Page 56 of Say Yes to the Death

“That was harder than I remembered,” Luke’s voice said at her side.

Claire reached out one hand and felt an expensive leather jacket next to her. Luke’s clean, comforting smell engulfed her. She ran a hand down his chest, and he leaned over so that he was nearly on top of her. He plucked a blade of grass from her hair and tossed it to the side. For a moment, he just looked at her.

The moon had risen above his head, creating a halo. His five-o’clock shadow stood out in the half-light. She ached to feel it against her skin. She grabbed a fist full of his shirt and tugged him to her.

Luke crushed his mouth eagerly to hers, and she released the sigh that had been pent up all evening. She tugged at his shirt, sliding her hands underneath so she could feel every hard inch of his chiseled abs.

His hands traveled from her hair down to her chin, gently forcing her lips from his so he could feast on her tender, exposed neck. His hand hesitated at the hem of her dress before slowly, carefully, sliding its way up.

When his wandering mouth hit her collarbone, her hands fisted at her sides, tearing up clumps of grass. She pressed her hips into his. Who cared if they were in public? She wanted him, and she didn’t care who saw.

“Ahem,” someone said nearby.

They broke apart. The end of a nightstick thrust into her face. Not the nightstick she had hoped to see.

Luke hastily apologized in French and tugged Claire to her feet. She straightened her dress and curtsied at the policeman, smiling sheepishly as they took off in the opposite direction.

“Oh my god, so embarrassing.” She hid her face as they half-ran down the sidewalk. Her bare feet slapped the sidewalk. She was totally going to get tetanus. And thrown out of the country. Why hadn’t she checked that she was up-to-date on her immunizations before traveling internationally? So irresponsible. “Did I just curtsy at a policeman?”

“You did.” Luke laughed deeply. He paused in a brick alleyway. A black cat ran out of its hiding space when they approached, bolting for the opposite side of the street. The crowd had thinned out.

“Here, let’s get your shoes back on.” He tugged her down the alleyway until they were mostly concealed between a dumpster and a large stack of wooden crates. What was that smell—old brie? Yikes. She was definitely sober now.

He pulled the shoes out of her purse and bent to put them on her feet.

She leaned against the wall for support, grateful to have something solid to lean on. Luke was like quicksand.

“That’s better,” he said, buckling the last clasp. He was suspiciously adept at buckling women’s shoes. What if he had a foot fetish? He rose, staring at her with stormy eyes, and laid one hand on her waist while the other cupped her cheek.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“Stop it.” Heat crept into her cheeks. Her blood boiled with need. “I have a stab wound and grass stains on my knees.” Not to mention the cut from the sword incident, and some bruises on her shins where she had tumbled over a wall.

“I’m serious. Seeing you here, so carefree and relaxed. It’s a whole new Claire I never knew existed.” He leaned in and kissed her neck again. Her elbow knocked against the side of the dumpster.

“It’s easier to relax when you’re an ocean away from people who want you to die,” she whispered, but the words didn’t hold the same weight they did at home. Luke’s mouth was a glorious distraction. The smell of old bread and rancid sauce emanating from the trash was barely noticeable.

His head snapped back to hers. “I will always keep you safe.” His hand slid underneath her dress again, sliding up her thigh.

But, historically speaking, he hadn’t. He hadn’t even divulged that he suspected she was being targeted by the Widowmaker until she brought it up herself. And, as he pointed out earlier, Sawyer had saved her when it really mattered. Not that she could hold that against him. It wasn’t his job to make sure she wasn’t murdered. And then there was the fact that he was leaving for California for an unknown number of weeks.

“I can keep myself safe,” she began to argue, but he silenced her with his mouth. Her legs were jelly. Her lips parted graciously.

Luke’s hand reached the apex of her thighs, and he cupped her gently.

She gasped. The heat washed over her like an inferno. She hadn’t been touched like this in eons.

He reached down and grabbed her leg, wrapping it around his waist. His normally rough hands glided gently over the lacy fabric of her underwear (which had mercifully removed itself from her butt crack), caressing and teasing. Claire moaned softly, arching into him, aching for more.

She trailed one hand down his torso to his belt buckle. She tugged one way, then the other. It wouldn’t budge. Who had made this belt, abstinence activists? Annoyed, she simply ran her hand over the front of his pants, eliciting a moan from him.

He tugged her panties to the side and began to stroke her again, this time skin-to-skin. Tingles exploded down her arms and legs. Was she finally going to figure out what was underneath Luke’s pants next to a dumpster in Paris? Could they get arrested for this?

He broke away. “Maybe we should go to the hotel.”

“No.” She dragged him back to her. “Here.”

He tugged her neckline down, put his mouth on her skin. Her knees buckled, and she almost fell. Then he was lifting her, pressing her against the brick wall. Could he hear her heart thudding in her chest?

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