Thieves In The Night (16 page)

His mouth captured his name on her lips, stroking her tongue as his body drove deep and deeper, taking them beyond the passion into a fantasy realm of sensation. A realm where his elfin princess melted and tightened around him. A realm where he didn’t die, but was reborn in her love.

* * *

In the soft hours of starlight before dawn, they loved again. Dream shadows played with the edges of reality, blurring the conscious and unconscious, interweaving the trails of their spirits into one.

“Chantal?”

She kissed his mouth and smoothed the hair off his brow. “Sleep, Jaz,” she murmured, drawing his head back into the cradle of her arms. “Sleep.”

* * *

“I’m hungry,” he growled in the ear he was attempting to eat. Sunlight tracked a hazy pattern through the lace curtains, touching the dais, but leaving the bed in a veil of opalescent shade.

“You can’t have my ear,” she mumbled, turning her face into the pillows.

“You’re the most edible thing in the whole cabin, my darling cupcake.”

Shades of Little Red Riding Hood, she thought with a giggle. “There’s food in the refrigerator. Coffee’s on the counter.”

“You call half a bottle of ketchup and four lime wedges food?”

“Crackers in the cupboard. Have a sandwich.”

“Pretty fantastic, huh?”

Without any more clue than that, she knew exactly what he meant, and rolled over with a morning-after smile on her face. “Better than fantastic, Jaz, awake or asleep.”

“Especially asleep. It was a religious experience.” A broad grin widened his mouth.

“Well, don’t go telling your pastor about it.”

“You don’t know Pastor Johns. He’d like my finding religion anywhere and anyhow, even in the sweetest lady the Lord ever put on earth.”

She kept her smile in place with an effort. It was too soon to let the magic of the night go. She wouldn’t think about the black marks on her heart, not now. “Last one in the bathtub buys breakfast,” she teased, sliding out of her advantageous side of the bed and making her dash.

He caught her halfway to the door and slung her over his good shoulder.

“Jaz!” she squealed, and squealed again when he gnawed on her hip.

An hour and a half later they emerged from the bathroom. Chantal was still giggling and slightly embarrassed. The bathtub would never be the same, and the places he’d dried with her hair dryer didn’t bear remembering. The man didn’t have a shy corpuscle in his whole body and he was loving all the shy ones out of hers.

“Let’s take the Jeep,” he said, tucking the tails of a blue plaid yoked shirt into the black jeans. Chantal watched the last of his body disappear under the cloth and reminded herself to keep more food on hand.

She pulled a red star-splashed sweater over her head and mumbled, “Don’t you like my Land Rover? Or is it my driving?” She drew her loose hair out of the cotton knit and pushed it off her face by running a hand along each side, turning the shimmering strands into two high-swept arcs around her ears. The sweater matched her pleated red corduroys. Jaz had chosen the outfit, going into a lengthy discussion and revelation of what elfin princesses wore to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Stars were always de rigueur for elves, royalty or not. She had loved the analogy. As a child she’d thought she was a princess, always waiting for her mother, the queen, to come and claim her. But there had been no queen and no mother, only a picture of a beautiful woman on her father’s dresser. At twelve she’d stopped waiting and started begging her father to teach her the ways of the Cochard men. She had wanted to belong. Last night she had belonged to Jaz, and, even more miraculous, he had belonged to her.

“I’ve got nothing against your Land Rover or your driving,” he said. “I just look more macho in a Jeep that looks like it’s been in the rough stuff and survived.” He zipped up the jeans and flashed her a devastating smile, his specialty . . .

She gave him a wry once-over, twice. “You’d look macho on a scooter.”

They took the Jeep.

She directed him downtown, to a restaurant the size of a breadbox a block away from the Little Nell lift.

“What does O.B. stand for?” he asked, reading the hot-pink neon sign above the door.

“Only Breakfast. They open at midnight to catch the bar crowd, feed them, clean the place up in time to catch the early-rising ski crowd, feed them—”

“Clean the place up,” he filled in.

“And catch the late risers, then close at noon. The waiters work a twelve-hour shift straight through, three or four times a week. They get great tips and a ski pass.”

“You sound like a regular customer.”

“Best-looking waiters in Aspen, and in this town that’s saying a lot.” She winked and gave him her own version of the devastating smile.

He crooked his elbow around her neck and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “Just keep your baby blues on the boss.”

With his arm around her shoulders they walked into O.B.’s. The place was packed with late risers. At a table set for four in the middle of the dining room, two chairs were occupied. Chantal led him toward the two empty ones.

When he realized where she was going, he stopped her and said, “This one’s already taken. Maybe we could go somewhere else.”

“Don’t panic. Trust me.” She tugged on his hand and slid into one of the chairs with a cheerful hello. The other couple said hello and went back to eating breakfast.

Remembering not to shrug, Jaz sat down. He had no sooner gotten his body on the chair before the waiter arrived.

“They don’t mess around here,” Chantal informed him.

Dressed as casually as any of the customers, and acting more casual than some, the waiter greeted them, or rather, her. “Hey, baby cakes. What’s shaking?”

Chantal flirted back. “Hi, Peter. The world since last night. I’ll have a blue stack and one egg, over hard.”

Casual Peter gave Jaz a curiously surprised look, and Jaz gave him a forced smile. “Whatever it is you’ve got, you ought to bottle it, guy,” Peter said. “And save a little for me. What’ll you have?”

“The same,” Jaz said through tight lips. He didn’t like his eggs over hard—closer to raw was more his style—but he didn’t see any reason to keep Peter hanging around. The guy looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, but worse than his looks was his “baby cakes” routine. If anyone was going to be referring to Ms. Chantal Cochard in edible terms, it had damn well better be him, and not some oversexed waiter.

When he left, Jaz leaned over the table and whispered, “Remind me not to bring you here again, okay? And what was all that bottle business about? Has he been after you?” His eyes narrowed to gray slits.

Patiently Chantal took his hands in hers. “I’m the only local single female in the whole town he hasn’t gotten to,” she explained. “Sometimes I think these guys run book on me. If so, they’ve had a lot of losers.” She noted the suspicion ease out of his eyes and the soft gleam of victory return. In another man that particular winning light would have disturbed her, but there was no denying that he had won—and so had she.

She became aware of the rapt quiet at the other end of the table, and, making sure she didn’t look over, she released his hands and sat back in her chair. But she wasn’t embarrassed. He was definitely loving the shy places out of her heart.

Only a few minutes passed before the food arrived, and Jaz spent all of them wrapping his legs around hers under the table, a very smug smile on his face.

“Two blues, hard.” Peter landed the plates with a flourish and made a production number out of pouring their coffee. Stage aspirations, Jaz thought with a lot more charity than he’d given the magazine cover.

“Syrup, please,” Chantal said, nodding toward the bottle at Jaz’s side of the table.

He put a lot more effort into the delivery than she thought was necessary, getting up out of his chair and reaching across the table to pour it for her. She glanced up and found him grinning from ear to ear.

“I love you, Chantal.” Propping one hand on the table, he leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth, then turned his head and kissed the other. “I love you. I love you.” Open-mouthed, he sealed his lips over hers and delved with his tongue, sweeping her mouth in lazy tracks.

Mesmerized by his words, she could only succumb to the undulating waves of pleasure flowing through her, and pray she didn’t slide under the table. She barely heard the catcalls, whistles, and smattering of applause in the background—or the mad shuffling of plates on the table.

Finishing the kiss with a resounding smack, Jaz sat back down and noted the conscientious actions of their table partners. They had kept the syrup from running over her plate by shoving his under the stream.

“Thanks.” He was still grinning wickedly. Turning his attention back to Chantal he said, “You’d better eat, babe. You’re going to need all your strength.”

Now
she was embarrassed. And happy. And shocked. And sad. He loved her, and she couldn’t lie to him. Sooner or later he’d ask questions she didn’t want to answer. The thought made her want to run, a fruitless option. He’d been dogging her heels since the alarm had gone off at Sandhurst’s; he’d never let her run. That only left the truth, and the realization killed her appetite. She ate anyway, knowing she’d need all her strength, not for making love, but for the showdown where everybody lost.

O.B.’s tender blueberry pancakes turned to lead in her mouth, bite after heavy bite. She kept working on them until she’d worn half the stack away, occasionally intercepting glances from Jaz that were turning more concerned with each passing moment. She cajoled herself into a smiling countenance. She didn’t want it to be over so soon, the feelings of love, of being cherished.

Her smile was sweet, but weak at the corners, and Jaz wondered if he’d moved too fast with his declaration. After the night before she must have known. That kind of magic didn’t happen unless hearts, and not just bodies, were involved. At least it had never happened to him before. Nothing had prepared him for the amount of love he felt for her, this beautiful woman with the sky in her eyes and the sun in her hair.

Declaring his love with strangers sharing their table was one thing. Hashing out problems was another, and he knew he’d have to wait until they were alone. Maybe he could afford to tell her what General Moore had revealed, let her know it didn’t change how he felt. Maybe now she’d understand why he’d dug up her past on his own. The smile slipped off her face as she pushed a bit of egg around her plate. Then again, maybe not.

Jaz didn’t have a lot of rules for living, but of the few he had, not letting anything interfere with his appetite was the one dearest held. Her unease threatened to break his rule. He rallied by asking, “Are you going to eat those pancakes or just fool with them until they’re mush?”

“Mush,” she confessed, glancing up.

“Let’s trade plates. You can play in my syrup.” He made the exchange and dug into her remaining breakfast.

Chantal leaned back in her chair and shoved her hands into her pockets, watching him eat and wondering where it all went. Their lovemaking had left no physical secrets between them, and she knew there wasn’t an extra ounce on his body. Every inch of him was a testimony of the perfection to be found in a man. That lean, muscular body, exquisitely sensitive to her touch, had excited and fulfilled her, all night long. She didn’t want to lose him.

With luck, they might not get around to the history lesson for a few days. The day before, she wouldn’t have given two bits for her luck, but it had taken a dramatic turn in his arms. She’d grab every hour, every day, of his love and his loving she could get. Knowing what she had to offer in return made her feel like a thief, a real thief.

And so she was, she thought, reaching out and seductively running her boot up his calf. “Let’s go home, Jaz,” she said softly.

The three-tiered bite of pancake halfway to his mouth fell back on his plate as he shoved himself away from the table. Without waiting for the check, he dropped a twenty on the table. “Now I know why these guys get such great tips.” He grinned.

Safely snuggled under his arm, Chantal matched each of his long strides with two of hers. In the time it took them to walk the block to the Jeep, the sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds and the famed powder of the Rockies began falling from the sky. A group of teenaged boys on the corner howled their thanks, raising and shaking their skis in their hands. They whooped and hollered and punched one another as they made their way to the lift.

Jaz chuckled. “I remember when snow had the same effect on me. The thought of untracked powder was enough to keep me awake at night. Then I discovered girls. Talk about lying awake at night.” He lowered his head and nuzzled her ear, pressing her back into the door of the Jeep. “Now I’ve got you, and being awake at night has become one of my favorite things, right along with having you make love to me in my sleep.”

She turned her mouth into his for the warming passion of his kiss, her lips softening and parting. He took full advantage of her gift. His hand came to rest under her breast and his thumb tracked a lazy circle over her sweater, promising without delivering.

His unbuttoned jacket gaped open, and she automatically wrapped her arms around his waist, gathering his warmth and supple strength in her small hands. His body was like a furnace, so much heat in the snow. The waiter had been right, she thought. Jaz, should bottle his magic. But you couldn’t buy what he had in abundance, that tender touch, his special way of giving, the way he made her want to give in return.

He lifted his mouth from hers and kissed the snowflakes off her cheeks. “We can probably neck out here on the street for another five minutes, maximum, before I embarrass both of us. Or we can go home and start over again.”

In answer she gave him one more quick kiss and reached behind her to open the door. He grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

Nine

The first hint of disaster was the multitude of fresh snowmobile tracks on her driveway. Thin and more closely spaced than the outgoing tracks of the Jeep, they were easily discernible in the snow. The second sign was more than a hint. The cabin door was open.