by Lyn Horner
Leaving the place in a foul mood, he strode back the way they’d come. “You shamed me in there,” he accused as Delilah struggled to keep up in her foolish, spindle-heeled boots.
“Do not be angry with me, mon cher,” she pleaded, breathing hard. “You needed a disguise. I procured one for you. What is wrong with that?”
He halted, causing her to stop short, and glared at her. “I am not some . . . some pretty boy who lets a woman buy his clothes and treat him like a pet.”
She went rigid, expression hardening. “I do not think of you that way, and I shall not apologize for doing what was necessary,” she shot back, sorrel eyes spitting fire. Lowering her voice as another couple passed by, she added between her teeth, “No one who saw you with me before will recognize you now. For that, you should thank me, not act like an ungrateful child.”
Tossing her head, making her wig of pale curls bounce, she marched away, leaving him to stare at her retreating figure. She’d given him a good set-down, and a guilty feeling told him he deserved it. He had acted like a child. Cursing himself, he rushed after her.
They walked in silence back to the parking garage, quickly locating the car. Leon put the shopping bags in back and buckled into the passenger seat up front. He glanced at Delilah as she settled behind the wheel. “I am sorry. You did right. I should not have gotten angry. It was my stupid pride talking.”
She eyed him warily, saying nothing. Then her gaze softened. “I accept your apology and I . . . I understand. Sometimes my pride also gets the better of me.” Her cherry lips crooked upward. “Please, let us put this behind us and enjoy the day. Oui?”
He smiled, nodding. “That is my wish, as well.” He glanced down, frowned and plucked at the sleeve of his shirt. “But I still do not like looking like a flower garden.” Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he grinned.
She laughed, restoring a lighter air between them as she started the car. Within minutes they were on the way to Monaco. “The main autoroute would get us there in less than an hour,” Delilah said, “But we will take the Moyenne Corniche, one of three older routes that follow the coast. It will slow us down a bit, but I want you to see the Côte d'Azur in all its glory.”
“You know best.” Leon trusted her decision, not knowing any better. However, a short while later he hung onto his seat and held his breath as she negotiated a sharp curve that hugged the edge of a steep cliff.
“My heart thumps like a Navajo drum,” he said. Through his side window, past the dangerous drop-off, he gazed at hillsides and a coastline littered with towns, ancient ruins and elegant buildings that looked like palaces. Beyond the land stretched the wide, blue Mediterranean all the way to the horizon.
“Don’t worry, I will not drive us over the edge,” Delilah said with a grin, never taking her gaze off the road, he gratefully noticed. “There is an even higher road paralleling this one, called the Grand Corniche. You might not like it.”
“Maybe not.” Coming from high canyon country back home, he wasn’t usually afraid of heights. In fact, he had driven even more dangerous roads than the one they were on, but somehow this was more daunting. Perhaps because he was sitting in the passenger’s seat, staring over the edge. The view probably would not bother him if he was driving.
“Of course, there is also the Bass Corniche, the low route down near the water,” Delilah said, drawing his attention. “But it is always crowded with vehicles and the view is much less spectacular.”
“You chose the best path,” Leon said, realizing she wanted his approval. “You have shown me many amazing sights in your beautiful country, but this is best of all.”
“I am glad you think so,” she said with a sigh, plainly relieved.
He relaxed and did his best to enjoy the jaw-dropping vistas. When at last they reached their destination, he breathed his own quiet sigh of relief.
Delilah parked in a large underground garage much like the one in Nice. Above ground, they walked up a steep hill called The Rock, Delilah said, to see the prince’s palace. Winded from the climb, they stopped to catch their breath in a huge courtyard in front of the imposing building. Leon stared at it, taking in the many windows, the fancy design along the top of the wide structure, and the towers poking up behind it.
“As I recall, they don’t open the palace for tours until April or May, but the façade is quite impressive, eh?” Delilah said.
“Mmm. Does this all belong to one man?” Leon knew little about Monaco, but had realized it was a country separate from France.
Delilah tilted her head, thinking, then shrugged. “I guess it does. Prince Albert II is the latest in a very long line. The Grimaldi family, his ancestors, have lived and ruled from this palace for seven hundred years.”
Leon raised his eyebrows. “That is a long time.”
“Indeed. Speaking of time, we should move on. The afternoon will be over before you know it.” After descending the hill, she led him through a maze of buildings, some very old, some modern high-rises, pointing out this or that, never spending much time in one place. They paused for a bite to eat in a busy café then continued their whirlwind tour, finally stopping outside another large building with a fancier outside than even the palace. A line of people stood waiting to get inside.
“This is the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Have you heard of it?” Delilah asked.
“No, but I know what a casino is.” He frowned in disapproval. “It’s a place where people lose money gambling.”
She laughed, grabbing his arm. “I don’t. Come on.”
“I’m not going in there and neither should you,” he protested, refusing to budge when as she tried to pull him toward the slow-moving line of people.
Letting go of his arm, she planted her hands on her hips. “Do as you please, but I am going in, and I will win, just you see.” She whirled and stomped over to join the fools waiting to throw away their money.
Muttering Navajo swear words, Leon followed her, afraid she would get in trouble if left on her own in that place. She did not acknowledge him beside her, and he held his tongue in the crowd, all the while longing to drag her off somewhere and paddle her backside.
Before being allowed inside the casino, their identity was checked. Delilah had no problem being approved, but not so Leon. When he presented his passport – always on his person since their run-in with Hellhounds at the hotel in Lyon – the guard he handed it to glanced back and forth between him and his photo, frowning.
“This is you, Monsieur T-T . . .?” he questioned.
“Tseda,” Leon supplied. “Yes, it is me. I got my hair cut and dyed.”
“Mmm-hmm,” the man muttered skeptically. “I am not convinced.”
“My American friend speaks true,” Delilah broke in. “He changed his hair to please me.” She batted her eyes at the man and gave Leon a flirtatious smile, clasping his hand and rubbing her breasts against his arm, making him glare at her.
The guard studied his photo again, shrugged and said, “Okay, you can enter after you pay the fee.”
“We must pay to go in and gamble money away?” Leon said indignantly.
“Of course, it is expected, darling,” Delilah cooed, drawing cash from her bag before he could further object. Handing it to the man, she tugged on Leon’s arm, hurrying him into the building. “You must not anger these people. They might yet throw us out,” she warned.
“Humph. That would be fine with me.”
“Mon Dieu! Do not be such a curmudgeon. Come, let me see what I can do. I am very good at cords, you know.”
Astounded by the opulence of the high-ceilinged lobby and the various rooms she led him to, he struggled to absorb it all. When she finally chose a room with several tables, each offering a different betting game, he stood off to one side, arms crossed and scowling, expecting the worst as she began to play. To his surprise, she won, not just once but several times. He watched in amazement as she moved from one table to another, repeating her winning performance at each.
CHAPTER TEN
Delilah knew she was being watched on security cameras, to be expected in all casinos. Before long, the person or persons behind the cameras would notice she was winning consistently and they’d suspect her of card counting, a big no-no. Therefore, she was not surprised when someone tapped her shoulder and she turned to find a tall, muscular man standing there, wearing a sportscoat and tie, and a no-nonsense expression.
“Madame, I must ask you to come with me,” he said quietly in French.
She smiled. “Certainement.” Quickly gathering up her chips, she offered no resistance when he gripped her arm and led her away from the gaming table, but darting a glance at Leon, she saw him start toward her frowning in alarm. She shook her head but he kept coming. He cut them off near the room’s exit.
“What is going on?” he questioned, glaring at the security guard.
“Monsieur, step aside please,” the man said sternly in English, causing Leon to take a step closer, looking belligerent.
Delilah raised her hand to stop him. “It’s fine. We need to start back anyway.” To the bouncer – that’s what he was – she said, “I am quite willing to leave just as soon as I cash in my chips.”
The man frowned but nodded. As soon as she collected her winnings, he escorted Leon and her out, curtly informing her she would not be allowed into the casino again.
The moment they were outside, Leon asked, “You did not mind being ordered to leave the place?”
“No, I expected it would happen once they discovered I was counting cards. I am grateful they did not stop me sooner.” Patting her shoulder bag, she led him away from the casino. “We have plenty of money now for the rest of our trip.”
He frowned at her. “You did not have enough money, yet you spent so much on these foolish clothes.” He plucked at the sleeve of his shirt.
“Are we back to that again?” She sighed in annoyance. “We both needed good disguises. Stop nagging me about it and be glad I have a talent for cards.”
Leon grumbled in Navajo. Then he said, “You counted the cards? How is that possible?”
Delilah glanced around. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, she said, “You told me you know that each Guardian possesses an unusual ability of the mind.”
“Yes. The others spoke of their gifts, as they called them.”
She nodded. “These gifts come from our ancient ancestors. Mine is an ability to see numbers in my head, almost like a film scrolling across a screen. This allows me to easily compute the likely growth or decline of stocks for my clients. It also enables me to remember how many cards of a particular suit or number have been played, giving me an edge casinos frown upon.”
“So, you cheated,” Leon accused, eyebrows dipping over his hawk nose.
Shrugging, she gave him a jaunty grin. “I don’t see it that way, but the casino does. As the man said, I will never again be allowed inside their hallowed halls.”
“Have you done this before at other casinos?”
“No, I never saw the need until now, but I learned my way with cards as a child, playing games with my father. Friends also used to invite me to play cards, but now they don’t. No doubt because I always won,” she said wistfully.
Draping his arm over her shoulders, Leon drew her close and kissed her brow. “They saw you are a bruja, a beautiful witch, with magic they can never hope to beat.”
She smiled tenderly, beguiled by his gentleness.
Returning to the carpark, she decided against driving the tricky mountain route back to Nice with dusk near at hand. Instead, she took the low road close to the sea. They traveled through towns and past villas belonging to the ultra-rich while the sun dipped lower and lower, turning the sky and sea scarlet and purple in the distance.
“Another sight I will never forget,” Leon said in a hushed voice, gazing at the stunning sunset.
Smiling, she said, “Perhaps I can one day show you more of France, and even the rest of Europe.”
He glanced at her, his face a dark silhouette. “I would like that.”
Well pleased, she drove on with happiness bubbling inside her. It was completely dark by the time they arrived in Nice. They ate a leisurely dinner in one of the city’s better restaurants, talking little, simply enjoying each other’s company.
Afterward, as they were returning to the car, Leon said, “We should change into our regular clothes before seeing Madame Beaudreau. She will be surprised enough by my short hair.”
“Good thinking. She has been so nice to us. I don’t wish to shock her and make her think we are a pair of buffoons.”
Reaching the car, they shimmied out of their outlandish costumes, bumping into each other in the dark and laughing like children. However, Delilah’s humor fled when Leon dragged her into his arms. She caught her breath as his mouth captured hers in a fierce kiss, his tongue playing chase with hers while his hands roamed her nearly bare body, igniting a fiery need within her. Eager for more, she returned his caresses.
Finally wrenching his mouth from hers, he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing fast just as she was. “We will continue this later,” he promised, hoarse with need. “Get dressed. The sooner we return to Madame Beaudreau’s, the sooner I can love you.”
Trembling with unsatisfied desire, Delilah struggled into her clothes. Her hands still shook when she turned the key in the ignition, starting the car. With Leon sitting so close, it required a concerted effort to maneuver out of the multilevel carpark and through the tangle of busy city streets, not to mention the never-ending traffic on the autoroute.
Once off the highway, finding the way back to their forest hideaway was slow going in the dark, even with GPS. When she at last parked beside Celine’s auto, Delilah sagged in relief.
“Whew! I’m glad that’s over,” she said with a little laugh.
“So am I,” Leon said in a near growl. “I am tired of waiting for you.” Gripping the back of her neck, he tried to pull her to him, but she resisted with a hand on his chest.
“Stop. I want to tell Celine we are back so she will not worry.”
He blew out an impatient breath and released her. “Fine, but hurry.”
“I will.” Jumping out of the car, she trotted around to the front of the house and let herself into the porch-lobby. She knocked on the inner door and waited, shifting from one foot to the other, anxious to rejoin Leon.
Celine came to the door dressed in a robe and house slippers. She peered through the oval window, smiled wide and opened the door. “Oh, I am so glad you made it back safely, my dear,” she said in French. “The roads to Monte Carlo can be dangerous.”
“Oui, they can, but we had no trouble,” Delilah replied also in her native tongue. “I just wanted to let you know we are back and that we will be leaving in the morning. We have a plane to catch, to America.”
“How exciting!” Celine clapped her hands. “But you must have breakfast before you leave. I will bake croissants for the occasion.”
“That will be delightful. Thank you, Celine.” Smiling, Delilah exchanged a bonne nuit – goodnight – with the older woman and hurried to meet Leon outside.
“About time. Come,” he rumbled, loaded down with shopping bags. They bounded up the hill in record time and ran into the guesthouse. Kicking the door shut, Leon dropped the bags, hauled her into his arms and reclaimed her mouth, swiftly rousing her desire for him to fever pitch.
His hands rid her of her shirt and bra within seconds. When he cupped her breasts, tweaking the puckered crowns, she moaned into his mouth. Eager to touch him, she slipped her hands between them and worked open the buttons of his shirt. She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her chest against his, drawing a groan from deep in his throat.
She gasped when he broke off their kiss, but offered no protest as he turned and led her into the bedroom. Eyes ablaze with desire, he swiftly removed the rest of her clothes. Then, while she watched, he flung away his shirt, kicked off his boots and stepped
out of his jeans, taking his boxers with them. She stared hungrily at his tumescent penis.
Closing the space between them, he fused them together skin to skin and kissed her thoroughly, once more sending waves of desire crashing through her. Hardly aware of being walked backward, she didn’t know what he was doing until the back of her knees touched the side of the bed. Lips abandoning hers, he lifted his head.
“Sit down,” he said thickly. When she didn’t obey, because she was too dazed to move, he rested his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her down, making her sit on the edge of the bed. “Now lie back.”
Realizing what he intended, she gulped. “Are you sure about this?”
He bent over, hands planted next to her hips, and kissed her tenderly. “I’m very sure,” he whispered. “Do as I say, lie back.”
Locking her eyes to his hot obsidian gaze, she leaned back on her elbows then let herself fall flat. She jumped when he gripped her thighs and pushed them apart. Breathing hard, she slammed her eyes shut, waiting for the touch of his mouth on the sensitive heart of her. When it came, she gasped and clutched handfuls of the bed covers.
He was sweetly merciless, kissing and probing her folds with his tongue and inserting a long, talented finger into her slick passage, wringing tormented cries from her lips. Hips jerking every time he touched one certain spot, she thrashed her head from side to side, desperate for release from the exquisite torture.
“Leon, I . . . want you,” she begged in a strangled voice.
“Not yet, she’at’ééd. First, this way,” he said, words muffled by her flesh. Redoubling his efforts, he at last sent her, screaming, into a realm of pure bliss. Her internal spasms had barely ended, leaving her drained, when he moved her farther back on the bed. Kneeling between her legs, he lifted her hips and plunged into her.
Crying out softly, she wrapped limp arms around him, not believing she could possibly reach the peak of desire again. She was wrong. Cheeks flushed with the effort, Leon held off his own release, stroking in and out faster and faster, driving her to a frenzy of need once again. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and met him thrust for thrust, grinding herself against him, making desperate little sounds as she scaled the heights.
