by Tara Janzen
“Chan . . . let’s get out of here. Where’s your coat?”
“In the bedroom,” she murmured, sliding out of his arms.
“Bedroom?” he repeated hopefully.
She shook her head and gave his hand a squeeze before releasing him. “At least ten other people have a key to this suite.”
“Right,” he agreed. “Let’s get your coat and go home.”
He helped her sort through the pile of minks and foxes to find the coyote fur. “Are you going to tell me what happened to this coat that other night at the Orleans?” he asked, helping her into it.
She hooked the clasps running down the front and looked up at him. “I’m going to tell you everything, Jaz.”
“Even the part about loving me so much, you broke my heart?”
“Especially that part.” He had a right to know, and she needed him to know. She didn’t want any lies between them, even if telling the truth meant losing him.
It took fifteen minutes’ worth of good-byes to traverse the lobby, and when they finally made it to the door Chantal glanced out at the snow and then down at her blue satin heels. “I forgot my boots,” she said, sighing in frustration. The waiting to be in his arms again and the waiting to tell him the truth were tying her emotions in knots. She hadn’t decided which course of action to pursue first. Nobleness required the truth, but, as she’d discovered earlier, her nobleness was in short supply that evening.
“Nothing is going to get me back across that lobby, babe,” Jaz said, lifting her up in his arms. “Well make do. Comfy?”
“This is the best I’ve felt in months.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Better than new. And you’re right, you feel great.” He nuzzled his mouth close to her ear and whispered huskily, “But you’re going to feel a lot better when I get you home. And me, too, better all over.”
The warmth of his breath and his words sent a heat wave straight down the middle of her body, and Chantal felt her nobleness slip a dozen notches all at once. She tunneled her fingers through the dark hair brushing his collar and raised her eyes to meet his. “Take me home, Jaz.”
He shoved through the door and nodded at Peter, who took one look at them and turned to the doorman. “Pay up, Jerry. I told you, we could all learn something from this guy.”
Jaz halted in mid-stride. “Do you want me to hit him?” he asked Chantal.
“No. We need him for the bachelor auction. But if he ever runs book on me again, you can take him out.”
He grinned. “You’ve got a deal, partner.”
He carried her down the street, and by the time they reached the third block she said, “They’re only shoes, Jaz. Maybe I should walk. I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”
Without stopping he replied, “If you knew what my body is doing, you’d be praying I’d get a little worn out before I get you home.”
She snuggled up closer and laid her mouth on his ear. “Oh, I know what you’re feeling, Jaz. I’m feeling it too.”
“Then I really don’t know how you stayed away. For that matter I don’t know why you kicked me out in the first place—or why I let you.” They reached the Jeep, but rather than setting her down, he tightened his arms around her. “Why did you kick me out? Don’t tell me you meant the things you said, because I figured out about halfway to Mexico that it was a line of bull. Problem was, I knew you’d said them for a reason. I never doubted that you wanted me to leave. I just never figured out why. Was I moving too fast?”
She hedged, feeling nobleness inch back up her priority list. “Well, you are the fastest thing I’ve ever come up against.”
“Yeah, I started coming on to you on a snow-packed roof in the middle of a heist. Believe me, babe, not even I have ever moved that fast. I think I set some kind of record.”
“You sure did.”
“So? Why the kiss-off?”
Nobleness topped the chart, and Chantal let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe we’d better get in, Jaz. It’s a long story.”
Something in her tone set off a warning bell. “Am I going to regret I asked?”
She was already feeling him slip away, and as much as she wanted to soothe his fears, kiss him one more time, she knew it wouldn’t be right. So she offered the only permissible consolation. “I hope not, Jaz.”
When they were both inside Jaz reached for the key, and as she had done so many nights before, she stopped him with her hand on his. “We’d better talk first. You just might want to drop me off at my Land Rover when we’re through.”
“Highly unlikely, babe. Unless”—his voice trailed off—“you did something really awful.”
Oh, God. Apprehension welled in her breast, and her next words were barely a whisper. “Like what?”
“Like went off and married old what’s-his-name.” He sighed, dropping his head on the steering wheel. “Don’t tell me that, Chantal. Tell me anything else, but don’t tell me that.”
Under other circumstances, pure relief would have made her laugh, but the truth wasn’t much better than his off-the-mark conjecture. “No, Jaz. I didn’t marry Roger.”
His face remained doubtful. “Anybody else?” What did he know about her social life? He’d monopolized it for forty-eight hours and then she’d kicked him out.
His obvious jealousy buoyed her spirits a bit, and she managed a hesitant smile. “For years there was no one until you, and there’s certainly been no one since.”
He raised his hand to her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb, his tension easing off. “Then we can handle anything else.” He shoved in the clutch and reached for the key, and this time she didn’t stop him.
When they were on the highway, headed out of town, he glanced at her. “Okay, babe. I’m listening.”
Maybe this was the best way, she thought, in the darkened cab of the Jeep, where she didn’t have to look into his eyes. Slowly and softly she began, right from the beginning, leaving nothing out. She told him the truth about her father, her grandfather, and her great-grandfather, all the way down the line. She told him the truth about Paul and the rainy night on the roof of the Dubois villa. And she told him about her shame and guilt for abandoning her brother.
It was all too familiar for Jaz, and his own guilt increased with every word. Somehow, in his emotional turmoil, he’d neatly forgotten about his duplicity in going behind her back. Damn, he thought. It would be a helluva lot easier not to tell her.
But untold truths were as dangerous as lies, and he wasn’t in a gambling mood, not with Chantal’s love at stake.
Jaz’s silence unnerved Chantal. She twisted her hands in a white-knuckled knot in her lap and wished she’d waited until they were home. What was he thinking? Was he shocked? Disgusted? The dark profile of his face gave away nothing, and she was too afraid to ask. She finished the story as he pulled to a stop in her driveway. If possible, the silence deepened.
She took it for about thirty seconds and then opened her door. He was probably waiting for her to get out so he could leave.
“Wait,” he said. “I’ll come around and get you.”
“That’s okay. Don’t bother. Good-bye.” The words tumbled over one another as she made good her escape, sliding out of the Jeep into the snow.
She heard him come after her and hastened her steps. At the door the keys jingled and jangled in her hand. She didn’t want to see his face. She didn’t want her last memory to be one of condemnation.
She had fast hands, but not fast enough. With one more lock to go, he bounded up the porch stairs and swung her up into his arms. “Now I’m going to have to buy you a new pair of shoes,” he drawled.
“Jaz, put me down. I understand.”
“No, Chantal. You don’t understand, but you will in a few minutes. Open the door, please.”
Why did he have to make this so hard? “Just leave, Jaz. I don’t need a lecture.” She struggled in his arms, but for every ounce of energy she expended he c
ountered with two, making it clear how thoroughly trapped she was.
“This is a losing game, babe. The door, please.” When she reluctantly complied he added, “A lecture isn’t what I have in mind. Confession is more like it.” Without setting her down, he kicked the door shut behind them. “For starters, for enders, for all the middles, I love you. Nothing is going to change that. Ever.”
“Jaz—”
“Don’t stop me now. This isn’t easy.” He paused and inhaled deeply. “I knew about Monte Carlo before I came back from Denver two months ago. At least, I was able to confirm the Dubois scandal and the family business. I pieced together the rest.”
Shock stopped her struggles more effectively than his strength. “How?”
“General Moore.”
“Why?”
“Because I fell in love in your bathtub. I didn’t know it at the time, but when I got on that plane I knew it had to be love. Nothing else hurts in quite the same way.”
“Oh, Jaz,” she breathed softly. “We’ve wasted so much time.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m not exactly in a position to be slinging mud.”
“Then we’re even?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, yes, Jaz. After all the craziness and danger, after all the secrets, I think we’ve hit solid ground.”
“How about if we hit the bed instead?” He flashed her a wicked grin. “Or am I moving too fast again?”
She smiled sweetly and slid her hand across the front of his shirt, tracing the curves of muscle with her fingertips, remembering and loving the hard warmth of his body. “I think I can keep up with you this time,” she murmured close to his ear, then began a slow rediscovery with her tongue. His tie loosened in her fingers and the buttons on his shirt came undone one by one.
“Ummm.” He muffled a groan of pleasure along the tender skin of her neck as he carried her to the bed. “It’s been too long, Chantal.” He lowered her to the floor, his hands sliding up her thighs and pushing her dress higher and higher. “Is there a zipper?”
“Try the bow.”
Capturing her mouth with his in a searing kiss, he tugged at the material and felt her unwrap in his arms. “My kind of dress,” he whispered against her lips.
She undid his belt and the button fly on his pants. No trace of shyness stayed her hands. She wanted him, not the memories of her dreams.
When their clothes were a pile of blue shimmer and black wool, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist.
“It’s been too long,” he said against her breasts, teasing and plundering the gentle swells with his tongue and mouth. “Too long without a taste of you, without your touch. Lord, you’re sweet. . . . Touch me, Chantal.”
And she did, with all the love in her heart, in all the ways he’d taught her in one night.
* * *
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” She rolled onto her side and graced him with a purely languorous smile. “How did your poppa ever afford to feed you?”
“Dad’s in banking. I think he floated a few loans during my growth years. Do you still have that bottle of ketchup and those crackers?”
She giggled and pressed him back into the pillows. “You must be desperate.”
“No, babe, you wore the desperation out of me—”
“Jaz!”
“—and I loved every minute of it, but you left a big hunger.” He lifted his head and smacked a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“How does lasagna and chocolate cake sound?”
“Too good to be true. I wish you hadn’t mentioned it.”
He was beautiful, his rich brown hair fanning out on the pillow, tousled with their lovemaking, his body a sensual pattern of corded muscle and dark skin. Silky strands of gold tumbled over her shoulders and lay in half circles on his chest.
She traced the prominent vein running up his arm and over his biceps. “Do you remember how to work the microwave?”
“I remembered everything else, didn’t I?” he asked teasingly, rubbing his hands up and down her satiny skin and lingering around her small waist.
“Then check the refrigerator, Jaz. You’re in for a big surprise.”
* * *
Jaz fed her the last bite of chocolate cake and set the platter on the nightstand. Stretching his arms above his head, he eased back on the pillows, grinning from ear to ear.
“You ate half of a chocolate cake.” She still couldn’t believe it.
“You had three bites,” he countered in self-defense, then polished off his third glass of milk.
“And two helpings of lasagna.”
“It was great, babe. I didn’t know you had culinary talents.”
Chantal cast her eyes heavenward. “I’ve only got one pound of bacon and a dozen eggs for breakfast. What are we going to do?”
He pulled her into his lap. “I’ve got a plan,” he said, settling her between his spread legs.
She glanced up at him from under a veil of midnight-black lashes. “Sounds dangerous.”
“I think we’ve proved we can handle danger,” he drawled lazily, playing his fingers through the blond waves framing her face.
“What’s the plan, Jaz?”
“Promise not to panic?”
“I promise,” she said solemnly, crossing her finger over her heart, and then she smiled and gave him a little punch. “You know I never panic. I may run like hell, but I never panic.”
The snappy comeback she’d expected never came. A heartbeat passed, and then another, as he gazed searchingly at her. “Marry me, Chantal,” he said softly.
Surprise widened her eyes and parted her mouth, but the answer was less than a second from her lips, propelled by the surge of happiness threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes,” she gasped.
“Honeymoon on my private beach in Mexico?”
“Yes,” she said with more force.
“No bikini?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Tiny kisses covered his face.
Grinning, he shifted her weight and bent a knee around her hips. “I think I’m on a roll here, babe. Is there anything else I should get while the getting is good?”
She snuggled up closer, pressing a kiss on the smile crease in his lean cheek. “What else do you want?”
“Another one of those kisses, except a little lower and to the left.”
“Don’t you think we should wait for the honeymoon?” she said teasingly, not stopping her kisses for a second.
“Practice makes perfect, babe. I figure it will take a week to get our blood tests and license. That’s not much time to fine-tune a plan and get all the bugs out.” He angled his mouth over hers and said huskily, “We’d better keep at it.”
* * *
Chantal paced the porch of the beach bungalow with awkward steps, sucking on a wedge of pineapple and holding her fuchsia-pink sarong away from her hips. Every now and then she leveled a baleful glare at her husband.
“Jasper, I swear. If you come up with any more plans, do me a favor and make them solo attempts.” She’d taken to calling him Jasper whenever she was upset. Somehow “Jaz” never had the right bite to it.
“Sorry, babe. I thought a fifteen sunscreen would do the trick.” He was sitting and swinging comfortably in the hammock hanging diagonally across one corner of the porch.
“You can just forget tricks,” she said huffily. His smile lacked the correct amount of contrition for her wounded ego and scorched backside.
He groaned, his grin finally slipping. “Don’t remind me. Sweet lady, I’m suffering right along with you. Next time we honeymoon, let’s stay home and ski for a week.”
“Oh, Jaz.” She sighed. “I wanted so much for this week to be perfect. Now I’m a mess.”
“You’re the prettiest mess I’ve ever seen.” Another grin twitched the corner of his mouth and put a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “That shade of pink is real interesting with that shade of
lobster red.”
“Don’t tease me,” she wailed, coming to a halt in front of him.
“I can’t help it. You’re so teasable and I can’t kiss you.”
A thoughtful gleam lit the sapphire of her eyes. She pursed her mouth into a pout. “You could if you were real careful.”
“Trust me?”
“With my life.” She leaned forward as best she could and presented her slightly crisped face.
“Umm, pineapple.” He ran his tongue over her lips. “I like it, but you’re wearing a strange perfume. What is it?”
She giggled. “Eau de Solarcaine, about fifty cents an ounce. I wonder if things would have turned out differently if I’d been wearing it instead of my French perfume that night on the roof.”
“No way, babe.” He kissed her once, very carefully, holding his natural instincts in check. He was so used to reaching for her, touching her whenever she was close. “You belong to me. You’ve always belonged to me, and somehow I sensed it the first time I saw you, not even knowing how beautiful you were or how sweet your voice was.”
Chantal edged in closer and rubbed her hands over his shoulders, her pain lessening from his love. “And do you belong to me, Jaz?”
“I always have, babe, since long before I met you.” He traced another gentle line across her lips. “I always will.”
*********
Read on for excerpts from Avenging Angel and Moonlight and Shadows.
Avenging Angel
Living undercover and on the edge,
Dylan Jones has seen damn few things to give him hope...
until he sees her.
One
The woman. He needed her . . . desperately. He needed her to drag him up, get him out, and set him free.
Dylan drove with nerveless precision, tearing down the highway, burning up the road and the tires on his black Mustang. Wind whipped his hair through the open window and stung his face with the blast-furnace force of a summer gone crazy with heat. From Chicago, to Lincoln, Nebraska, to Colorado, the asphalt had shimmered to the horizon like the shadow of a mirage on the landscape.
