To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (20 page)

“Welcome back.” She gave him a small, hesitant smile.

“How long have I been like this?” His words came out slow and labored.

“Two nights, one day. It is now morning.” She rose from the bed and pulled the curtains back, allowing sunlight to stream across the room. She had quite forgotten that all she wore was a T-shirt and panties until the light outlined her silhouette through the thin cotton.

A weak smile formed as David’s eyes traveled the length of her body, making it perfectly obvious what he was thinking.

Chantelle moved away from the window, snapping at him at the same time, “I don’t think you’re well enough to handle such thoughts, let alone carry them out.”

“You’re probably right, but you’re the perfect incentive for making a quick recovery, especially with that vague, pleasurable memory of your hands gently moving over my body.”

“You were meant to be unconscious.”

“Semi and not comatose.” His smile broadened. “How about you fetch a bowl of water and administer some more of that special nursing technique?”

“Seeing how quick a recovery you make, I’ll fetch the water and you can wash yourself.”

Chantelle flounced off to the bathroom and came with the pitcher, a flannel and a towel. Immediately, she placed the items down and rushed over to the bed. David had flung back the covers and was trying to stand up with the help of the bed post.

“What do you think you are doing? The doctor said you can’t put any pressure on the leg and especially can’t try to walk.”

With his obvious weakness, she managed to catch him off guard by placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing him back down on the bed. She landed on him, his injured leg stretched out, touching the floor.

“Are you trying to ravish me or smother me? Any other time, I might find it quite enjoyable, but at the moment I need the bathroom pretty urgently.”

“I’ll fetch something…”

“Chantelle, help me to the bathroom.”

From his tone, Chantelle knew it was useless arguing with him. If he wanted to open his wound, let him. She found herself biting into her lower lip to repress the frustration. Moving off him, she helped him steady himself in an upright position with the help of the bedpost. Determination hardened his features as he stood there for a moment, as if willing his body to move forward.

“This is just downright stupid, David.”

“Bring that chair over.”

Taking hold of an old wooden chair tucked away in one corner, she dragged it over to him. Her eyes widened in disbelief as David raised it high above his head and then smashed it to the ground, leaving the back part of it intact. This he used as a crude kind of crutch.

“Great, now you can add vandalism to your long list of credits.”

David ignored her barbed comment and hobbled slowly to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

When he finally came out, it was obvious he had washed himself. Beads of water still clung to his chest and a towel was wrapped around his waist, replacing the boxer shorts. Even his jet black hair glistened with dampness, forming short, tousled curls. Several days’ growth of stubble remained, a razor not being one of the items on her list. Making his way slowly back to the bed, he discarded the chair support and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Can you order up a breakfast of some kind, Chantelle?”

It was the excuse she needed to flee his presence and the effect he had on her. Asleep and half naked she could handle, but awake and looking so physically appealing, with the bandaged leg appealing to her sensibility, was torture. She had so desperately wanted to go to him, help him make that short distance to the bed, but the stubborn determination on his face was a warning not to interfere.

Having slipped on her jeans and a fresh T-shirt during his absence, she left the room and sought out the proprietor, who arranged for croissants and freshly brewed coffee to be sent up. Returning, she found David speaking to someone on the phone, but he ended the conversation as soon as she entered.

“You obviously managed to contact Pascal,” David said. “When is he going to get us out?”

“By tomorrow, hopefully. He said two to three days.”

“Good.”

“Is that all you can say? Don’t you want to know what’s been going on? What the doctor said? What I’ve been going through the last twenty-four hours?” Her voice began to rise as she moved toward him.

“I’m sorry. Thanks, you did great.”

“Great.” She repeated, glaring at him. “Why you selfish…” Her small fists clenched angrily as she tried to restrain herself from lashing out further with her tongue.

“Look, I know I come across as ungrateful and have a knack for saying the wrong thing, but nothing has caused me greater pain than what I’m responsible for putting you through.”

“Another fine speech, but how about you start explaining some of it?”

“Later.”

“No, now, David. I deserve the truth.”

Whatever he saw in her face made him let out a deep sigh. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“By telling me what your connection is to those men you killed.”

“Easy. A deal was supposedly set up by the C.T.A.U. -- it’s a unit within military intelligence. I’m an undercover agent and have been for many years. I was supposed to fly weapons to a terrorist faction in Algeria. That faction was to be targeted and eliminated, the broker based in England exposed. We knew whoever it was had deep connections within C.T.A.U., he had to for the amount of weaponry involved to disappear and turn up elsewhere.”

David paused, as if expecting her to say something, but she was still absorbing it.

“The only problem was there was no such mission sanctioned; I’ve been played like a puppet, the one dangling my strings being the broker. He knew when I dropped off the weapons, I would learn the truth, but by then it would be too late. Despite my undercover guise as a mercenary willing to do anything for a price, in reality, I couldn’t be bought. So he took out an added security. You.”

“What made him think you would care what happened to me?”

“I guess he knew me better than I knew myself.”

“In what way?”

He reached out, taking her wrist and drawing her down to him. His other hand reached behind her neck, forcing her lips to his. “This way,” he murmured against her mouth as she opened her lips, welcoming him with a passion that surprised them both.

There was no denying the wanting her body still felt for him. Her emotions were a mess, but simply one touch was enough to force the barriers down and forget everything that had happened. She clung to him, not wanting the kiss to end. Her hands traveled around to his still damp shoulder blades, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the firm muscle beneath her fingertips.

“Madame Duvall.” Several short, sharp knocks followed.

They broke away simultaneously. “Madame Duvall?” David’s eyebrows rose in a mocking gesture.

“I do have some degree of decorum, Monsieur Duvall.” She straightened her T-shirt, and then opened the door, accepting the offered breakfast tray from the proprietor’s daughter. Placing the tray on the bedside table nearest to David, she took a cup of coffee and seated herself on the window ledge, where David would be too far away to touch.

Allowing David to eat more than his share of croissants laced with thick strawberry jam, she found herself studying the man who had finally allowed her a glimpse into his secretive world. Some of the things he said and did suddenly made sense. He could hardly have confessed in the beginning that he was some kind of James Bond; she would have laughed in his face. The relief of finding out he wasn’t really a mercenary, a renegade out to kill those who double-crossed him, had also been responsible for bringing down her defenses.

Still, a little voice in her head asked her whether she could trust him enough to tell the truth. What if he was as bad as those men he killed? He’d certainly carried it out with not a flicker of remorse.

He caught her studying him and the cup of coffee paused at his lips. Placing the cup back down, he looked over at her. “You’re wondering why I do it, admit it, Chantelle, You want to know what attracts me to my kind of work, the money, helping my Country, or just the thrill of it.” His words sounded bitter.

It took Chantelle by surprise how transparent her thoughts could be. “Yes, it does make me curious. What happened to the graduate of the elite test pilot school, the former flight lieutenant? According to Danny, you had a brilliant career ahead of you. Doing what you do now can’t be for the better, surely.”

“No, but it pays better and the choices at the time were not mine to make. As I said before, I’m not a very nice guy. I’ve done some pretty awful things and I’m not proud of what I’ve become.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But hell, someone has to do it. Otherwise, the world could become an even more hellish place than it is now.”

Chantelle could tell by his cynicism that his remorse, though hidden, was destroying him bit by bit. “David, hell can also be down to the individual. Not all of us feel the same way about the world as you do.”

“No and not all of us are as naïve and innocent as you. When this is over, you can go back to that safe world of yours and forget you ever knew me.” He looked away from her, placing his empty coffee cup down.

In two strides, she was standing in front of him, hands on hips, her eyes emblazoned with fury. “Naïve, stupid, is that what you think of me? Well, at least I have feelings. I’m not some empty shell devoid of all emotions who can switch on and off like a tap and not care of the hurt it causes others. How can I forget this, any of it?” She slapped him hard across the face. She didn’t know why, just like she couldn’t prevent the shimmering moistness in her eyes, the quivering of her lips, anger and sadness rolled into one.

David’s hand came up and touched his jaw. “I guess I deserved that. You are never stupid, Chantelle. Far from it. That’s why I can’t lie and pretend to myself it’s in your best interests when I’m only protecting myself. See, lies and half-truths come easy for me and the people I have to deal with. I’ll ring Pascal and find out when he plans to get us out of here now I’m well enough to travel.” He hesitated. “And, Chantelle, from now on, I’ll try to keep in check. It’s not fair to either of us, because I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

“Fine, you do that. The sooner I’m free of you and have my life back, the better,” she flung over her shoulder before walking out of the room, the door slamming behind her.

****

Chantelle was gone for several hours; the time spent wandering around narrow, winding cobblestone streets. The village was comprised of what looked like miniature castles with turrets, gables and towers. The creamy stone and half-timbered houses were built with steep, earth brown tiled roofs, vines creeping up their walls and balconies full of late flowering geraniums. Right through the center ran a river and it was here on a grassy, secluded spot that Chantelle finally rested, her shoeless feet dangling in the cool water. The locals paid little attention to her and she tried not to think as she laid back and closed her eyes.

At midday, clouds began to gather in what had started off as a clear blue sky. Trees by the water’s edge, laden with autumn colored leaves, began to sway as a breeze developed and the sun disappeared behind a blanket of cumulus clouds. She looked up into the darkened skies and off in the far distance, she could see mountaintops shrouded by an anvil shaped cloud formation. Removing her feet from the water, she allowed several minutes for them to dry and then slipped on her trainers. The air was still quite humid, but the breeze had stilled and given way to a deathly calm, which was suddenly shattered by a clash of thunder. Jumping to her feet, she moved slowly away from the river bank and back onto the cobbled streets.

The rain came down like a cascade. The streets became deserted with a few shopkeepers looking out from the shelter of their doorways. Even the odd driver traveling through was reduced to driving at a snail’s pace as visibility worsened. Chantelle did nothing to hurry despite a voice or two calling out to her to seek shelter, the word
folie
following when they were ignored. Maybe she was mad because at present she preferred the rain soaking through to her skin, her hair plastered to her face, anything rather than having to go back into that hotel room.