That so-called, “message from a friend,” he thought bitterly, had to be someone close to him or someone affiliated with one of the groups.
Although he wanted nothing more than to wash up and to lie down, he forced his thoughts away from the ribs that defiantly needed wrapping and thought about Louise and her unit. Was there a link to the two incidents?
Noticing Géry, Luis and a few men engrossed in an energetic card game, André called Louise over. “Can I talk to you a minute? Alone.”
She walked toward him and for the first time he noticed how young she was; too young to be mixed up with the cause, though children’s participation was a key factor in day-to-day operations. The police often overlooked children as insignificant. He did not recruit the youth, but he couldn’t dismiss their usefulness.
“How did you hear of the train derailment plan?”
“I told you. I didn’t know anything until they arrested us,” Louise insisted. “You don’t look good.”
“What about Victorio? He never said anything, you never heard a name mentioned?” Someone leaked the information about their mission. Units were tight-lipped about espionage plans. Every fraction did their own thing. It was too dangerous to involve a unit of strangers.
“Victorio knew nothing. When will I see him again?”
“I have people working on it.”
“What will happen to him?” She chewed her lip.
Both cousins shared the same habit when stressed, André thought as he glanced over to see Yvette editing the paper.
“Look, Louise, he’s a political prisoner, I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do everything I can. Now I have a few more questions. Ok?”
Damn, his head hurt. So did every limb and muscle for that matter.
André casually leaned against the railing. “Can you remember seeing anyone deliver the plans?”
“Mmm…” Louise pressed her lips together in thought. “One of our members came in with them in his hand. I did hear Victorio argue with him. He said we couldn’t trust a stranger and this might be a trap. It was, wasn’t it?”
“And you have no idea where the papers came from?”
Louise shook her head. “He just said he was handed them on the street from a reliable source.”
Géry had been on that street, a nagging voice reminded André though he dismissed the idea before the thought had time to root.
Nothing would be gained if someone in his unit denounced an ally unit, thus thwarting their own sabotage plan. Unless, that hadn’t been the plan. Perhaps the thought had been to recruit more help and the arrest was just a coincidence. Damn. He wished he could see that map to verify if the details were on target or fake. Either way the job was compromised. He couldn’t risk the lives of his men. Damn!
He glanced over to the men he called comrades in arms, Luis, Géry, Bayard, Jacques and then there were the new guys.
He really didn’t understand why his gut soured when he looked at Géry. It never had before. There was just something… something he couldn’t put his finger on…suspicions—suspicions that didn’t sit right in his gut.
“Thanks Louise. If you think of anything--”
“Sure.”
Bastards. Géry had said bastards, plural. How did he know how many men attacked him? Unless he employed them… unless he just assumed there was more than one.
“Hey Géry. Got a minute?” André called out.
Géry threw his cards onto the table. “Sit me out of this one.”
He crossed paths with Louise and smiled.
As much as André didn’t want to believe there was more to their story than a mere rescue and being at the right place at the right time, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was wrong.
“Louise thought she saw you watching her on the day of her arrest.”
Géry leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. The guarded posture shouted opposition. “Yeah. I was there. What are you getting at?”
André shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Louise just happened to mention seeing you.”
“Eva was showing that picture around.” A muscle around Géry’s mouth twitched and André noticed how his eyes fidgeted around him. “I thought I’d do a little scouting.”
“And you just happened to find her on the day she was arrested?”
“I have some contacts on the streets, showed the picture around and as luck would have it, voila,” Géry gestured emphatically. “After the police came, I left. Not much I could do at that point.”
“Did you hear anything on the streets regarding who set them up?”
“Not a word… man you should get cleaned up.”Géry looked a little too smug.
“But hey, I’ll keep my ears to the ground.” He took a step forward. “In answer to your question earlier, last night I was buying flowers for a lady.”
Relief edged away the suspicion in a tiny corner of André’s resolve. He clasped Géry’s shoulder. It couldn’t have been Géry. There was no reason why he should suspect him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” No reason at all. “Got the ladies’ name?”
“Ah,” Géry shrugged, “you know secretive times and all.”
André couldn’t shake the feeling Géry wasn’t telling him something and it had nothing to do with some dame. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll respect your privacy, but don’t think I won’t try prying her name from you over a round of drinks.”
“You can try my old friend, you can try. Here,” Géry held out a photo of a dark-haired woman. “Here’s my gal.”
“Nice.” André grinned.
He believed Yvette when she said she had no feelings for Géry, but nagging doubts surfaced from time to time. Jealousy was not an accustomed feeling he cared to repeat any time soon.
“I’m done.” Yvette walked up and handed him the finished paper.
“Well then, let’s get to work.”
The card game came to an abrupt stop and after the printing was done, André handed out the papers to the large group standing like excited children before him.
“Accidently leave these on the Métro, in post offices and telephone boxes, anywhere you feel is appropriate, anywhere you visit frequently. Use extreme caution--”
“We’re doomed,” Luis mumbled under his breath.
André ignored the pessimistic statement, knowing Luis would do his best despite the obstacles. “There are obstructive eyes everywhere.” Perhaps in here as well, he wanted to say, but decided against it. Causing suspicion would alarm the group; perhaps even send the mole into hiding. No, he had to draw him out, plant a few misguided sabotage suggestions and see who bites. Perhaps he’d start with a fake map of German defenses and see where that led and to whom.
“Look, everyone. We may be short on ammunition, but our words will be our bullets. With these,” André raised the paper over his head, “we stand united and fight.”
A roar erupted around the room.
“Ok. Everyone hit the streets,” André said. “Yvette, stay I’d like you to do something for me.”
She walked over to him and his gaze drew to her shapely legs. What a pair, he thought, what a pair.
“What do you need?”
Last night, when he’d face death squarely in the eyes, she had been his first thought. André rubbed his temple. Good Lord, he was falling for her, falling hard.
“André…” she grabbed his hand, “stop. You are getting ink on your face.” She pulled out his handkerchief, leaned in and gently rubbed the spot. “Your eye…” She sighed and shook her head.
He inhaled the sweet smell of her perfume and willed himself not to kiss her.
He was a mess, a total mess, not only physically, but mentally.
“Everyone’s gone. Will you finally allow me to see to your bruises?” Concern laced her eyes, deep concern that touched his spirit like no one else had.
“Yes.” He took her hand and walked her around the stairwell to a dark corner where a heavy steel door cut into the wall. He grabbed
the latch and began to slide the door open when pain shot through his chest.
“Here,” Yvette reached around him, “let me help.”
Together they drew open the door to a small hidden room.
Yvette didn’t say a word as she glanced around the dank cellar he called his home away from home.
“It’s not much,” he said.
“No need to sound so apologetic.” She drew off her hat and tossed it on the cot. “Let me help you close the door.”
“No. We shouldn’t be in here alone. It stays open.” Despite his pain, he didn’t trust himself. “Work fast and no one will find us.” His bed filled his peripheral vision.
“Why? Someone must see to your needs. You certainly can’t see to them yourself. I don’t think anyone will find fault in my helping you.”
He brushed the side of her cheek and felt need stirring hot in his blood, making it difficult to keep her at arm’s length. “You know why.”
Staring at her lips, he became obsessed with her mouth and envisioned their tongues embracing in an erotic tantalizing dance.
“Maybe I don’t care.”
He watched her pulse race in her neck and her eyes brighten with interest, dangerous interest.
“I care about your reputation,” he said. Any more talk like this and he’d be taking care of his own needs for sure.
“Fine,” she bristled. “Do you need help taking off your shirt?”
This wasn’t where he envisioned her asking that question… Determined to hamper his growing emotions, he cleared his throat, “I’ll manage.”And not how he dreamt he’d feel… like crap. He unbuttoned his shirt and eased his arms free, then winced as pain shot from his back to his side.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.
Feeling vulnerable, unable to look into her eyes, his gaze fell to his scarred body. “This was a mistake.” He grabbed his shirt, but she stopped him.
She ran her fingers gently against his skin, tracing one jagged scar that crisscrossed his chest amidst black and blue welts.
“A souvenir,” he said sarcastically, “from Dunkerque.”
“Lousy Germans.” She leaned in and kissed the wound.
He grabbed her shoulders, drawing her slightly back and studied her eyes. There was no repulsion, as he feared. No pity. The tension in his shoulders eased.
That tender kiss said it all. The shock he had seen a moment ago was not caused by his disfigured body, but by the horrific act that left him blemished. Damned if he didn’t feel his eyes begin to mist. He clenched his jaw, holding his emotion in check.
After the explosion that left him scarred, he never thought he’d live and when he awoke, he really didn’t care if he lived or died. His one-man show, as Yvette once pointed out to him, was an over compassion, a way to prove to himself that he wasn’t half a man with a limp and ugly body he hated to look upon, a reminder of his failure. Hell, his wife did a good job of reminding him of his failures every time she insisted he go work for her father.
But Yvette… André wrapped his arms around her waist, drew her to his chest and kissed her. She made him feel whole. She made him want to live.
“Yvette,” he whispered as he held her closer, despite the stabbing pain. “Yvette, he murmured thickly and recaptured her lips deepening his kiss.
The pressure against his ribs fisted like someone poked him with an iron, yet he welcomed the torment, a small price to pay to hold her, to feel her curves against his body.
This woman standing within the circle of his arms was what dreams were made of and he was going to do everything in his power to protect her.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips before his mouth met hers once again, a sigh of contentment that made promises—promises he desperately longed for—promises he dare not dream.
He nibbled her neck and she groaned.
Did she have any idea how her kisses delighted and distressed… how the touch of her ignited a fire in his gut he feared no ocean between them would lessen?
Breathless, she leaned away as if she sensed his thoughts. “I must be hurting you.”
***
Yvette felt angry—angry with the Germans—angry at the war and at the thugs who bruised André’s body.
Though he didn’t seem to care she had to be hurting him, no one could sustain the bruises he had and not be in pain.
She gently washed a black and blue welt near his eye. “I don’t understand why someone would do this. Does it hurt?”
He brought her fingers to his lips, “Not now,” and kissed them.
Once again, he drew her close and she sank into his strong arms savoring the feel of his muscular chest solid against her. His hands pressed into the small of her back and she could feel his heart pounding to the rhythm of her own.
His lips found hers and she moaned. His soft, gentle kisses sent a tingling sensation inside her, but as his tongue darted into her mouth mingling with hers in an erotic tango that clouded her thoughts, so too did that sensation, growing ardently to an urgent need. A throbbing wave rose to the junction of her thighs. She tasted blood, broke away and ran her finger against his perfect mouth. “Your lip is bleeding again.”
“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth and took a step back.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, remembering his abhorrence toward the word. “Those thugs are the ones who should be sorry. They did this to you.” She leaned in, her gaze sealed on his eyes, her mouth hovering over his. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you won’t go after them--”
“I can’t.”
“Alone,” she finished. “Take Bayard or Géry with you.”
“I don’t want to talk about them.” He placed his hand at the back of her neck, easing her head sideways, then his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear.
She heard herself groan as delightful sensations prickled her skin and floated through her body.
“André…”
“Hmm?”
“I need to wrap your chest.”
“Aha.” He continued to press kisses along her neck and she felt a strong wanting tug deep within her body.
“Seriously.” Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
He picked up her hands and placed them against his chest. “This works,” he said before his mouth covered hers.
It was working all right. Whatever magic he wielded was definitely working. Her body felt heated. Every nerve felt alive. Her stomach clenched and the throbbing, the pulsating throb where no lady should dare feel without the promise of marriage, made it diffult to breathe. She gripped his arm in fear that her legs would give way. His skin beneath her palm, a reminder of his naked torso, only intensified the building need that threatened to consume her if she let it. The sexual tension palpable, she pulled herself away. “Your wounds… I must.”
Before he could protest, she eyed a folded sheet at the foot of the cot. She picked it up and tore the fabric into a few wide strips. Back at his side, she gently placed the cloth against his ribcage. The top of her fingers met warm flesh and she heard the intake of his breath. She knew his reaction wasn’t from pain for the pressure had been slight. No, it stemmed from the same desire she felt racing through her veins.
Slowly she circled him bringing the cloth with her, trailing her fingers lightly against his naked torso. Her fingertips felt sensitive as if she touched an electric wire.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and let her gaze drop to the contoured muscles of his abdomen. Lord help her, he had the body of a Greek God worthy of any sculptor. A fine dusting of golden hair trailed down under his pants and her cheeks grew hot as she thought about where that line led. Her gaze flew to his face.
The seductive look he gave her said there would be no turning back if she continued her alluring onslaught.
“You need to go tighter.” André quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not going to break.”
Yvette swallowed the lump that felt lodged in her dry throat. Tighter? If h
er body got any tighter, she was going to break—break temptation—break the thinning chain of her resistance. As much as she wanted him to touch her everywhere, God help her, everywhere, they had to stop. She had to stop. Jesus, Mary, Joseph! They were in a church for Lord sakes. A church!
With shaking fingers, she made the bandage tighter, “hold this,” and put his hand on the fabric’s end.
She propped her foot on the edge of his bed. Slowly, her fingers shaking, she reached up under her dress. She heard his erratic breath, but he didn’t say a word as she slid her hands up further finding the small hook of her garter belt.
She knew it was wrong. Wrong to entice him. Wrong to want him to throw her down on his bed and make passionate love to her. Heart racing, she flicked open the hook. André’s quick intake of breath made her pause, look up. His neck muscles flexed as his jaw clenched and he stood in silent deliberation, watching her. Slower still, her gaze focused on his, she inched her stocking down, taking delight in the way he watched her as though he wanted to devour her.
“God, Yvette stop.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re killing me.”
“Stop?” She slipped her leg free from her hosiery. “You want me to stop? Are you sure?” she asked, her tone heavy with sexual temptation.
“No.” His resistance crumbled and he drew her into his arms. “Yes. We should.” His soft, sensual voice, his hungry gaze, contradicted his words.
Her heart beat with wild anticipation as she leaned in so close all she had to do was press her lips against his. “You’re right.” Though every nerve screamed, touch me, frustrated, she sighed. She could hardly disagree with his logic. Letting her heart rule her mind was foolish. Besides, he was in no condition to let his desires govern his body.
Yvette broke from his embrace and silent, she wound her stocking tightly around his chest, securing the cloth in place, then knotted the silk. “That should do it.” She laid her hand over his heart and felt the strong beat beneath her palm.
He kissed her forehead, “Thank you,” then released her.
Behind The Mask Page 27
