She stretched her neck, and her arms tightened around his shoulders.
The gulf of inches between their lips narrowed.
Dieter bent and took her mouth with his. The warm, sweet taste of her lips was everything he remembered, and her body curving against his jolted a year’s worth of memories through his mind.
That kiss was his life flashing before his eyes as he lay dying, the moments of passion and nights lying in her arms. It was fire and life and the sweetness of desire as his lips caressed hers.
He knew she needed comfort, so he backed off, reluctantly.
Flicka settled against his side, laying her head on his shoulder.
Dieter surveyed the train car, noting the other passengers and lack of threat. Only a few other businessmen were taking a Sunday afternoon train to Paris for early Monday meetings.
He cradled Flicka, treasuring the feel of her in his arms once again.
A few minutes later, she was dozing as he held her, just like a few years ago.
This didn’t mean anything, he told himself. Adrenaline was a potent aphrodisiac. When they got to Paris, Flicka might not want to continue this. She might think that kiss was a mistake, a moment of weakness, or him taking advantage.
But for those moments, he had her in his arms again, so he would savor them.
A few minutes later, a customs inspector ambled through the speeding train, glanced at Dieter’s backpack that held illegal weapons and millions of dollars in diamonds, and passed by.
Dieter rested his cheek against Flicka’s forehead and maintained operational security, but they were on a high-speed, maglev trainen routefrom Geneva to Paris. The chance of anything happening on the train was slim.
He smiled as Flicka slept in his arms.
