. Not good enough.”
Jaime reached out suddenly and rested her hand on Dom’s biceps, flexing as he worked.
Dom met her eyes just a second and then focused again on his lioness. But the line of his lips was softer, a little vulnerable. “And, you know, he was barely out of his teens.”
Célie scowled. “I was in my teens.”
“Exactly. Still time for him to get worthy of you while you were growing up.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Men were so annoying. Célie went into the “hot” room, where all the burners were, from which she could still see Dom working on his sculpture and Jaime leaning against the counter on which the sculpture was posed, out of his way but still close.
“Did anything else happen just before he joined?” Dom asked, eating a bite of his own chocolate and then offering the other half of his bite to Jaime as a peace offering or an apology. Or just to get her to kiss his fingertips, as she did. For crying out loud, those two were so mushy.
“My brother got arrested for drug dealing,” Célie said bitterly. Yeah, it had been a banner year for her. First her stupid brother and then Joss, both gone. Her on her own.
“There you go,” Dom said. “It makes sense to me.”
Jaime’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Does it?”
Célie thumped her wooden spoon down in her melting bowl of chocolate, muttering about maybe just taking Joss’s and Dom’s heads and knocking them both together. Knock sense into two idiots in one go.
“Well …” Dom eyed his fiancée with cautious apology. Jaime was the only person in the world who could make Dom look cautious. “Yes.”
“Maybe I can see your point,” Jaime told Célie. “Maybe I could be tempted to knock some sense into somebody, in your shoes.”
“See?” Célie flung out her hands in self-justification and accidentally spattered chocolate off her spoon a
cross the stove. She cursed and wiped it up. “Anybody could be driven to it, in these circumstances!”
“I could knock some sense into him,” Dom said hopefully.
Jaime put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.
“Except that I believe in a nonviolent approach to life,” Dom corrected hastily. “Definitely. I definitely believe in that.”
Célie banged pans in lieu of people’s heads.
***
Joss pulled out his little metal box of chocolates and studied the last one. Perfect and sweet and tucked up into the corner, just waiting for him.
Kind of the way he thought Célie would be, but okay. He should have known better than to underestimate her that way. Good for her.
It made him smile, to think of how happy she must be making these chocolates, and he resigned himself to it: Tahiti was out. Who ever heard of making top chocolates in the tropics? He’d have to get an apartment in Paris.
But just for a moment, before he got to work on the hunt, he stretched his arms out along the back of the bench, fascinated by this wide-openness of his body, this stretch of it that seemed to say to any possible sniper, Here, let me just paint a target on my chest to go with it. And yet there were no snipers. He could just lounge here, watching the passersby.
Time to start looking for work, too. It felt weird to have nothing to do today, no end to his leave in sight. The last time he’d been unemployed, he’d ended up joining the Legion.
Seemed like a better thing to do than turn into a loser.
But employment wasn’t urgent. He did have most of his salary for the past five years saved up. He’d always sought out the opportunities for greater certifications and advancement, done the corporal training and the sergeant’s training, so his base salary had increased commensurately, and he’d earned two and a half times that base whenever he was deployed. Which had been a lot. The Legion had a lot of hot spots to jump into, these days.
The Legion had covered lodging, uniform, and food, and didn’t allow recruits cars or even phones for that first contract. So there wasn’t a lot to spend money on. He’d never really seen the point of gambling it or drinking it all away.
He didn’t want to waste it now, after five years of economizing toward his and Célie’s future, but a day off wouldn’t kill him. Interestingly, he was pretty sure that nothing in this city could really kill him. Or, better yet, would even try. Oddly relaxing, that.
And he was almost giddily tempted by the idea of taking a day off. Of just wandering around this city, with no orders as to how he should spend his time, no constraints, no hostiles. It was Paris. It was incredible to be sitting on this green bench, watching the people pass, and not thinking bitter thoughts about Parisian wealth and privilege and the contrast with the banlieue but to be thinking, Hell, this is as much my city as anyone else’s. If Célie could make it hers, I can make it mine, too.
Paris. Right there, like his own personal world in an oyster.
He might not wander along the Seine in his explorations, though, because walking along that lovely and romantic stretch of the city might actually hurt in weird parts of his body, like the hand Célie wouldn’t be holding, and the heart she wouldn’t be eagerly welcoming, and his butt where her hand wouldn’t be slipping possessively into the back pocket of his jeans, like girlfriends did. There was a woman doing it in a couple walking past right now.
Célie would be possessive, if she decided to possess him. She’d do it in a funny way, mostly, teasingly minatory if he happened to glance at a nice ass passing by, but she’d very definitely make sure everyone, including him, knew he was hers.
The fantasy of it returned so easily, and he grimaced wistfully, rubbing the bench.
“Hello,” a female voice said, and he looked around in surprise.
A woman with reddish hair stood a couple of meters away from him, kind of a big distance for a greeting, but maybe he looked dangerous.
Which he was, but not to women or children. Not even to men unless they were dangerous to him.
Except possibly that damn boss of Célie’s.
“Hi,” he said briefly so as not to encourage her, sitting up straight and dropping his arms from the back of the bench. It was true what he’d quite stupidly told Célie before, that he’d never had much trouble attracting women, but after five years in a rough, wild world of men, he’d lost even the most basic skills and now felt awkward about how to politely show a strange woman that he was unavailable.
“I’m Jaime Corey.” She held out her hand, coming toward him, kind of in an odd way, as if she knew that some men were best not approached suddenly and needed to see you weren’t carrying any weapons. “A friend of Célie’s.”
Oh. Joss shook her hand, intrigued now. Wow, she looked really different from the friends Célie had had before. More—together. Nice clothes but casual, not skintight, and her nails weren’t even polished, let alone two centimeters long and covered with patterns. It reminded him that the last time he’d really known Célie, all her friends had been teenagers whose main hope for the future had been catching some banlieue version of Prince Charming.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Did I see you yesterday?”
He’d been focused on that black-haired boss of Célie’s, as the person he might have to fight, and on Célie herself, but there might have been hair that color in his peripheral vision.
“In passing. I believe you were choosing not to fight my fiancé at the time.”
Her fiancé?
“Dominique Richard. You know, black hair? Scowling? Big?” She did a thing with her arms that was apparently supposed to indicate bulky muscles and was kind of cute on such a slim form. Joss found himself starting to smile, despite the man they were currently talking about.
“The two of you are engaged?” That completely changed Joss’s perception of the man’s relationship with Célie. He immediately wanted to ask if the man had ever cheated on Jaime with his employee, or maybe had a thing with that employee before he ended up with Jaime, but had the sense to bite both those questions back.
Jaime nodded. “Good choice, by the way. The choice not to fight.”
Self-control was an absolute necessity for any man in the Legion. Men of action, yes—men who could control that action. Always. In every situation. “I didn’t come here to ruin her life. She’s made a good one for herself.”
A smile broke out on Jaime’s face as if he’d said something she deeply approved of. “Tell me a little bit more about being in the Foreign Legion.” She actually sat down on the bench beside him.
Joss rubbed his thumb over his jeans, schooling himself not to let his eyebrows raise. “That fiancé of yours going to come out here looking for a fight if I do?”
Because that would be okay, right? If the man came looking for it out here, outside Célie’s place of work? Or could Richard still conceivably take it out on Célie if Joss broke his nose?
Also, would the two of them even be able to fight and it stop with nothing more than a broken nose? The man looked kind of hardwired to keep fighting even if he was at the bottom of a heap of enemies, and Joss was kind of hardwired that way, too.
“I’ll talk to him if he does,” Jaime said, shrugging.
Yeah, right. That was going to work, all right. Maybe she could try throwing her slim body between two freight trains next, as an encore. And Célie would be super pissed.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll stand,” Joss said, and did so, leaving her the bench.
Jaime smiled. “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?” She waved a hand to indicate the multiple terraces with café tables within sight of the great place.
Joss’s eyebrows drew slightly together. He searched her face. “You’re a friend of Célie’s,” he repeated. “And you’re engaged.”
Jaime’s blue eyes widened a fraction, and then she smiled and shook her head, standing. “I’m not hitting on you. I’m being nosy. And I, ah, work with a company with a very hi
gh interest in effectively managing security issues in countries in upheaval. It sounds as if you might have some experience with that.” She gestured with her head toward the nearest café. “So come on. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Chapter 12
“I like him,” Jaime said that afternoon around four thirty, having come back by the shop after her afternoon of meetings with undoubtedly more of the one percent of the world.
Dom, who’d only just gotten a chance to return to work on his sculpture for a bit, stared at his fiancée from his bent position over the lioness’s claws. “How do you know that?”
“I had coffee with him this morning.” Jaime shrugged.
Dom straightened slowly, his brow lowering. “You did … what?” His voice went deep into a growl.
“I wanted to get to know him better.”
“You had coffee with a dangerous stranger who’s acting like a damn stalker?” Dom’s growl vibrated so down deep and low that the hairs on Célie’s nape stood on end.
“He’s just very intently goal-focused and used to having to pursue those goals through an incredible number of obstacles. I think I might try to hire him to consult with us on security issues.”
Dom’s lips pressed together in visible anger. He started to speak, stopped himself with an effort, and abruptly reached for the buttons on his chef’s jacket. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Jaime’s eyebrows went up a little as she took in his expression, but she went with him without question, not forcing any imminent issue in front of his employees.
“Although I do sympathize,” she added on her way out to Célie, who was still standing stock-still, trying to figure out what she thought about Jaime inviting Joss for coffee. “I mean, I like your Joss, but I’d be pissed at him in your shoes, too.”
Célie hurried to the casement window, watching, her stomach knotting anxiously. The last thing she wanted was for the world’s mushiest couple to get in a fight over her—her—her—
All for You Page 9
