Page 57 of Say Yes to the Death

He hitched her dress up, wrapped both of her legs around him. Claire blindly wrestled her arms around his neck, pressing herself as close as she could to his glorious, solid frame. She wanted—needed—to be as close as possible. With one hand on the wall and one hand firmly on her ass, he swiped her underwear to the side and filled her at last.

She gasped at the impact. How long had it been? Were there cobwebs down there? There was a hint of pain in her pleasure.

Why was it always the grumpy jerks who had the best dicks? Was there some kind of scientific correlation between dick size and ego size?

All thoughts promptly spilled out of her head as Luke rocked rhythmically. A mountain was building beneath her, forcing her higher and higher. Her head thumped against the brick wall and her legs burned with the impact of holding herself up, but she barely felt it. Her fingernails raked down his back.

His breath was ragged in her ear.

“Luke,” she barely managed to say. Her fingers and toes curled.

Together, they burst over the peak. Claire bit her lip to keep from crying out as the waves of pleasure thundered over her. Luke gripped her so firmly that she was certain she would have bruises tomorrow.

His eyes had never been as green as they were in the alleyway, like the broken glass that crunched under his feet.

“Wow,” he said simply, leaning Claire against the wall.

“Wow,” she agreed through heaving breaths.

A trash can at the end of the alleyway tipped over.

Claire screamed and pushed Luke away from her. He stumbled backward, and she fell butt-first into the pile of wooden crates.

Luke picked a broken beer bottle from the ground as Claire gasped, splayed between a pile of knocked-over crates with her dress hiked up. Her tailbone ached at the impact. Her elbow had gone completely through one of the boxes and her arm was now stuck. She stared into the darkness as she struggled to stand.

Luke shouted something in French, defensively holding the broken bottle. A black shadow moved toward them, and Claire screamed again. She ripped her elbow from the box and leapt onto one of the crates. A family of rats scurried past. Bared yellow teeth glinted in the moonlight as the black mass scuttled by.

Luke charged down the alley toward them, hissing and stomping his feet. The rats scattered, scrambling for the street.

“Are you hurt?” He bent to look into her eyes.

She glanced down at her body. Her elbow had sustained some alarming new scratches and her tailbone smarted like she had been walloped, but it could have been worse.

“I think I’m okay.” She tried to stand and winced, rubbing the knee that had smashed into the cobblestone. She was a mess from head to toe. But that was nothing new.

“Come on.” He picked her up.

“Don’t forget my purse,” she said. He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder. Her knees and elbow stung, and her months-long dry spell had ended next to a dumpster in an alleyway with an army of rats for an audience. Paris wasn’t exactly turning out to be what she expected. At least she had gotten some new boots out of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To Do:

- Buy another suitcase for boots and purses

- Check on Rosie

A knock at the door drew Claire from sleep. Why was she so exhausted? The sheets puddled around her waist, and the bed next to her was empty. Where the hell had Luke gone now? If he had ditched her in France after finally getting laid, she would burn his house to the ground.

Wait, she hadn’t sleepwalked in the middle of the night and crawled into someone else’s room, had she? But no, those were her shoes by the bathroom door. Thank god.

She rolled out of bed and tugged on the terrycloth robe. Why did her tailbone hurt so much? Oh, right, the Great Rat Crisis. She reached instinctively for Rosie’s leash, but her furry best friend was three thousand miles away. Her shoulders dropped, and she made a mental note to demand a picture. Mindy better have sung her the bedtime song. Rosie couldn’t sleep without it.

Another knock sounded, and Claire tied the sash of the robe before cracking the door open. A hotel employee offered a tray of something that smelled delicious. Luke must have ordered breakfast in bed. She stepped back and allowed the employee to arrange the dishes and a beautiful vase of flowers at the tiny table in the room before departing.

Claire crossed the room and twitched the curtain aside. Luke was standing shirtless on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. Freakin’ Pete, the night owl workaholic.

She had time to brush her teeth and put on a coat of mascara before Luke slid the balcony door open.

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